He wanted to fuck her.
Not help her. No way was he going to do that.
He just wanted to fuck her.
Alex sat down and pulled out the flask of Scotch he kept in his bottom drawer. He’d been about to slip a nip when the phone rang. He’d almost instructed Jules to tell Misty to make an appointment. But Alex had been curious.
He remembered his opponent’s former campaign manager from a long-ago party, mostly because Leigh Anne liked her so much and had mentioned her later a time or two. But a man would have had to be blind not to notice Misty. She had the face of a Mayan princess; high cheekbones, full lips made for kissing, dark eyes fringed with thick lashes and glossy, long, dark hair that begged a man to knot his fingers in it.
Her power suit had not quite hidden her tall, lithe body. But more than her gorgeous face and knockout figure, Alex had been charmed that night years ago by her wit and her intelligence. And in a political sea teeming with sharks, she seemed genuinely nice.
None of which explained this sudden urge to rip her clothes off and bury himself inside her warmth.
She had changed since he’d seen her last. The brilliant smile he remembered was muted. Maybe she was just unhappy about her father putting her up to this dead-end investigation, but Alex had become a good judge of character during his years in the courtroom, and he would have bet his last bottle of Crown Royal that there was more going on with Misty than irritation with her father.
If he wasn’t mistaken she’d lost weight—not the forty-seven pounds he’d shed but definitely a few—and God knows why she’d cut off that mane of gorgeous hair and changed its color.
She looked older and somehow tired, and he sensed wariness in her that had not been there before.
But he still wanted to fuck her.
Alex swore quietly and again put the flask to his lips, taking a larger draw than was prudent during business hours. But what the hell, he’d already accomplished everything on today’s to-do list; not exactly a make-work job but damn close.
If he had any gumption, he’d ask for a transfer to the Navarro legal team where he would actually have to accomplish something. Or he could resign from the corporation altogether and go to work for one of the many law firms in San Antonio.
But that would require caring.
And bottom line: Alex didn’t care.
Not about himself. Not about his job. Not about one damned thing in his life anymore, and he hadn’t since he’d walked into his home in Midland a year and a half ago and found his pregnant wife sprawled dead on the floor with a bullet in her head, put there by a madman out to destroy the life of his political opponent.
So here Alex sat, doing what little needed to be done as the “Director” of the restaurant and nightclub division of Navarro, Inc.; slipping a nip here and there when the pain and the memories became too much.
Alex was about to slip in another when his phone buzzed. “Alex, El Jefe wants you upstairs in ten minutes.”
Shit. “Did he say what for?”
“No. He just told me to let you know.”
Alex clicked off without answering. He fished out the bottle of mouthwash he kept next to the Scotch and rinsed his mouth in the lavatory just off his office.
He straightened his tie and removed the elastic band from the hair he hadn’t bothered cutting since… and ran his fingers through it a bit before returning it to the band.
Another year or two and it would probably be white. Not that it mattered what he looked like anymore. His days as a camera-ready politician were long over, and he could have cared less if his salt-and-pepper hair cut into his sex appeal with the ladies.
He’d buried the only woman he’d ever love and wasn’t trying to attract another.
Not even the oh-so-fuckable Misty Martinez.
*****
His father and his younger brother were waiting in his father’s fifteenth floor office overlooking downtown San Antonio. Ernest Navarro, “El Jefe” to everyone who knew him, was on the phone firing off orders in Spanish to one of his construction supervisors, presumably the one building a high-rise in Monterrey. Lalo had his laptop perched on his knee as he scrolled through real-estate listings. Alex sank into the vacant chair beside Lalo and peered at the laptop screen. “You in the market again? You just bought the Queen Anne a couple of years ago.”
“No room for Gina at my place, and Gina’s condo doesn’t have room for me. We’re looking to move in together.”
“That’s going to go over with Dr. and Mrs. Reyes like a turd in the punchbowl. And El Jefe and La Reina aren’t going to be too thrilled, either, with you planning to run for office.”
“I don’t think either set of parents will mind.” Lalo minimized the real-estate site and brought up the website of the classiest jeweler in San Antonio. “I’ve narrowed it down to five. I’m going to let Gina make the final choice.” He clicked on an icon and pictures of wedding sets filled the screen.
Alex sucked in a painful breath and pointed to one set of rings. “Take that one off and put another in its place,” he said harshly. “Those are the same rings Leigh Anne wore. I bought hers at the same damn store.”
“Ouch. Sorry.” Lalo immediately deleted the image and substituted one that was similar but not identical.
El Jefe hung up the phone and turned to Lalo. “So when are you going to pop the question?”
“Barge ride Saturday night on the Riverwalk. Fancy dinner for two as we float down the river. I propose, she says yes and we pick everybody up at El Rio Rojo for dessert and champagne. Ren’s mariachi group has already agreed to serenade. Completely kitschy and completely San Antonio.” Lalo looked sheepish. “But I think she’ll like it.”
“Miss Santa gets a Valentine proposal from her handsome co-chair. The city will love it,” El Jefe mused.
“The city will love it after the fact,” Lalo said firmly. “No reporters and no photographers, Papa. I mean it. We’ll lose our privacy quickly enough when I announce that I’m running for City Council.”
“That’s the damn truth,” Alex murmured.
“Hijo, Lalo, even I’m not that crass,” El Jefe protested. “Besides, she might turn you down.”
Lalo’s eyes widened in alarm. “You don’t think she’ll say yes?”
“Lalo, Papa’s teasing,” Alex said. “She loves you and you love her.” Bile filled his mouth. “Just try not to love her too much.”
Lalo opened his mouth but their father shook his head. “Alex, I have a couple of things I wanted to touch base with you on this afternoon. Have things settled down at El Rio Rojo?”
“Yes, the lid is clamped nice and tight on the arrest. The few employees who even saw what happened know they’re toast if it gets out. The kid’s out on bail and obviously won’t be back.” And his sister came to see me to get me to help prove him innocent.
For a quick moment, Alex debated telling his father about Misty’s visit. Bringing it up would only cause El Jefe unnecessary concern and lengthen a meeting Alex didn’t want to be at in the first place. Besides, he didn’t intend to help the woman anyway. “I think we’re good to go on the club.”
El Jefe looked like he wanted to say more on the subject, but rather than speaking he nodded his head toward Lalo, who said, “Alex, I want you to reconsider serving on the displacement task force for the Offices of the East Side project. I’m almost through putting it together and we’re already meeting periodically. You’d be a valuable asset.”
“I told you I wasn’t interested,” Alex said sharply. “I have nothing to contribute to that group.”
“Yes, you do,” Lalo argued. “You learned a lot about people’s needs and how to meet them when you were running for Congress. You also made valuable contacts that would be useful.”
“And doing something for others would help you take some of the focus off your own grief,” their father added gently.
“Big whoop. These jokers are losing a house or a business. Talk to me when they’ve lost something really important,” Alex said bitterly. “Look, I get it that you’re worried about me. But that task force is the last place I belong.”
“No, sitting at home staring at Leigh Anne’s picture and getting shit-faced night after night is the last place you belong,” Lalo growled.
Ignoring his brother’s jab, Alex said, “Unless El Jefe orders me to as part of my job description, I’m not doing it. How about it, Papa? Is it part of my job now?”
El Jefe threw up his hands. “Never mind. We just thought it might help.”
Alex looked from his father to Lalo. “Nothing’s going to help. When is everybody going to understand that?”
He ignored the helpless look his father and brother exchanged as Alex walked out of the office.
They didn’t understand.
They both had the women they loved in their lives.
Lalo was head over heels in love with Gina, and in spite of El Jefe’s wandering eye, his parents seemed to care for one another. Neither man had experienced the searing pain of having the woman he loved, and the child she carried, ripped out of his life.
Alex started to go back to his office but checked his watch and headed for the parking garage instead. He had just a couple of hours to go home, get a shower and shave, and make it across town to pick up Misty for their date.
He wondered what her real motivation was in seeking his help if she didn’t really believe her brother was innocent. She’d been cool and collected for the most part, but he’d picked up a hint of desperation when he turned her down. Pressure from her old man? Or misplaced guilt over her brother? Who knew? Who cared?
But why not find out?
For the first time since Leigh Anne’s murder he felt a glimmer of desire. Until today, even the thought of sex with another woman had him swimming in guilt and reaching for the Scotch bottle. But something about Misty Martinez reminded him that even a grief-stricken widower was still a man, and he hadn’t been with a woman for a long, long time.
And he wanted to.
God, he wanted to.