Out in the hallway, she found Patricio leaning a shoulder against the wall, arms crossed. A relaxed pose that belied his intent gaze as she approached. Overhead, a fluorescent tube light flickered, mimicking the uncharacteristic jitters trembling through her.
She slowed her steps as two stagehands dressed all in black hurried by, talking into their headpieces. Farther down the hallway, still dressed in casual clothes, Luciano Gomez, one of the trumpet players in Patricio’s band, ambled closer. Busy checking something on his phone, Luciano nearly bumped into a young man exiting the dressing room assigned to the comedian who would entertain the crowd in between the opening and main acts. When he caught Cat’s eye, the trumpet player quickly glanced back at his phone and strode by with only a mumbled hola for her and Patricio.
“You called, Your Majesty?” Cat deadpanned, twirling a hand in front of her waist as she bowed.
Patricio blew out a breath on a laugh. “Funny. Maybe you should join Jorge for his act.”
“I’m always up for a challenge.”
“Good, because life on the road can be one.” He pushed away from the wall to stand. Arms still crossed over his broad chest, feet planted wide, he struck an imposing stance she’d secretly named his I-mean-business pose. Usually seen whenever Alberto or George challenged him about an idea or demand. But the line of worry etched between Patricio’s brows . . . that was something new she hadn’t seen. “We didn’t get a chance to talk after the sound check earlier. Did you get settled on your bus?”
“Yes, my suitcase and guitar are tucked away safely. I’m ready to hit the road to Houston after the concert.”
“I’ve heard the bunks aren’t always the most comfortable. If it’s too bad, let Alberto know.”
She grinned. “Oh, you’ve heard about them, huh? Because you ride in your tricked-out, fancy castle on wheels, so you’ve never actually slept in one of the lumpy bunks like the rest of us commoners. Am I right?”
He rolled his eyes—his typical reaction when she teased him about his El Príncipe moniker. Of course, his exasperation encouraged her even more.
“Any last-minute questions about our set?” he asked.
“Nope. I’m stellar. Just like our set will be. Especially since you finally took my advice about the intro to our last number.”
Instead of Patricio firing back an answering jibe like he usually did when they sparred over their artistic differences, the worry line between his brows deepened. “Did your parents get their VIP passes? They’ll need those to get backstage after the show if you all want to say goodbye.”
“Uh-huh. They actually stopped by earlier when they arrived.”
“Good. If you or anyone in your familia needs anything—”
“Hey.” Drawing closer, she clasped his forearm, confused by his barrage of personal questions. Even more by the guarded concern she hadn’t heard from him before. “What’s going on here?”
He glanced down at her hand, curled around his arm. The toes of her black boots were inches away from his sneakers, crossing the boundary of his personal space. Too late, she realized that she’d broken one of her self-imposed rules: maintain a platonic distance at all times. Definitely no touching. The better to squelch her body’s hyperawareness of him.
Behind him, a group of people turned the corner at the end of the hallway. Cognizant of how easily rumors caught fire based on a misinterpreted situation and a quote by an “anonymous source,” Cat released Patricio’s arm and took a giant step back. No need to give anyone the wrong idea about them before the tour had even started. Ever, really.
Patricio apparently didn’t have the same qualms. Closing the giant-step distance she had just put between them, he cupped her shoulders and peered down at her.
Entranced by his serious expression, surprised by the welcome weight of his hands, Cat didn’t move. Couldn’t move.
“This is an important night for you,” Patricio said, his deep voice huskier than normal. “For your entire familia. Big changes are ahead. Once you debut on that stage with me, eyes and cameras and gossip hounds will be on you like flies on honey.”
“Good thing I’m so sweet,” she teased.
Joking was a knee-jerk defense mechanism. Whenever fear or pressure or some other unwanted emotion threatened to strangle her, she laughed it off, faked confidence until hers returned or righted itself.
Patricio didn’t laugh. Instead, his troubled frown darkened. “I’m serious, Catalina. You need to be ready for what’s coming. And if something’s too much or . . . if you have a problem, let me know.”
Thrown by his sudden show of concern, anxious to get them back to their comfortable sparring routine, Cat gave his chest a playful pat. Bueno, she meant to. But somehow her palm stayed resting against the slope of his firm pec. The warmth of his body seeped through the thin material of his T-shirt, searing her palm.
Curling her fingers into a fist, she fought the urge to slide her hand to his nape and draw him closer. Instead, she dropped her arm to her side. “Look, it seems like your way of handling immediate stress is to jump into problem-solving mode. Mine is to laugh in its face while I bulldoze through. I’ve been waiting my whole life for tonight. And everything that comes with it. Believe me, I am more than ready.”
He gazed down at her, his throat moving with his swallow. “Dios mío, you’re fearless, aren’t you?”
“A woman in this business has to be.”
“Bravery isn’t the absence of fear, Catalina. It’s acknowledging that fear and strategically fighting for what you want.”
“Good. Then I’m doing things right.”
A mix of emotions she couldn’t quite pinpoint—awe, desire, guilt?—flashed in his eyes. His fingers flexed on her shoulders, and for a gut-clenching moment, she thought he might pull her to him. Despite all her business-only self-chiding this past week, Cat wouldn’t have been able to resist the temptation to lean into him, loop her arms around his waist. Feel her chest pressed against his. Catch a deeper whiff of his earthy, ginger-tinged cologne as she stretched onto her toes to taste his lips.
Behind her a walkie-talkie crackled, then screeched as another stagehand walked by. Cat ducked her head to hide the embarrassed blush heating her face. Once they were alone again, she glanced up at Patricio. Whatever indefinable emotion she had seen in his eyes moments ago had disappeared.
“You should get back to your sisters.” He cleared a rasp from his voice and released his hold on her. “I’ll see you onstage.”
“It’s a date.” She patted the silk roses attached to the comb tucked into the top of her chignon, the same flowers embroidered along the side seams, waist, and lower back of her black skirt and down the sleeves of her charro jacket. “I’ll be the one with red roses in her hair. Unless you’ve changed your charro accessories to match mine.”
“Always ready with a wisecrack.”
“Keeps you on your toes.”
His bark of laughter bounced off the drab walls, the rich sound and his delighted grin eliciting whirls of pleasure that arced through her. “Get ready, Catalina Capuleta. After tonight, your life is going to change.”
“I’m counting on it.”