The Secretary's Bossman Bargain (8 page)

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 whispers.

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.

She sank back in her seat, agitated when Marissa watched her. She brought her hand to her mouth, the one he’d kissed, and closed her eyes as she grazed her lips in the exact same places his lips had touched.

Eyes popping open to meet the other woman’s canny gaze, she straightened, readjusted the hem of her knee-length dress, and mentally cursed this pretense from here to Alaska and then to Mars. Was he seducing her? Or was this all for Marissa’s sake?

“So,” Marissa said. “You love him.”

Virginia was about to jump in denial, frantic to save herself from this accusation, which of course implied that she was stupid, needed therapy and more, and then she realized he was counting on her to pretend that she did.

Love him.

“I…” Her lips couldn’t form the words I love him. Her tongue seemed to freeze. Seemed to want to say only one thing, and that was I hate him.

She hated him and this stupid plan and how he touched her and how well he pretended to want her.

So instead she nodded, and let Marissa think what she would.

His powerful scent reached her long before he sat down beside her again. Virginia stared straight ahead like a horse with blinders. And just to prevent any more stoking of the staggering anger building inside her, she tucked her hands under her thighs. There. See if the man could touch her knuckles now.

She remained quiet the rest of the meal.

She heard Marissa invite them to a party the next day while she considered Marcos’s offer.

She told herself she didn’t care to know what kind of offer he’d made.

Something had changed.

Virginia had changed. She was different, and yet, it was all the same with him. The twisting sensation in his gut, the demented beat of his heart, the itch in his hands, the coiling want in his body.

Alert, clever, perceptive and spirited…now his assistant seemed to be struggling to comprehend what she’d witnessed as they reached their rooms.

They’d had such an enjoyable time this morning, he’d been certain he knew where they were heading tonight.

He wasn’t sure anymore.

He wasn’t sure of anything—very unlike an Allende.

He took her to the middle of the living room and just stood there, his jacket in one hand, looking at her. His every muscle felt stiff and pained, his hard-on merciless, and when he moved the slightest bit, arousal lanced through him. He set his jacket aside and felt as if the air was being squeezed out of his lungs. She was disappointed he’d been such a bad son to his father? He’d lost her admiration? Her respect?

His insides twisted at the thought. He stepped forward, toward her, his thoughts congested, tangled like vines. The heat of her angry breaths made his insides strain in his want to drink it, feel it, appease it. It sent him teetering into an aroused state he couldn’t fathom, much less understand. Eyeing her in silence, he tugged at his tie, stripping it from his neck, breathing harshly.

“I’d say that went well.”

She tilted her head, her eyes fierce, something there marking him as loathsome. “She didn’t believe us for a moment, that we…” She turned away as if disgusted. “She didn’t buy it.”

He narrowed his eyes—watching the tantalizing rise and fall of her chest. How would they feel to the touch? Soft. Yes, God, soft and small. Perky? Yes, that, too. His mouth watered. “Whether she believes it or not is of no consequence now.”

Her eyes flashed a glittery warning. “You wanted to make her jealous.”

“Jealous,” he repeated, puzzled by the accusation. “Is that what you believe?”

She shoved her hair back from her forehead. “Yes, it is. And I’m sorry I disappointed, Marcos.”

His blood raged hot and wild. He’d never seen her like this. Almost out of control, begging for…something he wanted to give her. Suddenly he’d give anything to hear her utter his name in that same haughty, do-me tone. He’d do anything to just…bury this ache inside her.

“I look at her and feel nothing—not even anger anymore. I didn’t want her jealousy, but I didn’t want her insinuating herself into my bed either.”

“Because you want her there. Otherwise you wouldn’t need me standing between you!”

He grabbed her arms and jerked hard, spurred by every ounce of pent-up desire in him, harbored for too long. “Listen to you!” She slammed against him with a gasp. Her eyes flamed in indignation and his body roared to life, singed by her lushness, her mouth so close. “There’s only one woman I want in my bed—one. And I’ve wanted her for a long, long time.”

“Then go get her!”

He backed her toward the bedroom. “Oh, I will—and I’ll have her right where I want her.” He dragged her closer and pulled her dress beneath her breasts and her scent, sweet and warm, washed through his senses. He seized a nipple with two fingers and pushed her breast up to his mouth and sucked.

He paused briefly to say, “The thought of you has me tied into knots. I want to taste you. For you to give me your lips, feel my body in yours. I want you coming with my name on your lips, coming over and over, with me.”

She caught his head and moaned. He could see the needs, the emotions, rising in her and darkening her eyes to storms. His hands caught her wrists and pinned them over her head and tightened. “Share my bed.”

“Marcos…”

A throbbing sensation pulsed through him, aching in his erection, his chest, his head. His voice grew hard, fierce as his cheek pressed against hers and he murmured in her ear. “I won’t beg, not even for you, I won’t ask again, Virginia. I have a craving for you…it’s running wild and out of control. You share this craving. You crave me, you crave me so much you tremble with the force of it. Don’t deny us. Don’t deny me.”

His breathing was ragged, hers wild. The gleam of defiance died out in her eyes as she gazed at his lips. He groaned and pulled her head to his as he swept down. His kiss was bred by passion, rampant with lust. The raging desire threatened to consume his mind, his sanity. He was undone by her kiss, her taste. His mind raced, his thirst for her sweeping through him. Her response was wholehearted, fiery, and it almost sent him to his knees. Her mouth sipped, her hands took what he wanted to give her. He called upon restraint but there was only passion here. Over and over he thought of being gentle, over and over her answer was to intensify, demand more.

He grabbed her and thrust her onto the bed, bouncing, and he was ripping at his shirt.

She climbed to her knees, her hands on her dress, fumbling to unbutton.

He whipped his shirt off, meeting her glimmering green gaze, stripping naked. “Do you want me?”

“Yes.”

He unbuckled his belt and sent it slapping to the floor. “Lie back.”

His heart thundered as he waited for her to, aware of the erection straining before her, listening to her sharp inhale. She backed away, her dress riding up to show her blue panties. And she was… There were no words. That lacy blue stuff looked delicious on her…. He wanted to use his lips to pry it off, his teeth… No, he couldn’t wait; he needed to feel her skin.

He fell on her and trapped her under him, yanking her arms up, his pelvis arching into her. “You’ll take what I can give you, all of it, amor.”

“Yes.”

She struggled against him, but he tamed her with his mouth, pinning her with his weight, stretching out naked on top of her. He grabbed her hair and held her still, and it felt like silk between his fingers. “I’m going to love doing this with you.”

She sighed and rubbed against him like a cat. “I’ll pretend to like it.”

Her voice was husky, full of longing, inviting him to do things to her. He cupped the full globes of her lace-covered breasts, dragging his teeth across that delectable spot of skin, licking the curve between her neck and shoulder. “Oh, you will. I’ll make sure you do.” Her nipple puckered, and he pinched to draw it out even more. “This little nipple pretends very well.”

She lay back, all skin and hair and woman, drawing him to her warmth. Her arms were around him, her hands on his back, kneading the bunched-up muscles. He shuddered. He could lose himself in those eyes, in that body, in her, and he demanded, “Say ‘Marcos.’ Whisper my name to me.”

“Marcos.”

She wasn’t sure from what part of her had come this determination, this courage or this desperate want, she only knew she needed him. He annihilated her mind, her senses. She hadn’t realized what she’d do, how she’d fight to be with this one man until she’d seen Marissa.

She hadn’t yet finished saying his name, a word that echoed the passion roaring through her, and he was there already, growling “Virginia” and taking her mouth in a fierce kiss. A flock of butterflies exploded in her stomach when their lips met. Her head swam as the flames spread, his tongue thrusting precisely, strongly, fiercely inside, emotion hissing through her, weakening her, overwhelming her.

Growling, he deepened the kiss as he tugged the bow loose at her hip, and she felt the fabric of her dress unfurl until it opened and hung at her sides. “It’s important your body becomes familiar with my touch. All of it. You want Marissa to believe us, don’t you? If you want others to believe it you have to believe it yourself. Your body has to know to respond when I touch it.”

A strangled sound echoed in the silence and in the back of her mind Virginia realized it came from her. He cupped one lace-encased breast. Oh, it was so wonderful. So bad. So everything. She’d stop him in a minute…in one more minute…no, she’d not stop him, not tonight, maybe not ever.

Utterly possessing her lips, he slid his free palm down the flatness of her stomach and below. “It’s important I know your curves…the texture of your skin…”

She could feel every sinew of his muscles against her. His fingers…sliding downward. Deep, forgotten places inside her clenched in waiting for his touch. Opening her mouth, she flicked her tongue out to his. “Marcos.”

“Here you are. Soaked.”

His voice grew husky. Desire trembled there. His hand between her legs began to slide under her panties. She arched involuntarily when he feathered a finger across the soft, damp spot at the juncture of her thighs. Every pink, throbbing part of her pinged at his touch. She moaned in her throat and sank back deeper into the bed as he caressed more deliberately.

She’d never known a touch could feel like fire, spread through her until every inch throbbed and burned. Involuntarily she moved her hips, filling his palm with the dewy softness between her legs.

“Marcos…” It was a plea, and it carried in it the fright she experienced in what he made her feel.

“Shh.” His lips grazed her temple. “Open up to me.” His free hand tugged at her bra and bared her left breast to him. Her disbelieving gaze captured the instant the rosy peak of her nipple disappeared between his lips. A thrilling jolt rushed through her as the moist heat of his mouth enveloped her. Her head fell back on a moan.

Instinctively she reached up to cup the back of his head, cradling him with the same gentle care he used to suckle her breast. He groaned profoundly in his throat and continued to fondle her with his mouth, lips nipping, tongue swirling, mouth suckling.

His hand moved lightly, expertly, his fingers unerringly fondling her through her panties. Hot little shivers rushed through her.

One long finger began to stroke her dampness. Open her with little prods of the tip.

She squirmed in shock, a little in agony, seeking ease for the burn growing inside her. “I hurt.” Blindly, her parted mouth sought more of the warmth of his lips. He penetrated her. With his tongue. His finger. She arched and cried out, shocked by the sensation. An explosion of colors erupted behind her eyelids. His mouth melded to hers harder. Skin, heat, ecstasy.

Her skin felt damp while every cell in her body felt hot and tingly. With a low growl, he delved a hand into her hair and pulled her head back, moving his mouth up her neck. It was damp and velvety on her flesh, licking as though her skin were his only sustenance. In her ear he rasped, “I’m filling you.”

“Yes.” Against his throat.

“You crave me to fill you.” His finger was thrusting, possessing—his body incredibly hard against hers. “You need me to take away the hurt.”

Pleasure ripped through her, and her back arched helplessly as she moaned. “You make me reckless, Marcos, you make me…”

“Burn.” He opened his mouth. Giving her the mist of his breath. “I can’t believe how ready you are. How slick. Are you pretending? Are you, amor?”

“No.”

He gave her his tongue. She could hear the soaked sounds his touch caused and felt embarrassed and aroused all at once. “Shh. Take my finger,” he huskily murmured, the graze of that finger so bare and fleeting across her entry she mewled with a protest to take it in again. “Soon I’ll give you two. Do you want two?”

“No,” she lied. Her body ruled now, screamed, shivered against his.

“Hmm.” He inserted the first, then the second deeply. “I’ll pretend that was a yes.”

Her thoughts scattered. “Marcos, please…”

“My God, you’re responsive.” His hands continued to work their magic as he looked down on her. “You were jealous for me.”

The burn intensified. The clench in her womb unbearable. “Yes,” she breathed, closing her eyes.

His groan sounded like a growl. “I like that.”

“Marcos.”

He was watching her, the effects of what he did to her. Every time she gasped, or let go a little moan, his face tightened with emotion—and alternately, something clenched tightly in her. She’d never known the extent of her passion, was surprised at how shamelessly she took pleasure from him.

Gently, he pried her fingers away from his neck and brought her hand between their bodies. “Touch me.”

“Where? Where do I…”

“Here.” He shifted over her. The sheets slid well below his hips and their every inch, shoulder to hips, became perfectly aligned. The very hardest part of him pushed against her hand. “Feel me,” he strained out. “Feel how I want you. This isn’t for her, Virginia, this is for you.”

He ground his hips against hers unapologetically. When she let go, his rigid length grazed her moistness through her panties. They groaned at the contact. He pressed closer, ground himself harder, wide and long against her. She wanted to die.

By the erratic heaves of his chest, Virginia suspected even though he was larger and more powerful, he was as defenseless to their chemistry as she was. Under her fingers, his skin was warm and slightly damp. Shyly, she continued to explore him, sifting her fingers through the dark hair at his nape, amazed at the soft texture.

His hands covered her breasts. The calluses on his palms were palpable through the lace, and her breast swelled ripely under his kneading.

Turning her cheek into the pillow, she let her eyes drift shut as she fought the intimacy of it all, the swelling tenderness that washed over her as he touched her. It was difficult to imagine that he was not her lover and she wasn’t entirely, completely, indisputably his.