The Secretary's Bossman Bargain (17 page)

Still. She would never, in her life, forget this moment.

Marcos’s expression changed, metamorphosed, into one of disbelief, then joy. Joy so utter and pure it lit his eyes up like shooting stars.

“So we’re expecting, then?”

The term we coming from his beautiful mouth made her giddy with excitement.

He smiled, and it was brilliant, that smile, that moment.

Did this please him? Yes! She’d bet her life on it.

She nodded, her heart fluttering madly, a winged thing about to fly out of orbit. “I’d like to go home now,” she admitted, and although her father stepped forward to offer assistance, the words weren’t meant for him.

She gazed up at Marcos—quiet and mesmerizing—as she eased out of the hospital bed with as much dignity as she could muster.

His attention was no longer hard to bear. She wanted it; she wanted him.

Virginia Hollis knew this man. Inside and out, she knew him. How true he was to his word. How dedicated. How loyal. And how proud. She didn’t need any more proof than his presence here, his touch, the look in his eyes and the promise there.

Rising to her full height, she linked her fingers through his and squeezed, feeling flutters in her stomach when he smiled encouragingly down at her. “Yes, Marcos Allende. I’ll marry you.”

The day arrived three months before the baby did.

Walking up to the altar, with the music shuddering through the church walls, Virginia had eyes only for the dark, mesmerizing man at the far end of the aisle. Tall and smiling, Marcos stood with his hands clasped before him, his broad shoulders and solid arms and steely, stubborn jaw offering love and comfort and protection.

Virginia was certain that nobody who watched him would be blind to the way he stared at her. Least of all she.

They shared a smile. Then her father was letting go of her arm.

Soon Marcos was lifting the flimsy veil to gaze upon her face and into her eyes, eyes which she used to fervently tell him, I love you!

Their palms met, their fingers linked, and the moment they did he gave her a squeeze. She felt it down to her tummy.

I, Virginia, take thee, Marcos, to be my lawfully wedded husband…

When he spoke his vows, the simplest vows, to love and cherish, her eyes began to sting. By the time the priest declared them man and wife, she was ready—more than ready—to be swept into his arms and kissed.

And kiss her he did. The priest cleared his throat. The attendants cheered and clapped. And still he kissed her.

Virginia let herself take her first relaxed breath once they were in the back of the limo. Gravitating toward each other, they embraced, and tiny tremors of desire spread along her torso and limbs. She’d had this fool idea of waiting to be together again until they married—and she was dying for him to touch her.

As they kissed, Virginia found her husband already dispensing with her veil. “There we go,” he said contentedly. “Enjoy the dress because I assure you, it is coming off soon.”

Actually relieved to be without the veil and anxiously looking forward to Marcos dispensing with the dress, she leaned back on the seat and cuddled against him. “I never knew these things were so heavy,” she said. The skirt ballooned at her feet but thankfully there was no volume on top to keep her away from the man she most definitely intended to jump at the first opportunity.

“Come here, wife.” He drew her close as the limo pulled into the street and the city landscape slowly rolled past them. Staring absently outside, Virginia sighed. His arms felt so good around her, being against him so right. Being his wife.

Both protectively and possessively, Marcos pressed her face to his chest and with his free hand, reached out to rub her swelling stomach. She’d noticed the more it grew, the more he did that. “How is my little girl today?” he asked against her hair.

Her eyebrows drew into a scowl. “We’re having a boy,” Virginia countered. “A handsome, dashing boy like his daddy. No girl would kick like this little guy does, trust me.”

“Your daughter would, you saucy wench,” he said with a rolling chuckle. “And my instincts tell me we are having a plucky, curly-haired, rosy-cheeked daughter. She’ll run my empire with me.”

Virginia smiled against his chest and slid a hand up his shirt to find the familiar cross lying at his throat and play with it. “Father keeps asking how many grandchildren we plan to have, he’s obsessed with wanting it to be at least three.”

Marcos laughed, and that laugh alone warmed her up another notch.

“Ahh, darling,” he said. “He can rest assured we’ll be working on that night and day.” The praise in his words and the suggestive pat on her rear filled her with anticipation of tonight and future nights with her complex, breathtakingly beautiful, thoroughly giving and enchanting husband.

“He’s so changed now, Marcos,” she admitted, feeling so relaxed, so happy.

“His work in Allende has been impressive, Virginia. Even Jack is amazed.”

“And you?”

He snorted. “I got to say to the moron ‘I told you so.’”

She laughed. Then she snuggled closer and said, “Thank you. For believing that people can change. And for forgiving that little fib he told you at the hospital.”

He nuzzled the top of her head. “He was trying to protect you—he didn’t know me yet, and I respect that. Your father deserved a second chance, Virginia. We all do.”

She sighed. “I’m just glad he’s put all his efforts into making the best of it. And I’m proud of you, dear sir, for being wise enough to put the past behind you and keep Allende.”

And for being most decidedly, most convincingly, most deliciously in love with her.

The band played throughout the evening, and the guests at the reception laughed and danced and drank. Hardly anyone would notice the groom had kidnapped the bride, and if they did, Marcos sure as hell didn’t care.

He still could not understand why Virginia had gotten it into her head to play hard-to-get leading up to the wedding, and even less could he comprehend why he had obediently complied.

But now in the cloaked shadows of the closet, he had Virginia right where he’d always wanted her. In his arms. His mouth feasted on her exposed throat while his hands busily searched her dress for access—any access—to the smooth, creamy skin beneath.

“Careful!” Virginia screeched when he yanked on the delicate zipper at the back and an invisible button popped free.

He laughed darkly and maneuvered through the opening. “You’re not wearing it again, reina. I could tear it apart and dispense with all this silliness.” The guests had been crowding them for hours when all Marcos wanted was to be with his bride. Now his hands stole in through the opening at the small of her back, where he instantly seized her cushy rear and drew her up against him. “Come here. You’ve been teasing me all night.”

“How kind of you to notice.”

“Hmm. I noticed.” He kissed the top of her breasts, all evening looking lush and squeezable thanks to Christian Dior, and then used his hands to gather the volume of her skirts and yank most of them back.

She automatically wrapped her stockinged legs around him when he pressed her against the wall. “You’re incorrigible,” she said chidingly, but he could hear the smile in her voice and the little tremble that said how very much his wife wanted to be ravaged by him.

He brought his hands up front and lowered them. “I’m open to being domesticated.”

“Luckily I’m open to attempting that daunting task. In fact—no, not the panties!” A tear sounded, Virginia gasped, and his fingers found what they were looking for.

“Bingo,” he purred.

“Oh, Marcos.” Slipping her hands under his jacket and around his shoulders, she placed fervent little kisses along his jaw. “Please.”

With a rumbling chuckle, he found her center and grazed it with his fingers. “Please what, chiquita?”

Against his lips, she mumbled, “You know what, you evil man.”

“Please this?”

“Yes, yes, that.” She left a moist path up his jaw and temple, and in his ear whispered, “I was aching to be with you all day.”

“Shame on me.” He turned his head and seized her earlobe with his teeth, tugging. “For keeping you waiting.”

“I adore what you do to me.”

He groaned at the husky quality of her voice. “No more than I, darling.” Unable to wait, he freed himself from his trousers and, grasping her hips, began making love to her.

A whimper tore out of her, and she clutched his back with her hands.

“Chiquita.” He wound his arms around her and was in turn embraced and enveloped by her silken warmth, completely owned and taken by the woman who had single-handedly stolen his heart.

No matter how quiet they tried to be, they were groaning, moving together. Marcos closed his eyes, savoring her, his wife and partner and mate and woman. When she exploded in his arms with a gasp, crying out his name into his mouth, he let go. Gripping her hips tighter, he muttered a choked, emotional te amo then let out a satisfying, “Hmm.”

“Hmm,” she echoed.

Inconspicuous minutes later, the bride and groom exited the closet. The ballroom brimmed with music and laughter, most of the guests who remained being the people closest to them.

With an appreciative eye, Marcos noticed the bride looked deliciously rumpled. Her cheeks glowed bright, and the fancy hairdo she claimed had taken endless hours to achieve had become magnificently undone.

As if reading his thoughts, she shot him a little black scowl. “I’m sure that everyone who sees me now will know—” she rose up to whisper into his ear “—that you just tumbled me in the closet. Really. Is that how your wife should expect to be treated, Señor Allende?”

Smiling into her eyes, he lifted her knuckles to his lips. “My wife can expect to be treated with respect and admiration and devotion.”

With a dazzling smile, she let him drag her to the dance floor when a compellingly slow song began. “I believe this dance is mine,” he said, and meaningfully added, “So is the one afterward.”

She stepped into the circle of his arms, finding her spot under his chin to tuck her head in and sliding her arms around him. “You are a greedy fellow, aren’t you?”

His lips quirked, and his eyes strayed toward the arched doorway, where his little brother stood, barely visible through the throng surrounding him. “With Santos around, I don’t plan to let you out of my sight.”

Virginia laughed. “He’s already told me everything. Even about the time you broke his nose and chin. I swear that man loves to make you out as the ogre.” She glanced past her shoulder and wrinkled her little nose. “Besides, he seems pretty busy with the two he brought tonight…and the dozen others he’s trying to fend off.”

Grateful that for the moment the guests were oblivious to them as they danced amidst so many familiar faces, Marcos ran a hand down her back and glanced at the firm swell between their bodies. “How do you feel?” he asked, somber.

She smiled as she canted her head back to meet his gaze. “I feel…perfect.” She kissed his lips and gazed up at him with those same green eyes that had haunted him. Their sparkle surpassed the blinding one of the ring on her finger, and her smile took his breath away—like it did every day. “You?” she asked.

His lips curled into a smile, and he bent his head, fully intending to take that mouth of hers. “A hundred thousand dollars shorter,” he baited. He touched her lips, and his smile widened. “And I’ve never felt so lucky.”

THE SECRETARY’S BOSSMAN BARGAIN

Copyright © 2010 by Red Garnier

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