for a few months that’s your prerogative.”
“That’s … I’m not doing that.”
“You are. You made the choice.”
“So own it?”
He shrugged. “Or make a new choice. Walk away now, Vanessa. I’m not going to force you to stay.”
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
