The Argentine's Price
The money he had earned—more than he had ever imagined when he’d started out. But the power, the absolute power that came with admittance into the highest echelons of society—that eluded him. He could not purchase it. It wasn’t that simple.
To most on the outside, it would seem he had reached the top, but that was an illusion. What escaped him still was what Vanessa had, what her father had and what they would continue to have even if Pickett Industries went completely bankrupt. A blue bloodline. Family connections that could be traced back to America’s first settlers. Not a lineage that began in a hovel in Argentina with an unwed mother and a father whose true identity was a mystery.
He clenched his teeth, fighting against the onslaught of memories brought on by Vanessa’s appearance. “Pickett is fixable. And I know exactly what to do to fix it.”
Her brown eyes narrowed into slits. “You do?”
“Of course I do. I’ve made my fortune by turning dying corporations around, you know that, I’m sure.”
“Given the constant profiles Forbes does on you I’d have to be blind to miss it.”
“I can fix the mess,” he said, a new idea turning over in his head now, one that made his adrenaline spike and his pulse race.
“By appointing someone new.”
“Or not.”
“Feeling charitable all of the sudden? I don’t buy that, not when you were just dangling the mythical sword over my head.”
His heart rate quickened. Right in front of him was the key, dressed in a deceptively sexy silver gown, her dark brown hair swept up into a respectable bun. She was the final step, the way for him to make his entrance into the last part of society that remained locked to him. The way for him to grasp the ultimate power that continued to elude him.
Money was power, but connections combined with money would make his status absolute. It ate at him that there was still a place in society he was barred from. That there were still things outside his control. This was his chance to rise above all that.
And as an added bonus, he would get to see the look on Michael Pickett’s face when he took possession of everything the man had always tried so hard to keep in his control. Pickett Industries and his only daughter. This was a way to exact revenge on the man who had made Lazaro and his mother unemployable within the circles they’d always worked, the man responsible for their nights on the street in the unforgiving Boston winter. The man responsible for his mother growing weaker and weaker until the strongest woman he had ever known had faded away.
He had watched his mother die in a homeless shelter, without possessions, without dignity.
He bit down hard, his teeth grinding together, the pressure satisfying, helping him keep control over the anger and adrenaline building inside him. He hadn’t got where he was by letting opportunities pass him by. He took chances. He made snap decisions with a cool head. It was the secret to his success.
And Vanessa would be the key to his ultimate achievement.
A high-society bride would give him admittance into American aristocracy. He had considered it before, had already considered the advantage of marrying an old-money name to add weight to his own fortune, to improve his status. But every time he thought of marriage, every time he thought of finding a society princess, he couldn’t stop himself from picturing Vanessa in her pink bikini. Couldn’t erase the memory of stolen kisses in a guesthouse late at night.
Because of that, he’d never entertained the idea of marriage for very long at a time. But now … the idea of Vanessa as his high-society bride seemed too golden to let pass by. It was a chance to have all his needs fulfilled: his need to reach the top, his need for her.
Vanessa, soft and bare beneath him, over him. Touching him, kissing him. Satisfying him.
Desire, hot and destructive, rushed through him at the thought of the chance to have her, to be able finally to satisfy the lust he’d carried with him through every affair, that had plagued him every sleepless night. In that instant, the flood of lust drove out every other thought. Everything was reduced to its most basic principle.
See. Want. Have.
He wanted Vanessa. He had spent the past twelve years with a gnawing sense of unfulfilled desire for justice and for the woman who haunted his dreams.
And he would have her now.
“I’ll help you, Vanessa,” he said, keeping his eyes locked on hers, “on one condition.”
She tilted her chin up, revealing the long, elegant line of her neck. Tender skin he could easily imagine kissing, tasting. “Name your price.”
He took a step toward her, cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and was shocked by the bolt of electricity that arced between them. She still had power over his body. But judging by the faint color in her cheeks, the tremble in her lips, he had power too.
“Marriage.”
CHAPTER TWO
“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.”