at the back overlooking several acres of beautiful Texas landscape.
Her father had had it built when Sanchez Restaurant Supply first began to turn a decent profit, and Elena had long suspected the ostentatious design was in part the home her parents had always dreamed of living in, and part proof to anyone who doubted that a first-generation Mexican-American could not only do well for himself and his family, but do extremely well.
And until a few years ago, she’d loved it here. As a teenager, she’d considered it another status symbol to impress her friends, and she’d taken every opportunity to have sleepovers or pool parties.
Now, though, without her mother to fill the house with her own brand of love and laughter, the house felt somewhat empty and much too large.
It was time, Elena knew, to start thinking about moving out. She should have done so years ago, but first her mother had been sick, and then her father had needed her.
Her sister, Alandra, had stuck around for the same reason.
Pulling out the letters and magazines with her name on them, Elena started up the stairs and headed for her room. All she wanted was to climb out of her clothes and sink into a nice hot bubble bath. She would light a few candles, turn on some soft classical music, and maybe even pour a glass of wine to sip while she floated away and did her best to forget Chase’s troubling proposition.
Halfway down the hall, Elena knew it might be awhile before she could be alone with her exhaustion and jumbled thoughts. Her sister’s choice of music—loud, blaring rock and roll—vibrated through her closed bedroom door, and Elena could hear Alandra’s voice singing along.
She was about to pad by, sneak into her own room a few doors down and attempt to block out the thrumming beat of drums and a bass guitar, when Alandra’s door opened and she stepped out in nothing more than a pale pink chemise-style slip and black stockings.
Both women jumped slightly in surprise, then Alandra threw her arms wide and rolled her eyes in relief.
“Oh, Elena,” she called over the volume of the music, which was even louder with the door open, “I’m so glad you’re home. I was about to go downstairs and ask Connie what she thinks of my outfit, but I value your opinion more.”
She waved a hand, inviting Elena in, as she moved across the lushly carpeted floor and turned off the stereo. The sudden silence was almost deafening, but Elena appreciated the gesture; her sister knew how much the loud music bothered her. At a lower volume, it was almost tolerable.
“I’ve got a dinner in an hour. We’re trying to raise money for a battered women’s shelter. I’m not in charge this time, thank heavens, but I still want to look good.”
While Elena perched on the end of her sister’s canopied princess bed, Alandra went to the closet and pulled out two dresses on padded hangers.
“Which of these do you like best?” she asked, holding one and then the other in front of her tall, slim body.
Alandra Sanchez was, quite simply, gorgeous. Olive skin, as clear and smooth as a baby’s bottom, and an hourglass figure were her shining glories. But she’d also been blessed with a pair of traffic-stopping dark brown, almond-shape eyes.
Elena’s only consolation to being the less attractive sister was that everyone said they looked so much alike, she knew she wasn’t exactly an ugly duckling herself.
It also helped that Alandra was as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for someone, and the more they needed, the more she was willing to give. Personally, financially, it didn’t matter.
She attended four or five fund-raising dinners a week, just like the one she was getting ready for now, and just as many lunches. She belonged to every “good cause” organization in the state, a few across the country, and a few more internationally: battered women and kids, underprivileged children, life-saving medical research, save the whales, save the wild mustangs, save shelter cats and dogs from euthanasia.
Alandra’s greatest talent was in convincing others to give both time and money to her many worthy causes. Just being around her seemed to make everyone else care more—and sometimes feel the slightest bit guilty for not feeling so before she cornered them.
One side of Elena’s mouth curved with pride. Her little sister could charm the scales off a snake and have the naked reptile thanking her afterward.
“This one?” Alandra asked, breaking into Elena’s thoughts and holding up a sleek black tube dress for her perusal. Then she switched hands and held up one in pale pink with black trim, reminiscent of the Jackie O era.
In the black one, Alandra would be a knockout. Men would be drooling and falling at her feet. In the pink one, she’d still get more than her fair share of male attention, but those men would at least stand a chance of paying attention to the dinner speakers and getting interested in the cause.
“The pink one,” Elena said. “Definitely.”
Alandra nodded and stuck the black sheath back in the closet. “That’s what I thought, but I needed a second opinion. I’ll save the black one for next week when I need to raise funds for the no-kill animal shelter.”
She grinned, telling Elena she was well aware of the devastating effect she would have in the other dress.
With a sigh, Elena pushed to her feet, planning to head to her own room while her sister finished getting dressed.
“Elena, wait.”
She turned to find Alandra with her arms in the air, her head only half peeking through the neck of the pink and black dress. The tops of her thighs were visible, showing old-fashioned stockings held up by a sexy black garter belt.
Her sister gave a little shimmy and the dress slipped the rest of the way down. She sauntered over, turned her back to Elena, and held up the long fall of her straight black hair.
“Zip me up, and then we’ll talk about what’s bothering you.”
Elena pulled the zipper up. “Nothing’s bothering me. I’m just tired.”
Alandra shook her head. “Uh-uh. That might work on Pop, but it won’t work on me. I’m your sister; I can read you like a book.”
She spun around and dragged Elena back to the bed, taking a minute to slip her feet into high-heeled black pumps before crossing her legs and perching beside her.
“All right, spill,” Alandra said, sounding entirely too chipper for the headache that was beginning to throb at Elena’s temples.
“Did you do it?” she asked, lowering her voice a fraction. “Did you talk to Chase Ramsey?”
From the moment she’d first thought of going to the CEO of the Ramsey Corporation for help in saving her father’s business, Elena had confided her plan to her sister. They had been best friends and confidantes since childhood, and shared just about everything with each other. Elena trusted Alandra not only to keep her secrets, but to act as a sounding board to let her know if her ideas were logical or bordering on insane.
And while Alandra had agreed that speaking with Chase Ramsey was a good idea, neither of them had breathed a word of their intentions to Victor Sanchez. Their father was a proud man and wouldn’t appreciate anyone—least of all his daughters—interfering in his business or coming to his rescue.
They would only tell him, they decided, if things worked out to their benefit. Otherwise, he need never know what Elena had done.
Elena nodded, her mind flashing back to every tense, intense minute of her meeting with Chase.
Alandra’s eyes glittered with interest. “And how did it go? Is he going to help us?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
Elena met her sister’s gaze and murmured in a voice lacking all emotion, “On whether I sleep with him.”