Wedding Party Collection: Proposing To The Planner: The Argentinian's Solace

‘Don’t move a step. I’m coming for you!’ Diego roared, nearly shattering her eardrum.

‘See you in the café—’ Maxie stared at the silent receiver in her hand. Diego hadn’t even given her a chance to cut the line. But as she prepared to cross the road it occurred to her that it was rather nice to have someone to care about what she did. She hadn’t had that since her mother had died. She could look after herself, of course, having done so for most of her life, but that didn’t stop Diego’s protective streak being a nice thing about him. But he was only concerned to hear she had strayed from the safety of the main shopping area, Maxie reasoned as she stared up at the façade of what appeared to be a popular café. Diego would feel that same sense of responsibility for all his employees. She only had to think about Maria and Adriana to know that.

As the door of the café opened she was greeted by a gust of warm air and the pungent smell of coffee. The noisy interior was full of men hunched over coffee cups as if the inky brew was the elixir of life, and families noisily sharing platters of food with all age groups represented, their happy faces reminding Maxie of so many mixed bouquets as they nodded their heads in time to the music.

And what music! The insistent throb of tango instantly invaded her veins. Couples were dancing between the tables, their gazes fixed on each other as they moved in a way she had never imagined could be so earthy and yet so sophisticated. She could hardly bear to blink in case she missed anything as the waitress showed her to a table.

Maxie was so enthralled by the dancing she allowed her coffee to go cold, and only snapped to at the sound of screeching brakes. This was swiftly followed by the slam of a car door, and she wasn’t the only one staring at the entrance as Diego stormed in. Her breath caught in her throat as his glance swept the room.

‘Maxie,’ he growled, heading straight for her.

Diego nodded to a waiter, who quickly pulled out a chair.

‘Hello, Diego.’ Maxie tried to remain cool as her heart thundered nineteen to the dozen. How could anyone look so gorgeous? How could anyone carry such an air of command? It was enough to transfix every man and woman in the place, she noticed—but then Diego wasn’t just a famous polo player, he was a frighteningly charismatic man, whom she guessed every woman wanted to go to bed with, and every man longed to call friend.

But he was hers.

Well, sort of, Maxie reasoned, trying not to give way to the waves of longing washing over her. She stared down in bewilderment at the crumbly little pastries on the plate in front of her, which the waiter had just put down without her ordering them.

‘Eat,’ Diego instructed. ‘I’ll watch your mouth.’

Trying to read Diego’s thoughts was always a non-starter. Was he teasing her, or was that a threat?

‘Eat,’ he repeated while she was still trying to work this out. And with that he turned away as if she was of no further interest to him.

‘Excuse me, señorita?’

She glanced up to find one of the men who had been dancing the tango leaning over the table, trying to attract her attention. ‘Yes?’

‘You are not dancing?’

‘No,’ she agreed, wiping her mouth on her napkin.

‘I would like to dance with you.’

Diego swung round so fast the table rocked. ‘The señorita is with me,’ he barked.

‘Pardon, señor,’ the man said with a bow, giving way.

Diego was interested now. He was so interested she couldn’t say, ‘I was going to refuse…’ fast enough before he moved his chair back and stood up.

‘You should have told me you wanted to dance, Maxie.’

‘But I don’t. In fact, I can’t dance,’ she explained.

‘Why not?’ Diego frowned.

Conscious that everyone in the café was staring at them now, she reduced her voice to an urgent whisper. ‘I’m hardly dressed for it.’

Resting one strong hand on his tight hips, Diego scanned the room. All the couples dancing were dressed in everyday clothes, she noticed.

‘Are you all out of excuses?’ he demanded.

Not quite. ‘I have two left feet.’

‘Lucky for you I have one of each.’

Staring at Diego’s outstretched hand, she pulled back in her chair. ‘Seriously—I can’t dance.’

‘But I can.’

Which was how she found herself in the arms of a man she couldn’t even look at without remembering how his kisses felt, or wondering what else he might be expert in.

‘I find dancing is much improved if you move your feet,’ he said, drawing her close. ‘Just a suggestion, Maxie.’

‘Of course.’

She would dance one dance with Diego and then sit down. There were so many people dancing between the tables that with any luck he would give up and she could start breathing evenly again. But somehow the dancers managed to avoid each other, and Diego was more intuitive than most. Of course he was, Maxie reasoned, fighting her body’s best attempt to melt against him. Diego was an international sportsman whose life revolved around second-guessing the competition. Now, if she could just concentrate instead of being distracted by erotic images bombarding her brain she might even be able to move her feet in time to the music…

When the dance ended she was reluctant to leave Diego’s embrace. All the more reason to pull herself together, she concluded, heading back to the table. ‘This has been excellent research,’ she informed him as he sat down. ‘I think we should have dancing at the charity event.’

‘Really?’ Diego murmured. ‘What an original idea. Somehow I expected better of you, Maxie.’ After a moment, he added, ‘So, what did you buy to wear tonight?’

‘I bought a dress in the market.’

He seemed surprised.

‘It was pretty and I liked it. What’s wrong with that?’

‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘I’m just surprised you didn’t find anything in the shops where I dropped you off.’

She had no intention of reliving how embarrassing her experience in the upscale part of town had been.

‘Maxie?’ Diego prompted.

‘If you must know, I wasn’t joking when I told you they wouldn’t serve me.’

‘Honestly?’ Diego sat back. ‘I can’t believe it.’

‘Only because it would never happen to you.’

He frowned. ‘But why wouldn’t they serve you?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Maxie admitted. ‘I can’t think of anything other than the way I’m dressed.’

‘Or maybe it’s the slogan on your T-shirt?’ Diego suggested, his dark eyes glittering. ‘“Drama Queen”? That’s hardly you, is it, Maxie?’

‘It’s supposed to be ironic.’ She lasted a moment and then began to laugh.