In The Market For Love

Alonso was just as stunned as Hamilton appeared. The woman didn’t look anywhere close to thirty. Obviously good genes. At the mention of genes, Alonso’s eyes lowered to her ass. Yeah, definitely good genes. And he wouldn’t mind being the pair of jeans that got to cup all of that. Something stirred in the pit of his stomach, but he chose to ignore it.

“You’d be perfect for—” Hamilton cut his eye to Alonso “—someone else I know.”

Alonso flashed him a scowl. The man never missed an opportunity to play matchmaker. Even if Alonso were interested in her—which he wasn’t—he didn’t see her being a no-commitment type of woman. Thanks to his ex, commitment no longer interested him.

She chuckled. “Say ‘ahh,’ Hamilton.”

Neither Hamilton’s scent nor tattered clothing seemed to bother her. Her gentle manner with Hamilton forced Alonso to consider the fact he may have pegged her all wrong. Her compassion toward Hamilton appeared actually genuine. Or maybe it was because Alonso had called her out earlier. Either way, he was glad Hamilton was getting the respect he deserved.

Alonso recalled the way he’d treated her earlier. Damn. He regretted the fact he’d been such an asshole. Maybe he’d get the chance to make it right.

“All right. We’re all done here. Quick and painless. Now for that drink. Water, unsweetened tea, coffee, diet soda?”

Alonso rocked back on his heels. “So many delicious choices.” It was his chance to smirk when Hamilton eyed him. Payback for the earlier jab. If the nurse wasn’t in the room, Alonso was sure Hamilton would have flipped him the bird. That was their relationship. They gave each other shit, but Alonso trusted the man with his life. Hell, he had Hamilton to thank for his life.

“Can I get you anything?”

Her voice tore into Alonso’s thoughts, snatching him from the past. “I’m sorry?”

“Would you like something to drink?”

The offer surprised Alonso, until he considered she probably planned to poison him. Despite their earlier confrontation—if you could call it that—her manner toward him wasn’t hostile. Quite the opposite, in fact. He noted kindness in her expression. Yeah, she planned to poison him. “Ahh...no. I’m good. Thank you, though.”

“Sit tight, Hamilton. I’ll be right back.”

With that, she turned and headed toward the door. Alonso couldn’t help but observe the sway of her shapely hips. It’d been too long since he’d held on to curves like hers.

“Put your tongue in. Ta-hee-hee. You handled that like a pro. Don’t know how to handle a woman who doesn’t fall at your feet, huh?”

Alonso chuckled. “Look here, old man, you just focus on getting better and not my effect on women.”

“Old man? Don’t make me get out of this bed and show you an old man. Old man, my ass.”

Alonso laughed. The only thing Hamilton hated more than being told what to do was being called old. After a few moments of laughter, Alonso sobered. Pulling the cushioned chair bedside, he eased into it. “We need to talk, Ham,” he said, using the nickname he’d called Hamilton for years.

“Uh-oh. I know where this is going.”

Alonso was sure he sounded like a broken record. He’d had the same conversation with Hamilton numerous times. But now, things were different. “The streets are no good for you.”

“I can take care of myself. Been doing it for years. Even saved your ass a time or two.”

Truth. Alonso’s thoughts drifted seventeen years into the past, to the night he was sure Hamilton referred to. The night Hamilton had saved him from being stabbed to death. The night that had anchored the two men for life, as far as Alonso was concerned. The night—even after all these years—that still occasionally woke him in a cold sweat.

Like a phantom, Hamilton had appeared in the dark alley just in time. After subduing two of the three thugs, he’d rushed the third. Unfortunately, not before the guy had stabbed Alonso. Alonso unconsciously smoothed a hand down his side. He still wore the jagged scar of that horrific night. Yeah, he owed Hamilton his life.

Alonso brushed a hand over his head. “Things have changed, Ham. You’re—”

“Things like what?”

“Your health for one.” Alonso chastised himself for the raised tone. Hamilton turned onto his side, and Alonso was forced to stare at his back. “Ham, when I got the call you’d been found unconscious and rushed to the hospital—” A sinking feeling rushed over Alonso, forcing him to pause. Gathering himself, he continued, “I thought you were dead. It scared the hell out of me.” It was the call he’d dreaded receiving ever since he’d given Hamilton a cell phone and stored his number as the emergency contact. Alonso dropped his head. In a muted tone, he repeated, “It scared the hell out of me.”

Hamilton faced him again, a smile curling his chapped lips. “I love you, too, young buck. Don’t worry ’bout me. It’ll take more than high blood sugar to take me out.”

It was always the more Alonso worried about. Alonso rested his elbow on his thighs and eyed the man. Hamilton was his late grandfather reincarnated—stubborn, overly independent and reluctant to accept help from anyone...including him. Yep, Hamilton reminded him so much of the man who’d raised him. Perhaps that was why he felt so attached to him. So damn tenacious.

“You better not let that one slip away,” Hamilton said.

Alonso shot him a don’t-start-with-me expression.

“Don’t look at me like that. I sensed the attraction between the two of you. Thought I was gon’ catch fire from those licking flames.”

Attraction was a stretch. Alonso shot a quick glance at the door. Shouldn’t she be back by now? He set his sights on Ham again. “Quit trying to change the subject.”

“Quit sounding like a broken record.”

Alonso’s phone chimed, indicating an incoming message. He fished it from his pocket but turned his attention back to Hamilton before checking it. “It’s time, Ham. An apartment, a condo, a house, I’ll get you whatever you want. I just need you off the streets. Don’t make me beg.”

Hamilton eyed him long and hard. “Well, if it’ll get you to stop hounding me...I’ll consider it.”

Alonso clapped Hamilton’s shoulder, then checked the reminder message from his assistant. Shit. He’d forgotten all about his appointment with Vivian Moore. Trying to get that damn woman’s house was going to prematurely gray him. At thirty-seven, he was too young to be a silver fox.

The one-o’clock appointment should still be doable. If the doctor ever decides to make an appearance. He checked his watch. At eleven in the morning, he was cutting it close. Maybe he should reschedule while there was still plenty of time to do so. Keying a message to his assistant to contact Ms. Moore with his regrets and to reschedule, he stuffed the device back into his pocket.

And speaking of appearances... He shot another glance at the door. Where in the hell did she have to go for the bottle of water?

As if his words had summoned her, she strolled in. Their eyes met again in that heated way that seemed to have become customary with them. His heartbeat quickened. What the hell was that? He cleared his throat, then broke their connection.

She placed Hamilton’s water on the small table next to the bed. Resting her thin hand on his forearm, she said, “All right, Hamilton. If you need anything, just buzz the desk.” Her eyes found Alonso’s. “And I’ll instruct them to page me immediately.” Focus back on Hamilton, she continued, “The doctor should be in shortly. Hopefully after his visit you’ll be outta here to enjoy this beautiful weather.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. You’re a jewel. No one with good sense would let you slip away.”

Alonso breathed a sigh of relief when Hamilton didn’t look in his direction. The man had embarrassed him enough for one day. Before the nurse made it out of the room, Alonso was out of his chair. He owed her an apology.

“Excuse me.” She stopped, but didn’t turn to face him. “I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name—”

She swiveled to face him. “Busy.”

The temperature in the room dropped about twenty degrees. Obviously she still held a slight grudge.

Her gaze drifted past him momentarily to Hamilton. “He’s going to be okay.”

A blink later, she was gone. But only from the room, because the spirited nurse still lingered in Alonso’s thoughts.

Chapter 3

Vivian cracked her window to get some fresh air. It was all she could do to keep her eyes open. The ER had been busier than she’d experienced in months. Definitely not typical for a Tuesday.

A shift that should have ended at seven in the morning hadn’t ended until ten. Then she’d had to rush home, change clothes and dart across town. If she’d had any sense at all, she would have canceled the appointment with Mr. Wright.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t canceled on her a week ago, citing a family emergency. Yeah, right. He’d probably flown off to some exotic island with his mistress. Obviously money wasn’t a problem since he seemed to like sending people unsolicited checks.

Men.

At the mention of men, her thoughts floated to one man in particular. The one she’d thought about for the past week. Hamilton’s...guardian, she guessed would be an appropriate term. She no longer thought of him as Tempered Chocolate. Tempered Chocolate suited a more delectable individual. His inexcusable attack on her was anything but appetizing.

“Did he really think he could tell me how to do a job I’ve performed for twelve years?”

The nerve of him.

A wave of frustration rippled through her. Oh, she’d wanted so badly to tear into him. Thankfully, her grandmother had taught her not to waste her words on people who didn’t deserve her attention. Then there was the small issue of needing her job.

She had to admit, overhearing—kinda eavesdropping on—the conversation he’d been having with Hamilton about getting off the street redeemed him a little. While he’d been an ass to her, he’d seemed to genuinely care about Hamilton.

How’d the two know each other? Judging by the tailored suit and expensive shoes, he didn’t strike her as someone who favored the homeless. Ugh. There you go judging people again. Her grandmother would have been disappointed.

A reel of her Nina—the name she’d dubbed her spirited grandmother—played in her head. “God, I miss you.”

She parked a little more than a block from her favorite Mexican restaurant, where she’d agreed to meet Alonso Wright. In and out, she reminded herself as she reached for the door handle of her Toyota Avalon, but not before double-checking to make sure she hadn’t forgotten the envelope containing the check from Wright Developing. Apparently, Mr. Wright assumed all the zeros would tempt her. Well, he was about to find out his money couldn’t buy everything.

As she strolled down Blount Street, Vivian was glad she’d worn the flat sandals. A good call. The one thing downtown Raleigh could really use more of was parking. She didn’t mind the trek, though. The temperature was a comfortable eighty-three degrees.

There were a hundred other things she could have been doing—namely sleeping—instead of wasting her time telling Mr. Wright the same thing she’d told him five times previously.

In and out.

Checking her watch, she saw she was twenty minutes early for the 11:45 meeting. The second she ambled into the restaurant, the delicious aroma of sizzling fajitas invaded her nostrils. Her stomach growled, reminding her she’d skipped breakfast...again.

By the number of meals she’d missed working in the ER, she should be no more than a hundred pounds. Not the hundred and forty-three she proudly flaunted.

“Hola, Vivian.”

At the sound of her name, Vivian turned to see Hector, the proprietor of Caliente Mexicana, approaching her. Hector was a little shy of five feet and round as a whiskey barrel. But what he lacked in appearance, he made up for in personality. Over the four years she’d been a patron there, she’d gotten to know the sixty-year-old well. “Hola, Hector. Cómo estás?”

“Muy bien. Y tu?”

“Muy agotado.” A look of distress spread across Hector’s face, and Vivian knew it was genuine concern.

“Why very exhausted?” he asked in accented English.

“Work.”

“I understand. I’ll put you in un rincón muy tranquilo,” he said, gesturing with his hands.

Any other day she would have welcomed a very quiet booth in the corner. “That’s thoughtful, Hector, but I’m meeting someone.”

“Ah. The hermoso gentleman.”

She wasn’t sure whether or not Mr. Wright was handsome, but Hector obviously thought so. “Gentleman, I hope. Handsome, I don’t know.” She lowered her voice. “I’ve never met him.”

“Ah. You will be pleased. I’ll take you to him.”

“Wait. He’s here already?”

“Sí.”

Guess she wasn’t the only one who liked being punctual.

Vivian smoothed a hand down the front of the sleeveless green-and-white maxi dress she wore, a sudden bout of nerves fluttering in her stomach. She inhaled a deep breath, then released it slowly. Why was she so uneasy? It wasn’t like this was a first date. Any kind of date, for that matter.

When her eyes landed on the man sitting alone at the secluded table, she froze. No freaking way. She didn’t believe in coincidences. Fate, yes. But not coincidences. And right now, her belief in fate was up for examination.

This had to be a mistake. There was no way on God’s green earth the jerk from the hospital and the Alonso Wright she was there to meet were one and the same.

Impossible.

After a quick scan of the area to see if maybe Hector had confused the two men, she had her answer. Her horoscope had said today she’d face new challenges. She certainly hadn’t prepared for this degree of complication.

This didn’t change anything. If anything, it made what she needed to do easier. The man had already rubbed her the wrong way once; she wouldn’t give him another opportunity.

Mr. Wright glanced up from his device and did what she labeled a triple take. Yep, he was baffled, too. God, he made mystified look so good.

Their eyes locked from across the room. To say she experienced a jolt of attraction would be putting it mildly. The man was gorgeous. Really gorgeous. Runway-model gorgeous. Too bad he was such an asshole.

She wanted to snatch her eyes away, but his dark gaze held her like a powerful magnet. When he stood, her breath caught in her throat. The suit clung to his body like fine art. Yes, she was captivated. And underdressed for the occasion, apparently. Her eyes weren’t the only set appreciating the human form. Her cheeks warmed under his scrutiny.

“Are you okay?”

Vivian shifted toward Hector, thankful he’d broken the spell. “Sí.” It was all she could do to force her feet to take her forward and not back. Luckily, they cooperated, placing her toe-to-toe with him, Tempered Chocolate, jerk from the hospital, Alonso Wright.

With a narrow-eyed gaze, he said, “Have...we met before?”

Apparently, his curiosity trumped a customary greeting. Had they met before? Really? So much for making a lasting first impression. In her defense, at the hospital she’d worn scrubs, her hair in a ponytail and no makeup.

“Actually, yes, we have. You rudely alluded to me being the worst nurse you’d ever encountered.”

“The hospital,” he said more to himself than to Vivian. A look of regret spread across his face. “Mrs. Wright—” He lowered his head and chuckled.

Had he just given her his last name? Vivian Wright. Not bad. Urgently, she reminded herself why she was there. Business, not lust.

His head slowly rose. “I’m sorry about that. It’s been a long day. Mrs. Moore is what I actually meant to say.”

“No worries. And it’s Ms. Wright—” Vivian’s eyes widened. Shit. “Moore. It’s Ms. Moore.” Why was she cracking under pressure? She was an ER nurse. Pressure was her middle name. When Alonso flashed one of the sexiest smiles she’d ever seen, she temporarily changed her name to woman-who-couldn’t-control-her-libido.

Alonso shrugged. “See, accidents happen.”

“Amor a primera vista,” Hector said, before leaving them alone.

Love at first sight? Not hardly.

“We started off on the wrong foot. I’d really like the opportunity to redeem myself and apologize for my behavior at the hospital.” He extended his arm toward her. “Alonso Wright.”

When Vivian’s palm rested against his, a searing heat rushed up her arm. Ignoring the tingle, she forced out, “Vivian Moore.”

Alonso eyed her as if attempting to memorize her features. A beat later, he jerked as if he’d realized he’d been staring at her, then released her hand.

“Ah...sit, please.”

Her brain almost processed the command. Luckily, good sense kicked in. “I won’t be staying. I wanted to return this.” She rummaged through her oversize purse, fished out the envelope and passed it to him. “My answer last month was no. My answer last week was no. My answer today is still no. Enjoy the rest of your day, Mr. Wright.” She turned and started away.

“Three hundred thousand.”

Vivian stopped. Three hundred thousand was double what he’d originally offered. She faced him, then slowly moved back to the table. “I’m sure there are plenty of other properties in North Carolina that would suit you. Why do you want mine so badly?” Word on the street was he’d already acquired every house in her old neighborhood except hers.

A glint of vulnerability sparked in his eyes, and she couldn’t help but wonder why. Especially since everything about this man screamed resilient—from his confident dark eyes and square jaw, to his enticing lips and strong chin.

“I’m offering more than you would ever get for the property, Ms. Moore.”

Vivian noted how he’d skirted around her question. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wright. It’s not for sale. And neither am I.”

He frowned. “Is that what you think I’m doing? Trying 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.