The Saint's Devilish Deal Read Free Page B

leaned his strong, tanned forearms against the desk, his hands so close she could feel his radiant body heat. His rich brown gaze fastened on her and she couldn’t move. Her breath came in little gasps and her throat tightened.  But she held herself upright, refusing to sway further into his orbit. “I’ve been sleeping in your bed, Esmerelda, and here you want to join me after only a few hours. Think of the scandal.” He winked again, and his next words all but kissed her skin. “You’ll probably be more comfortable in Con’s suite, but my rooms are always open.”
    Her heart fluttered in her chest. She remembered being in his bed all too well. Four years hadn't dimmed those memories and neither had her fling with Jason the Jerk. Her knees went wobbly as he leaned another inch across the desk, his mouth inches from hers, so close she could feel his breath against her skin.
    Where was her bravado when she really needed it? Gone. Evaporated with a single scorching look from Santiago Cruz. She wasn't ready for this. For him. And she had to be. Constance and the villa depended on her keeping her wits about her. Keeping him at a distance. She swallowed hard as she backed up to the stairs. “Nevermind, I’ll stay in the suite.”
    Not running, she assured herself.
    “You are fighting the inevitable, pequeña.”
    “Its called unpacking, Saint.” He raised that irritating eyebrow again, a half-smiled on his luscious lips. Esme fled before he could say more.
    After a long bath, and a sandwich that she snuck into the kitchen to make, Esme pushed back from Constance’s desk in the private suite still thinking about Santiago in her room.
    Santiago winking at her. Winking. Sanctimonious jerk.
    Only it wasn’t the wink heating her skin just now. It was the memory of that almost-kiss at the front desk. He hadn’t even touched her and already she couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t concentrate. She had thought she was well and truly over The Saint’s touch and the next few months working with him would be cake. What an idiot she had been. Her mind might realize he was poison to her but her heart didn’t quite believe it.
    A cool breeze carried the salty tang of surf into the room and, for a moment, she closed her eyes, allowing herself to be taken back in time. She was nine, darting in and out of the waves along Las Caletas Beach as the tide came in, watching the fishing boats return to port down the shore, and feeling so incredibly grown up because Aunt Constance wasn’t watching her every move, dissecting the strength of the current compared to the strength of her small legs. Then she opened her eyes and she was back. In this room where her pile of problems wouldn’t be taken away by the incoming tide.
    Where, if she were brutally honest, she wanted Aunt Con’s cut-to-the-quick dissection to show her which direction to go.
    She should feel confident here. She really should. Constance welcomed her into the suite often enough when she was a small child, afraid of bumps in the night, summer storms, and strange noises. Then, the sheer white curtains had allowed cool breezes into the room, but never monsters, and the pale yellow walls seemed to hold on to sunlight long after dark. But now, rather than comfort, she felt claustrophobic. As if she were suffocating in the sumptuous surroundings. Instead of snuggling into the large brass bed, she felt smothered by the blue-and-white striped comforter. As if she was drowning in the waters of the freshly painted, pale blue walls.
    She could run the resort; it was larger than the B&B in Bristol Bay but small inns like these worked basically the same. She knew the staff. But she had no idea how Santiago fit into the scheme of things. A tiny piece of her heart wanted to believe him when he said he wasn't in league with his family. And, if she were totally honest, she had no idea if she could resist him for the next six months. She felt the brush of his words against her cheek