Wedding Party Collection: Proposing To The Planner. Aimee Carson

Her breath caught in her throat as his glance swept the room.

       ‘Maxie,’ he growled, heading straight for her.

       Diego nodded to a waiter, who quickly pulled out a chair.

       ‘Hello, Diego.’ Maxie tried to remain cool as her heart thundered nineteen to the dozen. How could anyone look so gorgeous? How could anyone carry such an air of command? It was enough to transfix every man and woman in the place, she noticed—but then Diego wasn’t just a famous polo player, he was a frighteningly charismatic man, whom she guessed every woman wanted to go to bed with, and every man longed to call friend.

       But he was hers.

       Well, sort of, Maxie reasoned, trying not to give way to the waves of longing washing over her. She stared down in bewilderment at the crumbly little pastries on the plate in front of her, which the waiter had just put down without her ordering them.

       ‘Eat,’ Diego instructed. ‘I’ll watch your mouth.’

       Trying to read Diego’s thoughts was always a non-starter. Was he teasing her, or was that a threat?

       ‘Eat,’ he repeated while she was still trying to work this out. And with that he turned away as if she was of no further interest to him.

       ‘Excuse me, señorita?’

       She glanced up to find one of the men who had been dancing the tango leaning over the table, trying to attract her attention. ‘Yes?’

       ‘You are not dancing?’

       ‘No,’ she agreed, wiping her mouth on her napkin.

       ‘I would like to dance with you.’

       Diego swung round so fast the table rocked. ‘The señorita is with me,’ he barked.

      ‘Pardon, señor,’ the man said with a bow, giving way.

       Diego was interested now. He was so interested she couldn’t say, ‘I was going to refuse…’ fast enough before he moved his chair back and stood up.

       ‘You should have told me you wanted to dance, Maxie.’

       ‘But I don’t. In fact, I can’t dance,’ she explained.

       ‘Why not?’ Diego frowned.

       Conscious that everyone in the café was staring at them now, she reduced her voice to an urgent whisper. ‘I’m hardly dressed for it.’

       Resting one strong hand on his tight hips, Diego scanned the room. All the couples dancing were dressed in everyday clothes, she noticed.

       ‘Are you all out of excuses?’ he demanded.

       Not quite. ‘I have two left feet.’

       ‘Lucky for you I have one of each.’

       Staring at Diego’s outstretched hand, she pulled back in her chair. ‘Seriously—I can’t dance.’

       ‘But I can.’

       Which was how she found herself in the arms of a man she couldn’t even look at without remembering how his kisses felt, or wondering what else he might be expert in.

       ‘I find dancing is much improved if you move your feet,’ he said, drawing her close. ‘Just a suggestion, Maxie.’

       ‘Of course.’

       She would dance one dance with Diego and then sit down. There were so many people dancing between the tables that with any luck he would give up and she could start breathing evenly again. But somehow the dancers managed to avoid each other, and Diego was more intuitive than most. Of course he was, Maxie reasoned, fighting her body’s best attempt to melt against him. Diego was an international sportsman whose life revolved around second-guessing the competition. Now, if she could just concentrate instead of being distracted by erotic images bombarding her brain she might even be able to move her feet in time to the music…

       When the dance ended she was reluctant to leave Diego’s embrace. All the more reason to pull herself together, she concluded, heading back to the table. ‘This has been excellent research,’ she informed him as he sat down. ‘I think we should have dancing at the charity event.’

       ‘Really?’ Diego murmured. ‘What an original idea. Somehow I expected better of you, Maxie.’ After a moment, he added, ‘So, what did you buy to wear tonight?’

       ‘I bought a dress in the market.’

       He seemed surprised.

       ‘It was pretty and I liked it. What’s wrong with that?’

       ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘I’m just surprised you didn’t find anything in the shops where I dropped you off.’

       She had no intention of reliving how embarrassing her experience in the upscale part of town had been.

       ‘Maxie?’ Diego prompted.

       ‘If you must know, I wasn’t joking when I told you they wouldn’t serve me.’

       ‘Honestly?’ Diego sat back. ‘I can’t believe it.’

       ‘Only because it would never happen to you.’

       He frowned. ‘But why wouldn’t they serve you?’

       ‘I’m not sure,’ Maxie admitted. ‘I can’t think of anything other than the way I’m dressed.’

       ‘Or maybe it’s the slogan on your T-shirt?’ Diego suggested, his dark eyes glittering. ‘“Drama Queen”? That’s hardly you, is it, Maxie?’

       ‘It’s supposed to be ironic.’ She lasted a moment and then began to laugh.

       Diego wasn’t smiling. ‘The people in those shops need a wake-up call,’ he said, standing up.

       ‘Where are you going now?’

       ‘To put a few people straight.’

       ‘There are worse things in life than assistants who don’t want to assist.’

       ‘They are being paid to help customers find what they are looking for,’ Diego argued, ‘Even if that customer is a drama queen,’ he added dryly. ‘Come on,’ he insisted, holding out his hand. ‘I’m taking you shopping.’

      * * *

      Diego’s approach to shopping was masculine and methodical, and while the usually meticulous Maxie would accept she was better known for her bemused dawdle when it came to choosing clothes, she was content to let Diego take the lead on this occasion. He was stopped every five minutes and asked for his autograph, which he always gave with a smile, good grace and a few kind words, and when they entered one of the high-class stores where Maxie had been ignored, far from seeing a shortage of assistants, they were mobbed.

       ‘Just have everything sent over,’ Diego stated on each occasion. ‘My friend needs time to make her selection.’

       Maxie’s eyes widened. She did? Everything Diego had picked out looked fabulous to her, and there were mountains of clothes awaiting her perusal. He didn’t even need to pay, because everyone knew him and said she could have the clothes on sale or return.

       ‘The items the señorita has selected will be despatched immediately by special courier,’ they were assured in every shop.

       And the clothes just kept on coming—shoes, bags, the most outrageous lingerie—and all of it would be waiting for them when they returned to the apartment.

       ‘How can they be back before we are?’ Maxie reasoned out loud when she remembered the speed at which Diego drove.

       ‘If we beat them back we won’t buy,’ he said, and with such charm that the shop assistants were still swooning when they walked out of the shop.

       ‘So that’s how it’s done,’ Maxie remarked when they were back in the Ferrari. ‘I should have