Читать книгу Escape to Paradise - Pamela Yaye - Страница 9

Chapter 2

Santiago Medina didn’t make it a habit to stare. Or to approach strangers at the airport, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the woman who had just entered the Dulles International Airport first-class lounge. He loved long hair, but her short, trendy hairstyle was stunning. And so were her almond-shaped eyes. They were so bright, so luminous, it was impossible for him to look away. She had to be a dancer, a performer, someone who made a living thrilling audiences on a Las Vegas stage. No way she was stuck behind a desk working a regular nine-to-five. Not with that radiant butterscotch skin, that oval face and those pretty, luscious lips.

His mouth dried, but Santiago doubted that water could quench his thirst. Ridiculously beautiful, she had a unique, ethereal look that made her stand out in the thick crowd of commuters. Her face was free of makeup, scrubbed clean, but her beauty was undeniable. He wanted to touch her. And not just because she had the slender shape of a ballerina and legs that stretched on for miles. He’d always been able to see with his heart what others couldn’t see with their eyes, and he sensed that this woman was in enormous pain. Sadness seeped from her pores. It enveloped her, hovered like a ghost. Her grief was palpable, real, so heavy the entire luxury lounge was cloaked in it.

The overhead lights flickered, and for a moment Santiago feared the power would go out. He glanced outside the window and released a heavy sigh. Rain shot down from somber gray clouds, and lightning bathed the sky in a blinding white hue. Thunder boomed, crashed, roared like a train flying down the tracks. His flight to Cabo San Lucas had been delayed—twice—and if the weather advisory for D.C. was lifted in the next twenty-four hours he’d consider it a divine act of God.

Leaning back in his seat, he cleared his mind of all stress, of all worries. He was anxious to see his family, but he couldn’t help wondering if the brutal weather was a sign of things to come. Were stormy days ahead? His mother was booked to have abdominal surgery at the end of the month and she would be out of commission for weeks. His workaholic father would rather travel the country brokering new deals than help manage the resort. It was up to him to oversee the renovation project, and he was already dreading every minute of it.

Santiago calculated the number of hours he’d spent waiting at Dulles International Airport and strangled a groan of frustration. He was stranded, but at least he was comfortable. The spacious first-class lounge had all the comforts of home—semireclining chairs, plush oversize couches, and a restaurant that carried everything from crab salad to Peking duck.

He picked up the Newsweek magazine lying on the glass table and started to read. Two sentences in, his gaze strayed back across the room. He guessed that she was in her midtwenties, but from ten feet away it was hard to know for sure. She looked wounded, broken, but she walked into the lounge with unparalleled grace. She moved with poise, confidence, the elegance of an Oscar-winning actress. And when she sat down in his line of vision, only a few rows away from him, he caught a whiff of her fragrant perfume.

Santiago watched her on the sly. Filled with compassion, he wondered why she looked so sad, why she had such a heavy heart. Was she flying home to care for an ailing relative? Or to attend the funeral of a close, dear friend?

Santiago saw a slim man slide up to her. The woman frowned, said a few words he couldn’t make out, and resumed staring out the window. Shoulders hunched in defeat, the stranger slunk off alone toward the bar. A second later another guy showed up. He was a dead ringer for 50 Cent, and his jeans were so low he was waddling like a pregnant woman in her last trimester. This time, the woman didn’t even turn around. Off the guy went with his tail between his legs. On and on it went until Santiago lost count of her suitors.

Amused, he watched as the woman dissed and dismissed every man who approached her. What was the matter with these guys? Couldn’t they see that she was upset? She needed a friend, someone to tell her that God was bigger than her problems. And he was just the man to do it.

Tossing down the magazine, he straightened his shoulders and adjusted his clothes. Opening his carry-on bag, he fished out his favorite cologne and sprayed some on his shirt collar. Just because I can’t take a shower doesn’t mean I can’t smell nice. He started his workday as early as six o’clock, sometimes earlier. Before most people got out of bed he had already showered, changed and reviewed the morning’s agenda. Being a freelance business consultant was a taxing job, filled with enormous stress and long hours, but he derived great pleasure from fixing companies on the brink of financial ruin. And his six-figure fee wasn’t chump change.

Santiago stood, but didn’t make any moves toward her. Second thoughts set in, pelting him in the back like rocks. You saw what she did to those other guys, his conscience jeered. What makes you think she won’t humiliate you, too? He shrugged off his doubts. There was nothing to fear. After all, he wasn’t trying to make a love connection. His motives were pure; his desire was to help, to reach out. Two years ago he’d been entrenched in the depths of grief, so consumed with pain he was convinced he’d die of a broken heart. But then he’d had the good fortune of meeting Father Francis, and the Catholic priest had helped restore his faith. That was why he had to reach out to her. It’s my Christian duty, he told himself, forcing his eyes away from her sinful curves.

Wallet in hand, he strode purposely through the private seating area and joined the line for the snack bar. As Santiago placed his order and then collected the food, he was attacked by a severe case of self-doubt. His limbs felt weak, like they were coated in papier-mâché. He couldn’t remember ever being this nervous. Not even when— Santiago steeled himself against those painful memories. He wasn’t going there. Not today. He had to move forward, had to keep living. He planned to tell this to the beautiful young woman staring aimlessly out the window. He’d lived through a devastating tragedy, but he was still here. He was still standing.

His confidence came roaring back. I can do this, he told himself. It’s no big deal. But when she glanced his way and their eyes met, Santiago knew his mission was in jeopardy before it had even begun.

Half-dead with exhaustion, Claudia dropped into her seat hungry, tired and shivering with cold. The turbulence on the United flight was so severe, she could hardly think, let alone sleep, and although the Boeing 747 had landed safely at Dulles International Airport, she’d stumbled off the plane feeling more stressed out than ever.

Her stomach grumbled, rumbled like the thunder wreaking havoc outside, but Claudia didn’t even consider getting up from her plush chair. Sleep first, food second. Crossing her legs, she nestled her chin inside her sweater and closed her eyes. The darkness provided a reprieve, a much-needed break from her thoughts.

Her mind cleared.

Her breathing slowed.

Her limbs relaxed.

Imagining herself on a white sandy beach, stretched out on a comfy lounge chair, brought an indulgent smile to Claudia’s lips. Sunshine rained down from the sky, the wind carried the scent of calla lilies and she could hear the waves lapping softly against—

“It’s over. The company’s finished.”

“You think so?”

“Hell yeah! And the CEO and his bandits are to blame. Damn crooks.”

Claudia’s eyes flapped open. Her daydream came to a screeching halt, and fear shot through her veins. It was hard to breathe. No, impossible. The men sitting behind her in the first-class lounge were discussing the collapse of Qwest Capital Investments. The news of William’s arrest had reached Washington? Of course it had! her inner voice screamed. The Dow plunged the day her ex was indicted and, according to published reports, the company had lost millions.

“The wife’s definitely in cahoots with him.”

“Not necessarily. Sometimes the spouse is the last to know.”

“If you believe that,” the man with the gruff voice said, “then you’re even dumber than that greasy-haired kid on Jersey Shore!”

A blast of laughter, and then he resumed speaking. “Claudia Prescott is a scheming liar just like her husband, and I hope they both get a lengthy prison sentence. I say lock ’em up and throw away the key!”

Claudia’s eyes burned and her nose itched. She coughed, ran a hand over her chest to alleviate the burning. It felt like someone had poured Russian vodka down her throat, and the more she swallowed the stronger it burned. Their words cut with the precision of a blade, sliced so deep she’d never be whole again. Stealing went against everything she’d been taught, and although Claudia didn’t know the two men, for some crazy reason she cared what they thought.

“The Prescotts used investors’ money to fund their extravagant lifestyle. They have luxury cars, residential properties and even a three-hundred-foot yacht. Can you believe that? Their victims are penniless, left with nothing but crippling debt, and they’re living the good life.”

Claudia dug her fingernails into her armrest. She didn’t dare turn around, didn’t dare open her mouth to defend herself. Let them talk. They didn’t know about her charity work, or the community projects she’d donated her time to. She was innocent, and that was all that mattered. Then why do I feel like curling into a ball and sobbing into my travel pillow?

Overcome by a strong, distinct scent, Claudia shot up straight in her chair. Terror struck, causing fear to ricochet off the walls of her chest. It couldn’t be… He couldn’t be here in the first-class lounge, could he? Circa 1840 wasn’t just any cologne. The scarcity of the ingredients and the six-month fermentation process made it the most unique fragrance in the world. And, at a thousand dollars a bottle, the most expensive. Her ex-husband wore it because he liked flaunting his wealth. And obviously someone else in the first-class lounge did, too.

“How are you today?”

Claudia blinked and turned toward the man with the rich, deep voice. His tone was soft, as smooth as honey. She narrowed her eyes and hit him with a leave-me-the-hell-alone look. He didn’t budge. Instead of making himself scarce, he extended his hand, offering a white cup brimming with whipped cream.

“You look like you could use a warm drink. How about a cup of hot chocolate?”

“No, thanks.”

“Please, take it. I insist.”

Stepping forward, he rested the drink on the table beside her. His scent drifted over her, hitting her square in the nose. Her stomach heaved, pitched from left to right, coiled in a knot so tight she couldn’t swallow.

“I’m Santiago.”

“Good for you.”

“I brought lunch.” He held up a clear plastic bag. “I hope soup, sandwiches and chocolate brownies are okay.”

“Do I know you?”

“Not yet. I’ve been here for hours, and if I keep playing solitaire on my iPhone I’ll go crazy,” he confessed, sporting a grin that revealed straight, white teeth. “To pass the time I thought we could talk.”

Claudia rolled her eyes. What was the matter with these guys? This was the fifth one to hit on her since she’d arrived at the lounge. Only this man in the tan sports coat, white button-down shirt and dark slacks was dreamy. Gorgeous, actually. A Hollywood casting director’s dream client. He had a full head of short, wavy black hair, grayish-brown eyes that twinkled with mirth and a smile as blinding as a solar eclipse. Over six feet of lean, muscular man and not a gold tooth in sight. Certainly a step up from the gangster who’d swaggered over earlier. “Look, I’m sure you’re a nice guy, but I’m just not interested. I don’t want to get to know you better or hook up the next time I’m in town, either. I just want to be left alone. Got it?”

“We’ll have lunch together, and then I’ll be on my way.”

“I’m not hungry.” As the lie fell off her lips, her stomach erupted in protest, howling louder than a band of coyotes. If she didn’t eat soon, lounge security would be peeling her up off the floor, and the last thing Claudia wanted was more public humiliation. She was starving, but she didn’t want to break bread with this immaculately groomed pretty boy with polished shoes. “I don’t have much of an appetite.”

Another howl, but this one was accompanied by a sharp hunger pang.

“You’re not going to let a nice guy like me eat all alone, are you?”

Coughing to disguise the rumblings in her belly, she opened her wallet and fished out a twenty-dollar bill. “Fine, but I insist on paying you for the food. Will this cover it?”

“Miss, please put away your money. Buying you lunch is my pleasure.”

Before Claudia knew what was happening, he sat down and rested the plastic bag on the table between them. A savory aroma filled the air. Growing hungrier with each passing second, she licked the dryness from her lips and accepted the container he graciously offered.

“When I flew in this morning the skies were clear and blue, but now the rain is giving the city a beating,” he said, settling comfortably in the chair beside her. “I hope the weather advisory lifts soon. This is a nice lounge, but I don’t want to sleep here!”

He chuckled, but Claudia didn’t join in his laughter. She concentrated on eating her minestrone soup. Spooning baby carrots into her mouth, she pretended not to notice him watching her. His eyes were laser beams, piercing her flesh and heightening her fear. Something about him was gnawing at her. It was…his cologne. “Are you wearing Circa 1840?”

His eyebrows fused together. “Wow, you really know your colognes.”

“My ex wore it for years. It’s a nice fragrance, but I think it’s way too expensive.”

“Do you think there’s something wrong with people enjoying the fruits of their wealth?”

“Not if it’s earned by honest means, but most millionaires make it rich by exploiting others.” Claudia paused, thought a moment and said, “The cost of one bottle could feed a hundred people in my city Thanksgiving dinner, and I think providing the basic necessities of life is far more important than smelling good.”

He didn’t respond, just nodded and leaned back in his seat.

“I’m sorry,” she said, with a small shrug of her shoulders. “I didn’t mean to lay a guilt trip on you. What you choose to do with your money is none of my business.”

“No harm done. We’re just talking, right?”

Still hungry, she reached into the bag and unwrapped one of the sandwiches. She took a bite and sighed in contentment. Claudia didn’t bother to hide her pleasure. Loaded with vegetables and barbeque sauce, the sandwich was delicious and tasted even better than it looked.

“Now that we’re friends, I think it’s only fair that you tell me your name.”

To buy herself some time, she picked up the hot chocolate and tasted it. This Santiago guy isn’t half bad, she thought, as the hot, creamy liquid warmed her body. He was generous, outgoing and seriously cute. Back in the day Claudia would have given him her number, but now she knew better. Knew that no matter how nice a guy seemed he was still just a man. Someone capable of breaking her heart, and killing her hopes and dreams.

“I’m still waiting for that name…”

“It’s Claudia.”

“A lovely name for a lovely lady.” A smile pinched his cheeks, and a set of dimples emerged. “What part of Mexico are you going to?”

“What makes you think I’m going to Mexico?”

He pointed at her purse, and Claudia followed the route of his gaze. The travel book she’d purchased at the terminal’s bookstore was peeking out from behind her makeup case.

“I was born and raised there, so if you have any questions just ask.”

Claudia cleaned her mouth with a napkin. She wanted to tell him to get lost, wanted to send him on his way, but she didn’t. How could she when he’d brought her such a tasty lunch? They were stuck in the airport, marooned until the storm passed, so why not use the time chatting with this sexy Latino guy about Cabo San Lucas?