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.
CHAPTER FIVE
“I HOPE you aren’t busy today.”
Vanessa jumped and dropped the pen she was holding into the cup of tea on her desk. She looked up and saw Lazaro standing in the doorway of her office.
She looked down into her tea then back up at tall, dark and handsome intruder. “In some cultures it’s considered rude to sneak up on people.”
“I didn’t sneak. You were deep in thought, or something like that.” He walked in and put both of his hands on the back of the chair that was positioned in front of her desk. “I wanted to talk to you about your plans for Pickett. Being your principal shareholder, it’s very much a vested interest of mine.”
“I thought you were going to impart your wisdom to me. That is what you do, right?”
“Yes, that is what I do. Do you know why I’m so good at consulting, Vanessa? Why I make more than any of the CEOs I give consultations to?”
“Why?” she asked, her tone dry.
“Because I’m not stuck in the past. I have no loyalty to tradition or convention. I know how to increase profit, and I’m equipped to see new ways of doing things because the old style of business means nothing to me.”
Vanessa gritted her teeth. “Well, tradition means a lot to me. To my father.”
“And that’s probably the source of most of your problems.”
“It’s probably also why we’ve lasted as long as we have,” she said stiffly.
“Until now. Now you need change. I’m bringing it. I’ve been over the expense reports from the past five years, and you might be interested in knowing that there was a sharp decline in sales and production the year before you took over. So it isn’t all your fault.”
Vanessa bit her lower lip, forcing herself to hold back a string of colorful and inventive expletives. “I know that. I told you changing markets have …”
“Made it difficult to compete. The fact is, Vanessa, if you want to keep the bulk of your production in the U.S. you won’t be able to compete. But you can change what you’re offering.”
“Change what, exactly?”
“The fut
ure is in environmental sustainability. Responsible waste-disposal practices, using recycled materials. You might not be able to offer the cheapest product, but you can offer the safest, the most ethical.”
“It would require some fairly aggressive campaigning.” She started looking around the desk for a pen.
“In your teacup.”
She felt the blush creep up her neck and over her cheeks. “I’ll just get a new one.” She opened her desk drawer and rummaged until she found a non-soggy pen.
“It would require some changes to the factory, to materials, to a lot of things actually. And it will cost.”
“I’m not exactly swimming in resources.”
“You could take a loan from your future husband.”
Lazaro watched as Vanessa’s cheeks flushed with angry color. “No.”
“We have an agreement, Vanessa. I intend to honor it.”
And he intended to let Michael Pickett know just how much control he was assuming of his assets. That he didn’t have just his daughter, but that he’d played the part of savior for the venerable Pickett family business.
“I am not getting myself into that much debt. Not with you.”
“Not a loan, an exchange. A fair one, I think.”
“Hardly. I feel like you’re … buying me.” She spat out the last words as though they were distasteful.
“Do you want to back out?”
She snapped her mouth shut, tightened her jaw. “I don’t …”
“Because if you do, make no mistake, I don’t make idle threats. I will push the board to appoint a new CEO of Pickett, Vanessa.”
She curled her fingers around the pen she was holding, angry color spreading from her cheeks down to her collarbone. “Are you always going to hold your power over my head? For the rest of our lives? Because that might be the one thing I just can’t deal with.”
A stab of regret hit him hard in the chest. Making threats wasn’t really his style. But something about the Pickett family, about the whole situation, brought things out in him that were normally dormant. Rage, a reminder of what it was to feel truly helpless, to feel as though his life wasn’t really his own, but belonged to those with power over him.
“You don’t have to worry about that, Vanessa, provided you don’t back out of our agreement.”
“I won’t,” she said tightly.
She looked at him, her dark eyes hard, her lush lips thinned into a tight line. He wanted to kiss her until her lips softened, until she was as desperate as he was. Until she begged.
Later. There would be time later. He wasn’t about to let her manipulate him with his desire, even if she was doing it unknowingly. And he was certain she didn’t know. She didn’t give him any coy looks, no knowing smiles or flutters of her thick, dark lashes.
She blushed easily, her skin turning pink with nerves, embarrassment or anger. Her reactions seemed honest. He wasn’t used to dealing with people who possessed Vanessa’s straightforward manner. He was used to games, had gotten very good at playing them, at holding his cards close to his chest. Vanessa stripped that ability from him. She brought things to the surface, emotions, he wasn’t used to dealing with. He wasn’t about to allow her that sort of control. She’d turned him into a blind fool twelve years ago, a stupid boy who’d let the Pickett heiress walk all over him.
He was past that now. He would not be manipulated.
“You’re right, querida, you won’t. Because if you do, I will seize control of everything. I have that power.”
“I believe it,” she said, her words clipped. “But right now you’re in my office. So I think the power might be in my favor.”
Pride, unexpected and unwanted, made his chest expand. Pride and a strong measure of lust. He liked it better when she stood up to him. Liked it better when he saw a spark set fire to her dark brown eyes. It made his blood run faster, having her challenge him.
“Going to call security on me?” he asked.
“Do I have to?” She pursed her lips and cocked her hip to the side.
“Only if you can’t handle me yourself.”
“I’m more than capable. I’m not a little girl.”
No, she wasn’t. Not even close. His heart thundered heavily in his chest, the desire, the need to reach out and touch her almost overwhelming. But he couldn’t afford to feel anything. Not now. Not when he was so close.
He forced his thoughts back on his goal, on his reason for being there. “Good. Busy tonight?”
She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “I don’t know. Am I? Do I have a choice?”
Annoyance surged through him. “Do you think I’m taking total control of your life?”
“I don’t know what you expect from a little wife,” her words taunting, arousing, infuriating.
His heart thundered hard in his chest. She was making him out to be some kind of a tyrant. She was making him feel like one. He didn’t like it, he didn’t want her to see him that way, and he had no idea why he should care. When she hadn’t seen him as the enemy, she’d seen him as beneath her.
He rounded the desk and she stood, hands on her round, shapely hips, a deadly glitter in her eyes.
“I expect you to attend events on my arm,” he said. “I expect to use your connections to make advantageous business deals. And I expect this.” He hooked his arm around her waist and drew her to him.
She was breathing hard, her breasts rising and falling against his chest. He realized he was breathing hard too. To hell with fighting it. She was his now, no longer off limits to him.
See. Want. Have.
He put his hand on her face, cupped her cheek, touched her soft lower lip with his thumb. “I want this,” he said, his voice sounding rough, strained, even to his own ears.
He dipped his head and kissed her. Her lips parted beneath his. He wasn’t certain whether it was in shock or supplication, but he wasn’t going to stop and analyze it either.
She would be his now. Finally. His. All the longing, the lust that he’d carried around with him for so many years, aching and unsatisfied no matter how many women had warmed his bed since …
She tasted the same. Just as he remembered. So utterly unique, unforgettable. The only woman who had ever made him lose his head, the only woman who had ever rejected him. The only woman whose memory lingered after years of separation. Most women were a vague impression after a few days. Not Vanessa. She had stayed vivid and powerful in his mind.
And it had only been a shadow of the reality.
Actually kissing her, the velvety slide of her tongue against his, the soft sigh of satisfaction she made against his lips, her fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt as she held on to him, anchoring him to her, that was better than anything in his memory. It made his blood run like liquid fire through his veins, made his body pulse with need, made him hard and aching with the necessity of burying himself inside her.
She stole any semblance of control with the softness of her lips.
He slid his hand around the indent of her waist, the curve of her hip. She had changed physically. Her curves were softer, more womanly. More enticing. He’d been a boy twelve years ago, but he was a man now. And she was all woman.
Vanessa felt empowered by his passion, his anger. He was trying to show her that he had the power, but in one intense rush, she realized that she was the one who held it, because his hands, sifting through her hair, were unsteady, his body was hard with arousal. For her. Because of her.
He deepened the kiss and she took his bottom lip between her teeth, nipping the tender skin, showing him that she wasn’t going to be passive, in this or anything else, needing badly to stake a claim on him, as he was doing to her.
A growl rumbled in his chest and he took a step, backing her into her desk. She heard her pencil holder fall onto the floor, its contents scattering. She didn’t care.
There was nothing. Nothing but this. This battle of wills and the all-consuming passion that was taking over her mind, her body.
His fingers crept beneath the edge of her top and she was arched into him, powerless to do anything else. And that sudden loss of control, that concession to his power, made a jolt of reality slap her in the face.
She’d promised herself she wasn’t going to let him have this control. She shouldn’t feel the way she did, as if she would die if she didn’t have him. Inside of her. Now. On the floor, the desk, wherever.
She couldn’t afford to give him this part of her, to let him have dominion over her body. He would never love her, and if she gave in to this … she would be vulnerable. She couldn’t allow that.
Maybe you can’t have love, but you can have this.
Amazing, all-consuming lust.
No. It would never just be that. Not for her. Lazaro was more to her than just a hard body. And she would never be anything more to him than a simple means of feeding his sex drive.
She let go of him and pulled away, her heart thundering in her ears.
He flicked a dismissive glance in her direction, seemingly unaffected by what had just happened between them. Totally unfair, since her world had had another dramatic shift on its axis.
“I can see it won’t be a problem,” he said.
“What?” she asked, still feeling thick and muddled from the arousal that was crowding all the good, useful information out of her brain and leaving room only for the screaming want that was pounding through her.
“The attraction between us is very strong. That part of our marriage will not be a problem.”
As far as physical attraction went, no, it wouldn’t be. But it would be everything she’d never wanted and then some. A man using her because she was convenient. Because she had status. Because she had things he wanted, not because she was who he wanted.
That he was attracted to her didn’t make her feel all that special. Yes, Lazaro was a sex god with looks that could not be denied, but men tended to like sex from whoever would give it to them. And after that display he was probably feeling pretty positive that getting it would be easy.
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