Joy Avery - In The Market For Love

“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?”