Galán nodded, having been a front-row witness to the bickering between the two familias and their bands during the competition. Worse, there’d been Cat’s miscalculation in taking the feud to social media in the heat of her anger. Not exactly her finest hour.
“Business relationships will fail if emotions get in the way or if either party isn’t on the up-and-up with the other,” she shared.
Galán shifted on the rolling stool. His jaw muscles tightened, but he didn’t refute her claim.
Encouraged, also hoping her grab-the-bull-by-the-horns tactic didn’t come back to spear her in the ass, she continued. “For the sake of starting things off on the right note, I’m going to level with you, okay?”
“Something tells me you would even if I said no, not okay.”
For once his know-it-all smirk had her biting back a grin instead of a snarl.
“Am I that transparent?” she asked.
“No, you’re that much of a fighter. Someone who knows what she wants and goes for it.”
“Gracias.”
“Even if in sometimes foolhardy ways.”
“¡Oye, qué malo!” She swatted at his knee, the seam of his black jeans scraping against her palm.
His rich laughter filled the room. “Mean? Ha! What happened to being truthful? You weren’t exactly patience personified during a few key moments in the Battle.”
She shot him a playful scowl.
“Fine, I will admit, grudgingly, that my temper can get the best of me sometimes. It’s a work in progress. But my heart.” She pressed a palm to her chest, covering the crucifix that hung from a gold chain around her neck, a Confirmation gift from Mamá and Papo. The reminder of her familia, of their sacrifices for her dreams, sobered Cat. “My heart and soul are one hundred percent into making our partnership successful. Which brings us back to one of those factors that plays into whether or not this was a wise decision.”
Galán swallowed, his expression turning serious as he waited for her to go on.
“Sure, my contract is with Padua, but it’s no industry secret that when it comes to even the smallest detail on your album, the buck stops with you. Not any record producer or executive. Not even George, who’s been with you since the beginning.”
When she paused, allowing him time to deny or chime in, Galán answered with a haughty arch of a brow in a silent “And?”
“Aaand . . .” Cat rubbed her hands up and down the tops of her thighs in a bid to chase away the strange nervousness attempting to creep in. The heat generated by the friction between her palms and the jean material sparked a sense of urgency that galvanized her admission. “I keep getting a distinct not-interested-in-playing-with-others vibe from you.”
“Oh, I like playing with others.”
Mischief sparked in his black-coffee eyes. His lips tipped in a secret smile that had Cat imagining all kinds of secret pleasures those lips, that mouth, could treat her to.
Desire curlicued over her breasts, down her torso, and lower. Seeping into private places she should not be thinking about this man pleasuring.
The wheels on Galán’s rolling stool squeaked as he leaned toward her. Not invading her personal space but definitely hanging out on its fringes. Close enough that she noticed the tiny red line, a nick from his razor blade, marring his chiseled jaw. Near enough that her next inhale teased her with hints of his earthy, ginger-scented cologne. Tempting enough that her gaze slid to his irresistible lips.
“What do you say, Cat? Interested?”
The intimacy lacing his husky voice had her body screaming hell yeah.
But acting on the lust lighting her insides with delicious flames that licked and aroused would definitely not be a smart choice.
He certainly had to know that, too. So, what game was he trying to play here?
More importantly, if he thought she couldn’t beat him at whatever he was up to, or at least give him a run for his money, he had another think coming.
Matching Galán’s move and upping the ante, she invaded his personal space by cupping his cheek. The warmth of his bronze skin against her palm was almost as satisfying as the surprise that flashed in his eyes. Leaning closer, she brought her lips mere inches away from his mouth, her intent gaze never leaving his.
“Ay, papito, I am definitely interested.”
His pupils dilated, desire turning them into dark pools that beckoned in the seconds before she planted her hands on his shoulders and gave him a hard shove, sending his stool wobbling backward.
“In writing some chart-topping songs and bringing concert crowds to their feet.”
“What the f—!” Galán bit off the curse as he nearly dropped the guitar. His right arm flailing, he teetered on the small round seat until he planted a boot on the cream-and-brown-flecked carpet to halt the stool’s momentum.
“Did you already forget the first lesson I learned from the Capuleta and Montero feud?” she threw at him, fists balled on her hips. “Business partnerships and personal relationships do not mix. Plus, I don’t get involved with musicians.”
Lips pressed in a thin, unreadable line, his face a stern mask of harsh angles and planes, Galán studied her through narrowed eyes.
For a hot nanosecond Cat worried she might have been a bit overzealous in making her point. The machismo was strong in this one, and she’d given him a pretty good shove. But if there was a line in the sand she had to draw with him, it was this one.
“Look, I know that all of this”—she motioned from her head down her torso—“is hard to resist. And you—” She huffed out a breath as she jabbed an open palm at him. “Bueno, we both know you’ve perfected that swoony Latin-lover charm your fans adore. But it’s wasted on me. Are we clear?”
As clear as Texas oil spewing from the ground, considering her body’s hyperaware reaction whenever he was near. An annoying response she was determined to ignore.
Galán stretched to lean the guitar against one of the keyboard legs. With a heavy sigh, he rose to stand, his six-foot-plus height towering over her from her perch on the piano bench.
“Swoony Latin lover, huh? Is that how you think of me?” A corner of his mouth quirked at his playful teasing.
“You wish.” A breathy, relief-tinged chuckle accompanied her retort as she stood. At barely five foot two, she was still dwarfed by him, but now her pugnacious chin jut wasn’t at quite such an awkward angle.
Galán stepped toward her and held out a hand to shake. An unexpected move given her recent back-off shove.
Cat stared up at him, searching for any sign of subterfuge or gamesmanship, relieved when she found only respect and sincerity.
Trusting her instincts, she clasped his hand. His long fingers enveloped hers, sealing her palm against his. A dangerous electric current shot up her arm.
“I have a similar no-performers dating rule. No one on tour, actually, whatever role they play,” he admitted.
“Muy bien. Then we’re on the same page.”
“With this, sí.” His mouth curled in a sexy smirk again, and the fiery lust his touch ignited inside her flared.
Their hands still firmly clasped, a comfortable yet charged silence hung between them.
“Catalina Capuleta, you are a force to be reckoned with.”