Anita Bunkley - Suite Temptation

It can’t be the same man, Riana kept telling herself, frowning at the photo of a professionally attired caramel-colored man in a business suit and tie. His hair was longer, his smile seemed brighter, and he looked more mature than the thirty-seven years she knew him to be. He also looked confident and polished, as if he possessed secrets to his rapid rise that he did not plan to reveal. She had never seen Andre wearing anything other than scruffy jeans or slacks and a shirt, never a suit. This man was dressed with ultimate care, sending a message of impressive style. Even the address of his firm was impressive: Prairie Towers, in the high-rent, Main Street, museum-district area. Apparently, he was doing quite well, and he was just as disturbingly handsome as she remembered. Even more so, Riana had to admit, wondering for the thousandth time if they could have made it as a couple.

Frantically, she scrolled through his résumé, eager to read everything she could about his background, his work, his education and his future plans. She was stunned. How could this be the same man who had worn faded jeans and work boots to class, who had swept her into a whirlwind romance before she’d realized what was happening? Was this the same man whose heart she knew she had shattered four years ago when she had left him behind to pursue her career?

Slumping back in her chair, Riana stared at the monitor, not seeing anything, unable to stop the flood of memories she’d been holding back for years easing into her mind. As she sat there, sensations she had struggled to forget swept through her. The feel of his fingers on her skin as he held her chin and kissed her good-night. The clean soapy smell of his skin after they’d bathed together in his bubbly Jacuzzi tub. The scent of their soul-touching bodies after a long night of making love. The taste of his lips, plump, full and warm over hers.

An ache of longing flashed through Riana, tearing into her heart and holding her still. Sitting there, she felt a lump of regret begin to swell, reigniting the misery she’d suffered through during those miserable days after her return home. It hadn’t taken long for Riana to admit that she had miscalculated everything back then: her job security at Sweetwater, the depth of Andre’s feelings for her and her ability to get over him.

Andre had called her once, had e-mailed her twice, but she’d never responded, unable to go back on her decision to put her career first and sidestep the temptation of entering into a long-distance relationship. She had simply eased her way out of his life as smoothly as he had entered hers, fully aware that she had left him feeling confused and disappointed about her actions. However, she’d had little choice at the time, and after weeks of crying herself to sleep at night or lying awake second-guessing her decision to walk away from Andre, she had finally managed to let go of him and put her energy into building her company.

Now, Riana moved her index finger over the delete button on her keyboard, prepared to erase Andre Preaux from her computer screen as well as her life. But she couldn’t press the key. As much as she wanted to push his résumé aside, it was impossible. Dammit! Andre had all of the credentials that George Allen was looking for and there was no way she could exclude him from her short list. In fact he might be the ideal candidate.

Riana clipped one more yellow rose from the chest-high bush in the center of her rose garden, placed it in a basket and decided that the six full blooms she had picked were more than enough for a nice bouquet. She headed into the potting shed at the far end of her compact, well-landscaped yard and put her tools away.

When she had left her office at six o’clock that evening, she hadn’t planned on working in her garden, but when she walked through the door she was too keyed up over having seen Andre’s photo on the Internet to simply flop in her easy chair and watch the evening news on TV as usual. She had to stay busy, keep her mind off him. So she’d put on her jeans, a T-shirt and her leather gardening gloves and headed into her rose garden to shift her thoughts from the ghostly past.

Riana pulled off her gloves, hung them on a hook in the shed and wiped perspiration from her forehead with the back of one hand. The early-July evening was sultry, humid and still pushing ninety degrees even though it was nearing dusk: a typical day in the Alamo city. However, Riana had no complaints. She was used to the steamy summer days that never seemed to cool and knew that grumbling about the heat did no good; it would end in its own time, and that could be as late as mid-October, or even Thanksgiving Day some years.

As she made her way back toward the house, she surveyed her colorful flower garden with pride: it was one of the reasons she had purchased this house on Puerto Valdez Avenue. The Craftsman-style bungalow had cost twice as much as she had planned to pay when she decided to become a homeowner, but it was worth the investment. Her house was close to downtown, on a quiet tree-lined street, and just the right size for a single person.

For Riana, living on Puerto Valdez Avenue was like residing on a tropical island of calm and peace. She thrived on the privacy of the mid-town neighborhood, where every street ended in a wide cul-de-sac, and the only vehicles cruising past belonged to a resident or someone who had business being in the area. The chirps of birds and the rustle of tropical foliage drifted over smooth green lawns that fronted the tidy homes, which were set back from the street and divided by hedges of blooming oleanders along the driveways.

Inside, Riana went into her recently updated kitchen and looked into the fridge: orange juice, bottled water, a diet drink, a pint of cottage cheese and a carton of eggs. She shouldn’t have been surprised. There were two things Riana did not do: cook or clean house. A housecleaning service descended on her home once a week to keep it spotless, and she drank juice for breakfast, had lunch delivered to her office from a nearby health-food store and usually picked up a salad or pasta for dinner from Central Market on her way home. Today, she had been so preoccupied with memories of her time with Andre she had forgotten all about food.

After taking out the can of diet drink, she shut the refrigerator door and poured it into a glass, sipping it while she arranged the yellow roses in a white glass vase, impressed with the size of the blossoms.

Finished with her arrangement, she placed it on the coffee table in her muted beige-and-cream living room, and, grabbing her diet drink, went into her home office for a quick e-mail check. However, instead of logging into her mailbox, she punched in Andre’s Web site address and held her breath as she gazed at his photo and read his résumé over and over, unable to tear her eyes away from his face or get her mind off the only man she had ever loved.

What am I doing? she silently fretted, sensing his presence wrap around her, her heartbeat steadily increasing. Why am I acting as if I care? As if he means a thing to me? However, she knew the answer. She loved Andre, and the realization was not one she could ever escape.

Since moving back to San Antonio, she had acquired an interesting circle of friends and had dated often enough to suit her needs. However, too often, when she did meet a man who interested her, the relationship quickly fizzled when he realized that his role in her life would be solidly paired with her devotion to Executive Suites, Inc.

Riana was well aware that her strong work ethic turned some men off, but in Riana’s opinion, everything was as it should be. She was living the good life—in a home that she owned, driving the car that she loved, dressing in stylish, well-made clothes and investing in her future. This was all she’d ever wanted to do and she had no plans of changing anything in order to please an insecure man or her overprotective family.