Eyes glinting with amusement, he shook his head, and his smile was gone. His elbows came to rest on the table as he leaned forward. “What kind of boss do you take me for?”
One I want, she thought. One who kissed me.
Those broad, rippling muscles under his shirt could belong to a warrior.
God just didn’t make men like these anymore.
She’d lied. She hadn’t slept one wink.
If she’d been camping out in the dark, naked, within ten feet of a hungry lion, maybe she’d have been able to sleep. But no. She had been within a few feet of her dream man, and her lips had still tingled from his kiss, and her body seemed to scream for all the years she hadn’t paid attention to letting someone love it.
After lying on the bed for what felt like hours, for some strange reason she had bolted to her feet and rummaged through the stuff he’d bought…and slipped into something sexy. A sleek white silk gown that hugged her like skin. Heart vaulting in excitement, she’d unlocked the door. Returned to bed. And waited. Eyeing the door.
The knob had begun turning. Her eyes widened, and her pulse went out of orbit. She waited minutes, minutes, for the door to open, and yet the knob returned to place again. Nothing happened. He changed his mind? Her heart sped, and then she flung off the covers and stepped out of bed.
The living room was empty—silver in the moonlight. And then, torn between some unnamable need and the need for self-preservation, she’d quietly gone back to bed.
Now, looking like a well-rested, sexy billionaire, he asked what kind of boss she took him for.
“One who’s never bitten me,” she blurted, then wished to kick herself for the way that came out sounding. Like an invitation. Like…more. Damn him.
He chuckled instantly, and Virginia pushed to her feet when she totally lost her appetite. He followed her up, uncurling slowly like he always did.
“I like the dress,” he said, studying the fabric as it molded around her curves. It was a very nice dress. Green, to match her eyes, and one from a designer to please His Majesty.
“Thank you, I like it, too.”
His gaze raked her so intimately she felt stripped to her skin. There was a silence. Her heart pounded once. Twice. Three times. Virginia couldn’t take a fourth.
“Name your favor,” she offered.
Eyes locked with hers with unsettling intensity, he wound around the table, and his scent enveloped her—not of cologne and definitely not sweet—but so intoxicating she wanted to inhale until her lungs burst inside her chest.
Gently, he seized her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tipping his face back to hers. An unnamable darkness eclipsed his eyes, and an unprecedented huskiness crept into his voice. “Just say, ‘Yes, Marcos.’”
Her breath caught. His voice was so ridiculously sexy in the morning. Virginia pulled free of his touch and laughed. “You,” she accused, tingles dancing across her skin. “I don’t even know what I’m agreeing to.”
His arms went around her, slow as a boa constrictor, securing her like giant manacles. “Can’t you guess?”
Something exploded inside her body, and it wasn’t fear.
Lust. Desire. Everything she didn’t want to feel.
His breath was hot and fragrant on her face, eliciting a little moan she couldn’t contain. Oh, God. He felt so hard all over, so unlike any other man she’d known.
His voice was gentle as he tipped her chin up. “Yes to my bed for a week, Virginia. Say yes.”
Was he insane? “Wow,” she said, almost choking on her shock. “I’ve never had such a blatant come-on.”
The determination on his face was anything but apologetic. “I don’t want to play games with you.” He studied her forehead, her nose, her jaw. “I intend to please you. I’ve thought of nothing else. Tell me,” he urged, caressing her face as he would a porcelain sculpture. “Are you interested?”
Interested? She was on fire, she was frightened, confused and scared, and she hated thinking, realizing that she was no match for him.
She should’ve known that if Marcos ever made a move for her, he’d come on like he always did—strong, like a stampeding bull charging to get his way. Her breasts rose and fell against his chest as she labored to breathe. Her legs were so weak they couldn’t support her, and she remained standing only by her deathly grip on his arms. “One week?”
“Seven days. Seven nights. Of pleasure beyond your imagining.”
“A-and what if I can’t give you this pleasure you want?”
“I will take any pleasure you can give me, Virginia. And you will take mine.”
There was no mistaking. His deep, sexy voice was the most erotic thing she’d ever heard. “A-and if I say I’m not interested?”
He chuckled softly—the sound throaty, arrogant, male—melting her defenses. “If that is what you wish.” His gaze pierced her, as though searching for secrets, fears. “You haven’t wondered about us?” He lowered his head and skimmed her lips lightly, enough to tease and make her shiver when he retracted. “You unlocked your door last night, and I was so close to opening it, you have no idea.”
“Oh, God,” she breathed.
His lips grazed hers from end to end. “You wanted me there, you wanted me in your room, your bed.”
“I—I can’t do this.”
His hands lowered to the small of her back and pressed her to his warm, solid length. “You can. Your body speaks to me. It feels soft against mine, it molds to me. Say it in words.”
There was no escaping his powerful stare, no escape from what raged inside her. “I can’t, Marcos.”
Growling, he jerked free and for a blinding second she thought he was going to charge out of the room, he seemed so frustrated. Instead he carried himself—six feet three inches of testosterone and lust and anger—to the window and leaned on the frame. “The first moment I set eyes on you, you planted yourself in my mind. I’m going insane because once, Virginia, once I was sure you were crazy about me. So crazy. You can’t help the way you look at me, amor. Perhaps others don’t notice, but I do. Why do you fight me?”
Her eyes flicked up to his and she was certain her anxiety reached out to him like something tangible. His muscles went taut. “Do I get an answer?” he demanded.
She smiled, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re proposing we mix business and pleasure.”
He wanted her desperately, she realized. Like she’d never been wanted before. And she might enjoy allowing herself to be wanted like this.
So, with a pang of anticipation in her left breast, she said, “I’ll think about it over lunch.”
The floral arrangement in the lobby had been replaced with one chock-full of red gerberas and bright orange tiger lilies bursting amidst green. They navigated around it, Marcos’s hand on her back.
“If you want everyone to know you’re nervous, by all means, keep fidgeting.”
“Fidgeting? Who’s fidgeting?”
He grabbed her trembling hand and linked his fingers through hers, his smile more like a grin. “Now no one. Smile, hmm? Pretend you like me.”
Her pulse skyrocketed at the feel of his palm against hers, but she did not reject the touch and held on. This should be easy. Easy, she told herself. One look at her and everyone would think she was in love with him.
Impulsively she breathed him in, feeling oddly safe and protected. They’d had a wonderful morning, talking of everything and nothing as he accompanied her to the shopping mall across the street. The morning had flown by in casual conversation, which had been a good thing particularly when the night had seemed endless to her.
Now they entered the restaurant. Past the arched foyer entrance stood the most beautiful woman Virginia had ever seen. Tall and toned, blonde and beautiful. Her lips were red, her nails were red. She was clad in a short leather jacket teamed with a white miniskirt and a pair of heels Virginia was certain only an acrobat could walk on. Her face lit up like a sunbeam when she saw Marcos, and then it ecli
psed when she saw Virginia.
She swept to her feet and came to them, her walk as graceful as the swaying of a willow tree. All other female eyes in the restaurant landed on Marcos.
“You’re bigger.” Her eyes became shielded, wary when they moved to her. “And you’re…not alone.”
In one clean sweep, Marissa took in the entire length of Virginia’s knee-length emerald-green designer dress.
Marcos drew her up closer to him and brought those inscrutable eyes of his down on Virginia, his gaze sharpening possessively. “Virginia Hollis, Marissa Galvez.”
He gave Virginia such a male, proprietary look she felt stirrings in all manner of places in her body. Nervous, she offered the woman a nod and a smile. Marissa’s hand was slim and ringed everywhere. They shook hands and took their seats.
The awkwardness had a strange beat—slower somehow, and heavy like lead.
Over the sunlit table, Virginia tentatively slid her hand into Marcos’s, sensed him smile to himself, then felt him give her a squeeze of gratitude which Marissa might have taken as affection. A silence settled. Every minute was a little more agonizing. Marcos’s thumb began to stroke the back of hers, causing pinpricks of awareness to trail up her arm. Sensations of wanting tumbled, one after the other. What would it be like if this were real? Sitting here, with such a man, and knowing the name of the shampoo he showered with and the cologne he wore?
Marissa’s blue eyes shone with a tumult of emotions. “Why didn’t you come to him? He begged you to.”
Virginia’s spine stiffened. Whoa. That had been quite a hostile opening line. But then what did she know?
Marcos answered coolly, reclining easily in his upholstered chair. “I did come.”
“A day too late.”
The corners of his lips kicked up, but the smile was hard somehow, and it didn’t reach his eyes. The air was so tense and dense it was scarcely breathable. “Perhaps if he’d really sent for me, I’d have come sooner—but we both know it wasn’t him who summoned me.”
Surprise flickered across the blonde’s face. “Why would he not call his son on his deathbed?”
“Because he’s an Allende.”
She made a noncommittal sound, rings flashing as she reclined her chin on her right hand. Her eyes dropped to Virginia and Marcos’s locked hands over the table, and finally the woman shrugged. “He died with his pride—but I could see him watching the door every day. He wanted to see you. Every time I came in he…” She faltered, pain flashing across her face as she lowered her arm. “He looked away.”
Marcos was idly playing with Virginia’s fingers. Did he realize? It seemed to distract him. Comfort him, maybe. “He didn’t want to see you, Marissa?”
Her eyes became glimmering blue slits. “He wasn’t himself those last days.” She smiled tightly. “No se que le paso, estaba muy raro.”
Even as Marcos replied in that calm, controlled voice, Virginia sensed his will there, incontestable, allowing for nothing. “You ruin your life for a woman—I suppose you’re bound to have regrets. And to be acting strange,” he added, as though referencing the words she’s said in Spanish.
A waiter dressed in black and white took their orders. Virginia ordered what Marcos was having, wishing she could try everything on the menu at least once but embarrassed to show herself as a glutton. When the waiter moved on, Marissa’s eyes wandered over her. She tapped one long red fingernail to the corners of her red lips.
“You don’t look like Marcos’s type at all,” she commented matter-of-factly.
Virginia half turned to him for a hint of how to answer, and he lifted her hand to graze her knuckles with his lips, saying in a playful murmur that only she seemed to hear, “Aren’t you glad to hear that, amor?”
She shivered in primal, feminine response to the smooth touch of his lips, and impulsively stroked her fingers down his face. “You didn’t see your father before he died?” she asked quietly.
His eyes darkened with emotion. “No,” he said, and this time when he kissed the back of her hand, he did so lingeringly, holding her gaze. Her temperature jacked up; how did he do this to her?
The moment when he spread her hand open so her palm cupped his jaw, it felt like it was just them. Nobody else in the restaurant, the hotel, the world.
“You’d never abandon your father,” he murmured as he held her gaze trapped, pressing her palm against his face. “I admire that.”
Her chest moved as if pulled by an invisible string toward him. Had she ever received a more flattering compliment? His pain streaked through her as though she’d adopted it as hers, and she ached to make him feel better, to take the darkness away from his eyes, to kiss him…kiss him all over.
She stroked his rough jaw with her fingers instead, unable to stop herself. “Perhaps he knew you loved him, and he understood you kept to your pride, like he did,” she suggested.
“Marcos? Love? He wouldn’t know love if it trampled him,” Marissa scoffed and frowned at Marcos, then sobered up when he swiveled around to send her a chilling look. “It’s my fault anyway. That you left. I’ve paid dearly for my mistake, I guarantee it,” she added.
He didn’t reply. His gaze had dropped to where his thumb stroked the back of Virginia’s hand again, distracting her from the conversation that ensued. He seemed to prefer that touch above anything else. He kept stroking, caressing, moving her hand places. He put it, with his, over his thigh, or tucked it under his arm. Longing speared through her every single time he moved it according to his will. He genuinely seemed to…want it. Was he pretending? When his eyes came to hers, there was such warmth and heat there…. Was he pretending that, too?
Marissa mentioned Allende, and Marcos, prepared for the discussion, immediately answered. His voice stroked down Virginia’s spine every time he spoke. Her reaction was the same: a shudder, a quiver, a pang. And she didn’t want it to be. She didn’t want to have a reaction, she shouldn’t.
While the waiter set down their meals, she thought of her father, of how many times he’d disappointed and angered her, and she thought of how hurt she’d have to be in order not to see him again. Sometimes she’d wanted to leave, to pretend he didn’t exist to her, and those times, she would feel like the worst sort of daughter for entertaining those thoughts.
Marcos wasn’t a heartless man. He stuck by his brother no matter what he did. My brother is a person, Allende is not, he’d told her. But his father had been a person, too. What had he done to Marcos to warrant such anger?
She had her answer fifteen minutes later, after she’d eaten the most spicy chile relleno on the continent and swallowed five full glasses of water to prove it. She excused herself to the baño and was about to return to the table when she heard Marissa’s plea from the nearby table filter into the narrow corridor. “Marcos…if you’d only give me a chance…”
“I’m here to discuss Allende. Not your romps in my father’s bed.”
“Marcos, I was young, and he was so…so powerful, so interested in me in a way you never were. You were never asking me to marry you, never!”
He didn’t answer that. Virginia hadn’t realized she stood frozen until a waiter came to ask if she was all right. She nodded, but couldn’t make her legs start for the table yet. Her chest hurt so acutely she thought someone had just pulled out her lungs. Marissa Galvez and Marcos. So it was because of a woman, because of her, that Marcos had never spoken again to his father?
“You never once told me if you cared for me, while he…he cared. He wanted me more than anything.” Marissa trailed off as if she’d noticed Marcos wasn’t interested in her conversation. “So who is this woman? She’s a little simple for you—no?”
He laughed, genuinely laughed. “Virginia? Simple?”
Virginia heard her answering whisper, too low to discern, and then she heard his, also too low, and something horrible went through her, blinding her eyes, sinking its claws into her. She remembered how difficult it was as a little girl to cope with the w
hispers.
The father is always gambling…they say he’s crazy…
Now they talked about her. Not about her father. About her. She didn’t hear what he said, or what she said, only felt the pain and humiliation slicing through her. Her father had put her in this position once more. No. She’d put herself in it. Pretending to be lovers with a man she truly, desperately wanted…and then looking the fool in front of someone she was sure had really been his lover.
Jealousy swelled and rose in her. She had no right to feel it, had never been promised anything, and yet she did feel it. Their kiss yesterday had been glorified in her mind and she’d begun to wishfully think Marcos had wanted to be with her this week. Silly. She’d even told herself she might like sharing his bed for a week.
She felt winded and strangely stiff when she reached the table. She sat quietly. She focused on dessert, tried to taste and enjoy, and yet her anger mounted, as if she really were his lover, as if she had anything to claim of him.
When he reached for her hand, it took all her effort, it took her every memory of having gone to beg him for help that evening, not to pull it away.
If she weren’t sitting she’d be kicking herself for being so easy. She sucked in air then held it as he guided that hand to his mouth and grazed her knuckles with his lips.
Her racing heart begged for more, but Marcos’s kiss was less obvious than last night, more like a whisper on her skin. Every grazing kiss he gave each knuckle felt like a stroke in her core.
A slap in the face.
They say her father’s crazy…
By all means, Virginia would pull her hand away in a few seconds. She just wanted…more. More hot breath and warm lips on the back of her hand. More fire between her legs. A place so hot and moist it could only be cooled by—Something moved.
His phone.
His lips paused on her for a breathless second before he set her hand back on her lap and whispered, “It’s the office. I have to get this.”
Virginia made a strangled sound which was supposed to be an agreement and clearly sounded more like a dying woman. She watched his dark silhouette move between the tables and disappear down the hall so quickly. She already missed him. She scanned her surroundings. Everybody was eating, carrying on conversations. The world hadn’t stopped like she’d thought because of those tiny kisses on her knuckles.