Obsession. Kay DavidЧитать онлайн книгу.
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 that depend on how you define success?”
“I define it as do most of our clients—by a large return on their investments.”
“That’s what I’ve heard,” he conceded. “And what I’d like, as well.”
“So we were recommended, then?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
She waited for more—a name, a hint of some sort—but he wasn’t going to give it to her. Felicity brought in the coffee, and when she left, he spoke again.
“It doesn’t really matter why I chose your bank. What’s important is the account I’d like to open.” Ignoring the coffee, he pulled a long black wallet from the inside pocket of his suit. The leather looked smooth and expensive; it matched the rest of him. He withdrew what appeared to be a printed check and pushed it across Emma’s desk, along with a business card showing his addresses and phone numbers. “I’ll be doing some trading. I think that should cover it.”
Emma made no move to pick up the check, but she looked down at it. Drawn from a bank in El Paso, Texas, it gave an amount of seven figures. Before the decimal point. She reached for her phone and hit one button. The door to the office opened immediately, Felicity on the threshold.
Emma motioned her inside, then handed the secretary the check and the card. “Please take care of the paperwork for this.” She glanced at the man across the desk. “Will you wait or shall I messenger the documents to you later?”
“How long will it take?”
The bigger the check, the shorter the time. “Ten minutes, maybe fifteen,” she said.
“I’ll wait.”
Felicity nodded and hurried away, a tight grasp on the check as she disappeared out the door. Emma turned back to the man in front of her. Usually she had no trouble visiting with her clients, but for some reason, Raul Santos left her not quite knowing what to say. It felt strange. She hadn’t been tongue-tied in years, especially without knowing why.
“What brings you to the area, Mr. Santos? Are you from Bolivia?” Lame, Emma, really lame.
“I grew up in Texas, but I’ve been living in Washington until recently. I moved here to do business. I’m an importer.”
Shocked into silence, Emma kept a mask of polite interest on her face. Importer? The answer was a standard reply in some circles, but the last one she’d expected from this man. He’d definitely not struck her as being involved in the drug trade, but that was the euphemism everyone in Santa Cruz used for the narcotraficantes. “I see,” she finally said. “An importer…”
“That’s right. I import money.” He paused. “And export goods.”
“You must be good at it.”
He smiled for the first time and something—a quick unexpected reaction—tumbled around inside her chest. “I’m good at what I do, Ms. Toussaint. Very good.”
She nodded, uncertain what to say next. Surprisingly he kept the moment from being awkward by turning the conversation to her. “What about you? What brought you to Santa Cruz?”
She hadn’t expected the question from him,