Adelaide’s head was floating above the clouds. As Lory promised, Mateo Sanchez wanted to meet her. At his home in Bel Air. It was a rare privilege. She parked in front of the house after going through the security gates, and surveyed the Mediterranean mansion with interest as she approached the imposing front door. She rang the doorbell and was pleasantly surprised by its quiet, subtle chime.
“Ms. Song,” a man in faded jeans and a T-shirt greeted her at the door. “Please come in. I’m Mateo Sanchez.”
“Thank you so much for having me.” It was the man himself. Just Mateo Sanchez in casual clothes and flip-flops. “And please call me Adelaide.”
“Only if you call me Mateo,” he said as he led her through the house. “Would you like a cocktail or some iced tea?”
“Iced tea sounds lovely.”
The interior of the mansion was all warm earthy tones and clean-cut elegance. It was huge yet comfortable. Like a home people really lived in. Mateo’s kitchen was a space made for entertaining—small dinners, wine parties, casual get-togethers. It somehow also felt perfect for their two-person meeting. He handed her a tall glass of iced tea and sat across from her at the island holding a glass of his own.
“Lory told me about the charity fashion show, and I admire you for your vision and dedication.”
“Thank you. There needs to be less othering and more acceptance of people with autism. With the sensory-friendly fashion show, I have the opportunity to spread autism awareness. I hope you can become a part of this important cause, too.”
“I’d be happy to attend the event and help the cause in any way, but I also have an ulterior motive for asking you to visit my home,” he said, while typing something into his phone.
Adelaide’s heart jumped—Mateo Sanchez was coming to the fashion show—then fell to her stomach. She was ecstatic he would be attending, but she wasn’t sure about the “ulterior motive” part. Should I get my pepper spray out? But Mateo didn’t give off any creepy vibes. Before she could ask what his “ulterior motive” involved, a striking teenage girl strode into the kitchen, capturing her attention.
“Stella, this is Adelaide Song, the designer I told you about,” he said, waving the girl toward them. “Adelaide, this is Stella, my daughter.”
“Nice to meet you.” Adelaide stood and extended her hand to Stella, but the girl’s lips turned down at the corners and she drew back. Had Adelaide somehow offended her?
“I’m so happy to meet you, too, Ms. Song,” she said, hiding her hands behind her back. “Sorry for not shaking your hand. It’s the weirdest custom. The joining of two sweaty, sticky hands, which results in the exchange of bacteria and viruses. I mean, why?”
The puzzle pieces began fitting together. Adelaide’s eyes shot to meet Mateo’s.
“Stella, may I?” he said.
“Sure.” The girl shrugged. “I mean, we can’t get to the point of this meeting without telling her.”
“Right. Adelaide, my daughter’s on the spectrum.”
“Thank you for sharing with me,” she said simply. There was nothing beyond that to say. “But Mateo, in terms of the charity event, I think you have yet to reveal your ‘ulterior motive.’”
“Actually, Stella will discuss that part with you.”
Adelaide glanced at Stella with her brows raised, intrigued by this father-daughter tag team.
“So.” The teenager lowered her lanky form onto the stool beside her. “I’m turning fifteen in like ten days, and as you probably know, in the Mexican culture, the fifteenth birthday is kind of a big deal. I told my dad that I didn’t want a quinceañera because wearing some uncomfortable ball gown all night is what I would call torture, not a party.”
The last piece of the puzzle clicked into place and Adelaide knew what she had to do. “Well, not all ball gowns have to be torture devices. I bet I could create a sensory-friendly gown that would let you dance all night long with minimal discomfort.”
“That’s what my dad said, but I’m not sure—”
“Tell me,” Adelaide interrupted, too excited to stay silent. “Tell me everything that bothers you about clothes, and I’ll find a way around them all.”
Holy Mother of God.
Adelaide was invited to Stella Sanchez’s quinceañera, and of course, Michael volunteered to be her plus-one. She greeted him at the door of the Song residence in Pacific Palisades wearing a one-shouldered white dress that hugged her body and draped artfully to the floor. She looked stunning. Breathtaking. He literally could not breathe. Then she glided toward him as though she were floating on air.
Maybe he was seeing things as an effect of lack of oxygen in his brain. Hell. That meant all his blood was heading south where it didn’t belong. He adjusted his tie and thought about swimming in frigid waters.
“You look lovely, Adelaide,” he said. He was proud he managed to form coherent words. And was she wearing a new perfume? God, she’s trying to kill me.
She glanced up and down his body before meeting his eyes. Then she whispered in a husky voice, “You don’t look half-bad yourself.”
Michael grinned wolfishly, loving the effect he had on her. The more time he spent with this grown-up Adelaide, the more he wanted her. More than he’d ever wanted another woman. Her confidence, intelligence and sense of humor had him entranced.
Wanting more was dangerous. If Mrs. Song found out that he was seeing Adelaide, he couldn’t imagine the betrayal she would feel. She had entrusted him with helping Adelaide, not putting her reputation at risk. Besides, she knew his secret. Grace Song was an honorable woman, but she became a mama bear when it came to Adelaide. She wouldn’t want a man like him for her granddaughter.
“So is your dress a hit with Stella?” he asked, not liking where his thoughts were headed.
“I don’t know yet. She was so quiet during the fitting I couldn’t tell what she was thinking.” Adelaide fidgeted with her fingers, and Michael gave them a quick squeeze before withdrawing his hand. It burned from the small touch.
“You did an amazing job, and I know how much thought you put into it. Stella has to love it.”
“Thanks, Mike.” He nearly flinched at the nickname, but he reminded himself it was for the best.
“You’re very welcome.” He took a deep breath and forced a smile. “That’s what friends are for, right?”
“Right,” she said with her own sad excuse for a smile.
Michael realized then that she disliked their situation as much as he did. He quelled the pounding of his heart. She had to keep her eyes on the goal, and he had to help her reach that goal.
Their drive out to Bel Air took about twenty minutes, but it felt like hours. Whatever her new scent was, it was driving him crazy; and the damn dress had a slit high up her thigh that revealed creamy skin only a few inches away from his hand. Despite his resolve, her proximity chipped away at his willpower piece by piece.
He breathed in and out through his nose to prevent his blood from rushing south, and stole a glance at Adelaide. With her head turned toward the city lights outside her window, she seemed worlds away. Thank goodness for small blessings, because his trigger-happy dick and slim pants were out to humiliate him.
Artichokes. He should think about artichokes. What was it with people and their love affair with the pine cone–shaped vegetable? You get a teeth-scrape’s worth of the mushy flesh for every tiny leaf, only to reach the heart after all that effort to find it tastes just like a giant kernel of corn. He would rather eat corn without half the trouble.
His loathing for artichoke hearts distracted him enough to be presentable by the time they reached the Sanchez mansion. When they drove up the driveway, the valet opened Adelaide’s door, so Michael got out and went around to tuck her arm into the crook of his arm.
“Shall we?” he said with a formal bow, and waggled his eyebrows. He needed the security of their usual banter to get through the night in one piece.
“Jeez, old man.” She snorted. “I think you’ve watched The King and I one too many times.”
She was humming “Shall We Dance” under her breath, but stopped with a soft gasp when they arrived at the front entrance.
He didn’t need to ask what caused her surprise. Mateo Sanchez’s home was impressive on the outside, but the inside was aglow with tiny globes of light in what looked like an enchanted forest. Garlands of vines and ferns, and thick, gnarled trees were entwined with the lights, and a harp’s otherworldly strands infused the mist swirling on the floor.
“Oh, man. That lucky girl,” Adelaide whispered. “And the lights are perfectly muted and the music is so subtle and gentle, it must put Stella’s sensitivities at ease. This is ingenious. No one would dare remark that this sensory-friendly approach is in anyway less. Comes in handy to have an amazing director as her dad.”
“It does feel magical and Zen. I could get used to living in an enchanted forest,” he said as they walked deeper into the most impressive quinceañera he’d ever attended.
“Adelaide!” A beautiful young girl in a silky pearlescent gown screeched to a stop three feet from Adelaide. “Thank you so much for coming. I would never have had this perfect night if it weren’t for you.”
“You deserve it, Stella. You deserve it all. Never forget that.”
“Adelaide.” Mateo Sanchez walked up to their group. “We’re so glad you could make it.”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” She laughed, giving him a warm hug. “Mateo, this is Michael Reynolds, the head of Reynolds PR. He’s overseeing the fashion show, and it was his tenacity that made our meeting possible.”
“Well, then, I owe Mr. Reynolds my deepest gratitude,” he said, extending his hand.
“I’ve actually come to thank you for your generous support of the fashion show.” Michael shook the other man’s hand firmly.
“This certainly is a night with a lot to be thankful for,” Sanchez said. “And if you’ll excuse us, it’s time for our father-daughter dance. Are you ready, Stella?”
“No, but since you’ve agreed to do away with all the other obligatory dances, I’ll have to live with this one,” the birthday girl said glumly, unaware that her unfiltered words could be hurtful to her father.
“Ah, as frank as ever.” Mateo smiled with pride and a glistening of tears, acknowledging Stella’s challenges, and loving her just as she was. “Let’s go then, sweetheart.”
The father-daughter dance was reminiscent of its counterpart at a wedding. Poignant and heart wrenching. But what moved the crowd the most was the Sanchezes’ letter to their daughter, acknowledging her as a grown woman and urging her forward in life with love and respect. Adelaide sniffled beside Michael and he put his arm around her shoulders, bringing her close. She turned to him with a wobbly smile and held his gaze as if to say something, but the crowd erupted in applause when the Sanchezes finished reading the letter and the moment was over.
As the soft strains of the string orchestra flowed through the dance floor again, Michael slid his hand down Adelaide’s arm and planted his hand firmly on her back.
“Let’s get some air,” he whispered, his lips close to her ear.
At her nod, he led them through the balcony doors and into the secluded garden. The half-moon shone brightly in the night sky, and small lampposts dotted the narrow trails lighting their way. He linked his fingers through hers and tugged her toward a wooden bench surrounded by impeccably designed shrubbery.
“This garden is lovely, but I still like yours better.” Her voice was soft and faraway as she took in her surroundings.
“What was going on in there? Did something upset you?” The vulnerable smile she wore tugged at his heart, and he pulled her closer to his side.
“Not sure if I want to talk about it.” She sighed as she buried her face into his neck. “I don’t want you to go all overprotective big brother on me again.”
“Am I that bad?”
“Worse.”
He chuckled into her sweet, silky hair and bent to place a featherlight kiss on her temple. “I promise not to go overboard. I just want you to be happy, and sometimes I lose sight of what you want.”
“I miss my mom.” The slight tremor in her voice broke his heart, but he just tightened his hold on her and waited for her to continue. “I wonder how she would’ve felt, what she would’ve done as she watched me grow...going to high school prom, graduating from college. She missed it all.”
Michael swallowed past the tightness in his throat. “She would’ve been so proud of you, Adelaide, and she would’ve been your biggest cheerleader if she saw the amazing, strong and kind woman you are.”
“Do you really believe that, Michael?”
“With all my soul.” His heart thundered at her use of his full name. He searched her eyes, and saw strength and determination flare in them.
“And if this strong woman tells you that she wants you more than anything, what will you do about it?” She lifted her head and pivoted in her seat to face him. “Will you tap me on my nose and tell me it’s past my bedtime? Or will you kiss me already?”
“You know what I want,” he choked out. He needed to kiss her more than his next breath.
“No, I don’t. I don’t know what you want. I only know what I want.”
Before he could form a reply, she leaned in and brushed her soft, parted lips against his. He moaned, guttural and hungry, and dragged her into his arms. He’d waited so long for this. So very long. And she tasted sweeter than he could’ve ever imagined. Then her teeth scraped his bottom lip, and there was nothing sweet about her. She was fire and sin.
With a low groan, he ran the tip of his tongue along the inside of her parted mouth and coaxed her to open wide. She acquiesced with a luscious sigh and he plunged deep into her warmth. His fingers dug into her long, silky hair, and fisted at the base of her neck so he could tilt her head and taste her properly.
But it wasn’t enough. She’d already clawed off his tie and had his shirt unbuttoned to his sternum. Her hands were exploring his chest and making their way down to his abs. He shivered against her touch.
“Adelaide,” he begged. He didn’t know whether he wanted her to stop or continue. It was exquisite torture.
Something tugged at the back of his conscience that they shouldn’t go any further, even as his hands shifted to her hips and down to the slit on her dress. He growled when his roaming palm met her hot satiny skin, and moved upward to the juncture of her thigh.
“Michael, please.”
Her breath was hot against his ear, and he hissed when her sharp teeth dug into his lobe, but she promptly soothed it with soft flicks of her tongue. He was losing his mind with every passing second, but his protective instinct kicked in not a moment too soon.
This was Adelaide. She wasn’t someone he could paw in the middle of a garden. They were in a secluded spot hidden by dense shrubbery, but they were still in public. How could he have put her at risk like this? Wherever this was going, it had to be an absolute secret to protect Adelaide. No one could find out. Taking a hitching breath, Michael gave her a lingering kiss on her lips before setting her away from him.
“Michael?” Lust-glazed eyes sought his, and he nearly pulled her back into his arms.
“We have to stop, baby.” He fisted his hands on his lap. “I’m not going to grope you in the middle of a garden at a fifteen-year-old’s birthday ball. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”
“If we’re doing this?” He was taken aback by her tone. “If you back out after that kiss, you will forever be known as chicken scrap in my book.”
“If I don’t have you after that kiss, I’ll burn to dust from the inside out.” Relief and lust battled in his gut. Adelaide was a grown woman, and she wanted him. They couldn’t fight the attraction anymore, but it couldn’t go beyond that.
It wasn’t only about the fashion show and her reputation. They couldn’t have a future together. For Adelaide to choose Michael meant for her to oppose her grandmother. Without her grandmother’s support, Hansol wouldn’t be a part of her future. Choosing him meant giving up her dreams, and that was too big a cost for her to pay. No, this could be only a temporary affair. A man and a woman satiating their needs.
“Do you understand what we’re doing?” he asked.
“Well, I’m kind of out of practice, but I think I’ll manage.” She smirked.
“I want you, Adelaide, but I can’t promise you a future.” He could never offer her forever, because it would be a forever without a family. Bitterness threatened to choke him. “I could only offer you now.”
“I wasn’t expecting a marriage proposal, Reynolds.” She scoffed dismissively. But was there a tremor in her voice? No. Everything in her demeanor screamed confidence and poise. He had to have imagined it. “I want us to be together, but only until the fashion show, and we have to keep this strictly between us. If Grandmother finds out, she would believe the worst of me. You are my business associate for the time being, and having a romantic relationship with you is unprofessional by any standards. I can’t disappoint her.”
“No one will find out. I know what’s at stake, and I won’t let that happen.” He swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. All they could have was a two-month fling. Even shorter than he’d hoped. “But while we’re together, I want all of you. Exclusively. I have more than a few fantasies to live out before this ends.”
Two months. Only two months. His head screamed it wasn’t enough, but he couldn’t offer her a future. He had no right to hold on to her longer than she wanted. And that meant he didn’t have a minute to spare. He grabbed her hand and pulled both of them up to their feet.
“Come on,” he said, tugging her toward the mansion.
“Wait.” She allowed herself to be led by him, but she squeezed his hand until he turned to look at her. “Where are we going?”
“My place.” He picked up his pace. He didn’t plan on letting her leave before dawn.
“Not a chance.” She ground to a halt on the patio where the music spilled out through the open doors.
He blinked rapidly, not comprehending her words. “What?”
“You said you wanted to do this right, remember?” He stared suspiciously at the mischief sparkling in her eyes. “You could make me dinner tomorrow night. I’m not hard to please. A tender, juicy steak will do nicely.”
“Of course,” he replied automatically, even though his bulging pants signaled his body’s protest. He was going to sport wood until he had her. Maybe he could offer to make her some crème brûlée tonight rather than wait for dinner a whole day away.
“Awesome. I’ll bring the wine,” she said with wide innocent eyes that were belied by her sultry smile.
Adelaide, you wicked, wicked woman. But you’ll be my wicked woman soon.