The Secretary's Bossman Bargain (12 page)

“Yes, there is. I’ve seen the way you look at him. You’re a sweet young girl, an innocent little lamb, and Marcos is…a wolf! He’s emotionally detached and you can’t possibly—”

Virginia turned her head to hide her blush only to catch half the office staring at them. But Lindsay was smiling in glee behind her desk and sticking her thumbs up as though Virginia had just won the lottery.

Lowering her voice to a whisper, Virginia confessed, “I can handle wolves. I can handle a pack of them, I promise you. And this is nothing like what you think.”

“Vee. Sweet, sweet Vee.” Mrs. Fuller’s hands trembled when she framed her cheeks between them. “I adore Marcos like a son. He has been a kind boss to me, and when my poor Herbert died…” She sighed, then shook her perfectly coiffed head and got back on track. “But he is not the kind of man a woman like you needs. There hasn’t been a single woman in his history he’s kept around for more than a month. You’ll end up with a broken heart and even lose your job.”

That her last comment struck a nerve was a given.

“I’m not losing my job for anything.” Virginia forced a smile to her face and much needed courage into her heart. She wanted him. She wanted him so bad she had to have him, would seduce and remind him. “He’s my boss, and he wants me to assist him, and so I will. Please don’t worry, Mrs. Fuller, or your heartburn will act up. I’ll be fine. And be sure everyone, everyone knows there’s nothing going on here.”

But even as she stepped into the projection room, she couldn’t help wondering how well they’d be able to hide it for as long as it lasted.

And what would happen to her when it was really, truly finished.

After the longest work day of his entire life, and one during which he’d gotten exasperatingly little work done, Marcos arrived home to find her waiting in his living room.

Of course. His assistants had his key code—why shouldn’t she be here?

With the sun setting behind her, her feet tucked under her body on the couch, and a book spread open on her lap, Virginia Hollis was a welcoming sight.

When he stepped out of the elevator that opened into the penthouse, she came to her feet, her hands going to her hair—to her rich, curly black hair, which was deliciously tousled as though she’d been running her fingers through it all day.

He fisted his hands at his sides, his mouth going dry. Good God. She wore drawstring pants and a button-up shirt with little ice cream cones. The colorful, almost childish pattern was also stamped all across the pajama pants. And on her, that weathered, warm-looking thing was the sexiest garment he’d ever had the pleasure of gazing upon.

He hadn’t intended to sleep with her. Or had he? He’d wanted to see her, damn it. And now he could hardly believe what she was so obviously offering to him.

When he finally spoke, his voice came out rougher than he’d anticipated. “Have a good day?”

She set her book on the side table. Nodded. Then, “You?”

God, this was so domestic he should be climbing back into the elevator right about now. And getting away from there as fast as he could.

Why didn’t he?

Because his hands itched to touch her. His guts felt tight and he was hot and hard with wanting her. He’d wanted to drag her into his office today, feel his way up her little skirt, kiss that mouth until her lips were bright red. He couldn’t stay away, had now determined he was a fool to.

She wanted him, too.

Removing his jacket, he draped it across the back of a chair, nodding, as well.

“I brought my notes,” she said quickly. “Just in case.”

He gazed into eyes that were green and bottomless, and slowly advanced. “Good. Notes are important,” he offered in return, and because he had missed the enticing, arousing sight of her all day, he gruffly added, “What else did you bring me, Miss Hollis?”

The soft smile that appeared on her lips trembled. Her hands smoothed her pajamas all along her hips and his eyes greedily swept up and down the length of her. “I like that…thing you’re wearing.” More than that, he was warming up to the idea of tearing it off her and licking her like vanilla ice cream.

“Thank you.” She signaled at his throat. “I—I like your tie.”

He wrenched it off, tossed it aside, then closed the space between them. “Come here,” he said quietly, wrapping an arm around her waist and drawing her flat against his body. “Why are you so shy all of a sudden?”

She set her hands lightly on his shoulders, barely touching him. “I—I don’t know. I shouldn’t have slipped into my pajamas.”

Lust whirled inside him. She had a way of staring at him with those big eyes, like he was something out of this world. And she felt soft and womanly against him, her scent teasing his lungs as he buried his face in her hair. “I’ve wanted this, Virginia. God, how I’ve wanted this.”

As she tipped her head back to him, he covered her lips with his.

Employing every ounce of experience and coaxing power at his disposal, he began to feast on that little mouth, drink of her honey.

Hesitantly she dipped her tongue into his mouth and a pang of longing struck in his core at how sweet she tasted, how entirely she succumbed and fitted her body to his.

In his need, he didn’t hear himself, the way his voice turned hoarse with longing as he spoke to her, cupping the back of her head gently. “Delicioso…besame…dame tu boca…”

She tasted of warmth and hunger, and responded like a woman who’d thought of him all day—wanted him all day.

Just as he had thought of ways of devouring her, too.

The kiss went, in the space of three seconds, from a hard quest to a need that left no room for finesse. While he took thirsty sips of her mouth, his hands went places, one to cup a plump buttock, the other to work on her shirt.

Her eager hands tugged his shirt out of the waistband of his pants and slipped inside, making him groan when her cool, dry palms caressed his chest up and down.

He imagined lifting her, wrapping her legs around him and taking her, and she jumped as though she were thinking the same thing, kissing him like no woman had ever kissed him before. She curled one shapely leg around him, and his hands went to his zipper.

“Damn.” He halted, then set her slowly on her feet. Restless, as he drew back, he rubbed the straining muscles at the back of his neck.

They were breathing hard and loud.

Her hand flew up to cover her moist, glistening lips. “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bite you.”

That little bite had made him want to bite her back, in every place imaginable. Damn. He rubbed his face with both hands, his blood thrumming in his body. He’d undone three buttons of her pajama top, and the flesh of one breast threatened to pop out.

Marcos regarded the creamy flesh while an overwhelming urge to dip his fingers inside the cotton and weigh that globe in his hand made him curl his fingers into his palm.

“Marcos?”

He jerked his eyes away, stared at the top of her head. “I had a long day.” And I thought of nothing but this moment.

He’d been out of his mind with jealousy at the sight of her flushed cheeks, that clown Mendez begging at her feet. How many men had stared at her, wanted her, like Marcos did?

Oblivious to the rampant storms of his thoughts, Virginia followed him down the hall and into the bedroom. He was a mass of craving and thirst and he’d never felt so perilously close to losing control before.

Crossing the length of the room, he braced a hand on the window and gazed out at the city. If she ever dared make a fool of him…if she ever dared so much as look at another man while she was with him…

“Marissa was after me for years.”

A quiet settled, disturbed by the rustle of her clothes as she moved around. “I’m sorry.”

Yes. Well.

So was he.

Such humiliation, the way she’d played him. “I didn’t know my father wanted her,” he said, unable to conceal the disgust in his voice, “until they were already…involved.”

When he turned, she was standing by the bathroom door. She’d grabbed a brush and was pensively running it through her hair. The lights shone on the satin mass.

Entranced, Marcos watched the curls spring back into place after a pass, and he wanted to plunge his fingers through that hair and wrap it in his hands.

“Don’t do that.”

She stopped. It took him a moment to realize the hoarse, ragged plea had come from him. She lowered her arm.

“Do what?”

The cotton molded to her chest, rose and dipped in the most attractive places. Aware of how hard he was, how hot under his clothes, he feared his own instincts when she set the brush on the nightstand and directed her full attention on him.

“I’m not Marissa,” she said, coming toward him.

He liked how candid she was. How she smiled with her eyes. How she walked. Talked. No, she was not Marissa.

Getting a grip of his thoughts, he shook his head. “I didn’t say that.” But it would be worse with her. If she ever hurt him. Deceived him. Betrayed him. He’d never trusted so fully, had never felt so many things at once.

“Marcos,” she said softly. Her eyes were examining his stiff shoulders, the stony mask on his face, as she halted before him. He was shocked at the raw emotion shining in her eyes. Not only desire. But tenderness. Concern. Caring.

Caring that tugged at some little strings inside him.

Caring that begged him to care, too.

Damn.

She was his lover. He had a right to touch her, take her, come with the pleasure of being inside her. It was all this was. Lust.

Lust lust lust.

“Never—” He could hardly speak as he lifted a hand to her silky, raven hair. She gasped at the touch, went very still.

“—ever—” he said gruffly, and tangled his fingers, fisted that lovely hair in his hand, using his knuckles to push her head up to where his lips waited “—lie to me.”

He took her gasp, rubbed her lips farther apart, and traced their seam with his tongue. They were flavored with toothpaste and mint, and they were wet and hot. “Never lie to me with this mouth.”

He licked into her, and she moaned. “I love this tongue, never lie to me with this tongue.”

She inhaled a ragged breath and his tongue followed its path inside her, searching deep. In one instant her hands curled wantonly around his wrists, went higher up his arms, opening around the width of his biceps. Her fingers bit into his shirt and skin.

It was instinct, need, something fierce he couldn’t understand, that pressed him to slam her back against the wall, take her, make her his mistress. It was so consuming to him, this passion, he was afraid if he followed it, he would break her apart. Or maybe he would break apart, feeling this—for her. With her.

Was this what his father had felt for Marissa? Was this why he’d given everything for her, everything to her? Let her slowly finish him off…so long as she kept on kissing him, looking at him, touching him like this?

When a cell phone rang, he tore his mouth away and she fumbled in a purse she’d left by the nightstand to answer.

“Yes?”

His hand flicked the buttons of his shirt as she walked away and softly spoke into the receiver.

His heart rammed into his ribs, his blood a thick, terse boil in his veins. He was losing his head—and he didn’t like it. He considered retiring to his study to work, put distance between them. No. No. He wanted her. He walked forward, shrugging off his shirt.

“Yes…yes, I didn’t want to wake you…and yes, I’ll see you…um…I’m working late and I don’t know how long I’ll be—” Silence. A soft, very soft, “Good night.”

She came back, smiled.

“You’re spending the night,” he said, rendering it a statement when in fact he wanted confirmation. She was seducing him—in her pajamas, brushing her hair, staring with those green, green eyes.

Gritting his teeth against the flaring lust, he readied himself briskly, his erection springing free.

He grabbed her hand and put it on himself. If that didn’t tell her, show her, how far gone he was, then he didn’t know anything anymore. Still, he recalled Monterrey, all those nights with her, the days, and gruffly spoke. “You’re staying the night here—with me.”

She nodded and met his gaze, her eyes bright and fiery. She stroked his chest with soft, fluttering hands, dragging her lips across his jaw, his chin. “I want you in me, Marcos.”

A primal hunger had overtaken his mind, his senses, until he felt as instinctive as an animal. An animal tantalized by the nearness of his mate. “You came to seduce me, didn’t you? You like being at my beck and call. You came to please me, service me.”

Smiling, she stepped back, and her hands went to her shirt, and Marcos watched as she began to unbutton it farther. Her fingers pulled another button free, then the next, and his eyes flicked up to hers. “I’m crazy about you,” he rasped.

Virginia didn’t seem to hear the truth in his words, the worry they carried. He felt out of control, and he didn’t like it.

“C-can I try something with you?” she asked hesitantly, easing her top off her shoulders.

He nodded, mute with desire and anticipation.

“Would you stay still, please?” she asked.

“What are you going to do to me, Miss Hollis?” he asked in a guttural voice. He fisted his hands at his sides, watching her hands like a man about to die under them. He stood utterly still, admiring her flesh as she revealed it. His voice was barely audible, his eyes on the gentle curves of her breasts as she stepped out of her pants and at last stood as naked as he.

“Just don’t move, okay?”

So he waited, his chest expanding on each breath. She trembled when she stepped closer. “Can I touch you?”

He swallowed thickly. “Please.”

He sucked in a breath when she set her hand on his chest and began kissing his neck, his ear, his jaw. His breathing became a wild thing. He was motionless as her hands began to roam down his chest. She hesitated at his waist.

His jaw clamped, his nostril flared, when she wrapped her hand around him.

“Is this okay?”

Ecstasy surged through him in a tidal wave. His breath made a strange whistle. “Yes.”

“Do you want—”

His head fell, forehead against hers. “Just keep touching me.”

She eased her fingers between his parted thighs, to gently cup him in her palm. She began to rub.

He hurt under her stroking hand. His mind spun with images of her and him, losing themselves in his bed like he’d wanted to. His hands idle at his sides, he softly, so softly, said, “You’re not pregnant, are you, amor?”

She tensed for a moment, and he frowned. He reached down and pried her hand away.

“Are you? We didn’t use protection the first time, and I’d like to know if there were consequences.”