Tiny specks of light flashed around the Center as fans snapped pics with their phones.
Catalina gently patted his chest and eased back. Grabbing her mic stand, she tipped it toward her mouth and shot him a coquettish grin that instantly sent his blood rushing south in a way that could turn unfortunate in front of thousands of onlookers.
“Ay, talk about a warm welcome. I may not be able to wash this cheek for at least a week,” she murmured into her mic and caressed her face with her fingertips. “¿Qué piensan?”
The crowd let her know exactly what they thought with a chorus of resounding “yes” and “sí.”
Patricio played along, puffing out his chest with pride. She batted her eyelashes and fanned herself with a hand as if overcome by his kiss. Whistles and catcalls echoed through the arena. Proof that, like him, the fans were charmed by Catalina’s teasing.
“As the young girl who spent her entire allowance on Patricio’s first album and mooned over the cover, my night has been made. It can’t get any better than this.”
“Oye, believe me, your night can definitely get better if I’m involved,” he quipped, enjoying their verbal sparring.
“Promises, promises,” Catalina drew out the words with a salacious grin and slow shake of her head. Jabbing her thumb at him, she played up to the crowd. “Ay, the ego on this one.”
“¡Yo quiero un beso!” an older woman in the second row shouted.
“You’re in great company, señora,” Catalina shot back with a laugh. “There are many here who’d like a kiss from Patricio Galán, too.”
“How ’bout one for me, Cat?”
Her husky laughter answered the call from a young stud in a tan cowboy hat and a tight-fitting white tee about five rows back. Patricio chuckled, but a spurt of uncalled-for jealousy burned through him.
“Oye, güey.” Patricio shook a finger in the guy’s direction. “I promised her papá I’d keep watch over her on the tour. Don’t get me into trouble before we’ve even left town.”
Catalina’s brow puckered with a question, and Patricio realized he might have let slip his secret visit to Casa Capuleta and his conversation with her parents.
“I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself. Right, ladies?” Catalina crooked an elbow and raised a fist as if to show off her biceps, hidden under her charro jacket sleeve. High-pitched cheers from the women answered her. “Who knows? It might be me who winds up looking out for you!”
“Promises, promises.” He singsonged her words back at her, eliciting lively laughter from his fans.
“Touché.”
Catalina winked and he couldn’t help but be smitten by her flirty banter. Inside his chest, the tight knot of ever-present tension unfurled as he grinned down at her. For the first time in ages, Patricio found himself relaxing onstage. Enjoying himself. Thanks to her.
Tugging her mic out of the stand, Catalina snagged the cord with one hand, then angled slightly to face both him and the audience. “Bueno, I’m thinking your fans are ready to hear you sing some more.”
He waited for the cheers to quiet down. “I say we slow things down a bit, sing a few classic duets. Maybe try a new number I’m betting will become a classic.”
“I’d take that bet and raise the ante.”
Ay, she was cheeky. Confident. Captivating in all the right—probably also wrong—ways.
Behind them, the band kicked off the opening strains of Catalina’s “No Me Olvides,” her burning, pining, angsty, don’t-forget-me ballad. The humor sparkling in her brown eyes softened to sincerity. “It’s an honor to perform this with you tonight, Patricio.”
“Likewise.”
Honor woven with something that felt a lot like relief. Maybe even comfort.
Struck by the unfamiliar emotions rioting in his chest, he held out his hand. Catalina rested hers on top of his. Her fingertips curled around his pinkie, and it was as if she gave his heart a little squeeze. It felt right, standing here with her. Their verbal foreplay exciting him. Her smiles and presence warming him. Their voices about to blend in a way he felt certain would wow the crowd.
Closing her eyes, Catalina sang the opening lines. Her melodious voice filled the Center at the same time it filled an emptiness deep inside him.
Entranced, Patricio gazed at her, struck by the all too real possibility that, if he wasn’t careful, he just might find himself in deep trouble.
Chapter Seven
The insufferable man was avoiding her.
No doubt about it.
Arms crossed, Cat squinted at the darkened bus windows of Patricio’s palace on wheels. The toe of one ankle boot tapped her annoyance on the parking lot asphalt as she weighed her options.
Sulk back to her shared bus. Again.
Knock politely on the door and hear some excuse from Alberto. Again.
Bang on the damn door and demand Patricio see her.
Squinting up at the midday sun, she prayed for the patience her familia would say she rarely possessed.
Ha! The joke was on them. She’d been patient for four days.
Four. Freaking. Days.
After Friday night’s concert in San Antonio, they had immediately hopped the buses and beelined to Houston for a Saturday night show. It’d been a fast turnaround with no room for error or anything that didn’t involve prep for the concert.
She hadn’t expected to work on songwriting with Patricio in the midst of all that. The man had been up to his eyeballs with sound check, troubleshooting problems, and any number of details that made her head spin. Not his, though. He had this way of calmly asking questions and thinking things through. His intensity and commitment to excellence made a girl wonder if he carried that same intensity to other activities. Like the kind that took place behind closed doors. Or up against them.
Of course, then he’d make a decision and start rattling off orders in that authoritative manner of his that had people jumping to carry them out. Cat rarely jumped for anyone. But somehow, with Patricio, she found herself doing his bidding. If begrudgingly.
So fine. With a performance that night, Saturday couldn’t count on her wasted-days list. They’d all had a higher priority. But the three days since?
Mija, por favor, they totally counted.
And he had wasted each of them.
On Sunday, Patricio had given everyone the day off, ordering them to enjoy the break in Houston before they made the caravan trek overnight to Irving for Thursday night’s show. Cat had gone to mass with two of the other girls on her bus but begged off a trip to the mall, thinking she and Patricio could get down to work. Nope. He’d gone to visit with friends, according to Alberto, who’d been left behind playing tour-bus butler, answering each of Cat’s knocks.
Yesterday and this morning . . . the exasperating mariachi had left Alberto to pass along more excuses about why Patricio wasn’t available.
Twice already, George Garcia had reached out to ask Cat how things were going with her and their superstar. More like super pain in the ass.
She didn’t know why Patricio was playing this silly cat and mouse game when they had a ticking-clock deadline. Padua had made it clear that they wanted the two of them to write as many songs as possible for Patricio’s new album by the end of the seven-week tour. That wasn’t a lot of time to form a creative partnership.