“That must have been lonely. My brothers and I fight, but I still can’t imagine life without them.”
He stared at her like he saw right through to her soul, to the long nights she’d spent by herself.
But Julieta just imagined that—he didn’t know anything about her.
“It wasn’t too bad.” She shrugged coquettishly and stepped closer to the gray suede sofa, as seduced by the soft material as she was by the view. “There are benefits to spending time by yourself.”
“And indeed, to spending time with others.” He stepped toward her, and the air sparked between them.
Kiss me.
Surely, he would kiss her again now. His lips, so full, so soft, soclose. His muscles bulged underneath his outfit. She couldn’t wait to see him naked.
“Let me make you a drink.” He stepped back, breaking this tense dance between them. “What would you like?”
He gestured to a marble bar in one corner of the room. Behind it, a myriad of colorful liquor bottles shone in the golden glow of the overhead lights. Hell, most of the restaurants she’d worked at didn’t have a bar like this one. “I’ll take a paloma.”
He smirked. “Good choice. Paloma coming right up. Make yourself at home.”
Ha. I wish.
If Julieta got comfortable, she would never leave. “This place is immaculate. I would never believe that three men live here.”
“Well, I can’t take credit for that. We do have a maid.”
But of course he did. A pit settled in her stomach. She couldn’t imagine hiring someone to clean up after herself. She shook it off. She wouldn’t allow her prejudices about his wealth to ruin this night.
“Hey, can I use your restroom? This makeup is driving me crazy.” She wanted to wash it off before it ended up ruining his sheets, which probably had a thread count higher than her bank balance.
“Sure.” He pointed to the right. “Second door on the left.”
“Thanks. I’ll be right back.”
She walked along the hallway and studied the art. There were many cool pieces from up-and-coming Latino artists, including one painting Julieta recognized as having won some huge award. It had even been displayed in the White House—she was sure of it. She had seen a television show during Hispanic Heritage Month about the artist.
Then another photo caught her eye. A framed magazine cover of an older man with three younger men beside him, one of which had to be Romeo. All three men shared the same strong jawline anddreamy dark eyes framed by even longer eyelashes. They all looked similar—probably his brothers and perhaps his father. She stepped closer to the picture and read the headline.
“Arturo Montez and Sons. The Taco King’s Family Tells All.”
What?!
Julieta’s head spun, and heat pulsed through her.
TheArturo Montez? Owner of Taco King?
The man who had stolen the recipe from her own mother?!
It couldn’t be. What were the chances of that? She stood closer to the picture and read the subtitle.
“Founder of the Taco King franchise with his sons, Ramón, Enrique, and Jaime.”
Of course he was a Montez. He had even stopped by Taco King. Ay, how could she be so stupid? She should’ve ditched him then.
Panic tore through her as she became impossibly hot.
What had happened? Was this a setup? Did Romeo, who was probably Ramón, though she couldn’t be certain due to the makeup and the fact that all three men looked alike, know who she was? Did he plan to seduce her and steal another one of her recipes for his crappy chain?
No. No. That was ridiculous. He had no clue who she was. They had met in masquerade. And she’d stupidly brought him tacos—though she didn’t tell him that she was the one who had cooked them.
