It was apparent, from the moment they exited customs, that Alice wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

And Carlos was in his element.

From the way he flirted with the homely, portly immigration official, somehow fast-tracking them to the front of the line, to the way the way he joked with the customs officers, calling them all “papi” and high-fiving them before they proceeded seamlessly to baggage claim, Alice was quickly learning why Shane had praised Carlos’ skills while traveling together in Latin America.

Back in Philadelphia, he walked tall, with a certain confidence and swagger, yes.

But it turned out that he was actually being reserved at home.

Here? In the Caribbean?

He was a walking, talking charmer. A living and breathing Don Juan. And a beyond-perfect travel companion, somehow managing to move them to the front of the car rental line and getting them upgraded from a Toyota to a BMW.

As they walked over to the sleek black car, Alice looked up at him, shaking her head. “You’re a man of hidden talents.”

He chuckled softly. “Maybe.”

“No, really,” she said. “I’ve never seen anyone work an airport like that. It was almost as if you sprinkled the whole place with fairy dust.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Fairy dust?”

“Proverbially.”

“If I was less confident in my sexuality, I might take offense.”

“Oh, give me a break!” she guffawed. “You ooze—”

Oh, God.

She was about to say “sex appeal.”

She could feel her cheeks flare with heat as she rolled her suitcase to the truck of the car and stopped.

“Alice Story,” he said from behind her, his voice holding back barely restrained laughter, “what were you about to say?”

She turned to face him, lifting her chin despite her chagrin. “I don’t need to say it. You know exactly how charming you are.”

He rolled his suitcase next to hers and slid his hands into his pockets. “I don’t. You’ll have to enlighten me.”

He looked so cool and cocky, a delicious shiver rolled down her back and the breath she drew was slightly ragged.

“You’re a terrible flirt,” she said softly, her voice lacking real conviction. Damn him for being so effortlessly smooth and devastatingly handsome.

“No, Allie,” he said, his gray eyes dark and wide as he looked down at her. “Back there? I was just being myself. When I start flirting with someone…you’ll know.”

He lifted one of his hands, and Alice’s breath caught, some part of her certain he was going to raise his palm to her cheek and cup it. Draw her closer. Let his lips drop to hers. Would she stop him if he tried something like that? Would she have the strength to push him away?

A high-pitched beep-beep noise made her jump as she realized that he’d just taken the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the trunk.

She blinked at him, discomposed. “You opened the trunk.”

“Yes, boss.” He grinned at her. “Were you expecting something else?”

“Nope!” she chirped. “That’s, um, perfect. Because…bags. I’m—I’m going to go and, um, sit in the car.”

“Okay.”

His lips were tilted up in a knowing smile, and she turned away from him abruptly, marching around the car to the passenger side and opening the door. Easing herself into the hot interior, she sat down and settled herself, unbuttoning and shrugging out of her hot suit jacket, which she draped over the back seat. Wearing only a white silk tank top, she leaned back against the supple leather seat, waiting for him to join her and turn on the air conditioning.

She heard the trunk slam shut, and a moment later the driver’s door opened. He slid into his seat, looking over at her.

“You took off your jacket.”

“I didn’t expect it to be so hot,” she sighed.

He nodded, his eyes dropping to the arm closest to him for a second. “You never take off your jacket.”

“It’s not this hot in Philadelphia,” she said, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious as he inspected her bare arm. Reaching into her bag for an elastic, she gathered her shoulder-length hair in her hand and fastened it into a high ponytail.

He watched her with an intensity bordering on fascination, his eyes darkening as she smoothed some flyaway strands of blonde behind her ears. “What?”

“I like your—” He gestured to her ponytail with a soft chuckle. “It’s cute.”

Cute? Of all the words she’d heard from men to describe her looks, cute generally didn’t make the list. Striking? Stunning? Gorgeous? Yes. Cute? No. But as he grinned at her, she found herself smiling back, because this was Carlos, and a genuine “cute” from him was worth a hundred contrived compliments from other men.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re right,” he said, “it’s hot.”

He leaned forward, the muscles in his shoulders bunching and twisting as he shrugged out of his own jacket, laying it in the back seat on top of hers. She watched as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his starched, long-sleeved, white buttoned-down shirt, then rolled the sleeves halfway up his forearms.

Since he rarely removed his jacket, she wasn’t accustomed to seeing the veins that twisted up his tanned skin or the muscle tone in his forearms that was hidden from her on a daily basis. She suddenly wondered what he did for exercise to make his arms so muscular.

He cleared his throat, and she snapped her eyes up from his arm, blinking up at him before facing front.

“The islands are always humid,” he said, putting the key in the ignition and turning over the powerful engine. He fiddled with the controls, and air conditioning suddenly blasted from the vents, making goose bumps stand up on Alice’s arms. “Have you ever been to the Caribbean?”

She shook her head, still not trusting herself to look his way without ogling his toned arms again. “No. My parents didn’t take us on many vacations, but when they did, it was exclusively to Europe.”

“You missed out.”

“How do you mean?” she asked as he backed out of the rental car parking space and pointed them toward the airport exit.

“It’s a beautiful world down here,” he said, reaching forward to turn on the radio. “Look around, Allie.”

As some gentle, rhythmic music filled the car, she rolled down her window, letting the warm breeze kiss her bare neck. As she looked out the windshield to the left, she was startled by the sparkling electric blue of the sea.

“Ohhhh,” she murmured.

“Pretty spectacular, eh? El mar,” said Carlos, looking out his window before shooting her a perplexed look. “Your window’s down.”

She nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“But the AC’s on.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re a woman of contradictions, Alice.”

“How so?” she asked, crossing her legs toward him as he stared straight aheadat the palm tree–lined highway.

She could observe him like this—while they were conversing and he was driving—without seeming like a lecherous cougar. She traced the strong line of his square jaw, the bristle of his jet-black beard just starting to grow in after a day of travel, his omnipresent dimples, deeper when he was amused, and those long, long lashes that made his gray eyes look so sweet, so innocent, when his body was clearly made for wickedness.

Her cheeks flushed as her thoughts took a dive, but she didn’t look away from him. First of all, he wasn’t looking her way, but second of all, he’d caught her blushing so many times this week, what did it matter now anyway?

“You really want to know?” he asked.

She nodded. “I value your opinion.”

The dimple closest to her dented his cheek as he grinned her at words.

“Okay,” he said. “Well, for starters, you’re a tough businesswoman, but you’ve got a real soft spot for your employees.”

“Hmm,” she murmured, unable to argue with him. “That’s true. What else?”

“Your father did a number on you and your sisters. You could hate him for it, but you don’t.”

“Sometimes I do,” she argued.

“No,” he said softly, glancing at her. “You get annoyed by him. Disappointed. Hurt. You don’t hate him. I’ve never seen you hate anyone.”

He was right, of course. “What else?”

“You hide…” He stopped, adjusting his hands on the steering wheel.

“I hide?”

He sighed. “You hide behind work, I think, because you don’t trust people.” He cleared his throat. “Men, especially.”

She flinched, her brows pinching together as she watched his face for meanness or judgment but found neither. “What do you mean?”

He glanced at her quickly before looking back at the road. “I’ve watched a hundred men make passes at you over the years. But you…”

“I what?” she murmured, hanging on his words, hoping he could help her see herself as clearly as he did.

“You have trouble trusting men. That’s your father’s legacy to you.”

Alice was silent as her gaze fell from Carlos’ face. “You’re right. Trust doesn’t…doesn’t come easily for me.”

Except with you, her heart qualified. I trust you, Carlos. Of all men on earth, I trust you the most.

“I understand why,” he said gently. “You’re an heiress. You own a successful company. Your family name is old and powerful. You worry that a man could pretend to care for you but have ulterior motives.”

She nodded, playing with the hem of her skirt as he told her truths about her life that she’d never actually articulated aloud.

“But someday,” he said, a certainty to his voice that made her fragile hopes turn to yearning, “a man might come along who doesn’t care about any of that. A man might come along who just wants you for you.”

She looked up at him, surprised by the sudden and unexpected burn of tears at the back of her eyes. She clenched her jaw, willing herself not to cry.

Carlos stopped at a red light and turned to her, his gray eyes soft yet still intense. “I hope when he does, you’ll be able to see him.”

She gazed back at him, wondering, Are you that man? Could you be that man for me? You, who followed me when I couldn’t offer you anything except a promise? You, who gave me your trust when I hadn’t earned it? You, who invade my dreams and make my heart tremble with longing? You, younger than me yet somehow wiser than me, filling spaces in my heart that I didn’t realize were empty?

The car behind them honked to let them know the light had changed, and suddenly his words from earlier circled back to her: I’m working on it. She’s going to be…a challenge.

Smarten up, Alice.

He had someone in his life whom he was pursuing. And it certainly wasn’t his seven-years-older, complicated, demanding, workaholic boss.

She sighed.

“Me too,” she said, reaching forward to turn up the radio, rest her elbow on the open window, and watch sun-kissed Santo Domingo slide quickly by.

***

An hour later they checked in at the Gran Palacio de Plata and were taken, via golf cart, to their adjoining rooms, which overlooked the Caribbean. Evening was quickly approaching, and it was too late for a tour of the vineyards, though they’d been promised one first thing in the morning.

As the golf cart sped away, Alice turned to Carlos.

“Travel is always tiring,” she said, pressing her key card to the reader. “See you in the morning?”

“How about an early dinner?” he asked quickly.

“Dinner?” she parroted, her eyes widening like he’d asked her out on a hot date.

“We have to eat, right?”

“I guess so.”

“And I’m sure there are some local wines served at the restaurant, so we could try one. Be ready for tomorrow.”

“Of course,” she said. “Good idea.”

He twisted his wrist and looked at his watch. “It’s five now. Why don’t we give ourselves an hour to unpack and freshen up?”

“Okay. Yes,” she said, nodding at him as she pushed her room door open. “Sounds good.”

“I’ll see you here in an hour.”

He watched her go, waiting until her door was closed and latched before letting himself inside of his room.

He pulled his suitcase to the bed and flopped down on his back, staring up at the ceiling fan, which rotated in lazy circles.

From their charged conversation in the car, to making up at the airport, to the soft weight of her sleeping head on his shoulder, to their discussion in the drive from Santo Domingo, he could feel things changing between them. And because he wanted the change—embraced it, even—he could only hope that working with each other had built a foundation strong enough to sustain it.

He could see her fighting herself as they drew closer, the way she’d lean a little closer to him, then force herself to jerk back. Lean closer, jerk back. What would it take, he wondered, for her to keep leaning? For her to trust that she could lean closer? Lean on him? That he was strong enough for both of them personally the way she’d been strong enough for them professionally.

He turned on the TV and unpacked three days’ worth of clothes, then took a quick shower, shaving and dressing in jeans and a light-blue buttoned-down dress shirt, which he rolled to the elbows. Chuckling softly as he remembered her staring at his arms in the car, he made a mental note to only wear a jacket if they were actually attending a business meeting and let his body tempt her whenever else possible.

At five fifty-eight, he stepped outside his door to wait for her.

A moment later, she appeared, wearing a simple navy-blue dress with a V neck and a white sweater thrown over her arm. She’d brushed out her blonde hair and put it back in a hairband, a style she didn’t wear very often, but it made her look younger than the tight bun she generally favored.

“You look nice,” he said, grinning at her.

“You too,” she said, glancing down at his pants. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in jeans.”

“Do you mind?”

She shook her head. “Of course not. This isn’t a business meeting. Just a—a casual dinner. Between coworkers.”

“Shall we?” he asked, gesturing toward the restaurant at the back of the main resort building.

They walked mostly in silence, as though accustoming themselves to each other out of the office. The path to the resort was lined with frangipani, and Carlos breathed deeply, savoring the smell of the sweet tropical blooms mixed with the brackish air from the sea.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” asked Alice, nodding toward the ocean.

He smiled. “Sí. It reminds me of home.”

“You miss it?”

“I miss my family.” He paused as his bare arm brushed against hers, and his voice deepened as he added, “But I made the right choice to move to Philly.”

They reached the entrance to an open-air restaurant, and Carlos gestured for her to precede him onto the small patio, which had tiki torches lining the perimeter and lit candles on every table.

“Dos para cenar?” asked the hostess.

“Sí, gracias,” answered Carlos. The hostess led them to a two-person table, and Carlos helped Alice with her chair.

A waitress appeared to fill their glasses with ice water.

“Honeymooners?” she asked with a sunny grin and a heavy accent.

“Honeymooners? No!” said Alice, jerking her head to look up at the server. “No. Coworkers. We work together. That’s all.”

The waitress looked at Alice like she was covered in crazy. “Ah. Sí. Bueno.”

Carlos looked up at the waitress and gave her a tight smile, taken down a little by Alice’s vehement denial.

“Mi suerte, guapo,” she said, grinning back at him. My luck, handsome.

Alice cleared her throat, drawing their attention away from each other and back to her. “I’d like some wine, please.”

“Sí, of course, madam.”

“Do you want wine?” Alice asked Carlos, cocking her head to the side. “I don’t actually know if you drink it.”

“I do,” he answered. “You choose.”

She requested a bottle of the local Bahía de Plata Chardonnay, waited until the waitress sauntered away, then turned to him. “What did she say to you?”

“Huh?”

“The waitress,” she clarified, toying with her empty wineglass as spots of pink appeared high on her cheeks.

Is she jealous? he wondered. Please, Lord, let her be jealous.
Carlos tilted his head to the side, staring at her with a slight smile. “She said that she was in luck.”

“Why?”

“I assume because you made it clear that we aren’t together.”

Alice’s eyes flared with heat that Carlos quietly welcomed, taking satisfaction in her reaction. “Oh.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, leaning forward. “But I’m not interested in her.”

“N-No?”

“Nope.” He shook his head. “I’m not ready to give up on my challenge yet.”

“Right.” Her shoulders slumped. “The challenging girl you’re working on.”

Carlos nodded slowly, holding her eyes, wondering if any part of Alice knew that he was talking about her.

The waitress returned with their wine, offering the bottle to Carlos for inspection. But he shook his head, gesturing to Alice. “Dáselo a ella.” For her.

“La señora?” The lady?

“Sí. Porque no?” Sure. Why not?

“Bueno.” She shifted, showing the bottle to Alice instead.

“Looks perfect. Thank you,” said Alice, though she was looking at Carlos, not the waitress.

As the server poured the wine in their glasses and then iced it in a small silver bucket tableside, a four-man band, wearing ponchos campesinos, entered the patio and set themselves up on a small stage in the corner behind Carlos.

“Cheers,” said Alice, raising her glass.

“What are we toasting?” he asked.

“Caribbean wines,” she said, offering him a rare smile.

He grinned back at her, clinking her glass before letting the smooth, buttery Chardonnay slide down his throat.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“Good. Very good.”

“I agree,” she said, holding onto her glass as she looked over at the musicians. “Is this Caribbean music?”

Carlos followed her eyes over his shoulder. “No. South American. See the guy on the right? He’s playing a zamponia. A pan flute. It’s not typically Caribbean.”

“I like it,” she said. “It’s unusual.”

He shrugged, looking back at Alice. “I guess. I had an aunt from Bolivia, and she used to listen to this kind of music all the time.”

As they sipped their wine, a nearby couple stood from their table and started dancing.

Carlos turned to her. “Do you dance, Alice?”

“Me? Not much.”

“Do you know how?”

“We all had to learn.” She chuckled softly. “I can fox-trot and waltz very poorly.”

“For a woman,” he said, looking into her eyes across the candlelit table, “dancing isn’t as much about skill as it is about trusting her partner. If he can lead well, she can dance well.”

“How are you at leading?” she asked, her voice soft and breathy.

“The best,” he said, cocking his head to the side and deciding to take a chance. “Would you like to dance, Allie?”

Her lips parted, and he saw it in her eyes—the instinct to refuse him, to tell him that, no, she didn’t want to dance. Would she let her heart, for once, overrule her head? Because the chance to hold her in his arms was so close, he wasn’t sure he could stand it if she said no.

“Okay,” she said, placing her glass on the table and nodding.

His heart leapt in surprise and elation, and he pushed his chair away from the table, rounding it to help her from her seat. He took her hand in his, flesh against flesh, reveling in the warmth of her skin, the delicate bones underneath. It had been a long time since he’d held her hand—there had been a time or two since he’d helped her down from the desk, to shake on a deal or congratulate her on new business—but this was different. This was completely different.

Pulling her to the small dance floor, he put one arm around her waist, then held up the other for her to clasp. She placed one hand—tentatively, at first—on his shoulder before taking his hand.

For the first time in in three years, Carlos Vega held Alice Story in his arms, and his heart whispered softly, There’s no going back now.

As they moved together to the soft music, one of the musicians stepped up to the microphone and started to sing:

“Cuando el dulzor de tu mirar, hizo temblar todo mi ser. Cuánta felicidad hallé, saber que tú me amabas también.”

“What’s he saying?” asked Alice, her voice uncertain, her lips not far from his ear.

His heart skipped a beat as he answered her because the words were terribly romantic, words he’d dreamed of saying to her, though he’d never really imagined he’d have the chance.

“It’s a love song,” he said. “He said, um…‘When the sweetness of your look made me tremble…how much happiness I found to know that you loved me too.’”

He felt her sharp intake of breath as he whispered to her, his breath surely kissing her ear.

“What else?” she asked, the tips of her breasts grazing his shirt as he pulled her closer, entwining his fingers through hers.

He translated for her: “‘Everything is beautiful since the moment I loved you. And now, I can never leave you because I adore you so, my darling.’”

“Oh,” she murmured softly, her body loosening in his arms, molding more closely to him.

He took their entwined hands, moving hers to his chest and flattening it there, then clasping it with his.

So close now and barely moving beyond a gentle sway, his cheek grazed hers, and he adjusted his hand on her back, holding onto her more tightly, memorizing this moment, lest he should never have the chance to revisit it again.

And Alice, so stalwart and strong and in charge in every other area of her life, leaned on him, into him, letting him hold her, letting him guide them, releasing control to him, and—for once—letting someone else be in charge.

The singer continued, and Carlos translated, “‘Just when I felt myself dying, the summer of your love arrived. Now I live happy, only for you.’”

Her fingers curled into his shoulder, the words affecting her as deeply as they were him.

“‘You taught me how to laugh and how to share. Of so much love, I could almost die. I only live for you,’” he murmured, his lips touching the delicate shell of her ear as they moved easily to the gentle rhythm, their bodies flush and supple.

Desperate to read her expression, he drew back from her just a little as the musicians played a short instrumental interlude, looking down into her eyes, which were wide and dazed. She slid her glance to his lips and rested there.

“Ah-leee,” he whispered, wondering if she was inviting him to kiss her.

“Carlos,” she whispered, her gaze still fixed hungrily on his lips.

His nose grazed hers, and he felt her breath hitch as she slid her hand from his shoulder to his neck.

He dipped his head to kiss her, then stopped.

Don’t do it, warned a sharp voice in his head, piercing the fog of his desire. I know you want to, but don’t do it. It’s too soon.

Flinching with frustrated want, he pulled her close to him, sliding his cheek against hers as the cantante started the last verse of the song. The words. Oh, God, the words could have been ripped from his very heart.

This song was written for us, he thought. For us and nobody else.

“Tell me the words,” she said in his ear, her voice low and breathless.

“‘Cuando me encuentre junto a ti, nunca te apartaré de mi,’” he sang along with the musicians, whispering against her hair. “‘When you’re beside me once again, I’ll never let you go.’”

She drew a ragged breath, arching her back to be closer to him, her breasts rubbing against his chest with every small movement, her nipples hard through her dress, through his shirt.

“‘Solo sabemos, tú y yo, cuanto sufrimos por este amor…’” His voice was gritty with emotion as he finished. “‘Only we know, you and I, how much we suffer for this love.’”

“Oh,” she sighed, the fingers on his chest curling against his shirt as the soft notes of the pan flute floated away on the evening breeze.

Light applause made them still their bodies, and Alice stepped away from him, dropping her hands from his shoulder and neck. She stood facing him, her chest lifting with each breath she took, her eyes stricken as they searched his.

“Calmate, Alice,” he said gently. “It was just a dance.”

She lifted her chin, like she knew he was lying, then turned away from him, heading back to the table and resuming her seat.

His body was in riot, his blood hot with hunger, his skin primed for more of her touch.

Get yourself in check, he thought as he followed her back to the table and sat down across from her.

“This morning,” she said, locking her eyes with his, “you said I’d know when you started flirting with someone.”

He nodded at her.

“That dance,” she said. “You were…flirting. With me.”

Was he? Because it felt more like making love to her with their clothes on. But if she needed to call it flirting, he could live with that.

He nodded again. “Yes.”

She dropped his eyes, gulping softly as she glanced down at the table before looking back up at him. “It’s not a good idea.”

“How do you know that?”

“We’re impossible, Carlos,” she said softly.

“I disagree, Alice.”

“We’re from different worlds.”

“Once, maybe. But the truth is that we’ve shared the same world for many years now.”

“I’m much older than you.”

“A few years.”

“Seven,” she corrected him.

He shrugged. “I don’t care.”

She paused for a moment as though processing his simple rebuttal, but her eyes were heavy when she finally said, “I’m your boss.”

“The best in the world,” he replied, nodding.

“Which means it’s impossible for us to—”

“No.” He leaned forward, reaching for her hand, taking it in his, lacing his strong tan fingers through her delicate white ones. “No, mi amor. I won’t accept that. Nothing’s impossible.”

“What about the complicated girl?” she whispered, though her eyes told him she’d finally figured it out.

“I hope she’ll give us a chance,” he answered, his thumb making soft circles on her hand.

“Please stop,” she whispered, pulling her hand away from his, her chest heaving with every breath she took.

“What’s next?” asked a chipper voice.

They looked up at the same time to see their waitress standing over them, grinning saucily back and forth between them. “More wine? Dinner?”

Slowly, Carlos slid his eyes from the waitress to Alice.

“What’s next, Allie?” he asked her in a low, intimate whisper, his eyes begging her for a chance to see how good they could be together.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, standing abruptly from her seat and hurrying from the patio.