in the other. His eyes were on the departing taxis, and in the dim illumination from a nearby street lamp, his expression was still puzzled.
It wouldn’t take him long to figure it out.
EMMA WAS SITTING at her desk on Monday morning when the phone rang. She wasn’t reading the currency reports piled in front of her or writing the memo she had due in a few hours; she was just sitting. The party on Saturday night had left her drained, and Sunday had been as awful as it usually was. She lived all week for the moment she could call the States and hear her children’s voices, but the minute the telephone conversation was finished, she would feel the force of their absence and break down. The rest of the day was always a painful blur, just hours she had to endure until the next time she could talk to them.
The phone at her elbow sounded again and she reached for it without thinking. The voice at the other end was not one she’d expected, at least not this soon.
“Ms. Toussaint, this is William Kelman. I assume I’m not interrupting anything…”
She sat up straight in her chair. “Mr. Kelman, of course you’re not interrupting. I’m glad you called.”
“I’d like to discuss my banking situation with you as soon as possible.”
“I can see you today.” As she spoke, Emma pulled her calendar closer, but she didn’t really need to look at it. If Kelman had as much money as Reina said he did, Emma’s day was his. “When would you like to come by?”
“That’s just it.” The hint of reluctance she heard in his voice sounded studied, but Emma told herself she was imagining things. “I can’t come in today. Too much going on. I’d like to invite you to dinner, though. Could you meet me at Candelabra, say, around nine?”
Something about the man bothered her and she hesitated, then she chastised herself. There was no good reason she couldn’t meet William Kelman for dinner, none whatsoever. She didn’t have plans and dinner at Candelabra—the best restaurant in town—was always a pleasure. But more importantly, if she turned down this kind of opportunity and Christopher Evans, her boss, found out, he’d kill her. She’d already told him about meeting Kelman, and Chris was practically frantic to get the man’s business.
“Candelabra would be fine,” she answered. “I’d be happy to meet you there.” She scribbled the notation in her calendar, then pushed it back to the corner of her desk.
“Excellent. Give me your address and I’ll send a car.”
“That’s not necessary,” she protested. “I can catch a cab.”
“I insist. It’s the least I can do for making you work so late.”
He wouldn’t take no for an answer. By the time she hung up, Emma had given him directions to her home and a promise she’d see him at nine. She felt vaguely uncomfortable, but what did it matter? The man had the potential for becoming a very big client. If she signed him up, they’d be seeing each other a lot. Her customers were the kind who kept a close eye on their money.
Before she could devote more worry to the subject, her phone rang again, her internal line this time.
“Usted tiene una visita.”
“Felicity, Inglés, por favor.” Emma now spoke perfect Spanish, but she insisted that the secretaries and assistants in her department speak English. People with money were usually paranoid; the clients, mostly British and American, were more comfortable when they could understand what was being said around them. She frowned. It’d been a long time since she’d had to remind the young woman.
“I’m sorry… You have a visitor.” Felicity’s voice dropped in a way Emma had never heard before. “A gentleman.”
“Who is it?”
Felicity gave Emma his name, but it was not familiar, and he didn’t have an appointment, either. That was not unusual, though. With the level of wealth most of her clients enjoyed, they expected to drop in and still be welcomed. Emma told the secretary she’d be right out.
She checked her hair and lipstick in a small mirror she kept in her desk, then rose and crossed the carpet. Just outside her private office was a reception area that was exclusive to her clients. They could enter this quarter of the bank through the main lobby or come in by a door that led directly to the street. Emma entered the reception room and looked at her secretary.
Felicity met Emma’s eyes and tilted her head toward a man standing near the windows. He had his back to them, his hands locked behind him, but as Emma watched, he turned to face her. A field of energy seemed to surround him, waves of intensity rippling out from where he stood. Emma told herself she was being silly, but she swore she could actually feel the strength of his power from across the room.
She started toward him, her heels clicking on the tile floor. “I’m Emma Toussaint,” she said, holding out her hand as she got closer. “How may I help you, Mr. Santos?”
Up close, his magnetism was even stronger. She found herself holding her breath as his dark eyes passed over her in a practiced way. She’d become accustomed to the evaluations of South American males, but the way this man’s gaze scanned her body was different. It left her feeling strangely vulnerable. His touch added to the sensation. As they shook hands, it enveloped her with a sizzling heat.
“I’m here to open an account.” His voice was low and melodious with a hint of something she couldn’t place. “I understand you handle the customers with…special needs.”
“I’m in charge of the currency department, and I’m also the vice president of the expatriate accounts.” She answered carefully. “On occasion I do help with other areas.”
He glanced toward Felicity. The young woman was facing her computer screen with a look of such studied involvement, it was obvious she wasn’t missing a word. He turned back to Emma with an amused expression. “Perhaps we could go into your office and I could explain further?”
It wouldn’t be the first time a good client had walked in off the street. Never one to turn down an opportunity, Emma nodded, then led the stranger into her office, stopping beside Felicity to order coffee for them both. A moment later Emma was sitting behind her desk and Raul Santos was seated in front of her.
He wasn’t really her type, but he was an attractive man. Bronzed skin, dark eyes, black hair that gleamed. He was over six feet and clearly not a local. Emma found herself intrigued. Other available men had been in her office since her divorce, but something about this one was different. Maybe it was his intensity. Maybe it was the way he was looking at her with his dark gaze. One way or the other, despite her attraction to him, or maybe because of it, he made her uneasy. She shivered once before she could stop herself and spoke quickly to cover her interest.
“What brings you to Banco Nacional, Mr. Santos?”
He rested his hands on the arms of the chair and looked at her. “Everyone knows about El Banco,” he said with a shrug. “It’s the only game in town, isn’t it?”
“Well, there’s a Lloyd’s down the street and El Centro, too, but we’re the best.”
“In your opinion.”
She smiled. “In the opinion of all our customers, I’m sure. We are the most successful.”
“Doesn’t
