Passion in Pamplona: Libros de Amor, #4

By Kate Hofman

Free at last…
When financial wizard, Alex de Montoro, divorce is final, he wants nothing more to enjoy his freedom. He’s had more than his quota of cheating women and so-called love. Moving to a beach front home in Florida sounds like the perfect way to start a new life.

Captured by love…
Olivia Harris may be a longtime friend of Alex’s family, but she wants much, much more. Over the years her love for Alex has grown, but after his horrible marriage, he doesn’t believe in love anymore.  His offer: Friends with benefits.

Determined to show Alex friends can fall in love, she take him to his native Spain for his birthday, for the annual running of the bulls in Pamplona and an exotic vacation.  But as their passion grows to unspeakable heights, what will Olivia do when Alex refuses to fall in love ?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kate Hofman
• Release date: Feb 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781497734647

Book preview

Prologue

Greenwich Village, NY.

Early April

Mail for you, Alex!

Thanks, Bill. Look at it as soon as I’ve some coffee in me.

I’m off—early rehearsal to make the new ‘Alethea’ in this accursed play feel at home. Uphill work—she’s got the looks, but not the talent.  Bill sighed.

Alexander de Montoro sighed in sympathy. His brother had to play opposite that airhead in his first male lead role.

Let’s plan on having dinner together tonight, Bill?

Great. I hope you’re buying?

Sure. Best of luck with Alethea. Alex heard the front door close, as he came out of his room, still barefoot, knotting his tie. He grinned to himself. Old man Lippert was a stickler for formality. Fortunately he only expected Alex to put in an appearance at the bank on Fridays. The rest of Alex’s time was spent working from home, researching subjects for the bank’s financial newsletter, which was his responsibility.

He entered the kitchen, striding toward the Italian coffee machine, when he recalled the letter his brother had mentioned. Glancing at the envelope, he was a bit surprised to see it was a communication from his lawyers. What could they want now? Quickly, he picked up a knife from the counter and slit the envelope open. Moments later, a huge smile lit up his handsome face, and his dark eyes were radiant. His divorce was final!

Now he could leave New York and do what he wanted to do—live in Florida, write his own financial newsletter without any heavy-handed Lippert interference, often skewing his best advice. He certainly had a big enough following to make his own newsletter a success. He sighed. No more visits to old man Lippert, giving the old buzzard the entirely spurious illusion that he was writing the newsletter. No more discreet ties, white shirts and charcoal three-piece suits. No more black wing-tip shoes. He ran a hand through his thick, blue-black hair, disturbing its ‘successful young business man’ look.

Alex grinned. Freedom beckoned, at last.

For a moment, concern about Bill clouded his elation. Then he shrugged it away. Finding someone financially solvent to share a 2-bedroom, 2 bathroom apartment in Greenwich Village should not pose any problems. He frowned. Of course he couldn’t expect Bill to buy out his half of the co-op. And Bill wouldn’t want to share the ownership with a stranger. No, anyone interested in sharing the apartment would do so as a renter. Which meant that Alex would be on a tight budget when it came to finding a place to live in Florida.

After some thought, his face cleared. He would concentrate on Ocean Breeze, where his friend Jeff Harcourt lived. Jeff, his friend from their university days, would be able to advise him. The subjects they’d studied had been very different. Jeff had started in economics, but soon switched to art—his own field had been economics and then an MBA. It had made no difference to their friendship, which had endured all these years.

He smiled ruefully. The way he figured it, he could probably afford a gardening shed. Shaking his head at his dire forecast, a grin began slowly. He would call Jeff and tell him his news. Maybe Jeff would invite him to stay with him and Tom for a week or so, and in that time he would find a place he could afford.

Yes.

Chapter One

––––––––

Alex decided to walk to the bank’s offices—close to the Stock Exchange in Lower Manhattan. Parking was a bitch there, and the way he felt right now, elated to be free of Katrine at last, he could’ve walked to Albany.

When he arrived at Buchanan & Lippert, Investment Bankers, he went straight to Lippert’s offices. Olivia Harris, Lippert’s P.A, glanced at him ruefully. A dark-haired, attractive woman—he would guess about thirty years old—she spread her hands in a gesture of apology. He’s not in, Alex. A stomach upset, his wife told me this morning. He left no instructions as to what you’re to do with the newsletter.  Her violet-blue eyes searched his worriedly. Alex smiled.

Never mind, Livvy. I’ll just put it in as is. You know that most of his interferences are to the newsletter’s detriment. Let my last one give the clients the best advice I’m capable of.

Your last one? That sounds dangerously final, Olivia observed.

Alex grinned. It’s not so much final, as burning my bridges—getting out from under, Livvy.

She looked surprised, her glance sharpening. Getting out from under?

Alex nodded. I can’t tell you how sick I am of having my best advice screwed up by that old megalomaniac, because it contradicts some erroneous advice of his. For once I’d like to write a financial newsletter that is the very best advice I can come up with.

Olivia smiled sympathetically. Not with old man Lippert, you won’t.

Don’t I know it, Alex sighed.

Would you like to come to dinner tonight, Alex? We could maybe figure out a way you could be more independent, write without the old geezer’s interference?

Thanks, Livvy, but I can’t. I’m having dinner with Bill tonight...

Olivia interrupted. Bring Bill—you often do, and the way he falls on the food, you’d think he rarely gets a square meal.

That’s kind of you, Livvy. I’ll see what he says. He had an early rehearsal for that gorgeous-looking moron they’ve hired to replace the current ‘Alethea’ whose pregnancy is beginning to show. He is so depressed at having to work with this narcissistic idiot in his first major part. She can’t even recall her lines. Bill hates it when, in an intimate scene, she leans toward the prompt box, breathing, ‘What?’—ruining the tension Bill has been at pains to build.

Olivia sympathized. That’s decidedly appalling for poor Bill. Never mind, if you find you can’t make it tonight I’ll give you a raincheck.

Yes, I’d like that, thank you, Livvy.

Alex sat down in Olivia’s visitor’s chair, took his laptop from its carrier, and emailed his newsletter to the printing department.

****

Walking out of the bank, Alex wondered if he should’ve invited Olivia to have dinner with him and Bill? On the other hand, he wanted to discuss his plans for moving to Florida. He wasn’t ready yet to tell her that much about what he intended to do. He knew she would never betray any plans of his to old man Lippert, but on the other hand, Olivia might be so upset that he was planning to move to Florida that she’d let something slip by accident. He realized uneasily that Olivia liked him—a lot. And that kind of thing could well turn out to be a two-edged sword.

He frowned. Having just succeeded in getting the vicious and serially promiscuous Katrine out of his life, he was hardly likely to be interested in replacing her—even with a good friend, as undemanding—and as beautiful—as Olivia. He shrugged. Celibacy had never been a problem for him, except of course when he was interested in someone. He was glad to say that right now he wasn’t. On the other hand—  He retraced his steps to Olivia’s office. Her eyes widened when she saw Alex returning to her desk.

Have lunch with me? he asked. Tell whoever needs to know that you have to take care of a family emergency, and you can’t say how long it may take you to sort this matter out.

Olivia’s eyes lit up. Thank you, Alex—great idea.  She quickly thumbed in a key and said, Gilbert—I have to take care of a family emergency. I’ll be back as soon as I can, but right now I don’t know how long this will take.

Alex heard a querulous voice, interrupted by Olivia. You mistake the purpose of this call, Gilbert. I am not asking your permission—I don’t have to. I answer only to Mr. Lippert, as you know very well. I merely advised you as a courtesy, in case someone should ask for me. Thank you.  Olivia replaced the receiver and got up. Damn office manager. Never stops trying to get me in some way subservient to him—fat chance, stupid empire builder. I’ve a good mind to report him to Lippert. That’ll change his tune.  She smiled as she got up from behind her desk. All yours.

We’ll have to take your car—I walked here this morning, Alex said. "I was thinking of having lunch at Pietro’s, that small Italian restaurant near where I live. I’ve taken you there before, haven’t I?"

No, Alex, you haven’t. But it sounds interesting.

I was thinking it’s far enough from the bank so we don’t risk being seen having lunch while you are supposed to be taking care of a family emergency.

"Greenwich Village? For sure, no one would go there. If they go anywhere it would be The Four Seasons, or similar.  She raised an elegant brow, her violet-blue eyes scathing. Heaven forbid they should eat lunch in less than a five-star restaurant.  She lightly touched Alex’s arm. Come on, then. Let’s get my car."

****

When they entered Pietro’s, Olivia smiled at the Italian atmosphere, the coziness, the unobtrusive way the restaurant designer had made the most of the available space.

This is nice, Alex, she said.

Glad you like it.

At that moment, the Exit door from the kitchen opened, and Pietro himself exploded through it. "Alex, amico mio, benvenuto!" he exclaimed, as they embraced. Noticing Olivia, he gave Alex a look that could only be exchanged between two men of Mediterranean heritage—where a woman was concerned. "Big improvement on that cold Dutch cagna," Pietro said in an undertone. Alex concealed a grin at ‘cagna’ – Italian for bitch.

Livvy, meet my friend Pietro Tarquino, the owner of this restaurant. Pietro, a friend from work, Olivia Harris.  If Alex had intended to defuse Pietro’s interest in Olivia as a suitable successor to Katrine, he was mistaken.

Now you’re showing some sense, you’ll always have something to talk about. Good move! 

A frantic face appeared in the small window of the Exit door, and Pietro smote his forehead with his palm, rather in the manner of an infuriated French general. "I’ve got to go back, or there will be no Zabaglione on the dessert menu today. Buon appetito!"  With that, Pietro dived back into his kitchen.

Paul, the head-waiter, quickly seated them at a secluded table.

I needn’t ask whether you and Bill come here often, Olivia said. That was quite a welcome Pietro gave you.

We’ve been friends for a long time, Livvy. We studied Economics together, and after two years, Pietro left and went to some famous Culinary Arts school. I think it’s admirable, changing horses in mid-stream, as it were, when you realize economics is not what you want to do with your life. It was what his father insisted on. Come to think of it, my friend Jeff Harcourt in Florida did the same. He did a year of Economics and went straight to Art school. 

When he saw Olivia’s interest in what he was telling her, he decided to go on with his story.

"Needless to say, when Pietro opened this restaurant, all his friends ate here whenever they could. Soon, it became renowned in its own right for the exceptional dishes created by the chef. He has been offered bigger premises, famous hotels have tried to tempt him away by telling him he need only turn up to cook the dinners, but Pietro refuses them all. He says this restaurant is just the size he can handle by himself—with the aid of kitchen staff, waiters, bus-boys, et cetera, of course. He likes it that way. More money is of no interest to him. Rare, no?"

Olivia smiled at her friend. Very rare. And from what you said earlier, about getting out from under, I think you are much of the same mind as Pietro?

Paul came over, asking what they wanted to drink.

What do you think, Livvy? Some red wine? Pietro imports a great red from his family’s vineyards in Tuscany. Want to try that?

I’d love to, Alex, thank you.

Bring us a bottle of Pietro’s own red, will you, Paul? Alex asked. Paul nodded and left. He quickly returned with the wine. The usual performance of pulling the cork, pouring a bit, having Alex taste, nod, then more pouring. Before raising his glass to Olivia, Alex said, "I can recommend Pietro’s scaloppine alla Marsala." 

If you recommend it, I’ll have that, Alex. 

"Scaloppine alla Marsala for two, please, Paul."  Paul nodded and disappeared.

Alex took his glass of wine, raising it to Olivia. Salud! he said softly.

"Salud," Olivia echoed, raising her glass. After one tentative sip, she gazed at Alex in delighted surprise. This is a great wine! she observed.

Glad you like it, he smiled. From now on, you take big sips.  They sat for a while, comfortable in each other’s company.

Suddenly, the peaceful atmosphere of the restaurant was broken by a furious woman’s voice, insisting, I’m his wife! I have the right...

Paul’s frosty voice was heard. "No, Madam, you are the gentleman’s ex-wife, and you have no rights here at all. Since your screaming tantrum last February, you are no longer welcome in this restaurant. Pietro’s orders. Leave quickly now, or I will be forced to have you removed by the police."

There was an excited murmur among the patrons that got a little louder as the woman’s scene-making continued.

You wouldn’t dare! My husband wouldn’t let you! the angry woman’s voice went on.

Calmly, Paul blocked her from entering deeper into the restaurant, saying, You have remarried already? Then I suggest you and your husband should pick on another restaurant for your meals. You will not be served here.

Of course I’m not remarried! My husband is sitting right there!  She tried to get a good look at Alex and his companion, but Paul’s blocking was effective.

"Mr. de Montoro is your ex-husband, Madam. Ex. And he has told Pietro and me how delighted he is to be your ex-husband. Leave now, or I will call the police."

This isn’t over, Alex! she yelled in his general direction, turning at last and leaving the restaurant. Instantly Paul began quietly soothing the patrons, apologizing for the ruckus caused by a woman who was no longer allowed to visit the restaurant.

Alex touched Olivia’s hand for a moment. I’m sorry, Livvy, that you were forced to listen to this. Trouble is, after slutting around with most of our male friends, she was deeply surprised when I divorced her, and keeps on telling me that she will refuse to be divorced. There is nothing she can do about that—I sued for divorce, and after the usual delays, the divorce was granted.

What was it that Pietro called her? A kàhnya?

Alex smiled. "Cagna means bitch in Italian. I’m glad now that she never took my name, but remained Katrine ter Hoeve. I don’t have to stand idly by while she disgraces the Montoro name. Let her father read her the riot act when his surname becomes synonymous with slutting around."

"Alex—I had no idea your divorce had been so...awful. I thought