The Secretary's Bossman Bargain (7 page)

Oh. My. God. They were actually discussing it.

Her nod was jerky.

Marcos hesitated, then huskily murmured, “Do you want to…?”

She sank her teeth into her lower lip to keep from saying something stupid, like yes. “To what?”

His whisper tumbled down her ear. “You know what.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” But she did. Oh, dear, she did.

“Kiss…” Thick and terse, his voice brimmed with passion. “Touch…”

Shaking like a leaf in a storm, she wiggled free and walked around him, her insides wrenching. “I told you I could pretend just fine.”

Heading for the couch and plopping down, she surveyed the food once more, but her eyes didn’t see anything.

Was she supposed to stay strong and resist what her body and heart wanted when she had a chance to have it? Was she supposed to say no and no and no?

Marcos plunged his hand into his hair. “That was pretense?”

“Of course.” He sounded so shocked and looked so annoyed she might have even laughed. Instead, her voice grew businesslike. “So you left. And your father stayed here? In this city?”

For a moment, he released a cynical laugh, and when he gradually recovered, he roughly scraped the back of his hand across his mouth as if he couldn’t stand remembering their kiss. Reluctantly, he nodded. “You’re good, Miss Hollis, I’ll give you that.”

“What made you leave here?” she asked, blinking.

One lone eyebrow rose and this time when he laughed, she knew it was at her attempt at conversation.

“Well.” Propping a shoulder against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest in a seemingly relaxed pose, Marcos exuded a raw, primal power that seemed to take command of the entire room. “Allende Transport was taken. By my father’s…woman. It was either her or me—and he chose her. But I promised myself when I came back…the transport company would be mine.”

His voice. Sometimes she’d hear it, not the words, just the bass, the accent. Marcos was larger than life, large in every single way, and Virginia could pretend all she wanted but the fact was, she’d be stupid to forget her position. And she had to make sure the car incident would never again be repeated.

“Marcos, what happened here and in the car was—”

“Only the beginning.”

She started. The beginning of what? The end? She ground her molars, fighting for calm. “We were pretending.”

“Aha.”

“Yes,” she said, vehemently. “We were.”

“Right, Miss Hollis. Whatever you say.”

“You asked me to pretend, that’s what I’m here for. Isn’t it?”

His silence was so prolonged she felt deafened. Was she here for another reason? A reason other than what he’d requested of her? An intimate, wicked, naughty reason?

She could tell by the set of his jaw that if he had a hidden agenda, he wouldn’t be admitting to it now.

Walking off her conflicting emotions, she fixed her attention on the food. The scents of lemon, warm bread, cheeses and fruit teased her nostrils, but her stomach was too constricted for her to summon any appetite. Usually she’d be wolfing down the strawberries, but now she wiped her hands on her sides and put on her best secretarial face. “At what time should I wake up tomorrow?”

“We have a late lunch, no need to rise with the sun,” he said.

She signaled to both ends of the room, needing to get away from him, wishing she could get away from herself. “And my room?”

“Pick the one you like.”

She felt his gaze on her, sensed it like a fiery lick across her skin.

She went over and peered into a room: a large, double-post bed, white and blue bedclothes. Very beautiful. She went to the other, feeling his eyes follow. The lamplight cast his face in beautiful mellow light. He looked like an angel that had just escaped from hell, like an angel she wanted to sin with.

“I guess either will do,” she admitted.

She smiled briefly at him from the doorway, and although he returned the smile, both smiles seemed empty.

And in that instant Virginia was struck with two things at once: she had never wanted anything so much in her life as she wanted the man standing before her, and if his lips covered hers again, if his hands touched her, if his eyes continued to look at her, she would never own her heart again.

She said, “Good night.” And didn’t wait to hear his reply.

The room she chose was the one with coral-pink bedding and an upholstered headboard. She didn’t question that, for appearances, he would wish him and his “lover” to appear to share a room. But she quietly turned the lock behind her.

As she changed, she thought of what she had read about Marcos and Monterrey. She arranged the clothes in the large closet, each garment on a hanger, and eyed and touched the ones he’d bought her.

She slipped into her cotton nightgown, ignoring the prettier garments made of silk and satin and lace, and climbed into bed. Awareness of his proximity in the adjoining room caused gooseflesh along her arms. A fan hung suspended from the ceiling, twirling. The echo of his words feathered through her, melting her bones. I’ll pretend…you’re her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, her chest constricting. It’s not you, Virginia, she firmly told herself.

She touched a finger against her sensitive lips and felt a lingering pleasure. And in her heart of hearts, she knew she was. She was her, the woman Marcos wanted. She’d dreamed of him in private, but dreams had been so harmless until they came within reach. Marcos Allende.

Wanting him was the least safe, most staggering, worrying feeling she’d ever felt.

And one thing she knew for certain was that to her, Marcos Allende was even more dangerous than his beautiful, deadly city of Monterrey.

Sleep eluded him.

The clock read past 1:00 a.m. and Marcos had smashed his pillow into a beat-up ball. He’d kicked off the covers. He’d cursed and then he’d cursed himself some more for thinking one kiss would be enough to rid himself of his obsession of her.

Then there was Allende.

He had to plan, plot, leave no room for error. He had to stoke his hatred of Marissa, to be prepared to crush her once and for all.

But he could not think of anything. Memories of those kisses in the car assailed him. The fierce manner in which his mouth took hers and her greedy responses, the moans she let out when he’d touched her. How his tongue had taken hers, how she’d groaned those tormenting sounds.

He lay awake and glared at the ceiling, his mind counting the steps to her room. Twenty? Maybe fewer. Was she asleep? What did she wear to sleep? Was she remembering, too? Jesus, what a nightmare.

He shouldn’t have asked her there.

He’d thought nothing of Allende, nothing of tomorrow, but had kept going over in his mind the ways she’d kissed him and the ways he still wanted to kiss her.

He sat up and critically surveyed the door of his room. He wanted her to give in. Wanted something of hers, a stolen moment, something she hadn’t planned to give him, but couldn’t help but relinquish. She was cautious by nature. She’d fear ruining everything, all she’d worked so hard for, all she’d tried to achieve. A steady job, security, respect. Could he guarantee this would remain solid when they were through? Could they even continue working together—flaring up like torches like this?

Their kiss had shot him up into outer space; obviously he still couldn’t think right. In his drawstring pants, he climbed out of bed and slipped into his shirt.

He meant to review his numbers once again, ascertain that the amount he planned to offer for Allende was low, but fair enough to secure it.

Instead he ignored his files and found himself standing outside his assistant’s bedroom door, his hand on the doorknob, his heart beating a crazy jungle-cat rhythm.

He turned the knob, smiling at his certainty of her, her being always so…orderly, having locked it against him.

His heart stopped when he realized Virginia Hollis’s door was unlocked. Now all that kept him from Virginia Hollis were his damned scruples.

“Sleep well?”

“Of course. Wonderfully well. And you?”

“Perfectly.”

That was the extent of their conversation the next morning over breakfast. Until Marcos began folding his copy of El Norte. “A favor from you, Miss Hollis?”

Virginia glanced up from her breakfast to stare into his handsome, clean-shaven face. A kiss, she thought with a tightness in her stomach. A touch. God, a second kiss to get rid of that haunting memory of the first.

With her thoughts presenting her the image of him—Marcos Allende—kissing her, she flushed so hard her skin felt on fire. She toyed with her French toast. “Nothing too drastic, I assume?” she said, some of the giddiness she felt creeping into her voice.

“Drastic?” he repeated, setting the morning paper aside.

She shrugged. “Oh, you know…murder. Blackmail. I don’t think I could get away with those.”

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 eclipsed 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.”