Читать книгу The Best Of February 2016 - Catherine Mann - Страница 13
ОглавлениеSHE POLITELY KICKED Cesar out after that. Enrique needed to go to bed and so did she. She was exhausted emotionally and physically. Cesar was too much on her best day and she was not at her best.
Still, the fact he hadn’t tried to defend himself before he departed wrenched her soul from her body.
She was hurting. Furious. He wanted to know why she hadn’t told him they’d made a baby? Because it hadn’t meant anything to him. If it had, if she had, he would have called her before now.
She took a shaken breath, wondering if he would come back.
Don’t be stupid, she berated herself. She’d given him a get-out-of-jail-free card. Note to self: don’t gamble unless you’re prepared to lose.
Swallowing back her misery, she resigned herself to raising Enrique alone, already missing Cesar. She had missed him all these months, missed his dynamic pursuit of his goals, his easy command of any situation, his bursts of enthusiasm for a fresh project and his nod of satisfaction over a job well done.
She would keep missing him so much.
Except...
He was different. He’d always had that air of contained energy, but there was a higher, colder wall around him, not that he’d ever been the most demonstrative person. His entire family was like that: aloof and reserved. She had always thought it ironic that, despite their Latin roots, the Monteros were devoid of the clichéd warmth and short fuse one was taught to expect from the Spanish.
Was it the situation? Or had the accident changed him in a fundamental way? Because by the time they’d opened up to each other that day in Valencia, she’d moved from intimidation through hero worship to falling in love with the man she’d come to know. She had thought she’d known him quite well, despite the fact he hadn’t divulged more to her than, she suspected, anyone else he’d ever confided in. She had simply observed.
Her heart lurched as she settled herself in her bed, thinking of all the small ways he’d proven to be more than a focused businessman governed by logic and the scientific method. In her three years of working for him, he’d revealed himself to be caring enough to catch a loose dog off a highway so it wouldn’t get hit. He’d let her in on his secretive experiments with metallurgy that didn’t always have a practical purpose, he just had to know. He bordered on being a nerd about those things, actually, bemusingly eager to report his findings.
And even though he had a dry wit, he rarely laughed. Except around her. She actively tried to make him laugh, just to hear his surprised snort.
Sorcha swallowed, recalling how they’d split that bottle of champagne that day, congratulating each other. That was another thing she adored about him. He acknowledged her contribution, never taking all the glory for himself.
Tomorrow, she had been thinking as they clinked glasses that afternoon. Tomorrow she would draft up his thank-you letters to the various department heads. He would go through each one, noting specific areas of achievement and offering his appreciation. It wasn’t sentimental, he’d assured her the first time he’d given her the task. “Research shows that positive reinforcement achieves better results than negative feedback. Moving forward, the teams will be doubly motivated to strive for excellence.
“Nice work with the press,” he’d said to her as they sipped their champagne, adding the warning, “It will get worse.”
“I know.” His father was moving into politics and every level of media, from serious journalists to paparazzi, was turning over rocks, eager for something to crawl out. But with one verbal pat on the back from her exalted boss, Sorcha mentally dug in, determined to keep earning his approval.
For a moment they’d shared a comfortable silence. The sun had painted muted patches of light on the oriental carpet, shining through the coated glass of the windows. His phone had chimed on his desk and he’d had his guard down enough that he didn’t disguise the twist of dismay that contorted his mouth before he controlled it.
Only his family had his direct number, but he didn’t rise or ask her to fetch it.
Oh, right. Diega Fuentes, his soon-to-be fiancée, also had the number.
Cesar topped up their sparkling glasses, ignoring the call.
Leaning forward on the sofa, Sorcha set down her glass, taking advantage of Cesar’s attention on his placement of the bottle back into its ice bucket to memorize his profile, so sharp and proud. His big shoulders shrugged briefly as he settled back into his chair. He lifted his feet onto the coffee table and crossed his ankles, releasing a contented sigh.
This was their private ritual, this brief celebration of closing out a project. In a moment his mind would turn to the stages of all the other projects they were juggling and she would set her phone to record his musings. She might rise to fetch a notebook or search out a file or drawing as they began prioritizing their next series of tasks.
But not yet. Right now, this was their downtime.
And she had some business of her own to address.
“You have something to say,” he noted, watchful beneath those lazily drooped eyelids, making her feel self-conscious. When had he learned to read her?
She swallowed. This was the moment she’d been waiting for and it was harder than she’d expected. Her throat tightened and the words came up with a little rasp, dragging a barb. “I have to put in my notice.”
“Did you mishear me? I said you did well with the press.”
She smiled, but it didn’t stick. I’m serious, she telegraphed.
He lifted disdainful brows. “You promised me five years.”
“I did,” she admitted.
“Something to do with your family?”
“No.” His question surprised her. Apart from the incident with her niece, she hadn’t realized he’d noticed how important her family was to her, especially given how indifferent he seemed toward his own. “No, it’s...” She hadn’t figured out how to approach this without coming off as insulting him, his family, his attitude toward marriage and his intended. “You know how sometimes you ask me to tell a white lie to a woman you’re dating, to say you’ve left the building when they drop by unannounced? Or to take the fall if you forget to call? That kind of thing?”
“I didn’t put that in your job description. You did.” He took a healthy swallow of sparkling wine, expression shuttered, all his attention on her.
He certainly took advantage of her willingness to send flowers, pay bills, cosset and reassure the revolving door of women he dated.
“I did,” she agreed. “Because I took a job working as PA to a bachelor and that’s a sort of job hazard. Working for a married man is different.” She looked at her hands to remind herself to keep them still because it made her a little sick to think of him married to that ice queen Diega Fuentes. “You either become friends with his wife, in which case you can’t lie to her for any reason, even if your boss asks you to, or she sees you as an extension of his job—that thing that takes him away from her. And she makes it hard for you to do your work effectively.”
“You think Diega will make your job hard for you? Because I would never ask you to lie to her.”
“Wouldn’t you?” Asking the question, especially in that low, quietly challenging tone, was a gamble. It was the same high-stakes candor she’d used to land this job and tried not to overuse. But this was important.
With trepidation, she lifted her gaze and had to steel herself against stammering out an apology. He was giving her the death glare, the one that made muscled construction workers armed with nail guns take a step back in caution.
“Keep talking, Sorcha, and the termination will come from this side of the table.”
“Either way I’m leaving, so I have nothing to lose in speaking my mind, do I?” She picked up her drink and drew deeply on the bubbly liquid that evaporated in her mouth, but she didn’t say anything more, not wanting things to end badly after such a good three years.
He dropped his feet to the floor and sat forward, taking up his hard-negotiator stance, drink going onto the table with a decisive clink. “Surely you could come up with a better reason if you’re looking for a raise. How much did you have in mind?”
“I don’t want more money.”
“Your workload will lighten, you know. She’ll arrange for my dry cleaning to come home. Tell me the real reason we’re having this conversation.”
As a child, after failing to change minds with unceasing logic or heated emotion, she had learned to keep it simple. Make her statement and dig in. She was probably too stubborn for her own good, but she didn’t backtrack or waffle, never stammered out excuses or defenses. If she messed up, she owned it. If she thought Cesar was making an error in judgment, she told him. Once.
He valued all of this about her. He’d told her during reviews.
She also knew how to let silence make a point. She’d learned that from the master sitting across from her.
“You’re serious?” he demanded after a long, charged minute. “You want to quit because I’m getting engaged? We won’t marry until next year.”
“I’ll stay through the hiring and training period. Once you’ve set a date, I’ll work until the Friday before your wedding, if you want me to stay that long.”
“This is unacceptable. You promised me five years.” He picked up his glass and glowered at her. “I’m so tempted to fire you right now, you have no idea.”
She picked up her own glass and sat back, already melancholy. She prided herself on her reliability and hated to let him down. If she had thought he loved Diega— No, that would be worse. She would quit even faster if he fell in love. She frowned, wishing she wasn’t so infatuated with him. None of this would bother her.
“Why do you think I’ll ask you to lie to her?” he demanded in a low growl.
She took heart from his question. Sometimes she let herself believe they were friends, especially when he did this, asked for her thoughts. He might not be in love, but talking about his forthcoming marriage still seemed profoundly personal. She couldn’t help but read in to it, believing he valued her opinion.
“The thing that strikes me,” she said carefully, “is how different you are with her. I’ve seen you with women, Cesar.” She offered a tolerant smile. Did she resent those women? Hell, yes, but she’d known he was a playboy before she’d interviewed for the job. “I can make all the judgments I want about the quantity of women you date, but you always appear to like them. To be genuinely attracted. When you see Señorita Fuentes coming, you give her the same look you wear when greeting a tax auditor.”
“I don’t lie to tax auditors, either,” he said flatly, looking away, mouth twisting with disgust. “Most people tell me I’m difficult to read, you know.”
“You are. But I know you.”
“Do you.” His gaze swung back to hers and something in the sudden connection made her heart skip.
“I like to think so,” she disclosed.
“Then you know this is how my life must go. You know about the industrial spying?”
“Yes.” She’d read what she could find online about it. The court case had gone on for years, but the intellectual property that had been stolen hadn’t been something that could be reclaimed. Once Pandora’s box had been opened, there was no restitution.
“It was my fault. I was using my father’s money, gambling that my work would pay back the coffers with interest. The work was stolen, the investment went bust and the legal bills were horrendous. Yes, we eventually retrieved a fraction of that in the settlement, but it was a pittance against the fortune that we should have had. We could have faced bankruptcy if not for Diega’s family helping us refinance. They stepped up because we’ve always had this understanding between our families that we would be joining forces when the time was right.”
Sorcha couldn’t remember him ever directly referencing the espionage. The closest he’d come was mentioning the name of his first company, “the one that was lost.” Each word of what he’d just said had been bitten off with a gnash of his teeth, bitter and filled with self-recrimination.
“If I’ve taken advantage of my freedom, enjoyed a ‘quantity’ of women,” he said, quoting her pithily, “it’s because I’ve always known my opportunity to do so was finite. I don’t intend to cheat on her, Sorcha. You won’t be expected to lie.”
She smiled. His tenacity was so predictable. “My notice still stands.”
“Because you think she’ll make it hard for you to do your job.” He shook his head. “If this was a love match, perhaps, but our marrying is a business decision. She knows my work is my priority. My life.”
That statement struck her as alarmingly hollow. Sorcha gleaned a lot of satisfaction from her work, but a huge part of that satisfaction came from providing for the people she loved. Her life was her family. And Cesar, she added silently. Her heart was so misguided.
“Cesar, my father married for those sorts of practical reasons,” she confided, clearing her throat because her soul was still pulled and frayed by the circumstances after his death. He’d failed them, not just financially, but by leaving them humiliated. She still nursed a deep hurt over that. “He needed the money to keep his family’s estate intact. Then he fell in love with my mother.”
Cesar sat arrested for a moment. “I didn’t know that about you.”
“That I’m illegitimate? The product of infidelity? I don’t advertise it.” She actively tried to hide it, in fact, but for his greater good she would reveal a little of her deepest shame. “I’m saying there are pitfalls to what you’re contemplating.”
“Love?” He finished his drink and set down his glass, then pulled the dripping bottle from the ice bucket and motioned for her to lean forward with her half-empty glass. “Not something my family subscribes to. You must have noticed?”
This was the most intimate conversation they’d ever had, which was why Sorcha held her glass to be refilled and sat back to let it continue.
“I’ve noticed. I wasn’t sure you had. Noticed, I mean.” He definitely didn’t subscribe to love. Women were for entertainment and he did his best to make that a two-way transaction, but emotions were not on the invoice.
He didn’t flinch, but there was a flash of...she wasn’t sure what.
“The way you talk about your family.” His face smoothed to hide his thoughts, but there was still something watchful beneath his neutral expression. “Our family is a business. I prefer it, but I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be close like that.”
“It’s nice,” she informed him, feeling a sudden, misguided urge to convert him. Occasionally there were birthday wishes that required her to take a moment from her busy schedule. He had walked in on her chatting over her tablet a time or two, when she was supposed to be off the clock but they were both working late. She’d flown her sister to Paris on points, as a graduation gift, when she and Cesar had been there for meetings. He’d personally paid for their dinner, but had gone on his own date without so much as laying eyes on her sister. If anything, she had imagined he found her tight relationship with her mother and sisters an annoying distraction from her work.
“Some of us could probably do with thinking more practically in our choices with mates,” she added, thinking of her mother’s involvement with her father.
“You certainly could. How is your artist?” he asked, surprising her.
“Why do you say it like that? Your artist. Like it’s a joke. You’ve dated a painter, too,” she reminded him.
“I’ve also dated stockbrokers. You’ve had one serious relationship since I’ve known you and it’s the most impractical man you could find.”
“He’s nice,” she explained on a shrug. If absentminded. She’d only accepted his invitation to cook her dinner because she’d been wallowing in self-pity at being devoid of a social life. Cesar found out when he’d called her in the middle of their date. She’d had to explain why she couldn’t run to her computer to transfer a file.
“You’re already sending money home, Sorcha. Don’t take on another dependent for the sake of feeling ‘loved.’” The emotion was an unviable fantasy, he seemed to say.
“I wasn’t in love with him. And we’re no longer seeing each other. The demands of my job make dating impossible,” she added pointedly.
“Good. He struck me as too sensitive and probably insecure in bed. You need a man with the confidence to take control so you can finally give it up.”
She blushed. “We are getting personal today, aren’t we? Are you drunk?”
“You started it,” he admonished. “And no, I’m not. But I’m in a mood to drink myself blind now. You’ve ruined what started out as a very good day.” He chucked back the contents of his champagne glass and rose to move to the bar, taking out the Irish whiskey she’d turned him onto drinking.
“Do you want the truth, Cesar?” She bent her knees as she twisted on the sofa, bringing her feet off the floor and hooking her elbow over the sofa back to face him.
“Probably not,” he muttered, not looking up from pouring.
“I...care for you.” It was as much of an admission to the depth of her feelings as she was willing to risk. “I don’t want to watch you live with a bad decision.”
His gaze came up. “You said you’d never get jealous.” Rather than annoyed, he sounded smug.
“Hardly. I just don’t want to watch you make a mistake. So I’m leaving.”
“Do you want the truth, Sorcha?” He came back with two wide-bottom glasses, both neat, offering one to her as he settled onto the sofa beside her, angled to face her.
“Probably not,” she muttered.
“I always thought that if you left before the five years were up, it would be because we slept together. The fact my mother and Diega have pushed this marriage into our time line annoys me. I was counting on sleeping with you in seven hundred and fifty days or so.”
She almost dropped her glass. “You are drunk.”
“I’m not. Just being honest. Now you be as honest as I know you are. Don’t you wonder what we’d be like together?”
She slid him a glance, astonished that she was having this conversation with her boss. Once he’d hired her, they’d had a tacit agreement to never speak of her vow again. The odd time when a rumor floated that she and Cesar were an item, she quashed it with her I-don’t-have-to-use-those-tactics speech.
They had kept things strictly professional. Occasionally he’d told her she looked nice and once or twice he’d steadied her with a hand under her elbow, when crossing an icy runway or uneven pavement. Even when she’d hugged him after her niece was found, he’d gently but firmly moved her away afterward. Given his seeming indifference to her being female, she had assumed all the sexual awareness was on her side.
“We’re being honest?” she confirmed, wondering if she was tipsy since she was going along with this inappropriate conversation. “Your women always look happy. Of course, I wonder what it’s like to date you,” she said with a blasé tone that was completely manufactured. “But I often wonder what dating is like.”
“Keep trying to make me feel guilty,” he said. “I won’t.”
He was so close, smelling deliciously raw and masculine, so comfortable with his arm across the back of the sofa behind her, his knee hitched up near her hip. This was how she’d seen him with countless women: relaxed, confident in his own skin. Attentive. Like she was the only thing he was thinking about in this moment.
Maybe he was thinking about sex.
With her.
A flutter of excitement contracted her belly, making her feel prickly and sensual. She found herself doing the hair-play thing, tucking a strand behind her ear, subtly flirting under his regard.
A faint smile touched his mouth. He knew. He was too experienced not to read how she was reacting.
Then a shutter came down. He straightened, sitting forward, setting his glass on the table, bracing his elbows on his knees as he released a sigh. “I keep telling myself to take Diega to bed, to be sure we’ll work, but...” He shrugged. “It won’t matter. We still have to marry.”
“But you don’t want to?” She sat forward, too, nearly thigh against thigh, her own glass going onto the table next to his. “Cesar, you’re a grown man.”
“With responsibilities, Sorcha.” He turned his head, shoulders heavy and back bowed by the weight of his obligations.
“Is all of this really going to come crashing down if you don’t marry her?” She waved a hand at the office, beautifully decorated on a budget of over six figures, where deals were cut for tens of millions on a weekly basis.
“My family is building an empire, not a rose garden. I have a role. I agreed to all the conditions.”
“Fine. Go against your gut and live with the consequences.” She threw that out with a shrug.
“Where do you find the gall to talk to me like this? I’ve never understood why I put up with it,” he muttered, but he wasn’t angry. Disgusted with himself maybe. “My gut decisions are always supported by reason. Backing out would have to be driven by logic. There are a hundred solid facts that make marrying Diega a smart choice.”
“And your happiness isn’t reason enough to support a different choice? What would happen if you refused to marry her? No one will be burned at the stake. Surely you’re in a position now to make reparation for whatever they gave you? Or to weather your father disinheriting you? What is the worst that will happen, Cesar?”
His mouth stayed tight for a long moment before he snorted and took up his glass for a quick swallow. “Indeed. Will my mother stop loving me? She never started.” He set down the glass again with a hard clip of glass on glass. “But much of what I now control could move into my brother’s hands.”
“Really? After you’ve proven yourself to be so good at it? I don’t believe it.”
“This all must look very simple from the outside.” His gaze came up from her white nail beds where she gripped his arm. His voice lowered a shade into something intimate. “Would you stay in your job if I refused to marry her? Is that why you’re trying to convince me?”
“Would you refuse to marry her if I canceled my notice?” she scoffed, pretty much making it a dare. She didn’t mean that much to him. She knew she didn’t. Given all he stood to gain, he couldn’t call off his marriage just to sleep with his secretary.
“If you let me have you, I might. You would be surprised what I would do for that privilege.” He was looking at her mouth.
Her heart began to pound.
“Cesar...”
“I need to know what it’s like to kiss you, Sorcha.” He brought up a hand, one strong finger tracing a line under her jaw to a point under her chin.
Breathe, she thought, but couldn’t make her lungs work. She was frozen in hot ice, mouth parting as he angled his head and leaned to cover her lips with his.
This was what he meant by her needing a man who could take control. As the oldest of four in a single-parent home, she’d been an adult from an early age, taking care of her siblings, then helping with the breadwinning. She easily shouldered responsibility—even for her own pleasure—but from the first touch, Cesar let her know he was more than willing to give her anything she desired.
There was no hesitation in his kiss, only command. He didn’t overwhelm, wasn’t forceful, but his kiss had the same quality as his voice or his directing hand. We’re going here and this is how we’ll get there. Come with me. I’ll show you.
She softened under his thorough kiss, liking the light abrasion of his stubble. Her lips clung to his and her hand climbed his arm and found his shoulder. She tried to maintain her balance as they sat there, side by side, quietly devouring each other.
He shifted, gathered her and drew her into his lap. Just like that. Strong and sure, making his intention clear, right down to the bulge pressed against the cheek of her bottom.
They broke off their kiss, looked into each other’s eyes. This was the point when she was supposed to remind him they had an agreement. He was her boss—if he was serious about refusing to marry Diega.
You would be surprised what I would do for that privilege.
His neck was hot against her palm and the trace of his fingers against her thigh triggered a rush of tingling need into her loins. She had imagined making love with him so many times, had longed for it in the dead of night, tossing and turning while he made love to other women.
This time he would make love to her. She would know what it felt like to feel his touch, to bask in his attention. Her sex life was dismal, she’d reasoned. She hadn’t gone all the way with that dumb artist. Their bit of fooling around had been great for him and left her feeling nothing. She ached for a good experience.
She wanted sex, wanted Cesar, yearned to feel even closer to him than she already did. She wanted to make love with him.
Stay with him.
She moved her hand to the back of his head and lifted her mouth to meet his kiss.
