Adding to the pressure, as a new talent out to prove herself, Cat felt certain Padua’s “wanted” really meant “expected” when it came to her. El Príncipe might be able to jerk George and the other executives around, but she didn’t have that luxury.
It was past time they got to work.
Decision made, she raised her fist and pounded on the bus door.
Moments later it slid open with a barely audible pneumatic hiss. Alberto stood on the middle step, a slightly pained look on his round face. “Hola, Catalina, it’s good to see you again.”
Again, because she’d been here a little over an hour ago. And shortly after breakfast.
“Hi, Alberto. Still looking dapper in your suit. I’m living for the day when you surprise me in shorts and a tee or . . . ay, dare I suggest”—she pressed a hand to her chest in mock surprise—“sweats!”
“Don’t hold your breath. Or better yet, do!”
Patricio’s taunt from somewhere in the bowels of the behemoth bus drew Alberto’s attention away from her long enough for Cat to deftly sidestep the older man and scurry up the steps.
“Oh, I—un momen—whoops!” Alberto’s hands fluttered in the air as he tried to halt her progress and nearly palmed one of her boobs.
Eyes widening with horror, he stumbled backward. The heel of his black orthopedic dress shoe caught on the top step, and he started toppling in slow-motion like a towering oak felled by an axe.
“¡Ay! ¡Cuidado!” Cat grabbed one of his flailing arms to stop him from collapsing onto the wood floor. Only, the older man was heavier than she anticipated, and she pitched forward with his weight. Her repeated “watch it” turned into a yelp of surprise as gravity and his momentum pulled her toward the floor with him.
Seconds before she would have landed sprawled on top of Alberto and his round belly, a muscular arm looped around her waist from behind, hauling her up. Her back slammed into the solid wall of Patricio’s chest, and the air rushed out of her in a guttural oomph.
“I got you.” His deep voice rumbled against her ear. The vibration traveled down her neck into her chest, sparking wicked curls of lust that pebbled her nipples.
The material of her cropped tee bunched up, leaving her abdomen exposed to the warmth of his bare forearm. With her legs dangling off the ground, her butt wound up cradled intimately against his pelvis where the button on his jeans poked her through her leggings. Damn if the sensation didn’t have her thinking about what lay behind that button and zipper. Desire pulsed between her legs, and she squeezed them together.
Shocked by her body’s intense reaction to being held by him, she wiggled for him to set her down.
Rather than release her, Patricio’s hold tightened. She grabbed on to his forearm. Truthfully, she couldn’t have said whether she wanted him to let go or keep her tucked against him.
Alberto blinked up at her from his seat on the wood flooring. Shocked disbelief slackened his jaw.
That made two of them.
So much for the power of a surprise attack on her part.
“You okay?” Patricio ducked closer, and his scruffy jaw scraped her temple. His spice-tinged cologne clung to her next inhalation.
The combustion building from his torso pressed along the length of her backside, plus the strength of his arms wrapped around her and his heady scent enveloping her, had Cat on instant sensory overload.
“¿Estás bien?” he repeated, and all she could manage was to nod mutely. Her loose, messy bun wobbled, the hair tie’s hold on her long locks as precarious as her ability to rein in this raging, uncontrollable awareness of Patricio’s seductive appeal.
Desperate to put a respectable distance between them and regain some semblance of control, she squeezed his forearm and squirmed for him to let go.
Big mistake.
The friction of her butt against the front of his jeans set off a clash of warning alarms and let’s-get-it-on cheers in her head.
“Whoa!” Patricio grunted.
His free hand palmed her hip, pushing her away from his pelvis. Lust arrowed from his fingertips across her belly and lower. He loosened his hold on her waist, and she yelped, stumbling as her feet hit the floor.
Thankfully, Alberto had managed to scramble to his own feet already. The older man grasped her elbow before she tripped over him.
“Gracias,” she muttered, tugging down her top and steadying herself.
Of course, her ponytail holder chose that moment to give up the fight. It slid from her hair, sending the locks tumbling over her shoulders and into her face. She swiped the curtain of hair out of her eyes to glare at Patricio. The insufferable man had wisely backed away after unceremoniously dropping her.
“Looks like you’re alive and well. If in need of a shave,” she shot at him.
“Who said I wasn’t? I’ve been busy.”
He motioned to a rectangular table in between two brown leather-upholstered, padded booth seats, one of which butted up against a matching couch that ran along the right side of the bus’s front lounge area. Muted sunlight streamed through the slatted blinds covering the dark, tinted windows. It glinted off the table’s shiny surface and the glass tumbler nestled in one of the cup holders carved into the table, a precaution against spilled drinks when the bus was in motion.
Cat had seen photographs of Patricio’s home on the road in a People en Español article several years ago. She and her sisters had oohed and aahed over the lavishly customized tour bus and joked about the perks they’d want when Las Nubes had one of their own. But this was her first time making it through the hallowed door to check out the bus firsthand. Until a few moments ago, Alberto had been a staunch sentry barring unwanted visitors. Namely her.
Ay, the girls were gonna flip, demanding all the juicy details when they video chatted later tonight. Still, she tried to play it cool. No sense getting caught ogling the man’s private quarters. She was here for business, not pleasure.
“Busy, huh? Doing what?” she asked, casting a furtive glance around the bus.
A matching brown leather-upholstered couch-bench ran the entire length of the lounge area’s left side. Bright red and yellow throw pillows added a homey vibe, and she imagined Patricio sprawled on the cushions, his dark head resting on a pillow. Or her lap.
Cat shook off the tantalizing image and trailed her gaze to one of two supersize televisions that hung in the center of the windows on both sides of the bus. Soccer players jockeyed over a black-and-white ball, chasing each other across a verdant field on one screen, the sound muted.
“Working on ideas for the album?” she prodded when Patricio didn’t answer.
“Among other things, but yeah,” he said.
Alberto brought a fist to his mouth as he cleared his throat. His bushy brows angled together in a warning scowl Cat recognized well. She’d seen it on her parents’ faces whenever she or one of her sisters tried playing a little fast and loose with the truth.
Arms crossed, Patricio scowled back.
Some kind of silent exchange took place between the two men. Alberto’s gaze slid to her, then back to Patricio, who gave a quick shake of his head. Whatever mental argument they were having, it clearly involved her.
“Is there something I should be aware of?” she asked.
“Not at all,” Patricio asserted.