The Secretary's Bossman Bargain

by Red Garnier

  Cautiously, as though petting a lion, she turned his hand over and set her cool, small palm on his. She gingerly laced her fingers through his. Lust kicked him in the groin at the unexpected touch. His head fell onto the back of the seat, a groan welling up in the back of his throat. Crucified by arousal, he dragged in a terse, uneven breath, squeezing his eyes shut.

  She inched a little closer, tightening her grip. Her lips came to within a breath of his ear. “Does that satisfy you, Your Highness?”

  He didn’t let it show, the emotion that swept through him, but it made his limbs tremble. He said, thickly, “Come closer.”

  He wanted to jump her. He wanted all of her, right here, right now.

  He inhaled deeply, his chest near bursting with the aroma of her. Clean, womanly, sweet. “Closer,” he said, hearing the growl in his own words.

  When she didn’t, he glanced down at their joined hands. Hers was tiny and fair, nearly engulfed by his larger one. He ran the pad of his thumb along the back of hers, up the ridge of her knuckle, down the tiny smooth slope. She felt so good. And he felt eighteen again. “Soft,” came his trancelike murmur.

  Transfixed, she watched the movement of his thumb, her breasts stretching the material covering them as she inhaled. He dipped his head and discreetly rubbed his nose across the shiny, springy curls of her hair. Christ. Edible. All of her. He could smell her shampoo, wanted to plunge all ten fingers into her hair, turn her face up and kiss her lips. Softly, so he could savor her breath, go searching deep into her mouth.

  Ducking his head so the driver wouldn’t hear him, he whispered, “You might try to appear to enjoy my touch.”

  Their bodies created a heat, a dark intimate cocoon in the confined car interior, enhanced by the warmth of their whispers. “Marcos…”

  His hand turned, capturing hers as she attempted to retrieve it. “Virginia.”

  Their gazes held. Like they did across his office, over the tops of people’s heads, in the elevators. Those clear, infinite eyes always sought out his. To find him looking right back. Their fingers brushed at the pass of a coffee mug, a file, the phone. At contact their bodies seemed to flare up like matches—tense, coil, heat up the room. Even with a wall separating them, his awareness of her had escalated to alarming levels. And she’d been more fidgety with him than she had in months.

  “We’re pretending, remember?” he said, a husky reminder.

  Pretend. The only way Marcos could think of that wouldn’t involve her feelings, or his. The only way they might be able to—hell, what was this? It had been going on so long it felt like surrender—without anyone hurting in the end. Without their lives changing, breaking or veering off in separate ways because of it.

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Then relax for me.” Lightly securing her fingers between his, he delved his thumb into the center of her palm with a deep, intense stroke, aware of her audible intake of breath as he caressed. “Very good,” he cooed. “I’m convinced you want me.”

  “Yes.” Her voice was but a whisper, hinting at how the sinuous, stroking circles of his thumb affected her. “I mean…I’m trying to…appear that I do.”

  But she seemed as uncertain and startled as a mouse who didn’t know where to run to, and Marcos was very much taking to the cat’s role. He wanted to play, to corner, to taste.

  He glanced up. “Don’t tax yourself too much, hmm.”

  Her warm, fragile fingers trembled in his. The excitement of a new country had left her eyes, replaced by a wild, stormy yearning. “I’m trying not to…get bored.”

  His thumb went deep at the center then eased back. “Hmm. Yes. I can see you’re fighting a yawn.” His eyes ventured up along the top of her head, taking in its gloss. “You have pretty hair. Can I touch it?”

  He did. It felt soft and silky under his fingers, tempting him to dig in deeper, down to her scalp.

  She made a sound in her throat, like a moan. A hunger of the worst, most painful kind clawed inside him. She had a way of staring at him with those big eyes like he was something out of this world. It was a miracle he’d resisted her this long.

  “A man,” he gruffly began, massaging the back of her head as he greedily surveyed her features, “would be lucky to make you his.”

  Her eyes sealed shut so tightly she seemed to be in pain. She squirmed a little on the seat and, unbelievably, came nearer. “You don’t have to convince me. I’m already pretending.”

  Her breasts brushed his rib cage, and the heat of her supple body singed his flesh through their clothes. He intensified the strokes of his fingers. “A man would be lucky to make you his, Virginia,” he repeated.

  Her lashes fluttered upward, revealing her eyes. Pale green, ethereal. Distrustful. “What are you doing?”

  His gut tightened. What does it look like I’m doing? He wanted to yank her onto his lap, feel his way up her little skirt, and kiss her mouth until her lips turned bright red. Her face blurred with his vision. With his need. He had to force himself to leave her hair alone.

  She exhaled a string of broken air, then relaxed somewhat, shifting sideways on the leather seat. Facing him. Her smile faded. “Who are we fooling, Marcos, with this charade?”

  “Marissa Galvez, Allende Transport’s owner.”

  And maybe you. Definitely me.

  He retrieved her hand from where it had gone to wring the hem of her dress and secured her wrist in his grip as he raised it. He turned it over and set a soft, lingering kiss at the center of her palm. A tiny, breathless gasp came from her.

  “We must practice,” he murmured, gazing into those deep, bottomless eyes.

  “Oh.” She shivered. Not moving away, and not moving closer, she allowed him to drag his lips along her open palm. She watched him through her lashes, her lips shuddering on each uneven breath.

  “And why must we fool her?” Her question was a silky wisp.

  “Because she wants me,” he huskily answered. She tasted divine. Her skin was smooth and satiny under his lips, and he predicted every inch of her body would feel just like it. Perfect. “It wouldn’t do to insult her.” Against his mouth and lips, he felt the vibrant tremor that danced up her arm. Emboldened by her response, thirsting for more, he opened his mouth and gently grazed his teeth at the heel of her palm. “I happen to want someone else.”

  “I’m sure—” she began, swallowing audibly. “I’m sure you can have anyone you want.”

  “If I want her bad enough and put myself to task, yes.” His lips closed and opened against her hand. Before he could restrain himself, he gave a lick at her palm. Pleasure pummeled through him. “And I’ve grown to want her…bad,” he strained out, swallowing back a growl.

  “Oh, that was…” Her hand wiggled as she tried prying it free. “I don’t think…”

  “Shh.”

  He held her wrist in a gentle grip and raised his head. He watched her expression soften, melt, as he whisked the pad of his thumb across her dampened palm, getting it wet. He lifted the glistening pad of his thumb to her lips, his timbre coated with arousal. “Pretend you like it when I do this.”

  A sound welled in the back of her throat as he stroked. She nodded wildly, her lips gleaming at each pass of his thumb. “Yes, yes, I’m pretending,” she breathed.

  He’d never seen a more erotic sight, felt a more erotic sensation, than playing with Virginia Hollis’s quivering pink lips in the back of a moving car. “Umm. Me, too. I will pretend…you’re her.”

  “Aha.”

  “And I very much want her.” God, he enjoyed her unease, enjoyed seeing her pupils dilate, her breath shallow out.

  “O-okay.”

  His thumb continued glancing, whisking, rubbing, right where his mouth wanted to be. He bent to whisper, to conspire together, just him and her. “Let’s pretend…we’re lovers, Virginia.” His voice broke with the force of his desire, came out rough with wanting. “Pretend every night we touch each other…and kiss…and our bodies rock together. And when we f
ind release—”

  “Stop!” She pushed herself back with surprising force, sucking great gulps of air. “God, stop. Enough. Enough pretending tonight.”

  He tugged her closer. They were breathing hard and loud.

  “You should kiss me,” he said gruffly.

  “Kiss you.” She absently fingered his cross where it peeked through the top opening of his shirt. He went utterly still—the gesture too sweet, too unexpected, too painful.

  Her fingers reached his throat, then traced the links of the thick chain.

  Too aware of this now, he dropped her hair and squeezed her elbow meaningfully. “Virginia. Your mouth. On mine.”

  They’d had foreplay for a year—with every glance, every flick of her hair, every smile.

  She drew back and laughed, a choked, strained sound. “Now?” She couldn’t seem to believe her eyes and ears, seemed stumped for words to deny him.

  The car halted at a stoplight. A few cars drove up beside them. Marcos went still, glancing at her quietly until their car continued.

  He had never wanted to feel a body as much as he wanted to feel hers.

  And her mouth—he’d give anything to taste that mouth, was being for the first time in his life reckless, selfish, for that very mouth. A mouth that promised all the innocence he’d never had, trust, beauty, affection he’d never had.

  Without any further thought, he pulled her close. “One kiss. Right now.”

  “But you’re my boss,” she breathed, clutching his shirt collar with a death grip. But her bright, luminous green eyes gazed up at him. And those eyes said yes.

  Her lips were plush, parted, eager for his. He brought his thumb back to scrape them. “Just pretend I’m not him.”

  “But you are him—”

  “I don’t want to be him, I want to be…just Marcos.” Their relationship had been wrapped in rules, limited by their roles. What if Virginia had been just a woman? And he just a man? She would have been his, might still be his. “Only Marcos.”

  The passing city lights caused slanted shadows to shift across her face—she looked splendid, wary, wanting.

  “A kiss is harmless, Virginia.” His vision blurred with desire as he stretched his arm out on the seat behind her and dipped his head. Their breaths mingled, their mouths opened. “People kiss their pets. They kiss their enemies on the cheeks. They kiss a letter. They even blow kisses into the air. You can kiss me.”

  “This is a little unexpected.”

  “God, I’d hate to be predictable.” His arm slid from the back of the seat and went around her shoulders, loosely holding her to him. His fingers played with the soft, bouncy curls at her nape. His accent got unbearably thick—like his blood, a terse string of lust flooding his veins. It took concentration to give her a smile meant to disarm. “Stop thinking about it and kiss me.”

  Her curls bounced at the shake of her head. “We don’t have to kiss to pretend to be…together. I can pretend convincingly without kissing.”

  No kissing? Christ, no. He had a fascination with her mouth, the delicate bow at her upper lip, the ripe flesh of the bottom one. He’d been kissing that mouth for days, weeks, months, in his mind. “You’re wrong, amor.” He bussed her temple with his lips, aware of his muscles flexing heatedly under his clothes, his skin feverish with pent-up desire as she continued clinging to his shirt. “We must kiss. And we must kiss convincingly.”

  “I—You didn’t mention this before.”

  He caressed her cheekbone with the back of one finger and noted the frantic pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. Christ, once again she was fixated with his mouth, and he wanted to give it to her. Now. Right now. Slam it over hers, push into her, taste all of her. “Kiss me, Virginia. Kiss me senseless.” He barely held himself in check with his ruthless self-discipline.

  She hesitated. Then, in a burdened breath, “Only a kiss.”

  His heart rammed into his ribs at the realization that she had agreed. To kiss him. Ay, Dios.

  He urged himself to ease back on the seat and stifled the impulse to take matters into his own hands. He was a second away from losing his mind. A second away from tearing off her clothes, the necklace at her throat, his shirt, everything that separated them. Still, he wanted to be sure, sure she wanted this. Him. Them.

  He groaned and said, “Kiss me until we can’t breathe.”

  “I… The driver could see us.” She sounded as excited as he, and the breathless anticipation in her voice plunged him even deeper into wild, mad desire.

  “Look at me, not him.”

  “You’re all I’m looking at, Marcos.”

  He didn’t know who breathed harder, who was seducing whom here. She laid her hands over his abdomen. He hissed. The muscles under her palms clenched. His erection strained painfully.

  Her hands slid up his chest, a barely there touch. Fever. She cradled his jaw with two cool, dry palms…and waited. Hesitant, inexperienced. In a ragged plea, she croaked, “Close your eyes.”

  He did. Not because she asked, but because her fingers lovingly stroked his temple, down his jaw. Her hands drifted lower and curled around his shoulders, rubbing along the muscles so sensually he gritted his teeth. This was murder.

  She had to stop. She had to go on.

  “Do it. Do it now.” The helpless urgency in his voice startled him as much as the other emotions coursing through him. Arousal ripped through him like a living beast.

  Then he felt the warm mist of her breath on his face, sensed the nearness of her parting lips, heard through the roaring in his ears her tremulous whisper. “I’m a bit out of practice—”

  He didn’t let her finish. He reached out and slipped a hand beneath the fall of hair at her nape and hauled her to him. “Virginia,” he rasped, and slammed her mouth with his.

  Four

  Virginia had meant for a quick kiss. Only a taste. A taste to satisfy her curiosity. Her need. A taste because she could not, could never, deny this man. But when he pulled her down and his mouth, so strong and fierce and hungry, touched hers, there was no stopping what came over her.

  They’d been panting, laughing; he’d been teasing her, had pulled her onto his lap. Pretending had been so easy, but now…now this mouth, this man, the hands gripping the back of her head, were too real. Rough. Raw. Devastating.

  She moaned helplessly as he slanted his head, murmuring something indiscernible to her, and his warm, hot tongue came at hers, and his hard need grew larger and stronger under her bottom, and the realization that he really wanted her barraged through her.

  He began to take little nips, and those lush, sure lips moving against hers set off the flutters in her stomach, the fireworks in her head. “Sabes a miel.”

  He spoke in an aroused rasp against her lips. She clung to his neck and tried not to moan as his warm breath slid across her skin, heating her like a fever.

  “Te quiero hacer el amor,” he murmured, running his hands down the sides of her body, his fingers brushing the curves of her breasts, his chest heaving with exerted restraint. “Toda la noche, te quiero hacer el amor.”

  She had no idea what he said, but the words pulsed through her in a wave of erotic pleasure. Her breasts swelled heavy, her nipples in such pain she pressed them deeper into his chest and she opened her mouth wide, moving instinctively against him, and she knew this was wrong, so wrong, would not happen again, which surely must be why she incited it. “What are you saying to me…” she murmured into him.

  His breath was hot and rapid against her. “I’m saying I want to make love to you. All evening, all night.” He groaned and twisted his tongue around hers as their lips locked, the attachment intense, driven, absolute.

  She sucked in a breath as his palms engulfed her straining nipples, felt his desire in every coiled muscle, in the rough way his palms kneaded, the thrusts of his tongue as his mouth turned ravenous on hers.

  He groaned, appearing decidedly out of control for the first time since she’d known him. He stroke
d the undersides of her breasts with his thumbs and whisked his lips along the curve of her jaw, and she cocked her ear to his nibbling lips, shuddered when he murmured to her. “Your gasps tear me to pieces.”

  “Marcos…”

  She was hot and burning inside.

  He made a grinding motion with his hips, and her thighs splayed open as he desperately rubbed his erection against her.

  His tongue plunged into her ear, wet, hot, sloppy. “Stop me, Virginia.” One determined hand unerringly slipped through the V of her dress and enveloped her breast. “Virginia. Stop me, Virginia.”

  He squeezed her flesh possessively, and when his palm rubbed into her nipple, her eyes flew open in shock. The feel was so delicious, so wrong, so right, she hid her heated face against his neck and almost choked on the sounds welling at the back of her throat. Sensations overpowered her body, her mind struggling to comprehend that this was really happening with Marcos Allende.

  “That’s your hotel up ahead, sir.”

  Swearing under his breath, Marcos gathered her closer. His ragged breaths blasted her temple. He squeezed her. “We’ll finish this upstairs.”

  Virginia pushed back her rumpled hair. Upstairs? God, what were they even doing?

  Chuckling at the look on her face, Marcos bussed her forehead with his lips as his gentle hand stroked down her nape, trembling slightly. “I should’ve known we’d be combustible,” he murmured.

  The Mercedes pulled into a wide, palm tree–lined hotel driveway and Virginia fumbled for her purse while Marcos stepped out and strolled to her side, reaching into the car and helping her to her feet.

  His glimmering, dark gaze didn’t stray from her face, not for a second. We kissed, his dark eyes said. I touched you. I know you want me.

  And for an insane second, all she wanted was to forget why she was here and who she was and be swept away by this one man, this one night, in this one city.

  As though discerning her thoughts, Marcos cupped half of her face in his warm palm, and his eyes held something so wild and bright it almost blinded her. “Upstairs,” he said again.