The Spaniard's Pleasurable Vengeance

Baz paused for a moment. “He taught me history by taking me to the places history was made. He taught me to enjoy museums and art galleries.”

“As a child?” she asked, a little disbelieving.

“He never treated me like I could not understand the value of what was on display. He told me stories that made the exhibits and the art I was looking at interesting. Papá took me to work with him from the time I was a small child, letting me play in his office, though I’m sure that wasn’t conducive to doing business. And he taught me to sail.” The warmth that memory brought out in Baz was obvious in his tone and the darkening of his espresso eyes.

“Um...sure, that sounds fun.” She was not a huge fan of boats. It wasn’t a rational fear, but after her mom tried to drown her in the bath when she was six, big bodies of water gave Randi nightmares.

It didn’t have to make sense; it just was.

Baz laughed. “I enjoyed it.”

“Do you still sail?”

“Not often, but when I need silence, to be away from the constant demands on my time.”

She’d noticed how many texts and calls he got. He didn’t answer them all, but Baz kept his finger on the pulse of his company. While he never picked up the phone during sex, she’d heard him on the phone in the middle of the night more than once, and he’d rolled over to text something in the dark.

Randi instinctively knew it was business, and when she let him know she was awake, Baz often told her whatever the issue, question or update had been. She liked that he didn’t make her ask. The few words she overheard confirmed the business nature of his calls.

Besides, she’d done an internet searching on Baz and found out that he’d broken up with his latest girlfriend several months before. None of the gorgeous, sleek companions in between were seen on his arm more than once, so she believed when he said he wasn’t with anyone else.

“Does your father still sail with you?”

He smiled, as if at a fond memory. “At least twice a year. We skipper a boat in the Christmas Regatta and at least one summer regatta each year.”

“That sounds fun,” she said a little wistfully.

If nothing else, she’d love to see the side of Basilio Perez that came out when he was skippering a boat on the open water. She was sure it was something few ever got to know.

“We both enjoy it,” he confirmed. “How about you, mi hermosa? Do you sail?”

Randi shook her head, maybe a little too vehemently. “I’m not fond of boats.” Or the bodies of water they floated on.

“Really?” His dark brows drew together in confusion, like he couldn’t imagine such a thing.

“Oh, yes. Really.” She was definite. As much as she’d like to see the relaxed Baz who got away from it all, she would never be able to climb on board the boat. She didn’t even like walking on the docks that jutted out into the water. “I prefer my feet on dry ground.”

“Boats are not wet.” There was laughter in his voice as he informed her, “They float above the water, not under it.”

“If you’re lucky.”

“Are you afraid of water?”

“Of course not. You’ve seen me in the bath.” Not that she’d taken as many baths in the past two years as she had since meeting him. She preferred showers. Only she never got that sinking feeling when she was with him, and relaxing into the hot water had become something pleasurable.

Something it had not been since she was six.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“I thought we were talking about baby elephants.”

A zookeeper came up to them. “We’re ready for you now.”

Baz turned a brilliant smile on Randi. “Speaking of, would you like to meet her up close?”

“You’re not serious.” Randi looked between him and the zookeeper.

Both stared back expectantly.

“You are serious!” Randi exclaimed, still not quite believing Baz had set this up. “We can go into the enclosure?” With all the elephants?

“Not quite. We have the baby in the indoor area.” The zookeeper led the way to a huge enclosure fit with numerous skylights. The baby elephant was playing with a large red ball near a tree with many branches.

“The rest of the elephants are outside.” The zookeeper turned to Baz. “They told you we have to keep the visit short, right? She’s still young enough that keeping her from her mom for very long is not a great idea.”

“That is fine.”

Randi looked up at Baz. “How did you manage this?”

“With the help of my very efficient executive assistant and a large donation to the pachyderm program here at the zoo.”

They got to spend about fifteen minutes with the baby elephant, petting the bristly hair on its head and watching her play.

“She seems to like your hair,” Baz teased as the baby elephant ruffled through Randi’s shoulder-length brown hair for the second time. “She wants to pet you, too.”

“Maybe it’s the tea tree oil in my shampoo.” Elephants ate leaves, so that made sense to Randi.

“It could be,” the zookeeper agreed with a smile.

“Or maybe she just likes you,” Baz offered.

Too quickly, they were exiting the inner enclosure after thanking the keeper for allowing them the visit.

Randi couldn’t help asking how much Baz had donated to make their time with the baby elephant possible. When he told her, her knees went a little weak. “Wow, um...okay. I can’t imagine spending that on a weekend date, much less fifteen minutes.”

Baz shrugged as they walked toward the next animal habitat. “It made you happy. And she was as charming as you implied she would be.”

“Well, I’m glad you are enjoying yourself. You certainly went out of your way to make sure this will be the zoo visit I always remember.”

“I’m glad. And I am enjoying myself a lot more than I expected to.” If he sounded a little shocked by the fact, she wasn’t going to take offense.

They spent another hour at the zoo before driving downtown for dinner. Baz was solicitous and attentive at the tiny but exclusive restaurant that served Asian fusion food, encouraging Randi to try dishes she hadn’t before, and comparing the American version of the food to that which he would have found in Madrid.

He wasn’t critical, merely urbane in his observations.

“I’d love to visit Spain someday,” she admitted.

His lips turned down for a second, his eyes revealing some kind of regret before his face went neutral again. “Perhaps you will.”

“Maybe.” But not with him. That was a given. And if not with him, would visiting his homeland cause too many painful memories? Probably.

After dinner he drove toward his own executive condo, rather than her apartment as they had agreed outside the restaurant. “So, the art museum tomorrow?”

“I can’t,” she said with genuine regret. “I’m going shopping with Kayla to find an outfit to wear for my television interview.”

“Skip the interview and you can spend the evening with me,” he offered beguilingly.

“You know I can’t do that.” But a giant part of Randi wished she could.

“No, I do not know that.” He pulled the car to a stop at a red light and turned to look at her, his expression serious. “This interview is going to bring much more pain into your life than the good you imagine it will.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I assure you, I can. Which of us has more experience with the media?”

“I have plenty experience.” All of it awful. She was ready to have the truth about her out there. She needed it.

Only the idea of the interview? Terrified her. And what could happen afterward? He was right. It could turn her life into another circus where she was performing the high-wire act on a greased rope without a safety net. But like Kayla had said, Randi had to do something.

Both women had agreed they’d had their fill of being victims in their own lives.

“No. You have been attacked, hurt and victimized by the media.” His tone was implacable as he pulled away from the light. “You believe that will change when you get your side of the story out.”

“You don’t, though?” Why didn’t he?

It would help her if Andreas was all for the interview, but it was Kayla who understood Randi’s need to act, to fight back, and had pushed for Randi to get her side of the story out in such a way. Andreas had warned them both doing the spot could boomerang back on Randi, bringing the crazies out of the woodwork as well as the critics that would never be swayed by the truth.