Nacho Figueras Presents by Jessica Whitman

she’d like a drink while she waited, and still resolute about having some fun, Georgia ordered a glass of expensive pinot gris, which was swiftly brought to her. She sipped the refreshing, slightly fruity wine, and had just started perusing the menu, widening her eyes at the astronomical prices, when Alejandro appeared beside her table.
    “ Doctora ,” he murmured as he slid into the booth across from her. He smiled briefly, and Georgia felt a sharp sense of disappointment that he had not kissed her in greeting. It seemed he hadn’t shaved that morning, and as Georgia eyed the dark shadow of stubble along his strong jaw, she longed to know exactly how it would feel against her skin.
    He looked magnificent. He was wearing a perfectly cut charcoal suit with a crisp white shirt and a dark red tie. The top button of his shirt was undone, and the tie slightly loosened as the only nod to the tropical Florida weather. The suit acted like armor, only making his powerful, athletic strength seem even more impressive than usual. He was carrying an expensive-looking leather briefcase, which he carelessly placed on the seat next to him.
    Perhaps he was coming from a meeting, thought Georgia to herself.
    “A cranberry and soda, por favor ,” he said to the waiter.
    “Oh,” said Georgia, feeling bold, “have a glass of wine. It’s not too early, is it?”
    For a moment, she felt his eyes linger over her. His gaze was so intense that it was almost as if he had reached out and touched her. She could trace his path as he looked at her: starting at her eyes, drifting to her mouth, and then trailing down over her neck and shoulders, pausing with a sharp intake of breath at her décolletage. She suddenly remembered the feel of his hand on her breast, his thumb brushing so tantalizingly over her nipple, and it was all she could do not to suggest that he follow her to the bathroom and have his way with her right then and there at the club.
    He broke his gaze, a look of regret on his face. “The wine looks very good, but it’s not usually wise to mix business with pleasure, no?”
    Business? Georgia blinked. “I’m sorry?”
    Alejandro took a deep breath, seeming to steel himself a bit. “Dr. Fellowes—”
    “Georgia.”
    “Okay, yes, Georgia. I’m afraid I owe you an apology.”
    “For last night? No, I think I owe you an apology—you see, I didn’t realize that Valentina was your daughter and—”
    He shook his head. “No, no. Please, you do not have to explain. You were quite right. Everything that had happened was, as you put it, a mistake.”
    The smile froze on Georgia’s face.
    He ran his hand through his hair, frowning. “You see, I have not been myself, exactly, these past few days. Normally, I never would have placed you in such a compromising position, but I was thrown off, I think, by MacKenzie’s accident and…” He stopped for a moment, at a loss for words. “I don’t imagine you have a daughter, do you?”
    She shook her head. “No. No children.”
    Alejandro shrugged helplessly. “Since her mother died…the shock. It has flung us so far apart.” His hands mimed a blast, and then he rested them on the table. She continued to look at his fingers as he said, “I can hardly reach her anymore.”
    He met her eyes with an appeal so direct she had to forcibly quell the urge to reach across the table and take his hand in hers to comfort him. Instead, she rapidly smoothed the thick, soft tablecloth under her palms.
    “I understand,” she said softly. “I lost my mother. I mean, she’s alive. It’s very different, but it’s been a long time since I’ve seen her. She left when I was a teenager. So I think I might have some idea what…”
    She faltered and nervously took a drink of water. This kind of conversation was new territory between them—and it somehow felt even more intimate than their kisses. She risked a glance up at him, and the look in his eyes encouraged her to go on.
    “I was lost for