The Secretary's Bossman Bargain (15 page)

His eyelids drooped suggestively as he ran his knuckles down her cheek. His lips hovered over her mouth and lightly skimmed side to side. “I can’t wait to take you home with me.”

A feeling unlike any other bloomed inside her. She trembled down to her knees as she fought to quell it, afraid of what would happen if she set it free.

“Take me home…like a stray?” she ventured. Was this the full-moon fever? Her hormones? She’d never thought love could feel like this. So total. So powerful.

Marcos let go a rich, delicious chuckle. “More like the loveliest treasure.”

She guided her fingers up his taut, hard-boned face, not daring to hope that he might…

“What is it you wanted to tell me tonight? You said you wanted to speak with me, too?”

His smile didn’t fade, but a soft tenderness lit up his eyes. “Can’t you guess, chiquita?”

“Can you give me a hint?”

He nodded, calmly explained, “It’s about us.”

The tender but possessive way he held her, the warm, admiring way he gazed down at her, prodded her on. “Is there…an us?”

A tingle drummed up and down her body where they touched.

His eyes went liquid, hot with tenderness as he tipped her face back. “You tell me.”

I’m pregnant with your baby. She could not say it, needed to know what he had to say first.

He stroked her cheek with one knuckle. “I know what a woman like you wants,” he said softly. “I can’t give it to you, Virginia, but I’d like…” He trailed off when they heard a sudden noise.

Virginia’s stomach tumbled with the need to hear the rest. What had he meant to say? For a single disconcerting moment, she worried he’d sensed the sudden, alarming, fragile emotions she was struggling with and this made her even more determined to hide them.

Next she heard the echoing footsteps of someone approaching. Virginia trembled when Marcos released her, her heart gripping when she spotted Marissa. Her hair streamed behind her, and her smile was provocative. And suddenly Virginia felt very small and very pregnant.

To Marcos, with wry humor, Marissa handed her arm as though he’d asked her to dance, and slyly purred, “I hope I’m interrupting something.”

Bad form. Bad, bad form.

Marcos couldn’t make his proposition to Virginia here. Diablos—where was his head? On Allende? No, it was not even there, and Marcos was shocked at the discovery.

Somewhere during the past month…somewhere between a headache, when Virginia had smoothed his hair off his brow and “knew the perfect thing to take care of that headache” for him…somewhere between one morning and another, when they sipped coffee in silence…somewhere between the sheets, when he was lost inside of her in a way he’d never thought humanly possible…somewhere between one of her million kinds of smiles…somewhere between an exchange of files…something had happened.

Marcos had let down his guard. He’d allowed himself to trust a woman, fully and completely, in a way he’d sworn he’d never trust another human. He’d allowed her to filter his mind, his thoughts, to the point where his goals had shifted…shifted and shifted until he no longer knew if they were his or hers.

“I need your help.”

Marissa’s soft, pleading words registered out on the terrace, and yet his eyes followed Virginia’s lovely figure as she glided back into the crowded room. He’d noticed the frustration in her jade-green eyes when she stepped away, saw her struggling to hold her temper in check. She was a curious one, his Virginia. No doubt she craved to know what he’d planned to say. He smiled to himself as she wound her way away from him, into the room, her bearing as regal as a queen’s.

She was wearing the most amazing, breathtaking, heart-tripping dress he’d ever seen, and he was dying to take it off her.

“Should we talk inside?” he asked curtly, shifting his attention back to Marissa, who in turn was eyeing him speculatively.

“Of course.”

He led her into the decorated space. An orchestra played. Couples danced in harmony to the tune. Amongst the round tables, people mingled.

Heading toward the conference hall at the south end of the lobby, they crossed the room. He greeted several acquaintances, nodded his head at a few more and kept a close eye on Virginia. Her hair fell down to cover part of her face. Her profile was exquisitely feminine, like a doll’s.

Taking in her visage, he felt a slow, throbbing ache spread inside of him, and contrary to most of the aches she gave him, this one had nothing to do with physically wanting her.

When he secured Allende, he could mend it, and he could mend her father along with it. He could give her safety and peace and pride.

The intensity with which he wanted to give this to her shocked him to his core.

Whereas before Virginia Hollis had been something to be observed but not touched in his office, a Mona Lisa behind glass, she was more real to him now than his own heartbeat. She was flesh and bones and blood. She was woman.

His fierce attraction to her, kept tightly on a leash, had spiraled out of control the moment he’d put his lips right over hers, or perhaps the moment she’d called him and Marcos had known, in his gut, he was going to have her.

Fierce and unstoppable, the emotions raged within him now, under his muscles, and the urge to cross the room and sweep her into his arms became acute.

With an effort, he tore his eyes away from Virginia, tried to steady the loud beat of his heart.

A man, notoriously tall, athletic and dark, with a smile that had been known to break a woman’s heart or two, caught his attention.

Santos Allende was the only person in the world who would not wear a tie to a black-tie event. As he ambled over, he lifted a sardonic brow at the same time he lifted his wineglass in a mock toast. “Brother.”

Marcos nodded in greeting, drained his drink, and introduced Marissa and Santos even though they needed no introductions. They loathed each other.

“How’s the hotel business?” Marcos asked him without even a hint of interest.

“Thriving, of course.”

Though Santos was irresponsible and wild, Marcos held no antagonism towards his brother, and usually regarded his exploits and antics with amusement. Except tonight he wasn’t in the mood for Santos. Or anyone else.

Too smart for his own good sometimes, Santos chuckled at his side.

“So. Is that one yours?” Santos lifted his glass in Virginia’s direction, and Marcos gazed at her again. His chest felt heavy and his stomach tight.

“Mine,” he confirmed.

“I see.” Santos smiled and rammed a hand into his pants pocket. “Mistress or fiancée?”

“Mistress,” he snapped.

But his mind screamed in protest at those words.

Would she agree to his proposition to become his mistress? Live with him, be with him? She’d turned his world upside down, inside out, in over a month. He wanted her every second of the day—not only sexually. Her laugh brought on his laughter, her smiles made him smile, too. He was…he didn’t know what. Enraptured. Charmed. Taken.

By her.

“That would make her your first mistress, eh, brother?” his brother asked. “No more fiancées after Marissa here.”

Marissa whipped her attention back to Marcos. “You mean she’s just a fling? Your girlfriend?”

He set the glass down on the nearby table with a harsh thump. “Unless you want me to leave you in prison the next time you’re there, don’t push it, little brother.”

And to Marissa, with a scowl that warned her of all kinds of danger, “I say we’ve played games long enough, you and I, and I’m not in the mood for them any longer. You have something I want. The shares that belonged to my father—I want a number and I want it now.”

She’s his submissive, been like this for years…

Old lover demanding she be fired…competition…Allende…

Allende and Galvez…

It was easy at first, to pretend she hadn’t caught bits and pieces of the swirling conversation. But after she’d heard it over and over, ignoring the comments popping up wherever she went became impossible.

It hurt to smile, and to pretend she wasn’t hearing all this. But then, he’d taught her to pretend just fine, hadn’t he? And she was doing quite well. Had been commending herself all evening for remembering people’s names and keeping up with their conversations. And smiling her same smile.

But when the whispers were too much, she pried herself away from a group of women and strolled around the tables with her mind on escaping, finding Mrs. Fuller, Lindsay, a friendly face, but even they seemed engaged in the latest gossip.

She stopped in her tracks and frowned when a young man approached. He was over six feet tall, lean but muscled. He moved with slow, lazy charm, his smile oozing charisma. Rumpled ebony hair was slicked back behind his ears, his hard-boned face and striking features prominent. Laser-blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he halted before her and performed a mock bow.

“Allende. Santos Allende.”

He spoke it the way Agent 007 would say, “Bond, James Bond,” and it made her smile. So he was the elusive Santos.

“Virginia Hollis.”

Drawing up next to her, he signaled with a cock of his head, a glass of red wine idle in his hand. “The bastard looking at you is my brother.”

“Yes, I’m his assistant. You and I have spoken on the phone.”

Santos had the looks of a centerfold, the kind that modeled underwear or very expensive suits like Hugo Boss, while Marcos had the very appearance of sin.

As if reading her mind, his lips quirked, and he added, “He didn’t mention that.”

“He mentioned me?”

Her eyes jerked back to Marcos; it seemed they couldn’t help themselves. She always caught herself staring at him.

He was weaving toward the hallway with Marissa. When Marcos ducked his head toward her, Virginia’s stomach clenched with envy and a sudden, unexpected fury.

He glanced back over his shoulder and when their gazes collided, a strange wildness surged through her. His face was inscrutable and his tuxedo was perfectly in place; only an odd gleam in his eyes spoke of his inner tumult. And in her mind, Virginia was positively screaming at him. Everybody knows! Everybody knows I’m your stupid…silly…

No. It was her fault, not his.

She’d wanted him, and she’d gambled for the first time in her existence. She knew his scent, the feel of his hair, the sounds he made when he was in ecstasy with her.

She knew his mouth, his whispers, knew he slept little but that he would remain in bed beside her, watching her.

She knew he liked to put his head between her breasts, knew he made a sound of encouragement when she stroked his hair.

But she did not know how to make this man love her.

This man with all these secrets, all of the locks and bolts around his heart.

He wanted Allende. To destroy it. He wanted her. To play with.

She was just his toy. Something to fool around with. Once, she might have jumped with glee. But now she wanted so much more from him, thought there could be no greater treasure in this world than to be loved by him.

“So did the affair come before he hired you or after?”

Santos phrased his question so casually and with such a playful gleam in his eyes that Virginia could only blink.

He grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sorry, I’m just terribly curious. I have to know.”

Cheeks burning with embarrassment, Virginia ducked her head and tried to get away. “Excuse me.”

With one quick, fluid move, Santos stepped into her path and caught her elbow. “Marissa wants him, you do realize this?”

She stepped back, freeing her arm from his, hating that it was so obvious, so transparent on her face. “I can’t see why you think I’d care.”

But his curling lips invited her to mischief. “She offers something my brother wants very badly. What do you offer?”

She frowned. “I wasn’t aware this was a competition—”

“It’s not.” He tipped her chin up, those electric-blue eyes dancing with mirth. “Because I think you’ve already got him.”

When she hesitated, he bent to whisper in her ear, sweetening the offer with words she found she could not resist.

“My brother is very loyal, and if you managed to steal his heart…no ten businesses would top it.”

But Virginia knew that one business, one woman did—when she heard the news announced later in the evening that Fintech would be taking over Allende.

They rode to the penthouse in dead, flat silence. Marcos seemed engrossed in his thoughts, and Virginia was deeply engrossed in hers.

It took her ten minutes, while he made phone calls to Jack and his lawyers, to pack the meager belongings she’d once, mistakenly or not, left in his apartment.

She was calmer. Immobile on a tiny corner of the bed, actually, and staring at the doorway, nervously expecting him to come in any minute. But calmer.

Though she didn’t know whether the nausea inside of her was due to the pregnancy or to the fact that she would not be sleeping with Marcos for the first night in over a month.

She just couldn’t do this any longer. Every little word she’d heard tonight had felt like whiplashes on her back; she could not believe her colleagues would speak this way about her. And then Marcos…offering her a necklace, but not his love. Him telling his brother she was his…his…

No.

She refused to believe he would refer to her as something tacky. But the truth, no matter how painful, was the truth. Virginia was his assistant—one of three—and she was sleeping with her boss. It didn’t matter if she’d spent the most beautiful moments of her life with him. It didn’t matter that every kiss, every touch, she had given with all her might and soul. It didn’t matter that she’d loved him before and loved him now.

She was sleeping with her boss, and she’d never be respected if she continued. She’d never respect herself.

If only she were able to tuck her determination aside for a moment and enjoy one last night with him. The last night of a month she would not ever forget. The last night with the man she had fallen in love with, the father of her unborn child.

Drawing in a fortifying breath, she left the bedroom and went searching for him.

She’d heard him in his office, barking orders to Jack over the phone, laughing with him, even—he was not concealing his delight over his deal.

The door of the study was slightly ajar, and she slipped inside in silence.

He sat behind his desk at the far end. He looked eerie behind his computer, concentrated, the light doing haunting things to his face. Her stomach clenched with yearning. “Marcos, may I talk to you?”

He stiffened, and his head came up. Her breath caught at the devastating beauty of his liquid black eyes, and her heart leapt with a joy that quickly became dread when he remained silent. There was lust in those orbs, desire, and she seized on to that with all her might before he jerked his gaze back to the computer. “I’m very busy, Virginia.”

She tugged at the hem of her dress, uneasy of how to proceed. She tried to sound casual. “Marcos, I thought we could discuss…something. I may not spend the night and I really feel it’s important—”

“Jesus, do we have to do this now?” His hands paused on the keyboard, then he dropped his face and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palms. “I’m sorry. Right. Okay. What is it, Virginia?”

Her eyes widened at his condescending tone. The thought that he’d always put Allende and his business before her made her stomach twist so tight she thought she would vomit. She’d forgotten she was his plaything. If she produced money maybe he’d give her five minutes now?

“We were going to discuss…us.” Her voice trembled with urgency. “At the dinner, you mentioned wanting to say something.”

He leaned back, his expression betraying no flicker of emotion, no hint of what was going through his mind. “Can’t us wait a day? Hmm?”

“No, Marcos, it can’t.”

He sat up straighter, linked his hands together, and kept silent for what felt like forever. His calm alarmed her. He was too still, too composed, while his eyes looked…indulgent. “What is it you want to say to me?” he at last asked.

Suddenly she felt like young Oliver Twist, begging, “Please, sir, I want some more.” And she hated him for making her feel like that.

Her voice broke and she swallowed in an attempt to recover it. “Look, I realize what kind of arrangement we have,” she began. “A-and maybe it was good for a time. But things change, don’t they?”

He nodded, his entire face, his smile, indulgent.

She dragged in a breath, trying not to lose her temper. “Marissa, Marcos.”

“What about Marissa?” His eyes were so black, so intense, she felt as though they would burn holes through her.

Are the rumors true? she wondered. Did she force you into a marriage bargain only so you could once again own Allende? “You loved Marissa. Do you love her still?”

A frustrated sound exited his throat as he flung his hands over his head. “I’m not discussing Marissa now, of all times, for God’s sake!” he exploded.

But Virginia plunged on. “I think it very tacky to jump around from bed to bed, don’t you?”

His eyebrows drew low across his eyes, and he nodded. “Extremely.”

To her horror, her throat began closing as she pulled her fears out of her little box and showed them to him. “She hurt you, and maybe you wanted to use me to hurt her back—” Why else would he want Virginia? She was not that smart, not that special, not that beautiful, either!

She tried to muffle a sob with her hand and couldn’t, and then the tears began to stream down her cheeks in rivers. With a muffled curse, he rose and came around the desk, walking toward her. His face and body became a blur as he reached her, and though she tried to avoid his embrace, her back hit the wall as she tried escaping.

He bent over her, wiped her tears with his thumb. “Don’t cry. Why are you crying?”

The genuine concern in his voice, the soul-wrenching tenderness with which he cradled her face, only made the sobs tear out of her with more vigor. “Oh, God,” she sobbed, wiping furiously at the tears as they streamed down her face.

When he spoke, he sounded even more tortured than she was. “Don’t cry, please don’t cry, amor.” He kissed her cheek. Her eyelashes. Her forehead. Her nose. When his lips glided across hers, she sucked in a breath of surprise. He opened his lips over hers, probed her lightly with his tongue, and said, in a tone that warned of danger, “Please give me ten minutes and I’m all yours. Please just let me…”

When he impulsively covered her mouth, she opened for the wet thrust of his tongue, offering everything he didn’t ask for and more. His kiss was hot and avid, and it produced in her an amazing violence, a feeling that made her feel fierce and powerful and at the same time so vulnerable to him.

The possibility that he was feeling some kind of pity for her made her regain some semblance of control. She pushed at his wrist with one hand and wiped her tears with the other. “I’m all right.”

“You’re jealous.” He took her lips with his warm ones, nibbling the plump flesh between words. “It’s all right. Tell me that you are.”

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

“I was when you danced with Santos,” he rasped, “jealous out of my mind. Out. Of. My. Mind.” His teeth were tugging at her ear, and he was making low noises of pleasure as his hands roamed up her sides, following her form, feeling her.

She dragged her mouth across his hair, softly said, “I can’t do this anymore, Marcos.”

He froze for a shocked moment.

In one blindingly quick move, he lifted her up and pressed her back against the wall, pinioning her by the shoulders. “Is this your idea of getting my attention?”

Her heart thundered in her ears. “I can’t do this any longer. I want more.” A father for our child. A man who’ll always stand by me. Someone who cares.

A nearly imperceptible quiver at the corner of his right eye drew her attention. That was all that seemed to move. That and his chest. Her own heaving breasts. They were panting hard, the wild flutter of a pulse at the base of his throat a match to her own frantic heartbeat. “What more do you want?” His voice was hoarse, more a plea than a command.

She grasped the back of his strong neck and made a sound that was more frustrated than seductive. “More! Just more, damn you, and if you can’t figure out it’s not your money then I’m not going to spell it out for you.”

He stared at her as though what she’d just said was the worst kind of catastrophe. Then he cursed in Spanish and stalked away, plunging his hands into his hair. “You picked the wrong moment to share your wish list with me, amor.”

“It’s not a long list,” she said glumly. She felt bereft of his kisses, his eyes, his warmth, and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. “We said we’d talk, and I think it’s time we did.”

“After midnight? When I’m in the midst of closing the deal of my life?”

“I’m sorry about the timing,” she admitted.

She swallowed hard for some reason, waiting for him to tell her something. He didn’t. His back was stiff as he halted by the window. His breaths were a frightening sound in the room—shallow, so ragged she thought he could be an animal.

But no, he wasn’t an animal.

He was a man.

A man who had ruthlessly, methodically isolated his emotions from the world. She did not know how to reach this man, but every atom and cell inside of her screamed for her to try.

But then he spoke.

“Virginia.” There was a warning in that word; it vibrated with underlying threat. It made her hold her breath as he turned. There was frustration in his eyes, and determination, and his face was black with lust. “Give me ten minutes. That’s all I ask. Ten minutes so I can finish here and then you’ll get your nightly tumble.”

His words jerked through her, one in particular filling her with outrage. Tumble!

She began to quake. A chilling frost seemed to seep into her bones.

Stalking around her, he fell back into his chair, was sucked back into his computer, and began writing.

“Tumble,” she said.

He set down the pen and met her gaze. The man was mute as wallpaper.

She signaled with trembling fingers. “For your information.” She wanted to fling her shoe at his face, to shred every single paper on the pile she’d neatly organized atop his desk, but she clenched her eyes shut for a brief moment. “I do not want a tumble!”

Several times, Virginia had imagined how their parting would be.

Not even in her nightmares had she imagined this.

She couldn’t bear to be in the same room with him, didn’t dare glance up to make note of his expression.

Stricken by his lack of apology, she choked back words that wanted to come out, hurtful things she knew she would regret saying, words about being sorry she’d met him, sorry she loved him, sorry she was pregnant by him, but staring at the top of his silky black hair, she couldn’t. Instead she said, “Goodbye, Marcos.”

And Marcos…said nothing.

Not goodbye. Not chiquita. Not amor.

But as she waited by the elevator, clutching her suitcase handle as though it was all that kept her from falling apart, a roar unlike any other exploded in his study. It was followed by an ear-splitting crash.

The clock read 1:33 p.m.

He had what he wanted, Marcos told himself for the hundredth time. Didn’t he? And yet the satisfaction, the victory, wasn’t within reach. Perhaps because what he really wanted was something else. Someone else.

The pressure was off his chest—the lawyers were currently sealing the deal. Allende for a couple of million. Marcos now owned every single share of stock in the company, had recovered every inch and centimeter and brick and truck of what Marissa had taken from him.

It had not taken much at all to bend her to his will; the woman had nothing to bargain with. Marissa had to sell or she’d go bankrupt. She’d held no more attraction for him, as she’d thought, no temptation. After a few harsh words from him and a few tears from her, there had finally been a bit of forgiveness between them.

And with that, everything had changed. By her admittance to defeat, she’d unwittingly granted Marcos the opportunity to color his past another shade that wasn’t black.

He felt…lighter, in that respect. But heavy in the chest. So damned heavy and tortured with a sense of foreboding he couldn’t quite place.

“You needed me, Mr. Allende?”

His heart kicked into his rib cage when Virginia strolled into his office five minutes after he’d issued the request by phone.

Yes, I need you. I do. And I’m not even ashamed to admit it anymore.

Dressed in slimming black, she held a manila file in her hand, and a few seconds after she closed the doors behind her, Marcos spoke. “You left before the ten minutes were over.”

Silently she sat and fiddled with her pearls, her eyes shooting daggers at him when she spared him a glance. “I realized you wanted your space, so I indulged you.”

Those last words came barbed, as though he’d once spoken them in sarcasm and she were flinging them back at him. She looked tired, his Miss Hollis, he noted. As though she’d slept less than an hour and tossed around for all the rest. Like he had.

He didn’t understand her anger very well. But they’d had plans to speak afterward, had been sleeping together so delightedly he hadn’t expected the loss of her last night to affect him like it had. Were ten minutes too much to ask?

“Ten minutes, Miss Hollis. You can’t even grant me that?”