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“Santos,” Patricia squealed and clapped her hands over her mouth.
“Leave him alone,” Libby threatened through clenched teeth.
“You do want him!” She removed a container of strawberry ice cream.
There were two containers of vanilla, which Libby regarded as too uninteresting to eat without chocolate syrup, toasted almonds and whipped cream. There was pistachio, which she’d never liked, lemon sherbet and a dark chocolate. She took the chocolate and looked for bowls. The kitchen and pantry had everything anyone could ever require. All she had to do was locate it.
Patricia found a spoon and scooped up a bite from the carton. “This tastes like ice cream at home.”
“What were you expecting, something different? There’re probably only a few ways to make ice cream.”
“Yeah, I suppose it’s all in the flavoring,” Patricia stressed in a sexy purr. “I didn’t mean to spoil your fun. This is enough for me. Go on back to Santos. Do you want a wake-up call?”
“No, I don’t. Good night.”
Patricia peeked into Santos’s room on her way back to bed. “Ask Libby for a massage, and you’ll be so relaxed you’ll be unwilling to leave your bed for a week.”
“I better not. I’ve got places to be,” he replied.
Libby hadn’t bothered with Julian’s silver tray and carried in the bowls of ice cream with the spoons tucked into her jacket pocket. “I hope you like chocolate.”
“I always had it in my condo. Now I have Tomas order it.”
“Are all your groceries delivered?” Libby handed him his bowl and spoon and returned to her place on the foot of his bed. She made it a point not to lick her spoon.
“It’s a lazy way to live, isn’t it?”
“Maybe, but I can’t imagine you pushing a shopping cart.”
“I didn’t go to the store in a suit of lights,” he argued. “In jeans, a sweatshirt and cap, I could be anybody.”
Libby took tiny bites to make her ice cream last. “You’d still look better than most men.”
“Thank you, but when I don’t want people to recognize me, I can fade into the crowd.”
“I’m used to being part of the crowd. You’re right, though. Everyone is moving along, lost in their own thoughts, and a lot goes unnoticed.”
Santos set his empty bowl on the nightstand and took a drink of water. “That’s how we’ll have to work on the wedding. We’ll help it all come together and let Rafael blow it apart.”
He’d become a little too keen on the intrigue for her taste. “From what I’ve heard, the Aragon family has plenty of drama of its own. You don’t need my family for spice.”
“True. Now finish your ice cream and come here.”
Libby took even smaller bites and looked up at him through her lashes. Her low voice had a husky edge. “I only wanted to talk. My mom and dad are sleeping down the hall.”
“Lock the door and come here.” He patted the space beside him with a firmer beat.
Libby swallowed the last slippery bite. “I might get too rough and hurt you.”
“I’ll risk it.”
Libby stood and set her bowl in his and picked them up. “That’s your whole story, isn’t it? Good night.”
She was gone before Santos realized what had happened. He was a matador, so he ate risk for lunch, but it wasn’t tattooed on his chest. He struggled to get out of bed and picked up the crutches he’d leaned against the wall. If Libby wanted to argue, then he intended to present his side out in the hall if he had to. He had on jogging shorts and a T-shirt, so he was well enough dressed to leave his room.
He opened his door as Libby came back up the stairs from the kitchen. “What are you doing out of bed?” she asked.
“Looking for you.” When she reached him, he pulled her into his arms and balanced on his crutches, swayed dangerously close to falling. She braced her arm against the doorjamb to hold him and smothered her laughter against his chest. They made it back into his room without waking the whole house. She was careful not to shove him too hard, took his crutches and pushed him toward the bed.
