Читать книгу The Argentine's Price - Maisey Yates - Страница 8

“ARE you insane?” she hissed, looking over her shoulder, checking to see if they were drawing stares. If her father ever heard about her meeting tonight with Lazaro Marino he would very likely explode, just before taking back control of the company, tearing the contract to shreds and dismissing her as a complete and utter failure, both as CEO and his daughter.

“Not in the least,” Lazaro said.

Vanessa took a step away from him, her heart thundering in her ears. “I’m serious, Lazaro. Did you by any chance suffer a head injury in the past twelve years? Because while you were never the most sophisticated man I’ve ever met, you seemed lucid then, at least.”

“I’m perfectly lucid,” he said dryly. “Don’t pretend that you’re a stranger to the concept of a marriage of convenience.”

Of course she wasn’t. There was a reason that every boyfriend she’d ever had had been introduced to her by her father. That there was usually a folder with the man’s name stamped on it somewhere in her father’s office. The man she ended up with had to be from the right family, with the right reputation. The right credentials.

But she’d never wanted that. A part of her, a part that she kept guarded, locked away so that no one else would ever see, was still that romantic sixteen-year-old girl who believed in love. Who wanted to be loved for who she was, not for her bank balance or for the shape of her body.

Of course, as far as her father was concerned, none of that mattered. Craig Freeman loomed in her future, the man her father had found worthy, the man with the right connections. That part of her life had been selected for her, as her job had been. As so many things in her life were.

Craig had been pinpointed as proper husband material before she’d been old enough to drive.

She’d managed to avoid marriage thanks to college and the demands of running Pickett. Before that, she had worked in most of the positions at Pickett so she could learn the ins and outs of everything, so she hadn’t had time to get married. Or even to have a date.

Recently she hadn’t had much time to do anything short of commuting to and from her office while taking antacids in hopes of easing the constant burn of stress in her chest.

“Of course I’m familiar with the concept, but that doesn’t mean I have a desire to take part in one,” she said crisply. That much was true. Marriage of any sort had never seemed like a real problem; it had always been safe in the gauzy future, not something she’d directly addressed. “And I really don’t want to marry you.” That part she added for good measure, and then wished she hadn’t.

“Since when is any of this about want? Do you think I want to get married? To tie myself to one woman forever? Necessity. I’ve known for a long time that I needed to make a good marriage in order to move freely in all social circles. I hadn’t considered you before, but now I see that you’ll be perfect. Consider yourself a walking, talking invitation into high society.”

Vanessa bit her tongue. “You’re sure you didn’t sustain a head injury, Lazaro?”

“Quite.”

“Because I don’t remember you being this much of a bastard either.”

“Time changes people, Vanessa. As I’m sure you know. You aren’t who you used to be either, are you?”

“No,” she said.

Except maybe she was. Being so near Lazaro now made her feel things she’d thought she’d left behind long ago, things she only let herself dwell on when she was alone, in the privacy of her room, in a painfully large and empty bed. Then she let herself dream—about a man who could share not just her bed, but her life. Her love.

But as soon as dawn broke through the curtains, reality returned, and it only hit harder the minute she walked into her office each morning to confront a failing company and her family’s heritage slipping through her fingertips because she couldn’t figure out how to fix the mess Pickett Industries was in.

And then there was the marriage her father already had planned for her. A marriage to a man she hardly knew, a man she hadn’t bothered to get to know, because she’d never been able to face the idea.

When she’d seen Lazaro for the first time, at sixteen, she’d discovered how badly she wanted love, and she’d let herself dream. A mistake. She’d fallen for him on sight, had thought he was special. Unique. But she knew the truth now. Lazaro wasn’t unique. He wanted everything he could get. Money. Power. And if he had to use her to get it, he would.

His dark eyes were intent on hers, eyes that used to have a glimmer of humor in them. It was easy to imagine it there. Easy to imagine the boy he’d been. The inky black sky and the outline of the city faded and she was back there, in the summer, twelve years earlier.

“You aren’t really supposed to talk to me.” Vanessa looked over her shoulder to make sure her father wasn’t watching. Just an instinctive check, because he was at the office, where he always was.

Lazaro smiled, teeth bright white against his bronze skin. Her heart started to beat faster. “Why is that?”

“Because I … Aren’t you on the clock or something?”

He looked around the immaculate yard, then back at her, dark eyes locked on hers. It made her stomach tighten. Having him so close … she felt jittery, nervous. But she’d been watching him all summer, had been nurturing her crush on him until it had grown into something more. She lived for him to glance her way, for him to watch her while she lounged by the pool. She longed to see the interest in those beautiful eyes of his.

“I don’t get paid hourly,” he said, flashing her a grin that made her stomach do somersaults. “I’m done anyway.”

“Oh …” she trailed off, all the words in her head jumbled.

“I’ll stay until my mother’s ready to leave for the day.”

Vanessa suddenly felt too exposed in her bikini. She’d picked it partly to draw his attention, but now, with him standing so close, she felt acutely aware of how much skin was on display. She’d never really tried to draw attention to herself using her body, because she hadn’t been ready for a man to take her up on the offer.

But Lazaro was different. He made her feel different.

They talked for the rest of the afternoon. About school, how different his inner-city public school was compared to her private all-girls school. But it turned out they liked the same foods, the same music, even though she had to hide hers from her father. She loved hearing how he talked about his mother, how proud he was of her. Vanessa told him how much she missed her mother.

They talked every day that week, sneaking around the property, evading watchful eyes, and by the end of it, Vanessa was certain she was in love. She also knew that if her father ever found out, Lazaro and his mother wouldn’t have jobs anymore and she would be grounded for the rest of her life.

Because while most of the world had modernized, Michael Pickett had not. He very much believed in a class system and in socializing only with those who shared your designated position. She wasn’t naive enough to think that her father’s heart would soften if she explained that she was really, truly in love with Lazaro.

She was already giving up so much in order to take on the responsibilities of Pickett Industries, already sacrificing so many dreams to major in business when she went to college and spend her life behind a desk, just as her father had done.

Surely that should count for something.

Yes, she and Lazaro had a gulf between them as far as money went. As far as prominence in society went, the gulf was even wider, impossible to bridge. But Vanessa didn’t care. She couldn’t care. When he looked at her, designer fashions, upscale parties and any feeling of being part of the elite faded completely. The world was reduced to her and Lazaro. There was nothing more.

And that was why risking serious consequences to see him was more than worth it.

It made her wonder what it would be like if it were only the two of them. If she had to leave it all behind for him … she would.

“Meet me tonight. Where no one can see,” Lazaro said.

They were hidden in an alcove behind the guesthouse and it was doubtful that they could be seen, but there was always a risk. A bigger risk for him than for her, she knew.

“Okay.” She didn’t hesitate because she wanted more time with him, craved more time. She wanted to have him hold her hand. To kiss her. To tell her he loved her as she loved him. “Meet me here, at the guesthouse. I can get a key.”

She spent the rest of the afternoon trying to decide what to wear, changing her clothes a hundred times. It felt like a first date. She was. Sort of. She’d never been on a date, had never kissed anyone. At her age, she felt like an oddity. Most of her friends at school had done a lot more than that.

But her father kept her on a tight leash, and boys were not something that was supposed to concern her at this stage of her life. Too bad for her father, since he couldn’t control her thoughts, and boys had been among her biggest concerns for the past four years.

None of her crushes or interests mattered though, not really. There was a boy, a man really, six years her senior, that her father had his eye on for her—Craig Freeman. His family had all the right connections, the proper bloodline. And the thought of being married off to him someday made her feel like one of her father’s broodmares.

She pushed the thought to one side. Craig was far in the future. He was on the West Coast building his name, and as far as she was concerned, having the entire expanse of the country between them was perfect.

And tonight, maybe she would just pretend he didn’t exist. Maybe … maybe after tonight she would find the courage to tell her father that she didn’t want Craig. At all. Ever.

She looked at the clock and then back at the full-length mirror. Her skirt was too short and her shirt was too tight. That’s what her father would say. But she wasn’t dressing for her father’s approval.

Tonight, only Lazaro’s approval mattered.

She left her bedroom light on and closed the door. Her father was at his country club and the odds of him coming home before midnight were slim. Still, she wasn’t taking chances.

She slipped quietly through the house and out the door, across the lawn.

When she got down to the guesthouse, Lazaro was there, waiting for her. Relief and happiness flooded through her. “You came.”

He smiled that wonderful, knee-weakening smile. “Of course.”

She unlocked the door and led him inside. “We can’t turn on any lights,” she whispered. “Someone might see.”

“That’s fine.” Lazaro took her hand, the shock of his skin against hers making her body jolt. “We don’t need lights.”

He tugged her gently to him and wrapped his arm around her waist, placed his other hand on the back of her head and tangled his fingers in her hair. She was glad she’d left it down.

He leaned in, his lips feather-light on hers. Everything around her stopped for a moment, time, her heart, everything, as he increased the pressure of his mouth on hers. She closed her eyes, just standing there, letting the sensation of being kissed by Lazaro wash over her.

When the tip of his tongue slid over her lower lip, her mouth parted in shock and he took advantage, stroking his tongue over hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, boldness surging through her, a desire to make him feel the way she did, hold him captive to sensation, just as she was.

It was nothing like her friends had said. They said it was awkward. Bumping noses and teeth. She’d always heard that a lot of guys were sloppy kissers. But Lazaro was perfect. And there was nothing awkward about it.

And she was so glad she wasn’t experiencing this moment with insipid, pale Craig Freeman. He looked as though he would probably be a sloppy kisser. She shoved the thought to one side, firmly planting her mind in the moment.

Lazaro took her hand in his, tugged it lightly as he took a step toward the hallway.

“What?” she asked, feeling dizzy, dazed, her body and soul focused on when he would kiss her again, caress her again.

“Looking for some place more comfortable.”

She nodded and followed, her heart pounding in her throat; the only rooms back here were bedrooms, and she really didn’t think she was ready for anything that might happen in a bedroom. But Lazaro was … He was different from anyone she’d ever known. She trusted him to go slow. To be what she needed.

He opened a door and looked inside, pushed it open and laced his fingers through hers again, drawing her in with him. She paused in the doorway, looking at the big bed. Her heart thundered hard—nerves, emotion, hormones threatening to wash her away in a powerful tide. He couldn’t want to … they’d barely kissed.

He pulled her to him, his hand caressing her cheek. “Just kiss me,” he whispered.

Yes. When she kissed him, everything else faded away. Just kissing.

He led her to the bed, his dark eyes serious on hers. She leaned in and kissed him again. He smelled clean. Not fussy and coated in cologne like the guys that went to the country club, but like soap and skin. Like Lazaro.

She’d never wanted anything, anyone, more in her life. She just wanted to stay with him forever, in the guesthouse, away from rules and propriety and all the things she was supposed to want. None of them mattered now. Only Lazaro mattered.

He sat on the bed and she sat with him, accepting a hungry kiss, his hands sliding over her back, down her waist, gripping her hips as he kissed her. Deeply. Passionately. Every thought fled her mind. Everything but how good it felt to have him touch her, kiss her, almost devour her as though she was the most decadent dessert he’d ever had.

She didn’t even realize she was falling until she felt the soft mattress beneath her back, and Lazaro’s hard frame over her. She tangled her fingers in his thick dark hair, her thighs parting slightly to make room for him.

Her heart felt as though it was overflowing with emotion, with love. She had to tell him. Had to tell him how much she loved him. How she wanted him forever. No matter what her father thought, or what anyone said. The words hovered on her lips, but she couldn’t find the courage to say them.

He knew though. He had to know. She wouldn’t be here with him if she didn’t love him.

He pushed her shirt up just enough to expose her stomach, the calloused skin of his fingertips pleasantly rough against her tender flesh. She arched into his touch and he took advantage, kissing her exposed neck.

The longing that overtook her was so big, beyond the physical, a deep emotional well that opened up inside her, desperate to be filled, so desperate for all of the attention that was being directed at her.

She was always lonely. Since Thomas had died the void in her life had been vast, her isolation in her own home devastating.

At least it had been until Lazaro. He brought the light back. He held the possibility of a future that wasn’t filled with Pickett Industries.

When his hands moved higher, cupping her, she simply enjoyed his touch, tried to push all of the worries out of her mind and simply live in the moment.

He pulled away from her and stood. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Condom,” he said, his chest rising and falling with hard, labored breaths as he reached into his pocket.

A wave of shock rolled over her, making her ears buzz, her throat tight. “I … No,” she said, scrambling to sit up. She’d just had her first kiss, anything more was impossible to fathom. “No.”

She was torn then, torn because in so many ways she wanted him. Wanted to take advantage of being alone with him, of having all of his intensity focused on her. Part of her wanted to make love with him. To take every step possible to make him hers.

But she wasn’t ready. She wanted love before there were condoms involved. She needed the words. She just did.

And if anyone found out she’d had her first kiss and her first time on the same night, in her father’s guesthouse? She cringed at the thought.

“What would people think?” The words tumbled out before she had a chance to turn them over.

His eyes darkened, his mouth pressing into a tight line. A muscle jumped in his cheek. “I don’t know, querida.” The Spanish endearment sounded like a curse. “They might not think anything of it. I assumed you had arrangements with all of the gardeners.”

His words were like gunfire, shocking and devastating. Harsh in the small, quiet space. “I …”

“You certainly aren’t the only one of my clients’ daughters I’ve gotten into bed.”

Insults, angry words, curses she’d never spoken out loud before, all swirled in her head, but her throat was too tight for her to speak. And in his eyes, she could see her pain mirrored, raw and achingly sad.

He just looked at her for a moment, and she wished she had the courage to say something. But she just wanted to curl in on herself and hold the hurt to her heart.

“I think we’re done here then.” He turned and walked out, and she just sat and watched him go.

She wanted to go after him. To explain what she’d meant, because she was certain her words had hurt him in some way. To scream at him for making her hurt.

You’ll see him again tomorrow. You can fix it then.

Except she’d been wrong about that. He’d walked out and he’d never come back. All he’d wanted from her was sex. That had been her introduction to relationships. Not exactly sterling. It was a memory, an experience she couldn’t free herself from.

And more often than not her mind chose to focus not on the fight, but on the way his mouth had felt moving over hers. The slide of his tongue, his hands on her skin.

Worse than that were the times when she thought about what she’d been willing to do for him. She’d been ready to leave everything behind—her father, Pickett Industries—for him. That had been a moment in time when her future had seemed fluid rather than set in stone, and sometimes she dreamed of what it would be like to have options. To have the unknown stretching before her in a good way, and not in a failing-company, heartburn-causing kind of way.

Her mind was wicked. And treacherous.

Tonight was the first time she’d seen Lazaro in person since he’d left her sitting on the bed in her father’s guesthouse, although she’d revisited that night a thousand times every time she saw a picture of him, heard him discussed at cocktail parties. The bad boy made good. She’d never been able to truly escape him. Though she’d tried.

She’d only tracked him down now because the ghost of make-out sessions past was trying to stage a hostile takeover of her business—her life. Otherwise, she never would have sought him out again. Ever.

“The way I see it, Vanessa, you have very little choice in the matter if you want Pickett to survive.”

“No,” she said, “I don’t see marriage as a formal business transaction.”

“Now, I find that hard to believe.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Are you saying your father has nothing to do with the man you’ll marry?” He watched as the light in her dark eyes dimmed. “Are you saying you get to choose?”

She shook her head. “Not … It’s complicated.”

“Not really.”

“I can’t,” Vanessa said, keeping her voice hard, commanding. The voice she used during board meetings and to men who assumed she couldn’t handle being in charge.

“You’re already promised to someone, aren’t you? Someone with the appropriate bloodlines?” His lip curled into a sneer. “Waiting for one of those golden boys to bail you out?”

“You know my father, he doesn’t leave loose ends. Of course there’s someone in his plans.” The admittance was strange because no one, herself included, had ever voiced it. But no one had ever had to say anything. It was understood. It was as ingrained in her as which fork to use for the salad.

“Do you love him?”

“No.” She didn’t love Craig Freeman, or even know him, by her own design. She’d taken pains to avoid him, in fact. That hadn’t been too hard since he’d been across the country for the majority of their tentative arrangement. He seemed about as interested in the whole thing as she was.

And that was another reason she’d never broached the subject with her father.

“Then why do you have an issue with a business-oriented marriage where I’m concerned?”

Because Craig Freeman could be put off. He was unchallenging. He was a nonentity. In some ways, it had been easier knowing that he was in the not-too-distant future. It took the pressure off her finding Mr. Right when she hardly had enough time to put on lipstick in the morning. Craig didn’t make her heart race or her body burn. Lazaro Marino did. And he would not be put off by anyone.

Vanessa sucked in a sharp breath. “Before this goes any further, I need to know what this is about.”

“Why is it that I can’t get business deals with your father’s cronies? Why is it that their businesses languish, and yet they sit in their clubs sipping brandy and smoking cigars, ignoring the downfall, rather than pursuing help?”

“Because they’re a bunch of stubborn old men who are set in their ways,” she said. “Their business models are outdated, just as you’ve accused Pickett’s of being.”

“Perhaps. And also because I am not worthy in their eyes. They would rather watch their companies crumble than ask someone like me, with my dirty blood, for help.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she said, even though she knew it was true. Those men would never stoop to taking a consultation from someone so far beneath them in station. That exclusivity was the source of their power, and they weren’t about to let it go, no matter how modernized the rest of the world had become.

“It’s not. We both know that.”

“And you think marrying me will fix that for you?”

He chuckled. “I’m sure the son-in-law of Michael Pickett would be due some respect.”

“If my father didn’t disown me for marrying you instead of the golden boy he’s selected for me,” she said.

“Would he?”

She paused for a moment, honestly wondering if he would. She’d been ready to take the chance twelve years ago. More than ready to carve a new life for herself and Lazaro, to leave it all behind.

That dream had ended quickly. Maddeningly, it tantalized her sometimes when she was in bed, on the edge between sleep and wakefulness. Stupid subconscious.

Finally, she shook her head. “No. He wouldn’t. He has too much invested in me. And I own more stock than he does at this point. He can’t vote me out of my position, which would mean that if he did disown me he would be separating himself from the company, and he won’t do that.”

“But if there is no company?” he asked.

If there was no company, her father would never speak to her again. Her life, everything she had worked for for so long, would be meaningless. She would have nothing but her big, empty town house—if she could even afford to keep it—with her big, empty bedroom and her big, empty bed. The thought made her sick, made her stomach physically cramp.

“It’s not an option,” she said. She refused to think about it. Refused to entertain the idea.

Her relationship with her father was complicated. It wasn’t a happy, hugging sort of relationship, but he was all that she had, her only family. He was the one constant in her world. He had always cared for her, he had set her path in front of her and he had paid for her schooling to make sure his goals were met.

And she’d done all she could to earn his approval, done what she could to help fill the void Thomas had left behind. The Pickett heir—the real Pickett heir—hadn’t lived to graduate from high school.

It was up to her now. It wasn’t a responsibility she could simply shake off or ignore.

“And can you risk that, Vanessa?”

“No.” She choked on the word.

“Then marry me.”

“It’s crazy, you know that, right?”

“More so than the arrangement you already have?”

“Yes,” she fired back, brown eyes blazing. Lazaro’s gut tightened. Of course she would feel that way. He was beneath her. He had been a toy to her twelve years ago. Good enough to flirt with, to tease, but nothing more.

What would people think? The look of horror on her face, the incredulity in her voice, was crystal clear in his mind, as though she had spoken it only a moment ago, instead of what amounted to a lifetime ago.

He was the housekeeper’s son, and she was the princess of the castle. Years later, now that he had billions to his name and a reputation as one of the world’s savviest business minds, she still believed herself above him.

Even as the anger coursed through him, he wanted her. Wanted her with the same burning desire he’d had for her when they were teenagers. Yes, he wanted the vital connections marrying her would provide. But at the moment, more than anything, he wanted her body. He wanted to finish what he had started twelve years ago. He wanted Vanessa, naked, willing, in his bed, crying out his name. His and no other man’s. He wanted to brand her as she had done to him with those kisses years ago.

Vanessa’s lips on his, her delicate hands skimming over his skin—everything narrowed down to that. The broader goal was lost. There was nothing beyond lust. Simple, pure lust that had been with him since the first moment he’d seen her. A lust that had never released its hold on him. The need to satisfy it was suddenly driving, imperative.

He closed his hands into fists, took in a deep breath.

As much as he wanted that, he had to remember what his real goal was. There would be plenty of time to seduce Vanessa once they were married. It was about business now, and the rest would come later. Business, and dealing with Michael Pickett.

What sweet justice it would be, marrying Vanessa. Having her replace her hallowed last name with his.

How wonderful it would be to see Michael Pickett’s face when he discovered his only daughter would be marrying the man he had had beaten in a back alley for daring to touch his beloved princess. For daring to sully her with his hands. A laborer’s hands. An immigrant’s hands.

Lazaro curled his fingers, forming fists.

The other man’s fate—the fate of his much-loved business and that of his only child—was now Lazaro’s to decide.

Just as his fate and his mother’s fate, had once been Michael Pickett’s to decide. And what a decision he’d made. He’d had them evicted. Had made sure they couldn’t find work in Boston and that what little they’d had was lost to them.

Now the older man would know what it was like to feel desperate, to have to depend on the whims of someone else. What it was like to have his power stripped from him.

Men like him didn’t deserve such absolute power.

“I’m offering you a very simple solution, Vanessa.”

“Oh, yes, simple. In what world is marriage the simple solution?”

“In this world. Alliances are made by advantageous marriages, it happens every single day. You admitted it is already in your future.”

“Nothing was finalized. I believe marriage should be about love.”

She looked so sincere when she said it, brown eyes liquid in the dim light. What would Vanessa Pickett know about love? No more than he did.

“Romanticizing an institution has always seemed pointless to me.”

Vanessa swallowed hard, her heart thundering, the pulse in her neck fluttering. “You don’t seem the type to romanticize anything.”

She knew that about him. Had known it the moment kissing had turned into more and he’d produced a condom rather than words of love. Ironic that her very first marriage proposal was from him, twelve years after she’d been hoping to hear it. Of course, there was still no mention of love.

She’d been a romantic then, with all of her heart and not just a piece of it. And she’d learned, at Lazaro’s hands, that blind naïveté didn’t protect you from cold reality.

And what she had now was cold reality at its finest. A dying business, one that was under her control, the very real danger of losing that control. Worse, of losing the entire company to bankruptcy along with any respect she’d managed to gain from her father. She would be the one to destroy a family legacy that had stood for one hundred years. She was so close to losing absolutely everything, having nothing but a cold, arranged marriage waiting for her when the dust settled.

She also had an out in the form of Lazaro Marino. A deal with the devil, and it would only cost her soul. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration. But from where she was standing, it must look a lot that way. A dark, handsome devil, sure, but the devil nonetheless. And it was truly an exchange of one marriage of convenience for another.

Of course, for better or for worse, the arrangement with Lazaro would never be cold.

No. Impossible. She looked at him, broad shoulders, thickly muscled chest, trim waist and hips. He had a body most women would pay money to get their hands on, and the face of a fallen angel. Perfectly handsome, but with that hint of danger provided by his slightly bent nose and dark stubble. Stubble that would feel rough against her hands, her cheek …

“It isn’t as though we would marry immediately,” he said, his deep voice breaking through her fantasy.

“We wouldn’t?” A stupid response, as though she’d agreed to something when she hadn’t done any such thing.

“No. It takes time to plan a wedding. Especially of the calibre I have in mind.”

“Oh, you’ve thought about this?” For some reason that made her stomach tighten.

“Not in a specific sense. But there are certain things expected from a society wedding.” His lips curved up into a smile. A smile that lacked humor and warmth. It made her shiver.

She’d never wanted a huge wedding. She’d seen that circus one too many times. Had been a part of it for family friends. Those weddings were impersonal, affairs for the guests and not for the couple, and she’d always found them disingenuous. Although, she was certain, the choice would have been taken from her when the time came with Craig. A big, three ring circus of a wedding, befitting the alliance between the Picketts and the Freemans. The thought made her slightly dizzy. She hadn’t given a lot of thought to that eventual union, but all this wedding talk was forcing it to the forefront, making her face something she’d been dutifully ignoring for years.

It had been a foolish thing, keeping that corner of her heart reserved for romantic fantasy. There had never been a hope for that in her future. Never. Lazaro’s appearance didn’t alter that, it just altered the groom. Craig, with his pale, angelic looks, was after her for the connections she would provide, and Lazaro, dark and dangerous, wanted the same. Neither man offered her love. Lazaro, at least, would help her hold on to Pickett Industries.

“And what do you intend to do with me until the wedding?”

He smiled again, and this time it touched his eyes, lighting a spark in their depths. Heat. She knew the look. She’d been on the receiving end of it before. And it was no less devastating to her at twenty-eight than it had been to her at sixteen.

He extended his hand, his open palm cupping her cheek, and heat spread through her, making her knees feel shaky, her breasts heavy. How long had it been since she’d been so close to a man? And how long had it been since one had made her feel like this? The very few times she’d come into contact with Craig she hadn’t felt even the slightest twinge of electricity.

“I’ll spend that time seducing my future wife,” he said, his voice husky, the remnants of his accent clinging to the syllables, making each word sound like a sensual caress.

She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight and dry as though it had been lined with sandpaper. He was talking about seduction. Sex. It took her right back to that moment, the moment when he’d made it clear that sex was on his agenda for the night, his hand in his pocket, reaching for a condom. She’d been tempted then too, but … she’d loved him then. Or something. She’d been sixteen and sixteen-year-old girls were given to the dramatic when it came to matters of the heart.

That romantic part of herself had always hoped against hope that the man she gave her body to would be a man who loved her desperately, a man she felt the same way about.

It wasn’t that that made her want to hold back from Lazaro though. It was the fact that he seemed to command some sort of power over her body, that he could get her hot just by looking at her. He robbed her of all the steely control no other man had ever been able to crack.

That was scarier than anything. That was something she had to master because she was not allowing him to have that kind of hold over her. Not when he already had so much power.

“I’m not just going to jump into bed with you. I don’t even know you.”

“Sometimes that adds to the fun, Vanessa.”

The way he said it, his rich, accented voice caressing the words, made her almost believe it. Made her wonder if love was overrated. “That’s not how I see things, Lazaro,” she said, her throat so constricted she could hardly force the words out.

“Relax. The courtship will be for the benefit of the media and my future clients. What better than a grand love story to keep everyone fascinated?”

“I don’t know if any of my father’s friends are old romantics.”

“Perhaps not. But the more genuine it looks, the better. It’s essential that it look real.”

“I don’t know …”

“What is it you don’t know, Vanessa? Whether you want to embrace success or failure?”

“Why does it have to be marriage?” she asked. “Why can’t …”

“Why can’t I simply hand you the solution? Why can’t I give you the knowledge and help that Pickett Industries cannot afford? Because that’s what your father, your family would do for others?”

“That isn’t …”

“Nothing in life is free, Vanessa. Nothing.”

“I know that,” she said, her voice fading. She did know it. She knew the cost of duty over desire better than he realized. Pickett Industries wasn’t her dream; Craig Freeman had never been her dream. But running the company, marrying Craig, were what she was supposed to do. This was her duty to her father, to Thomas’s memory. And duty was something she’d embraced rather than turning away from. It had taken strength to do that, to deny whatever else she might want in order to preserve her father’s respect for her. In order to preserve the Pickett family legacy.

“These are my terms, you can take them or leave them.”

Vanessa felt as though the world had just rocked beneath her feet. But it hadn’t; the paper lanterns above her head were still steady, the people around them were still talking, unaware that her life was crumbling around her, that everything she had always believed about herself lay in ashes before her.

She’d never thought she would stoop so low. Had never thought she would be the one willing to do whatever it took for the sake of money and power. And maybe if it were only money and power she wouldn’t. Regardless of what Lazaro said, this did seem different from the friendly, family-made arrangement she had with Craig. This seemed mercenary. It seemed … It felt in some ways that she was selling herself. Her body.

But this was her reputation. It was all she had worked for. It was her relationship with the only family she had. If she didn’t have that, she would have nothing. Breaking the unofficial engagement with Craig was one thing, losing Pickett, letting it fall into someone else’s hands … that her father would never forgive her for. And she would never forgive herself.

She couldn’t face that. And it was time to step up. To do what she’d been doing all her life—make the choice that would best benefit her family legacy and all of the employees who depended on her family for their paychecks.

“I’ll take them.” Her words sounded flat and harsh in the silent night air.

“A very wise choice, Vanessa.” Lazaro’s expression didn’t change, his eyes remained flat and dark, latent heat smoldering there, his square jaw still set firmly. But she could feel a change in him, a subtle shift in the energy radiating from him. It resonated in her, caused a response she couldn’t ignore or deny.

She looked at the cool, hard man standing in front of her. To him, this was business. Another way for him to climb to the top. She just had to see it the same way. She couldn’t afford to involve her heart.

“I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” she asked.

“Not one that had a better outcome. And you’re a smart woman. You know that the end result is all that matters.”

She wanted to be that woman. She tried to be that woman. Because that was the woman who was going to pull Pickett out of the red.

“Pickett Industries is all that matters,” she said slowly, feeling the virtual shackles tightening on her wrists even as she spoke the words.