Читать книгу Married on Paper: The Argentine's Price / The Inherited Bride / Marriage Made on Paper - Maisey Yates - Страница 10

“OF course you picked Chev’s,” Vanessa murmured as Lazaro helped her from the limo.

She wasn’t happy about it, that was clear. It was written all over that beautiful face of hers, her dark eyes glittering with barely suppressed anger.

“Of course,” he said, drawing her to him, wrapping his arm around her slender waist.

It was a cool evening, the cobblestone sidewalk wet from rain that had fallen earlier. But Vanessa’s arms were bare, her legs barely covered by the sheer veil of her nylons, killer black heels added to the look, making his mind spin with fantasies that couldn’t possibly be legal at this sort of establishment.

Everything about her look was designed to entice. To torment. The formfitting, silken dress she was wearing acted as a flimsy barrier between his hands and her soft, smooth skin. He knew it was soft and smooth. He remembered, in explicit detail, how she had felt beneath his fingertips.

He slid his hand around to her lower back, the deep blue fabric catching on some of the rough patches on his hand, still calloused from so many years of labor. For a moment, his world reduced to Vanessa, to the tease she presented. It would be so easy to tear the gown from her body so that he could touch her, could see just what it would be like to feel her bare skin beneath the palm of his hand.

“This is going to get back to my father in a couple of hours. If it even takes that long.”

He felt her tense, the idea of her father seeing them together clearly not something she wanted to think about.

“He won’t like to hear about it?”

She shot him a sideways glance. “What do you think?”

He could imagine what Vanessa’s father would think. Vividly. Almost like a blow to his face. “He’ll learn to deal with it.”

“I doubt it.”

“Easier to handle than having you deposed as head of Pickett. Or having to file for bankruptcy.”

“Possibly,” she said, teeth gritted.

Lazaro didn’t wait for the host. He opened the door for Vanessa and ushered her into the small, intimate dining room.

“Your usual table, Mr. Marino?” The host approached them and gestured toward the back of the restaurant.

“We’ll sit somewhere up front,” Lazaro said.

The other man nodded. “Excellent, come with me.”

Vanessa turned and gave Lazaro a look that could have frozen fire.

He leaned in, allowing a moment, just a moment, to enjoy her scent. Light. Feminine. The same as it had been twelve years ago. He moved his lips near her ear, brushing her thick, glossy hair back. “The better for us to be seen, my dear,” he whispered.

He felt a shudder go through her body. Attraction. Need. The kind that lived so strong in him. She wanted him. Good to know. He didn’t want a martyr in his bed. He wanted her hot, begging for him.

“Great,” she said, acid corroding the word.

She still didn’t want to be seen with him. She was still worried about what people would think. Rage poured into the well of lust that had opened up in him, mixing, mingling, each making the other more potent.

He bypassed the host again and pulled the velvet chair out for Vanessa. She sat, her body held stiffly, her face stony.

Lazaro turned to the host. “Bring whatever you think is best.”

“Of course, Mr. Marino.”

Lazaro took his seat across from Vanessa. Her facial expression hadn’t changed, her bright pink lips set into a firm line, her white-tipped fingernails drumming on the table. He put his hand over hers and halted the motion, curling his fingers around hers.

“You could at least try to look like you’re enjoying yourself. Hell, you could actually enjoy yourself, I promise not to tell.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “Sorry if I’m not finding this whole sudden forced-marriage thing all that amusing.”

“You use the word force, Vanessa, and yet I am not forcing you into anything. There is no way for me to do so. You made the choice, you agreed to it.”

“Strong-arm tactics were involved,” she said, raising a glass of red wine to her lips.

“Maybe. But you could walk away.”

“I can’t,” she said, balling her hand into a fist beneath his before pulling it back and setting it in her lap.

“Status is so important to you?”

“What about you? That’s why you’re marrying me.”

It was much harder to remember the logical reason behind the union when she was so close to him. Much easier to remember the visceral, base reasons for it. Revenge. Lust.

“Essentially,” he said. “But I’m not acting like a victim. I need something, you can help me with it. It’s the same for you. So we can use each other, go forward, obtain our goals.

If you want to drag yourself around like a martyr for a few months that’s your prerogative.”

“That’s … I’m not doing that.”

“You are. You made the choice.”

“So own it?”

He shrugged. “Or make a new choice. Walk away now, Vanessa. I’m not going to force you to stay.”

Vanessa met Lazaro’s eyes, forced herself not to look away. He was right. It was so easy to blame him. To make all of this his fault somehow. And, well, him buying up all the stocks was his fault, but the position she was in wasn’t. And agreeing to the marriage had been her choice.

She swallowed, uncomfortable with the revelation. It was more palatable to have it be Lazaro’s fault and his alone. To feel as though she’d been forced into it all. It was harder to accept that she’d agreed to it because she couldn’t take the thought of failing.

She forced a smile. “You’re right.”

“It didn’t even choke you to say it,” he said, his voice laced with dark humor.

“I may not say it again,” she said. “But in this instance, you are. I made the choice. I’m not walking away.”

She’d chosen this path a long time ago, and while this thing with Lazaro was a diversion, the road would end in the same place. She wasn’t turning back now just because things had gotten harder. Picketts didn’t quit. She didn’t quit. She would see it through.

A server came to the table and set a plate in front of each of them. A whitefish fillet and spring vegetables. Very elegant and perfectly cooked. Exactly what she needed to take her focus off Lazaro for a few moments. But not even a divine lemon sauce could keep her from being aware of him. He was just so very there. So present. Close. And he made her tremble inside. Made her remember what it was like to be kissed with the kind of passion normally reserved for books rather than real life.

She set her fork down and put her hands in her lap.

“Now what?” she asked, looking around the restaurant.

She saw Claire Morgan in the corner, eyeing them both with interest. Claire was a major gossip, had been in high school and still was. And Vanessa was willing to bet that she was holding her phone beneath the table frantically texting people to find out if they knew why Vanessa Pickett was at a restaurant with famed billionaire Lazaro Marino.

“Now we wait for Claire to spread the word?” Vanessa asked, looking back at Lazaro.

Lazaro shrugged. “Her, or anyone else interested in why the two of us might be together. They’ll wonder what we’re saying.” He leaned in slightly and Vanessa fought the urge to jump back, away from him, away from the danger he presented.

He was appealing. Much too appealing. He made her thoughts tangle, and she didn’t want him to have that kind of power. If she was going to follow through and marry him, she was going to do it on her terms. That meant not allowing him to reduce her to a mass of quivering female longing just by looking at her.

“Your friend over there is watching us.” He looked in Claire’s direction. “And there’s a table of women in the back corner that have been watching us since we came in.”

Probably watching Lazaro, anyway. He was the kind of man that a woman really had to stop and admire. He was everything a man should be. Strong, exuding confidence and a kind of masculine grace. He was also drop-dead sexy, and that certainly didn’t hurt his cause.

“They’re probably creating our conversation for us,” he continued, his voice husky, inviting. It made her want to lean in toward him. To draw closer. “Probably imagining me telling you how beautiful you look. That your lips look far more edible than any dessert they might have here. That your dress, as beautiful as it is, is a crime because it covers up all of your beautiful skin. That I want to spend an hour removing it, teasing you, teasing myself.”

Vanessa was held in thrall by his words, her heart pounding in her head. He reached across the table and brushed his hand over her cheek, his thumb skimming her bottom lip. Her lips suddenly felt dry and she slicked her tongue over them quickly. She could taste him. The slight, lingering flavor of him. Just a tease. Enough to make her wish it were more.

“They probably think I’m telling you that I want to take you to my bed and spend hours kissing and tasting every inch of your beautiful body.” He leaned back again, a wicked smile spreading over his face. “They have vivid imaginations.”

Vanessa blinked. “Oh.” She cleared her throat. “They’re thinking all of that, huh?” Her face was burning-hot, and she was sure her cheeks were bright pink, a perk of having pale skin.

My kingdom for a little sexual sophistication.

“Probably texting it too.”

Vanessa grimaced and picked her fork up again. “I sort of thought as much.”

“And by the end of the night it will be common knowledge that you and I are seeing each other.”

“At least professionally,” she said stiffly. Anything to try and bring back some of her sanity. Because Lazaro Marino had the maddening ability to melt her defenses and she really had to … unmelt them.

“I doubt anyone here thinks this is a professional meeting.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you do not look at me the way a woman looks at an associate. At least I hope you don’t look at your associates this way.”

“What way?”

A small smile curved his lips. “Did you enjoy dinner?”

“The food, yes.” She was almost grateful he didn’t answer the question. Because in her head she was doing a really good job of disguising her recurring attraction for him. In reality, she probably wasn’t.

She’d rather not have her bubble burst. Her pride had taken enough kicks in the shins in the past couple of days.

“Dessert?” he asked.

That word made a series of erotic images flash through her mind—images of him, his mouth, his hands on her body. Images of the kind of dessert she could only imagine. Heat flooded her face again, making her scalp prickle.

“No, thank you,” she said, her throat tight.

The server stopped by the table again, dropping off the check. Lazaro handed the man cash, hardly blinking at the triple-digit cost of the meal. Vanessa normally wouldn’t have given it a thought either, but being with Lazaro made her conscious of the cost. There was a time when he hadn’t had anything. A time when the cost of this meal would have exceeded his weekly income.

Time certainly did change things.

Lazaro stood from the table, and she kept her focus on a spot of sauce on her plate. Anything to keep from looking at him again. She wanted to, though. Another visual tour of Lazaro was very high on her body’s to-do list. But sensible Vanessa wasn’t going to indulge in that, because she really didn’t want him to know that he held such strong appeal for her. It was a matter of pride if nothing else.

A flash of movement pulled her focus away from the plate just in time for her to see Lazaro’s very nice-looking hands drop a very generous tip onto the table. She looked up then.

“That’s a nice tip.”

He shrugged and extended his hand to her. She looked at Claire, who was pretending to pay attention to her date, but who had one eye on them, then accepted his offered hand as she stood.

“Waiting tables is a thankless job,” Lazaro said. “I like to add a thank-you.”

“Oh.” She dropped her hand to her side and flexed her fingers, trying to erase the impression of his touch.

Lazaro didn’t really seem like a generous tipper. He didn’t seem generous at all. He’d smashed his way back into her life with all the destructive power of a tornado, and that, combined with his callous treatment of her all those years ago, the insults he’d hurled at her, made it hard for her to attach humanity to him.

He leaned in, his dark eyes glittering. “I’ve been there, Vanessa. Name the grunt job and I’ve had it. I escaped it. A lot of people in this position never will. They’ll work hard forever just to barely pay the bills. I haven’t forgotten what that feels like.”

“I … I hadn’t thought of it like that.” Vanessa had never known what it was like to worry about basic necessities. She’d never even had to worry about the frills in life. A new car at sixteen, vacations to exotic places, a luxury town house as a gift for her eighteenth birthday.

Even now, with Pickett Industries facing bankruptcy, her own position in life wasn’t jeopardized in that way. She wouldn’t have to worry about being homeless, keeping her car. She’d never had that worry.

Lazaro had.

“Of course you hadn’t,” he said, his tone dismissive.

She put her hand on his forearm and was shocked by the flash of heat that raced through her. She jerked her hand away. “What does that mean?”

“It means I wouldn’t have expected you to have such a far-reaching thought.”

“Are you calling me a snob?”

“Do you believe you aren’t one, Vanessa?”

The chill in his tone shocked her. The condemnation and anger. “I’m not.”

“Because you write checks to charities?”

“No, because … I’m not.” She’d never bought into the idea that money or status added to someone’s worth, but she did have to admit to herself that she didn’t often think too far out of the scope of her own reality either.

She hadn’t looked down on Lazaro for being poor. For doing maintenance on the estate to earn money. But neither had she imagined him working toward other things, being unsatisfied, having financial needs that weren’t really met by his position. It seemed silly now. Shortsighted.

Lazaro grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted her face up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “They’re waiting for me to kiss you now,” he said, his tone soft again.

“Who?” she asked, her heart dropping into her stomach.

“Our audience.”

She licked her lips, the breath shuddering from her body. Her stomach tightened in anticipation.

She swallowed. “Are you going to?”

He dipped his head slightly and her heart felt as though it was going into free fall. “No.”

He put his arm around her waist and drew her near to his body, his palm warm and enticing on her waist, his fingers stroking her gently.

“Why not?” she asked. “I mean … we’re putting on a … show.”

“I’m not going to kiss you, because this is more than just a date.” He raised his hand and brushed her hair behind her ear, his eyes locked with hers.

She wanted to laugh, because really, it wasn’t a date at all. Parts of her seemed to be forgetting that, her knees certainly had. They were weak now, trembling a little bit. But just because her body seemed to have forgotten didn’t mean her mind had.

This wasn’t a date. They barely knew each other. She had the sense that Lazaro didn’t like her very much, and considering all he’d done to her in the past few weeks, she really shouldn’t like him either.

“I’m not going to kiss you because you’re my future wife. And I’m showing my respect for you. Discretion,” he said softly.

Oh yes, discretion was law as far as her father was concerned. And anyone present who knew her would know that.

“G-good,” she said, allowing him to lead her out of the restaurant and into the cool night air. His limousine was waiting for them, idling at the curb.

He opened the door for her and helped her inside, his manners those of a perfect gentleman, the earlier tension absent now.

Vanessa leaned her head back on the seat.

It wasn’t a date. They didn’t have a real relationship. But they were going to get married. And for one, crazy moment she’d really wished that he was going to kiss her.

Of course, the truth was that even though she’d only seen him in pictures, part of her had been longing to be kissed by Lazaro for twelve long years.

But he held so much power over her. Her professional life, the life of her family’s legacy was in his hands. She wasn’t going to give him power over her body too. When they were married, she would deal with it.

But for now she had to keep her control. She couldn’t forget that this relationship was as mercenary as they came.

And when Lazaro touched her it was too easy to forget. She could never let herself forget.