The Argentine's Price

by Maisey Yates

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

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

  She forced a smile. “You’re right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  My kingdom for a little sexual sophistication.

  “Probably texting it too.”

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

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

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

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

  “Why is that?”

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

  “What way?”

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

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

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

  “Dessert?” he asked.

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

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

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

  Time certainly did change things.

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

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

  “That’s a nice tip.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Even now, with Pickett Industries facing bankrupt
cy, 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 future 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.