In The Market For Love. Joy Avery
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to buy you.”
She fanned her hand around the colorful restaurant. “Isn’t that what this lunch is all about? Wine and dine me to get what you want.”
Alonso released a sexy chuckle that caressed her body like gentle fingers.
“Wine and dine you, huh?” He massaged his chin with two fingers and smiled. “Something tells me you’re worth far more than a chimichanga.”
“And that something would be absolutely correct. Good day, Mr. Wright.”
* * *
There was no way Alonso was letting Ms. Moore slip away. Not just because he needed to convince her to sell, but because something about the woman drew him in and dangled him like prey over the mouth of a hungry, lust-filled beast.
He never mixed business with pleasure, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the idea of spending a few pleasure-filled nights with her. Despite the potent desire to take her right there on the table, he refused to allow his craving to cloud his judgment. A lot rode on this deal.
With the money he’d already invested into the project—downtown shops, restaurants, a hotel and the most important landmark, a swanky event center to honor his grandfather—he stood to lose a lot of money. He didn’t like to lose at anything.
Think, Wright. Get her to stay.
“You owe me a soda.” When he folded his arms across his chest, her eyes drifted to his biceps, then shot up to meet his. So, he wasn’t the only one gripped by temptation.
“Excuse me?”
“You owe me a soda. At the hospital, you confiscated my soda and never returned it. I worked hard for that soda. You owe me a replacement.” Of course, he wasn’t serious, but the quizzical way she eyed him suggested she thought he was. He’d pay triple what he was already offering just to know what was racing through her head.
“Okay, then.” She dug into her purse. “How much do I owe you? A dollar? A dollar fifty? How about I give you two?”
Well, that hadn’t gone the way he’d intended. He’d expected a laugh, a smile, some show of amusement. Alonso touched her arm and his skin prickled. What the...? Suddenly, the temperature in the restaurant rose about ten degrees. If he started to sweat, he would sizzle and steam. How embarrassing would that be? He couldn’t remember the last time—or if ever—his body had reacted this way.
“Ms. Wr—Moore.” Shit. Why did he keep giving her his last name? “I was only kidding. I don’t want your money. We have a lunch appointment.” He shrugged. “Why not have lunch?”
Vivian mimicked his stance. “Instead of lunch, perhaps you should go home and get some rest. You keep confusing me with your sister. I’m certainly not old enough to be confused for your mother.”
Ah. She did have a sense of humor. “I’m an only child, and my mother is deceased.”
Panic spread across her face. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“You can make it up to me.” He pulled out her chair. “And as an incentive, I’ll tell you how I thought you were an eighty-year-old woman.” The revelation seemed to pique her curiosity.
“An eighty-year-old woman?” She eased into the chair. “This should be good.”
Score.
After placing their orders, they feasted on chips and salsa while Alonso told her how he’d chatted with the elderly woman from her old neighborhood—before he’d purchased her house. She’d told him stories about a Vivian Moore who’d lived across the street.
“You must have talked to Ms. Marla. She’s a bit senile. I think she had me confused with my great-grandmother. I’m named after her.” Her brow arched. “Did I sound eighty over the phone?”
“You never really said a whole lot. An mmm-hmm here and an uh-huh there. Now that I think about it, you kinda reminded me of an old lady.”
Vivian tossed a crumpled napkin at him, then laughed. If he had to guess, she was warming up to him. “See, I’m not so bad after all, right?”
The look she flashed him suggested she wasn’t wholly convinced of the claim. Well, Rome wasn’t built in a day.
Their food arrived. The chips and salsa were good, but hadn’t been enough. The cheesy beef-tip burrito would do the trick. He tried to ignore how tempting it was to watch Vivian take a forkful of the grilled-chicken taco salad into her mouth. Yeah, he envied the utensil.
Breaking the silence, he said, “I get it, Ms. Moore. You have a sentimental attachment to your childhood home. It’s understandable. But you don’t need me to tell you that three hundred thousand is a very generous offer.”
She eyed him a moment. Was she mulling it over?
“What do you intend to construct on the site, Mr. Wright?”
“Excuse me?”
“I asked what you intend on constructing on the site. You’ve purchased all of the homes, with the exception of mine, of course. I doubt you plan on renovating. So...what’s your plan?”
Her eyes narrowed on him as if she were attempting to read his mind. And for a moment, he experienced a hint of unease. Was he allowing this no-more-than one-hundred-forty-pound nurse to rattle him?
“Let me guess. Condos? Fancy restaurants? Stores no one in that community could even afford to shop in?”
“Jobs.”
By the slight softening of her features, it was the last answer she’d expected. He placed his fork down and dabbed at the corners of his mouth. “You have me all wrong, Vivian. May I call you Vivian?”
She nodded.
“There are many things you don’t see when you look at me. Just as I’m sure there are many layers to you.” And he’d like to peel them all away.
“Maybe. What forms will these jobs—”
In a bold move, he reached across and brushed a crumb from her cheek. When his finger grazed her warm skin, she stilled. Yeah, they had something going on, sparks. By her bewildered expression, she realized it, too.
She jerked away from his reach, then placed her napkin on the table. “Well—” She cleared her throat. “Well, Alonso. May I call you Alonso?”
He nodded.
“Thank you for lunch. I should really be going.” She scooted her chair away from the table, stood, and started to walk away.
Alonso stood. “Would you like your purse?”
Vivian stopped. When she turned, a sheepish expression lingered on her beautiful face. If he didn’t know better, he’d rattled her. The notion caused an inward smile. He passed her the black patent-leather bag. “You’ll think about my offer?” And me? Of course, he didn’t say the latter aloud.
“No.”
No. “No?”
“Your attempt at softening me, then swooping in for the kill failed.” She shrugged. “Sorry. Better luck next time. And by next time, I do mean with someone else, because my answer is final.” She smiled and made a hasty escape from the building.
Alonso massaged the side of his face as if he’d been slapped. In a way, he had. Seemed he’d met his match in Vivian Moore. In more ways than one. But he was Alonso Wright. He wouldn’t allow this minor roadblock to trouble him. Everyone had a price. He just needed to discover hers.
He smirked. Doing so could be fun.
Alonso stood at the 3-D table model of his newest development venture: