Wedding Party Collection: Proposing To The Planner. Aimee Carson

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       Fortune favours the brave, Maxie mused as she picked out a flirty dress and some sandals to go with it. She had wanted to buy a pair of simple flip-flops, but the young stallholder had wagged a finger at her and picked out a pair of sexy heels. Maxie felt like a baby stork when she tried them on, but the stallholder insisted she must have them.

       ‘You’ll be dancing on the street tonight,’ she assured Maxie.

       Maxie couldn’t picture Diego dancing on the street—though she would like to, Maxie mused as she added a shawl to her purchases in case it grew chilly that evening. With her shopping expedition over, she rang Diego, who had promised to pick her up as soon as she called.

       ‘Where are you?’ he said, answering at the first ring. ‘Alto Palermo? Avenida Santa Fe?’

       ‘No—close to the market,’ she explained, giving general directions.

       ‘What?’ he exploded.

       ‘Don’t fuss—I can have a coffee until you get here.’

      ‘Don’t fuss?’ Diego roared. ‘Like anywhere else in the world, some parts of the city are safer than others.’

       ‘And this part is perfectly safe,’ Maxie insisted. ‘For goodness’ sake, Diego, I’m not a child. I run a company—’

       ‘And you are a visitor in a foreign land,’ he flashed.

       ‘Are you mistaking me for a woman who has lost her way, as all the assistants in those posh boutiques seemed to think I had?’ Before directing her to what those shop assistants had explained would be a more affordable part of town, Maxie remembered angrily.

       ‘What are you talking about?’ Diego demanded.

       ‘The assistants who refused to serve me just because I’m wearing jeans and sneakers?’ she blazed back, wondering where all this passion had been hiding. ‘I’ve told you where I am,’ she flashed as anger and humiliation battled inside her, ‘and I’ve told you I’m going to have a coffee.’

       ‘Dios, Maxie!’ Diego rapped down the phone. ‘You’d better tell me which café. And where it is.’

       She hadn’t found one yet. She gazed around, searching for inspiration. ‘Tortoni’s?’

       ‘Don’t move a step. I’m coming for you!’ Diego roared, nearly shattering her eardrum.

       ‘See you in the café—’ Maxie stared at the silent receiver in her hand. Diego hadn’t even given her a chance to cut the line. But as she prepared to cross the road it occurred to her that it was rather nice to have someone to care about what she did. She hadn’t had that since her mother had died. She could look after herself, of course, having done so for most of her life, but that didn’t stop Diego’s protective streak being a nice thing about him. But he was only concerned to hear she had strayed from the safety of the main shopping area, Maxie reasoned as she stared up at the façade of what appeared to be a popular café. Diego would feel that same sense of responsibility for all his employees. She only had to think about Maria and Adriana to know that.

       As the door of the café opened she was greeted by a gust of warm air and the pungent smell of coffee. The noisy interior was full of men hunched over coffee cups as if the inky brew was the elixir of life, and families noisily sharing platters of food with all age groups represented, their happy faces reminding Maxie of so many mixed bouquets as they nodded their heads in time to the music.

       And what music! The insistent throb of tango instantly invaded her veins. Couples were dancing between the tables, their gazes fixed on each other as they moved in a way she had never imagined could be so earthy and yet so sophisticated. She could hardly bear to blink in case she missed anything as the waitress showed her to a table.

       Maxie was so enthralled by the dancing she allowed her coffee to go cold, and only snapped to at the sound of screeching brakes. This was swiftly followed by the slam of a car door, and she wasn’t the only one staring at the entrance as Diego stormed in. 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.’

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