Читать книгу Her Amazing Boss!: The Daredevil Tycoon - Nikki Logan, Anna Cleary - Страница 5

AMALIA Catalon set the coffee tray down on the low table between the sofa and the visitor chairs. The two men were in deep discussion, hardly noticing her. She stepped back, wondering if her boss needed anything else. A quick glance out the window showed the storm that had been threatening had arrived. Sheets of rain slid down the windows. It was so overcast it looked like dusk, though it was only late afternoon. She could hardly see the sea. Sighing softly, she regretted the wet walk she would have to take to get the bus and then again after her stop for the three blocks to the flat. She’d be soaked and cold by the time she reached home tonight.

Still, it couldn’t be helped. She had an umbrella, but the way the wind was driving the rain, she knew it would offer little shelter.

“Ha, in your dreams,” Stefano Vicente said, laughing sardonically at something his business rival had said.

Amalia turned to look at Rafael Sandoval. What had he said to cause her boss’s outburst? Not that Stefano Vicente was the most complacent man. She’d worked for his firm more than seven years, and the last three of those for the head man himself. She knew how quickly he flew off the handle if aggravated.

“Care to wager fifty grand on it?” Rafael asked easily. He leaned back casually in the chair, watching his rival with calculating eyes. Amalia moved back a bit, preparing to leave, watching Rafael Sandoval warily. Despite being a trust-fund baby, Rafael had developed a thriving import-export business that was a major player in the Mediterranean area and was now moving globally, with offices around the world. He worked hard and played hard. Young to have achieved so much, he had the arrogance that went with amazing success. When he walked into the office, she always felt a bit in awe. He wasted no time with chitchat with a lowly employee. He knew his worth, and his time was valuable. Still, twice over the past several months she’d caught him studying her. When she’d met his gaze, he’d winked and looked away.

She watched him every chance she got—he was mesmerizing, fascinating. But if ever he caught her staring at him, she would be mortified.

“You’re on. And I’ll delight in taking your check,” Stefano replied with an arrogance equal to Rafael’s. Amalia shifted her gaze to her boss. In his late fifties, he was always looking for new challenges to prove to the world he was still in top form. What was it about men that they had to constantly be in competition with each other?

“You’re mistaken, it’s I who will delight in taking yours,” Rafael retorted. Mid thirties, and gorgeous to boot, Rafael Sandoval had risen in the ranks of important men in Barcelona with meteoric speed, which was why she’d seen him numerous times over the last three years. The only men her boss dealt with were the city’s high rollers. She would also bet her last Euro that Rafael had never paid enough attention to her to recognize her on the street. A quick glance, eyes trailing over her trim figure, and then he’d move on.

Stefano picked up a cup of the hot coffee and poured cream in it, stirring gently. When the small ritual was complete, he looked at Rafael.

“You have only been ballooning a couple of years. You’re a fool to think you can outrace me. I’ve been doing it for more than a decade.”

“I’m a quick learner,” Rafael said.

His easy grin captivated Amalia’s attention. What would it be like to have him smile at her that way?

“Or is that your way of trying to get out of the wager we just made?” Rafael taunted.

“I’m not trying to get out of anything,” Stefano protested. “It’ll be easy money.”

“As will the deal we’re about to sign. You are signing, are you not?”

Stefano looked at the contract that lay on the low table in front of him. “Should I have my attorneys review it once more?”

“They’ve had it for a week. Nothing’s changed.”

“So you say.”

Rafael’s easy manner dropped in a heartbeat. He narrowed his eyes as he studied Stefano. He said slowly, “So I do say. Do you doubt my word?” The silky tone of his voice belied the anger that showed in the clenched jaw, the flashing dark eyes. He would not be an adversary Amalia would want.

Stefano shrugged and sipped his coffee. After a swallow that had Amalia wondering if he was playing with fire to delay his answer, he deliberately put the cup back on the saucer.

“I do not doubt your word. It’s not a small deal that can be brushed away if it fails,” Stefano explained.

“It will not fail,” Rafael replied.

Stefano stared at Rafael for a long moment, then nodded. He took his pen and signed both sets of papers with a flourish.

Rafael wasn’t quick to relax. Amalia almost held her breath as the drama played out before her. Both men had forgotten she was in the room. She dare not move for worry of drawing their attention. She wished she could just ease out the door and be gone.

Tossing his pen on the table, Stefano leaned back in his chair. “How about we make the challenge a bit more interesting,” he said.

“By?” Rafael asked, calmly reaching for the pen to sign his own name to the contracts.

“We’ll limit people on board to ourselves and one guest—a nonballooner—chosen by the opposition. I choose who rides with you, you choose for me. We each have a man on the chase team to keep the records in conjunction with the chase team. We compete in the daily events at the festival and then begin our long jump.”

Rafael considered the suggestion for a moment, then with an obvious change in demeanor, relaxed, leaned back and smiled. “That works for me. You’ll be so far behind by the fourth day of the festival you’ll concede without the long jump.”

Stefano looked at Amalia. “What do you think?”

She glanced at her boss’s longtime rival and regretfully shook her head. Stefano wasn’t one to concede defeat in anything. “It’ll never happen.”

“Spoken like a true PA, loyal to the end,” Stefano said with a grin. “You’re my choice.”

Amalia stared at him in shock. “I know nothing about hot air balloons!” Only that they looked lovely when quietly sailing by, far overhead. And that it made her sick to even think about being so high above the ground.

“The purpose of the bet is to pit Rafael’s skill, such as it may be, against mine. By each having a novice, we’ll equalize the competition. One on one, so to speak,” Stefano said.

“The Barcelona Balloon Festival will be four days of races and events. For us after day four we make a long jump and see who can get the farthest in a week. Are you up to that?” Rafael asked her.

She looked at him, feeling the full force of those dark eyes as he regarded her. She shivered. Spend eleven days with him in the confines of those little baskets that dangled beneath the balloons? Not likely.

“No. I can’t do that. Pick someone else,” she said to her boss. She knew nothing about the sport, but she knew she feared heights. To spend days in the air was more than she could deal with. Not to mention spending that time with Rafael Sandoval.

The man was beyond gorgeous—tall and masculine, his dark hair shone beneath the artificial light. At thirty-four he had no gray marring the rich mahogany color. His dark eyes mirrored his emotions—when he wanted them to. Moving from amusement to anger in a split second, he fascinated her when she was around him—which wasn’t often, thank goodness. He drew her involuntary interest like a flame drew a moth. And she would expect the same results if she let herself be drawn in—instant annihilation.

He was one of the best-looking men she’d ever seen, everyone thought so. Especially the society photographers who loved to have him on their pages—usually escorting a beautiful woman to some high-society event. Of course they also captured him racing his yacht last summer and when he won the single-engine airplane race from Cadiz to Barcelona two years ago. He participated in a wide and wild range of sports. She had seen the spreads in the Sunday newspapers and read with fascinated interest, since she could claim a brief acquaintance with him because of his dealings with her boss.

But she had no desire to spend even an hour in his company. He was far too dynamic and flamboyant to have anything in common with her. He’d find her boring and predictable and probably amusing.

With all the adulation he received, he was undoubtedly self-centered and self-focused. Did he ever approach life like a normal person—with worries and concerns? Probably not. Having the Sandoval fortune behind him didn’t hurt, either.

“Yes, Vicente, pick someone else,” Rafael agreed, turning away from Amalia.

“Like the woman you’re dating now?” Stefano asked sardonically. “Maybe I should. You’d lose track of even the basics with the charm Teresa offers and I’d win easily. But I’d rather have a challenge.”

“Teresa would dislike the early hours and the discomfort when it’s cold. How do I know a person of your choice wouldn’t sabotage the race?”

“I would never do such a thing!” Amalia exclaimed, incensed. How dare he impugn her integrity!

He shrugged and took one of the contracts, putting it into his briefcase. “Second choice?” he asked Vicente.

“I’ll get back to you.”

“I think I’ll ask my PA to join you. Helena at least follows the sport, though she has never participated in any events. I gave her a ride last year and she liked it.”

“Send me her name and phone number and I’ll talk to her,” Stefano said. “And I’ll have one of my chase crew contact yours. There will be no sabotage. He’ll help as a regular crew member—only be there to verify the times and distances.”

“Do we get rights of refusal?” Rafael asked.

“If both agree,” Stefano replied.

“Then start writing your check,” Rafael said, deliberately goading the other man.

Amalia thought about the report that still needed finishing. She didn’t have time to stand around and listen to two very wealthy men talk about a silly hot air balloon race. The fifty thousand Euros they bandied around so easily would make a world of difference in her life. To most people’s lives. To these men it was chump change. Betting on a balloon race seemed frivolous in the extreme.

“Maybe we should sweeten the pot a bit. Loser has to present to winner in front of the Barcelona Business Alliance at the next quarterly meeting,” Rafael suggested.

Amalia looked at Rafael, seeing the devilment in his eyes. He was wild and daring, and she strongly suspected he loved every moment of this. It was obvious he never expected to lose; he rarely did. Not only did he have pots of money, he had the best luck in the world, if the newspapers could be believed. From learning to fly a few years ago, to deep sea diving, to this newest hobby of hot air ballooning, he loved to challenge himself—and anyone involved in the sport with him.

Stefano gathered his copy of the contract and held it out for Amalia. She stepped closer to take it and then retreated to the door of his office.

Standing, Stefano held out his hand to Rafael. “May the best man win, and I intend to!”

Rafael stood, as well, and shook his hand. “Prepare your presentation speech for the BBA’s meeting. It had better be good, to wipe out the sting of humiliation.”

Amalia opened the door for the departing man. When Rafael drew level with her, he looked at her again. “It’s not too late to change your mind,” he said. “Find out what working with a winner is like.”

“My boss will win,” she said loyally.

He shook his head and winked at her before walking past. She could smell the expensive aftershave lotion he used—something fresh and woodsy. Perfect for him. She felt the attraction that seemed like an invisible aura around him and for a split second she wished that wink had meant something special.

When Rafael Sandoval left her anteroom and walked toward the elevators, she turned and looked at her boss. While not as notorious as his competitor, he could still claim outrageous behavior and daring escapades that made the papers. How his wife stood it all these years was a mystery to Amalia.

She looked at her boss. “Can you win?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said easily. Walking back to his desk, he looked at her. “But I need your help. I want you to go with Sandoval.”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid of heights. Besides, what would I talk to the man about?”

He laughed. “No need to worry about that. He’ll be too busy trying to outmaneuver me. Don’t worry about receiving a pass from the man, you aren’t his type. He likes luscious, sophisticated prima donnas, not hardworking businesswomen. The intent is to make sure he isn’t getting help from a ringer.”

Amalia shook her head again. She couldn’t go off on a hot air balloon ride. Even if she didn’t have a phobia about heights, she had work to do. Her brother to take care of. She’d have to find a way to convince Stefano it would be a mistake. He was too focused on the need to one-up Rafael Sandoval to worry about a mere personal assistant’s reasons for refusing.

“I need to get the Tunisia report finished. And you need to think of another choice. I really can’t do it.” Turning, she headed for the door.

“Then call Teresa Valesquez for me, will you?” he asked. “I might get her interested. Maybe she would distract Rafael long enough for me to have an easy triumph.”

Amalia nodded and kept walking. Teresa Valesquez was Rafael’s latest girlfriend. Amalia had recently read about them attending a reception together. The accompanying picture had captured the worldly look of his latest. Her sleek, short blond hair contrasted so well with her dark eyes. The gown she’d worn was the latest fashion and had looked fabulous on her figure.

Except, would she still be around by the time the balloon race began? The one thing Amalia had noticed was how frequently Rafael changed companions. The balloon race was still a couple of weeks away—plenty of time for him to find a new woman and for Teresa to be old news.

She sat at her desk and looked up the phone number for Ms. Valesquez. When she was on the line, Amalia clicked her over to Stefano’s phone. She could finish the report if she had no more interruptions before close of business.

Just before five, she finished the last set and put them in the envelopes for different staff members. That was a major project completed. The rest of the week should be a breeze—or as much as it ever was working for Stefano Vicente. She liked her job well enough; she found it interesting and fulfilling. Which was good, since she’d likely be at it for another four or five years. Once her brother was out of college and on his own, she’d give a thought to returning to school to work for her own degree—interrupted barely months after she’d started university by the death of her parents.

Amalia’s goal remained to become a graphic designer—working with multinational corporations to develop and maintain Web pages. She loved playing around on computers. She’d streamlined many of the office functions through technology. But it wasn’t enough to satisfy her. She wanted new horizons. She dabbled in Web design for friends, but looked for more challenges and a monetary reward for her work.

When she’d expressed that interest to Stefano a couple of years ago, asking if she could switch divisions, he’d refused. He hadn’t wanted to break in another new PA. Maybe she did her job too well, but it wasn’t in her to do less than her best.

At least she had a good position that enabled them to live in a modest flat. After their parents were killed, there had been more debt than assets. Once everything had been sold, there was nothing left for extras. Amalia could still remember the panic she felt knowing that Jose depended entirely on her. She’d only been nineteen, Jose a mere eight. She’d floundered those first couple of years until she began to work for this firm.

Promotions had moved her up, and her current job now paid enough to save a bit for college for her younger brother. One more year of public school and he’d be off to university. He wanted to be a physicist. He’d probably be over the moon with a chance to ride in a hot air balloon. She dare not tell him; he’d badger her forever to take advantage of the opportunity.

She shut off her computer, tidied her desk and donned her serviceable raincoat. She was already planning the evening meal she’d prepare for herself and Jose.

Stefano stepped into her office.

“I need you to renew my order of weather schedules first thing in the morning.” He handed her a piece of paper on which he’d written down the Internet addresses. One was from a local weather forecasting service in Barcelona. The other two covered other areas, including the eastern part of Spain and parts of southern France.

She nodded. “Anything else?”

“Not right now. I’ve got to prepare for the flight, though. There’s more to it this time than casual fun. I can’t wait to see Rafael’s face in front of the BBA giving me the winning check.”

“The entire plan sounds scary,” she murmured. She had gone to the Barcelona Balloon Festival the first time it had been held after she joined the firm. She hadn’t stayed after the first wave of balloons lifted into the air. The small wicker baskets were dwarfed by the huge balloons, dangling by incredibly thin ropes that connected the basket to the balloon. Imagine rising above the earth dependent solely on hot air in a large nylon bag. She shuddered just thinking about it. The entire venture looked precarious and dangerous. She preferred to keep her feet on terra firma.

“It’s perfectly safe and a lot of fun. There’s nothing like soaring a couple of thousand feet above the earth. Watching the landscape drift by below, going where the wind takes you.”

“Unless you get tangled in power lines and get zapped, or go down in the Med and drown before rescue, or—” Or just fall from the basket and splat on the ground. She shook her head at the horrible image that popped into her mind.

“That happens, like, once in a lifetime.” Stefano laughed.

“It could be your lifetime, or the end of it!”

“No, I don’t think so. I haven’t had even so much as a near miss in all the years I’ve been doing this. Anyway, you’re off the hook. Teresa Valesquez is delighted to be going with Rafael. I think she expects a ring on her finger by the end of the trip. Doubt he’ll ask, though, because he hasn’t so far. He strikes me as the perpetual playboy bachelor who’s having far too much fun to get tied down. See you in the morning,” he added, turning and reentering his office.

She grabbed her umbrella, wondering if that or her raincoat would be much protection against the deluge that continued.

Stepping outside a few moments later, Amalia paused beneath the building’s portico debating whether or not to dash to the bus stop without her umbrella raised and hope she didn’t become soaked, or give in to the inevitable and use the umbrella until the wind turned it inside out.

A sleek black sports car drew to a stop at the curb in front of her. The passenger window slid down.

“Need a lift?”

She leaned over a bit to peer in. Rafael Sandoval looked back at her.

“Get in, I’ll drive you home,” he ordered.

Normally Amalia would object to his imperious tone, but she was pragmatic enough to appreciate a ride in the storm. She quickly got into the car as the window slid up.

“Why?” she asked as she fastened her seat belt.

“To get to know you, of course.”

As the car pulled back into traffic, Amalia sighed softly. The luxurious leather interior even smelled like wealth. The seat cushioned her lovingly, and she surreptitiously rubbed her fingers against its softness. “There’s no need. Stefano got Teresa Valesquez to agree to accompany you on the balloon race. I won’t be going.”

Would he let her off at the next corner now that there was no need to become better acquainted?

“Damn, I don’t know which is worse, you or Teresa,” he said, moving to another lane as traffic began to get heavy.

“Thanks a lot,” she murmured, not feeling kindly toward the man. She fervently hoped he lost the race to her boss just to take him down a peg or two!

“They say ‘better the devil you know,’ but I’m not so sure. I do know Teresa and the spin she’s sure to put on this. You’re an unknown, but at least I know you have no ulterior motive.”

“I’m not going, so there’s no more to say,” Amalia said firmly.

“Still, I’m not dumping you in the rain. Where to?”

She lived in an older section of town, with lots of flats and small markets, winding streets and little parking. Nothing like the palatial home he must live in surrounded by gardens and giving a stupendous view of the city and the Med.

“It’s off Via Estrada,” she said.

“So what’s Vicente’s game plan?” he asked a moment later, easily driving in the rainy evening twilight.

“He wants to win,” Amalia pointed out dryly.

“So do I,” Rafael said.

“He thinks you’ll be distracted by Ms. Valesquez and that will give him the edge,” she said, hoping to startle him.

Rafael glanced at her a second. “Honest. Hmm … unusual.”

“Then you must hang out with the wrong people,” she snapped. First he considered she would sabotage his race, now he seemed surprised to find her an honest person. The nerve of the man! She clutched her purse tighter, hoping she could hold on to her temper until she reached home.

“Touchy, too. I bet there’s temper in there somewhere,” he mocked. “But being the perfect little personal assistant to Vicente, I’m sure you’ve damped that down a lot.”

She wanted to say something pithy to knock him off his high horse, but nothing came to mind. She hated that!

“Do you think Teresa would distract me?” he asked, turning onto Via Estrada.

“I have no idea,” she replied stiffly. His affair with the beautiful woman was none of her business. She refused to speculate based on the innuendos of the press. “If you and my boss have to have a stupid race, I suspect one distraction would be equal to another.”

“So maybe I should find a beautiful woman to ride with him.”

Amalia said nothing. Rafael had to know Stefano was married. Did he think Stefano would be unfaithful to his wife for a balloon race?

“No thoughts?” he pressed.

“None you want to hear,” she murmured. “Turn at the second traffic signal, right. Then three blocks to Via Escondito.”

“Maybe I do want to hear,” he said.

She hesitated a moment, but knowing she was almost home, she felt reckless. “It’s that stupid bet. Don’t you think the two of you could find better use for that much money than betting it against each other? There are hungry children, sick people, homeless in the world who could benefit.”

“I give to charity,” he protested.

He couldn’t see it; his type never would. She shook her head. He lived so differently from the masses.

“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll turn over my winnings to your favorite charity. You just name it and I’ll sign the check right over.”

She looked at him in astonishment. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“Why not? The money isn’t the important part of the wager, the winning is.”

Amalia turned to look out at the street. She couldn’t imagine carelessly dismissing fifty thousand Euros.

When he reached her apartment building a few minutes later, he stopped in front and looked up through the windshield. The building was old, but still interesting, with stonework embellishments and tall windows.

“Is the inside also old, or has it been renovated?”

“The building is almost a hundred years old, so of course the inside has been renovated.” About fifty years ago, but Amalia saw no need to tell him that.

He looked at her. “I’m sorry you won’t be going with me. I love a challenge.”

Amalia frowned. “I’d be no challenge.”

“Getting you on my side would be the challenge. Teammates should share the goal. Would you throw your heart into my race, or hamper it at every turn?”

“We’ll never know, will we?” she asked. He was so close she could see the faint lines radiating from the corners of his eyes. See the deep-brown irises that almost melded into the black pupils.

He rubbed a finger lightly down her cheek. “Seems a shame.”

She jerked back. “Thank you for the ride,” she said hastily, throwing open the door and scrambling from the car. She made a quick dash to the front door and hardly felt the rain. She was churning with the emotional onslaught of his touch that had her insides turning to mush. He was wrong—she’d be no challenge to him at all if he ever turned his attentions on her!

She turned and watched as he tooted the horn and drove away, puddles splashing from the wheels. Long after the tail-lights had merged into traffic, she gazed after the sleek black dream machine. She didn’t even own a car. Not that she needed the expense as the bus served her perfectly well. She and Jose had a nice flat, nothing like the home she’d grown up in, but the best she could afford. Her job was good, and in only a few years she’d be able to return to her own education.

Opening the door to the flat, she saw she’d beaten Jose home, probably because of the ride Rafael had given her. She’d start dinner then change. Afterward, she would read up on what she could find on the Internet about hot air balloons. She knew only the rudimentary facts about the sport, which she’d gleaned from Stefano’s enthusiastic discussion when he returned from some ballooning event.

She did know long jumps meant trips beyond the one-to three-hour ones near a festival site. They were rarer than the gathering of balloonists in favorite spots like Barcelona or London or Albuquerque, New Mexico, in America. Those races followed some prescribed activities, like waves of balloons in the morning flights or just before sunset. They also required a chase crew to pick them up when they came down. If there were competitions, it was usually dropping beanbags in target sites. Points went to those who dropped the closest to the center or who dropped earlier rather than later.

Once in comfortable and warm sweats, Amalia turned on her computer. She told herself she was learning about the sport to talk more knowledgeably with her boss. But she also searched for what would fascinate a dynamic man like Rafael Sandoval. Doing a search on his name, she began to read about his life. Some aspects she knew, other items were new. A complete dossier online. Did he know people could find out so much merely by tapping a few keys on a computer?

Despite her own reservations about flight, she wondered a bit wistfully what it would be like to sail soundlessly over the countryside, going where the wind blew, seeing farms and towns from the air with a man who made life seem more exciting than anything she’d experienced.

His own parents were divorced. According to one source, he maintained “cordial relationships” with both, whatever that meant. She missed her parents all the time. She couldn’t imagine having mere “cordial relationships” with them.

“Hola, I’m home,” Jose called.

So much for dreaming about hot air balloon rides and sexy millionaires who took to the air! Reality returned: she had dinner to finish.

* * *

Rafael let himself into the empty house from the garage. It was raining like a monsoon outside. The house was dark and a bit chilled. He flipped on the switch to illuminate the mudroom, then stepped into the hall. Turning on lights as he walked back to the kitchen, he considered the bet he’d made. Then he almost laughed remembering the outrage of Vicente’s prim PA when he’d suggested she might sabotage his flight.

He didn’t know what had made him drive back by Vicente’s office building at the end of the working day. He had wanted to talk to Amalia to see if he could glean any information to explain why Vicente had suggested she be part of his crew. It made even less sense now that he knew Teresa was going with him. What was Vicente’s thinking? He couldn’t seriously suppose that Teresa would distract Rafael from his goal of winning the race?

The short car ride with Amalia hadn’t given him much insight except he now knew she deplored the bet for altruistic financial reasons. But she didn’t seem to have a special interest in Vicente’s winning. Or his losing.

But she intrigued Rafael for other reasons. She seemed as jumpy as a cat with dogs baying. He’d caught her watching him the few times he’d actually gone to Vicente’s office. Rafael was used to that from women, but she never flirted with him, never acknowledged any interest besides the looks he’d feel from time to time. If he glanced her way, her eyes would already be moving away.

What made her tick? He’d given her even more reason for Vicente to lose by promising his winnings to her favorite charity. An offer which she had not jumped on. That puzzled him as well. Most people he knew would instantly come up with a name or cause to gain that much money.

Stefano Vicente had long been a thorn in his side, ever since he’d made a rather underhanded maneuver five years ago that had cost Rafael time and money. Rafael would delight in showing up the man in front of the Business Alliance. Stefano had been the only ballooner in the group until Rafael took up the sport. Vicente liked to brag, but those bragging rights would be curtailed when Rafael beat him—especially since he was the newcomer to the sport.

The bet presented a new personal challenge as well—piloting a balloon farther afield. The trick would be with the weather and getting an ongoing reliable way to indicate the wind factor. How much fuel could he carry to keep airborne longer, without being too much weight for lift? The logistics suddenly seemed daunting enough to fire up his determination not only to beat Vicente, but to try for a new record.

Rafael smiled. He loved pitting his own resources against others. He could already see himself standing in front of the BBA and accepting Stefano’s check. That he’d now promised to turn it over to charity didn’t bother him. The entire bet was not about the money, but about proving to Stefano Vicente that he wasn’t the only one in Barcelona with the cojones to venture into the unknown. Their balloons could end up over the Pyrenees, or over the Med. He briefly wondered if they could get to Africa. No, that was unlikely, as this time of year the prevailing winds blew north and west.

Opening the oven, he savored the aroma of the casserole his housekeeper had prepared and set in the oven before she left for home. It wouldn’t be done for another half hour. He was home earlier than usual, having left work to get to Vicente’s building early enough to catch Amalia.

The phone rang and Rafael picked up the kitchen extension.

“Sandoval,” he said.

“Hola,” Teresa said in her sultry voice.

“Teresa,” he acknowledged. He wasn’t expecting to hear from her tonight. Was she calling about the race?

“It’s raining and I’m bored,” she said. “It’s too wet to go out, and there’s nothing on television. No friends want to venture forth to visit me.”

He could hear the pout in her voice. Picture her lush red lips in a moue that invited kissing.

“Unless you do,” she finished.

He liked Teresa. They had fun together when they went out. But he did not relish becoming a frequent visitor at her home. That led to ideas that he was definitely not pursuing. She knew that.

“Not tonight. It’s pouring and I just got home. Besides, I need to start planning for the race. I heard Vicente called you and you’re going with me.”

“Won’t that be delightful, just the two of us in the gondola of the balloon, riding high above the crowds?”

“Delightful,” he replied sardonically. Did she have any idea what was involved? If she thought they’d enjoy a tryst, he had better explain the facts of balloon racing.

“Ohhh, I could come there and plan the race with you,” she said, as if it were a sudden idea.

“I thought you didn’t want to go out into the rain,” he said, loosening his tie. He wanted to look at maps covering all the possible directions the balloon might go on the long jump, get a head start on preparing for the event. He didn’t have time to entertain anyone.

“If I get a taxi there, I won’t get very wet,” she almost purred.

“Not tonight, babe. I’ve got work to do.”

“Honestly, Rafael, you need to slow down a bit and enjoy all that money you make.”

Or let you enjoy it, he thought cynically. He knew the women he dated were attracted to his money and his notoriety. Normally it didn’t bother him but tonight it did. If he were a pauper, would Teresa even look at him? Not in a million years. Much less invite him to her home.

Unexpectedly the image of Vicente’s PA flashed into his mind. Amalia would probably do more than look at him if he were a pauper, she’d try to help him find a job and a place to live. Get money from the rich to help out the poor.

Great, he was either a charity case or a meal ticket, which didn’t paint a very complimentary picture of him either way. Had that been what his father faced? He hadn’t stuck with marriage for long. Unlike his mother who reveled in the state, if five husbands to date were any indication.

Rafael didn’t like the way he was thinking. Reminders of his parents always fed his frustration. He had felt the odd man out in his family from the first time he’d been sent away to boarding school. His father was too busy to care for a child, and his mother was always concentrating on attracting her next husband to devote much time to her two sons. They would have done better not to have had children in the first place.

But then he wouldn’t be here, nor his brother, so maybe it hadn’t been all bad. But he had no plans for marriage for a long time—if ever.

“I’ve got to go. How about dinner tomorrow night?” he offered, to placate her.

There was a pause, then Teresa accepted. She wanted to talk longer, but he soon ended the conversation.

He had time to change into casual clothes before the casserole would be ready. He wanted to begin his study of the weather patterns and wind flows he might expect to find when making the long balloon trip. He liked planning strategy almost as much as implementation. But he did enjoy the flights he made with the balloon. Work kept him busier than he might like during the summer months, yet when time permitted, he’d take a sail in the balloon. He had several friends who volunteered for the chase team, in exchange for rides.

It occurred to him as he climbed the stairs that spending every day for a week or longer with Teresa might be more than he could take. She was fun an evening at a time, but how would she hold up to hours in the basket with the harsh sound of the burners going on and off? Or with the unexpected accommodations they’d have to make for the nights when they touched down who knew where? It wasn’t like a normal holiday trip where they could phone ahead for reservations. Or festivals, where they knew where they were to put down each day, with the chase team already on-site.

They’d have to bed down wherever the balloon landed and be up early to get the dawn sky. He planned to beat Vicente, and there would be no time to look for the amenities she was used to.

He couldn’t picture Teresa lasting. Was that Vicente’s hope—rather than Teresa distracting him, she might abandon him? What would Rafael do if Teresa didn’t stay the course? He would not forfeit, that he knew, even if he had to tie her to the gondola for the race. Or take Vicente’s PA as a substitute.

As he changed into dark jeans and a dark sweater, Rafael thought about Amalia. She lived in an old building in an older section of town. She hadn’t gushed about him giving her a ride. He almost smiled. Instead she’d berated him for squandering all that money on a bet.

And she’d looked outraged when he touched her cheek. The skin had felt warm and soft, and he bet she was warm and soft all over. Though she hid it behind a prickly exterior, she was a very feminine woman.

She still hadn’t said which charity she’d like the payment to go to. He’d have to contact her again to find out. Not that he needed an excuse to call most women, but with this one … it would probably be wiser.