Читать книгу His Virgin Acquisition - Maisey Yates - Страница 8

ELAINE glared at her bedside clock as the shrill alarm reminded her that it was time to get out of bed. She hadn’t slept at all. She’d just twisted around in a tangle of sheets, second-guessing everything that had taken place the previous day.

She was no romantic—far from it. She was a pragmatist right down to her ugly shoes. Marriage, at its heart, was only a business arrangement anyway. The signing of a contract to legally bind two people together, with certain penalties applying should the agreement be broken.

But suddenly it seemed so much bigger than just signing a contract. She was actually marrying the man.

She swung her legs over the side of her bed and padded over to her closet. Wear something feminine, he’d said. If only she didn’t need his help so badly she would have told him exactly where he could stick his opinions on her style of dress. But she wasn’t about to blow this deal by being stubborn over every small demand. She would save up for the big things. This, although a blow to her pride, she could do.

She rifled through the tightly packed closet. Nothing but severe-looking suits in dark colors. Practical, but not exactly pretty. Certainly not feminine.

Although his idea of feminine was probably a corset and fishnet stockings!

There was a pale yellow dress wadded up into a ball and stuffed in the far reaches of the closet. She picked it up and shook out the wrinkles. It had flowers. And it was a dress. That, she supposed, would qualify it as feminine.

She took a quick shower and shaved her legs hurriedly. She got out and propped her leg up on the vanity, dabbed at the razor cut on her knee, then made the fatal error of looking in the mirror. She grimaced at the face staring back at her. There were deep purple shadows under her eyes from lack of sleep. She looked like a raccoon.

It had been a long time since she’d tried to play up her looks. These days she took care to tone down her beauty by wearing suits that camouflaged her hourglass figure and by pulling her long golden hair into the tightest bun she could manage. She didn’t like the way she looked, but at least it had made the guys at work stop patting her on the behind and sending her off to make coffee.

She looked at her make-up bag, shoved against the back of the vanity. It was actually dusty. She did a mental calculation on when she’d gone to her last charity ball. Six months ago. That was how long it had been since she’d touched make-up. But it was desperately needed now.

Even without the raccoon eyes she would feel inadequate enough on the arm of a man who looked like Marco De Luca.

He was the perfect example of how it was different for men and women in the workplace. Where his looks were an asset to him, hers made men treat her like their own personal Barbie doll and made women treat her as if she was the enemy.

In the beginning she hadn’t disguised her body. She hadn’t felt she was at a disadvantage being female. But she had learned very quickly. It had only taken one incident to have her blacklisted from every decent real estate firm in the city; one tiny rumor that everyone had believed without so much as a photo to confirm it.

Even the man involved in the incident had denied it, but that hadn’t made a difference to any of the city’s gossipmongers. In the end the man had been allowed to keep his job, and at the age of twenty she had learned exactly where she stood in the male-dominated corporate world.

She applied the bare minimum of make-up needed to cover up the dark circles, and put on a little blush, mascara and lipgloss to play up her features as subtly as possible. She was reasonably satisfied with the results. She wouldn’t be winning any beauty pageants, but the make-up highlighted her features nicely, made them look softer.

She checked her bedside clock. She had five minutes. She raced to her dresser and sifted through her massive collection of underwear, pulling out a pale yellow lace bra and thong. Her affinity for girlie bras and panties was her one concession to femininity. And it was safe, because no one knew about it.

The doorbell rang, and the sound put an uncomfortable jittery sensation low in her belly. She clamped a hand to her stomach in an attempt the squelch the feeling. The last thing she needed was to start acting like a silly teenage girl with a crush. She hadn’t acted like a silly teenage girl when she’d been a teenager. No reason to start now that she was nearly at the halfway mark of her twenties.

“Coming!” she shouted, still trying to clasp her bra.

She gave herself one last glance as she raced by the bedroom mirror, and grimaced. Her hair was starting to curl, and in no time it would turn into frizz. Normally she didn’t dare let her hair dry naturally, but at the moment she didn’t have time to worry about it.

She slipped the dress over her head as she hurried out of her bedroom. It was shorter than she remembered, ending above her knees, and the scoop neck showed a lot more cleavage than she remembered too. The last time she’d worn it had probably been her sophomore year of high school. But it was too late to change now.

She swung open the door and her heart slammed against her ribcage. If he’d been handsome yesterday in his suit, he was devastating today in dark blue jeans and white button-up shirt. The color of the shirt enhanced his golden-brown skin, and he had the sleeves scrunched up to his elbows revealing his muscled forearms.

That tightening sensation was back, winding through her midsection and sending electric pulses through her bloodstream. Muscled forearms were something else she liked, apparently.

She was staring. Oh, no. She was staring and she couldn’t stop. Thankfully, he didn’t notice. Or maybe he pretended not to. Or he was just so used to women gawping at him that he took it as his due.

“You’re ready,” he said, in a tone she wasn’t certain was complimentary. He assessed her slowly, his brown eyes taking a leisurely tour of her body. She had to fight the urge to try and cover up. “Typical female behavior demands that you keep me waiting for at least half an hour.”

“I haven’t picked up my copy of The Rules lately, so I must be out of the loop,” she said waspishly.

He chose to ignore her biting retort and let his eyes roam over her body again. “Don’t you think it’s a little chilly out for a dress that skimpy?” The dress ended well above her knees, showing off killer legs she’d done a great job of camouflaging with her baggy pants.

“Skimpy?” She tugged at the hem, as if trying to add length to it. “It’s perfectly decent. Besides, it’s all I had that was appropriately feminine for you.” She said it sweetly, but he could feel her barely contained annoyance radiating off her in waves.

Fine. That made two of them. The last thing he wanted to do was take a woman shopping. Much less take a woman shopping for a ring. Commitment, and anything resembling it, had been something he’d always endeavored to avoid. He’d spent too much of his life looking out for the needs of others, being the stable influence. As soon as his younger brother had turned eighteen Marco had taken his life back, and he wasn’t about to forfeit it again by thrusting into the claws of some greedy female.

Usually if he was going to buy a woman jewelry, or some other gift, he had his PA sort it out. Anything else was much too personal and might convey intent that was most definitely not there.

But this was a necessary evil. It would call attention to them. Give the press a bone to gnaw on. Which was exactly what he wanted.

“It’s fine,” he said, trying not to give away just how fine he thought the dress was. “Just get a jacket.”

“Well, as long as it meets with your approval, Mr. De Luca.” She grabbed a light jacket and swept out the door.

Marco walked behind her, trying not to pay too close attention to the sway of her hips and the flare of that dangerously short dress. He felt his body tighten and he nearly groaned out loud. Who knew that Elaine Chapman had been hiding legs that could bring a man to his knees? And that image brought to mind a host of interesting possibilities.

He pulled his keys out of his pocket and pressed a remote unlock button, making the headlights of a low-slung black Ferrari flash.

“I expected it to be red,” she mused.

He chuckled. “I hate to be too obvious.”

She had to bite back a laugh. Marco was completely obvious in every way. His clothing screamed wealth, from his custom-made suit jackets to his handcrafted Italian leather shoes. And his body screamed sex, from his broad shoulders to his bold swagger.

He wore his confidence with the ease of a second skin, and it made her envious. She doubted he did anything based on the approval or disapproval of others. He simply succeeded. He lived to please himself. She wanted that.

He opened the passenger door and gestured for her to get in. She stopped in her tracks and gave him a look that could have melted ice.

He quirked a dark eyebrow at her. “You don’t allow men to open doors for you?”

“I can open my own doors.” She was being pigheaded, and she knew it. She let men open doors for her all the time if they offered.

She saw a glint of something dangerous in his eyes. Something exciting. “Yes, I’m sure that you can. But as of today you are my woman. And that means that I will treat you as I would treat a lover, bella mia.” He purred the endearment, and she felt it vibrate all the way down to her toes.

Her knees swobbled slightly and she gave in and sank into the car’s plush leather seats to avoid giving herself away.

An arrogant grin lit his handsome features. “Now, let’s go find you a ring. Something to show the world that you are mine.”

When they entered Tiffany & Co. a thousand childhood dreams that she’d never actually had converged on her, and a wave of emotion swamped her. The sophisticated surroundings and the man standing next to her made for an intoxicating romantic fantasy.

“We have an appointment,” he whispered, and placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her past tall, elegant glass display cases filled with rows of sparkling, exquisitely designed jewels.

She could barely concentrate on the jewelry. All her concentration had gone to the spot where Marco’s hand rested, low on her back. Other than the handshake, and when he’d tortured her with that soft, sensual brush against her cheek, this was the first physical contact she’d had with him. Actually, other than handshakes and the hand on her cheek, this was the first physical contact she’d had in a long time. She hadn’t realized how starving she was for it.

A tall, spindly saleswoman moved from behind one of the counters and greeted Marco with a double kiss on the cheek. “Ah, Mr. De Luca. We have the private viewing room open for you. If there’s anything particular you have in mind, you need only to ask,” she said, in a French accent that Elaine assumed was fake.

Private room? “I don’t need anything extravagant,” Elaine protested.

“Nothing is too extravagant for you, cara mia.” Marco’s voice was so sticky sweet she was surprised it didn’t rot his teeth.

The woman reached out and lifted up Elaine’s hand. “Very nice fingers. Very slender,” she remarked. “She should fit the sample size perfectly.”

She was starting to feel as if both Marco and the twiggy saleslady saw her as nothing more than a living mannequin.

“This way.” The woman gestured to a curved flight of stairs and led them into a chic, simply adorned room with sleek, modern furniture and a rich color palette.

A platter with fresh fruit and champagne had been laid out for them, and soft, soothing music was being piped in. Life was certainly different when you had billions of dollars at your disposal.

The woman went over to the streamlined desk and un-locked a drawer. She pulled out a cream-colored velvet tray filled with sparkling gems. “These are from our Signature collection. For the woman who wants to stand out.”

The rings were all so large, so ornate. They were beautiful, but the idea of choosing one of these special rings for this…this fraud seemed wrong somehow.

“I don’t know…”

“This one.” Marco picked up an antique-style ring with a startlingly blue square-cut diamond in the center. “It would be perfect.”

She pasted a smile on her face. So the offer of carte blanche really meant she got whatever he wanted. A ring that size was the equivalent of an animal marking its ter-ritory. Really, he might as well just skip the ring and tattoo the word “mine” on her forehead.

“Yes, but you know me,” she said through gritted teeth. “I really do hate to be too obvious.” She repeated his earlier words back to him.

She scanned the tray, looking for something that wouldn’t make such a bold statement. Her breath literally caught when she saw the delicate emerald and platinum ring nestled in the bottom corner. Diamonds wove around the larger emeralds, giving it an old-fashioned, romantic feel.

The image that appeared in her mind of Marco slipping that ring onto her finger, his eyes full of some tender emotion she didn’t recognize, caught her completely off guard.

Of all the times to romanticize!

He moved closer to her—so close that she could feel the heat radiating off his body. “That’s the one you like?” His warm breath touched the back of her neck and made her stomach drop to her feet.

“I don’t know.” The thought of that perfect ring being a part of this sham almost made her feel sick.

“It seems very you. It’s unique,” he said, keeping his voice down to a husky whisper.

No wonder women fell at his feet. Everything about him was so dangerously seductive. She wanted so badly to buy into the fantasy. Just for a moment.

She closed her eyes. If she was honest with herself she knew she was never going to have a real wedding. Never going to experience this moment for real. Why not enjoy it?

“She would like this one, and a band to go with it,” he told the saleswoman, not waiting for Elaine’s response.

He was still standing too close, darn him! Her brain cells had gone on strike.

The woman went off to find a selection of wedding bands, leaving her alone with Marco. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Calm down,” he whispered in her ear. “You’re going to have to look like you enjoy my touch. Like it reminds you of pleasures we’ve recently shared.” He ran his hand up from her waist to the underside of her breast. A tremor shot through her body and it made her shiver. She hadn’t had this kind of contact ever.

He laughed low, his breath hot on her neck. “I don’t think you’ll have to pretend to like it.”

His arrogant statement was enough to pull her out of her sensual haze. She moved away from him, fighting hard to regain her sanity. She pretended to study one of the paintings on the wall, her body still tingling where his hand had made contact—and, more disturbingly, tingling in places he had not made contact.

The woman came back into the room with a simple platinum band, contoured to fit the asymmetrical design of the ring, in her hand. “This will be perfect.”

“We’ll have them wrapped, if you don’t mind,” Marco said, keeping his eyes trained on her. “I’m going to wait and present them to her later.” The smile he gave her was so warm and intimate. And so not meant for her. It was for show. She didn’t want to know what the cold, pressing sensation in her chest meant.

An hour later their purchases were wrapped up and they were back out in the morning sun, the warm rays banishing some of the chill that had been lingering in the air.

Marco’s cellphone rang. “De Luca.” He paused for a moment. “Yes. Go ahead and put me down for one hundred thousand.” He paused again, and Elaine could hear a man’s excited chatter on the other end. “Not at all. It’s a worthy cause. Thank you. You too.” He ended the call and put his phone back in his suit pocket.

“Was that for a charity?” she asked, feeling something soften inside her.

He nodded briskly. “A charity that provides financial support for the families of children with special needs. I make frequent donations to them.”

“That’s nice of you.”

He stopped walking. “I’m not a nice man, cara. The sooner you realize that, the easier your life will be for the next twelve months.”

“But you donated all that money…” She trailed off.

“And it benefits me. It will be a very high-profile donation. Philanthropy can be good for business.” He turned away from her and started walking again, his strides so long she had to take two to his every one.

All of the soft feelings vanished. She knew he was ruthless when it came to business. His reputation was legendary. The man who, ten years ago, had become the youngest billionaire in the world. The man who crushed competition without a hint of conscience. He was well known for destroying any obstacles in his way, regardless of the fallout to anyone else. The bottom line was king. Wasn’t the fact that he’d agreed to a marriage with her to boost his profits ample proof of that? Of course she supposed, as the marriage was her idea, she fell into the same category.

His reputation with the opposite sex was just as legendary as his business acumen. A couple of years ago he’d broken up with an Italian supermodel and she’d sold her story to one of the gossip rags. She’d spilled a lot of shocking details, and ever since then he’d become serious tabloid fodder. Elaine doubted that even half of what the woman said about him was true, but what she knew for sure was that he managed to be photographed with a different beautiful woman on his arm every weekend.

She had come in prepared for that. Prepared for the fact that he was sexy and that his charm was lethal enough to affect most any woman. But she had underestimated him. She had assumed that, with her practiced indifference to the masculine gender, she would be immune. The stark reality was that she was not.

It was the only downside to their little arrangement. She’d known he was handsome, she’d seen him at charity balls, around her father’s office and in grainy magazine pictures, but she hadn’t been prepared for how amazingly attractive he was up close. His face was square and undeniably masculine, yet his eyes, for lack of a better word, were beautiful. They were rich chocolate-brown with golden green flecks, framed by a fringe of long dark lashes. It was enough to make her mouth water. His body was another problem altogether.

She slowed her pace a little and allowed herself to take in the view. A frisson of something new and scary shivered through her. He had a broad, well-muscled chest that tapered down to a lean waist and narrow hips that led to—heaven help her, but she had noticed—the most heart-stoppingly sexy backside she’d ever seen. And she’d made those observations when he was fully dressed. If she lived with him, the odds of catching him without a shirt or—the image made her knees quake—in a towel were overwhelming.

He turned and quirked a black eyebrow at her, the glint in his eye letting her know that he was well aware that she’d been taking advantage of her position by checking out his assets.

She quickened her pace so that she was beside him again, the distracting view, as well as her erotic thoughts, placed out of sight. “Well, aren’t you the master of the public image? A fiancée and a large charitable donation all in one day!” she returned tartly, banishing the images that were parading through her mind’s eye.

“That’s half of doing business, Elaine. You should know all about that.”

Angry color rose in her cheeks. Leave it to this arrogant, infuriating man to remind her of her own personal black moment. “I do. I’m just not accustomed to seeing a public image that’s so well crafted and so far removed from the true individual.”

“Image is half, but business acumen and unflinching ruthlessness make up the rest.”

She felt as if his dark eyes were looking into her, as though he could see through her polished, smooth façade, to the insecure girl inside her. She didn’t like it.

“You have the ruthlessness, and a mercenary streak a mile wide. Selling yourself to me proves that.”

Heat spiked through her. “I did not sell myself to you. Don’t make me sound like a harem girl. I made a business deal with you. Yes, I used unconventional means, but there was no other way. Believe me, if there had been I would not be standing here with you.”

“You misunderstand, cara mia. I admire your ability to shut off all of your finer feminine emotions in favor of marrying for mutual gain.” He jerked open the passenger door of his car, which was parked closely to the curb. “So long as you remember that all you’ll be getting out of this is your father’s company.”

He dipped his head close to her, his dark eyes blazing. She smelled the clean, musky scent of his aftershave and it made her stomach feel as if it had inverted.

She swallowed. “As I’ve already assured you, I have no interest in a husband. Nor do I have any interest in your vast fortune. I want what belongs to me. As my father’s only child, I don’t think it’s outrageous for me to expect to inherit the company. I know I can do it, and if he would give me a chance he would know it too.”

“Is that what all this is about? Proving yourself to your father?”

She ground her teeth together. “No. I want to take control of my life and make something of myself. Surely you can understand that.”

She sank into the car and he slammed the door behind her. He got in and turned the key aggressively, the engine of the car purring like a big exotic cat. “I’m a self-made man. Whatever I have I’ve worked for.” He shifted into second gear as he eased into traffic and the engine growled as if emphasizing his point. “Including my reputation. A solid reputation is difficult to build, and one indiscretion can undo decades of work. That’s why image is so important. I’m sorry if you find it duplicitous.” His tone made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t sorry in the least.

“It’s why you need a wife,” she said, trying not to sound smug.

He laughed—a low, dark sound. “I don’t need you, cara, but I will certainly find use for you.” He flicked an unconcerned glance at his wristwatch—a watch that undoubtedly cost more than her annual salary. “I have an appointment this evening that I cannot break.” He turned to look at her, his dark eyes heating her, filling her with a longing that was nearly unbearable. “But you and I have a date tomorrow night.”