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He folded his arms over his chest. “I’m not sure who you are, Ana, or who you’ll be tomorrow. Your face is on billboards. You must have laughed at me the whole time we were together for not recognizing you.”
“Never. It was wonderful.” She took a step toward him, and he turned the key in his lock. “Could we please talk inside?”
He opened his door. “I told you you’re not welcome here. Go home and forget we ever met.”
“I will not. I didn’t tell you I was a model because it was so nice to be treated like an ordinary girl rather than a celebrity. If you’d stayed with me yesterday, I would have told you. I said there was something I needed to tell you tonight. I may have omitted a few things, but I never lied to you, Alejandro. I love being with you.”
He stared at her and shook his head sadly. “You look so damn sincere, but that’s what you do for a living, isn’t it?”
“No one is paying me now. When you walked away from me today, your father’s face lit with a vicious triumph. Does he enjoy hurting you? Does he ruin every relationship you have? If he said he’d paid me, then he’s a damn liar on top of being cruel.”
“He just showed me a few of your ads and asked why I didn’t know who you really were. You could have told me you were a model. It wouldn’t have mattered to me.”
“Why does it now?” she shot back at him. “Didn’t your father have some tabloid photos to show you? I’m sick of being followed by paparazzi, and if I’d been recognized with you, you would have been on the front page of the tabloids too. Most men don’t want that kind of notoriety. I wanted to date you without being followed and endlessly photographed.”
He reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a clipping and handed it to her. “Here you are with Miguel Aragon. Was he the man you would have married?”
Ana had the clipping at home. It had been taken a couple of years ago when Miguel was still healthy, and they went out often. He always smiled and waved for the paparazzi, while she hung back and dipped her head to avoid them. Just looking at Miguel’s photo gave her heart a painful twist. She pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I loved him dearly, and he’s gone. I want to be with you now. Is that impossible to believe?”
“How can you go from a famed matador to a complete unknown? No woman wants that.”
“I do. Now can we please go into your studio and talk before all your neighbors open their doors to listen?”
He shook his head. “I want you to go home.”
“Are you going to let your father win? How late does he stay at his office? I’d like to drop by and see him on the way home. Did he tell you he’s had a detective following me?”
That stopped him. “You’re kidding.”
She shook her head. “How did he find out we were dating? Did you tell him?”
A look of tired regret swept his features. “I did, but I didn’t know your full name, so I couldn’t tell him.”
“Speaking of names, why do you use Vasquez instead of Ortiz? Shouldn’t you have told me the Ortiz shipping line belongs to your family? Or do you keep quiet about it so women won’t date you solely for your family’s money?”
“I prefer my mother’s name. Do you imagine we’re a pair because we’re both liars?”
She kept her voice soft and conciliatory. “Neither of us is a liar, Alejandro. I understand perfectly why you’d keep your family name secret. I’d appreciate the same consideration from you.”
He did not appear to be in a conciliatory mood. “Is that your Porsche parked out front?”
“It is. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Nothing, I suppose. I still want you to go home. If you don’t leave, I will. I could be gone for days, and you’ll get awfully sore sleeping out here on the stairs.”
Clearly he meant it, and his hostile rejection hurt badly. She started down the steps, but turned back. “I’m not giving up. You’re worth fighting for, and I’ll go, but you’ll know where to find me when you realize you’re making the worst mistake of your life.”
“I’ve already made it with you.”
“Not even close,” she shot back at him and ran down the stairs. She heard him slam his door before she’d reached the street. She hadn’t shed a tear since Miguel had died, and she wasn’t going to sob pathetically now, but she was furious with Orlando Ortiz. She’d not go to his office today, but there had to be another way to tell him what she thought of him in obscenely precise terms.
Chapter Six
Alejandro’s studio looked empty without Ana. He threw his keys on the worktable and opened the refrigerator for a beer, but left the bottle on the counter unopened. He’d never seen the point of getting drunk over a woman when he’d be the one to suffer with a hangover. Hell, he’d never cared enough about any of the women he’d dated to turn the sorrow of a breakup in on himself, until now.
He’d felt more for Ana than he had for all the other girls combined, but nothing about the beautiful model had been real. She’d been as intangible as smoke, and she’d amused herself playing erotic games with him. If his father hadn’t recognized her, she would probably have kept at it until he somehow stumbled over her fame. He’d never made such a gigantic fool of himself over a woman, and, disgusted for still wanting her, he did a computer search. Her website showed her work to every advantage. He lost himself in her again and couldn’t turn away.
When Fatima came into work Tuesday morning, Ana was still in bed with an ice bag on her head. “I’d say good morning, but this does not look good,” the housekeeper mused.
