Never Say I Want You

by Pennza, Amy

  But it was oh, so risky to indulge it with Catalina. And heaven help him, but he wasn’t sure he cared.

  She smoothed her dress and sat, mirroring his pose by relaxing into the seat and resting her arms on the chair. Then she crossed her legs, revealing a long, smooth thigh.

  He kept his face impassive.

  “You’ll regret this,” she said.

  “Perhaps.”

  “I won’t sleep with you. Ever.”

  “Noted.”

  She glanced at the desk. “I want something in writing…a guarantee that you’ll give me the money.”

  “It’s already taken care of. Emily prepared the trust document last week.”

  Catalina narrowed her gaze. Whatever she might have said next was interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

  “Mr. Salvatierra?” Emily called from the other side, as if Juan had conjured her by speaking her name. “Your brother and sister-in-law are here.”

  Without taking his eyes off Catalina, Juan called, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “I want to talk to Smith before we leave,” Catalina said. “Alone.”

  Of course she did. She probably thought she could appeal to him for help. It was a futile effort, but he couldn’t fault her for trying.

  He nodded. “I’ll send him back.” He rose and rounded the desk, stopping next to her chair. Rich, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her tan skin gleamed under the soft office lights. Looking at her, no one would guess she’d spent the night in jail.

  He hesitated. Business arrangement or no, she was about to become his wife. Something loosened inside him. “Catalina…”

  She looked up. For a second, confusion filled her eyes. Then it switched to a challenge. “What are you waiting for? You have just one year to humiliate me. The clock is ticking.”

  “I don’t want to humiliate you.”

  She faced straight ahead. “Go to hell.”

  “So this is how you want to begin?”

  Silence.

  “Bueno,” he murmured. Okay. “As you wish, Catalina.”

  He started for the door. Maybe she was right. The hostility between them was a barrier, but it was a safe, familiar one—part of the wall he’d built around his heart a long time ago.

  And some walls could never be torn down.

  4

  As the door clicked shut behind Juan, Catalina released a long, slow breath.

  She was really doing this.

  Wait. Scratch that.

  She wasn’t doing anything. This insane arrangement was entirely of Juan’s making.

  She looked at the will on his desk. Eight hundred million dollars… She couldn’t even picture that kind of money. Would Juan simply deposit it in her bank account? Maybe he’d hand her a briefcase stacked with bundled hundreds like they showed in the movies.

  He couldn’t possibly be serious about transferring Arturo’s entire estate to her. Gaze on the will, she gnawed her lower lip. The thing was, Juan didn’t lie—ever. What incentive did he have to deceive her about his father’s wishes? In a way, the story was believable. Smith’s parents had been deeply in love. But Sarah Salvatierra had never forgiven her husband for dragging her unaware into a criminal lifestyle. From what Catalina knew, Rafe was already born before Sarah finally realized just what kind of business her husband ran. Then Juan came along less than three years later, and she was even more tied down than before. Sarah had never said as much, but Catalina always got the impression Smith was a “save the marriage” baby—part of Arturo’s efforts to keep her in Venezuela. Then Catalina’s father had taken a bullet for Arturo. As the story went, Carlos Ortega had died while the Salvatierra children looked on.

  That was the beginning of the end for Sarah. She convinced Arturo to give the orphaned Catalina a home—which didn’t take much bargaining, considering he probably would have done anything to make her happy.

  Anything except give up his business. Fed up and heartbroken, Sarah fled to Texas. Fifteen-year-old Rafe had helped his mother leave, but he’d refused to abandon his father.

  Catalina stared at the will. Was this Arturo’s way of finally setting things right? She’d never been particularly close to her foster father. The Salvatierras had Spanish royal blood in their veins, whereas Catalina’s ancestors had been servants and laborers for centuries in the old country. The last time she saw Arturo, he’d been withdrawn and frail, seemingly content to let Rafe handle the day-to-day affairs of the family business.

  But was he content to hand over his entire fortune to his former bodyguard’s daughter? All for the love of his wife?

  Walter’s words from the night before drifted through her mind. “Let me tell you, that woman could pull it off. You should have seen her in her heyday.” When he’d spoken of his wife, his face had lit up like a Christmas tree.

  Catalina swallowed. Yes, maybe even someone like Arturo could put everything aside for love. After everything he and Sarah had gone through, love had remained.

  Love. It was the foundation of every marriage, wasn’t it?

  She shifted her gaze to the list of names on Juan’s desk. The gleaming white paper seemed to mock her. Love had nothing to do with this marriage.

  An arranged marriage—all because Juan needed to control everything and everyone in his life.

  Bitterness rose in her chest.

  Maybe she could get through the entire year without looking at him or speaking to him.

  One year. An invisible fist punched her in the gut, robbing her breath. She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward over her knees. A dull ache throbbed in her shoulder, and she winced and braced her weight on her other elbow. Another ache bloomed in the middle of her forehead—the start of a headache. She dropped her head down, savoring the stretch down her nape.

  How the hell was she going to make it through a whole year with Juan? He’d said he expected her to be a “model wife.” That meant living with him, right? Questions raced through her mind, galloping over each other so quickly she couldn’t focus on one long enough to really analyze it.

  Did he plan on introducing her to his employees? His friends? What would people think? They weren’t any kind of blood relation, and she’d taken great pains to avoid using the Salvatierra name, but Juan’s status as a leading defense lawyer attracted a significant amount of media attention. If he showed up with a wife, wouldn’t people want to know the details of their relationship?

  He’d spent the past eight years doing everything in his power to prevent her orbit from touching his. Now he was determined to anchor her to his side?

  A soft sound behind her made her sit up and swivel in her chair.

  “Cat?” Smith stood in the doorway, concern etched on his face.

  Relief poured through her—the feeling so heady and unexpected, she had to fight the urge to spring up and run to him. Instead, she stood and skirted the chair, gripping the back so she wouldn’t do anything stupid like rush across the room and jump into his arms. She might have done just that when she was younger. But things were different now. Things had been different for a very long time. She cleared her throat. “Hey.”

  He raised an eyebrow, the expression making his resemblance to Juan even stronger. If not for the black scruff on Smith’s jaw, they could have been twins.

  Except that wasn’t totally accurate. Smith had a certain quality that set him apart from his brother. It wasn’t gentleness—not really. Smith was a former Green Beret, as well as a combat veteran. He never spoke about his war experiences, but Catalina knew he’d lost close friends overseas. His work as a police chief hadn’t softened his edges, either.

  No, none of the Salvatierra men were gentle. But Smith was more approachable, maybe because he was closer to her in age. With just five years between them, they’d moved through school at roughly the same time. When kids had taunted her about her accent or whispered about her connection to the Salvatierra crime family, Smith had always been there to defend her.

  He’d
protected her, like a brother should.

  Maybe that’s what it was. Of the three Salvatierra brothers, only Smith had ever seemed like her brother.

  He smiled at her now. “That’s all you’ve got to say? Juan tells me to get my ass to his office because you two are tying the knot, and you greet me with hey?”

  “Smith!” A woman’s voice scolded him from behind. A second later, a diminutive blonde stepped from his shadow and promptly smacked him on the shoulder. “They’re hardly tying the knot.” She dropped her voice to a whisper that nevertheless carried into the office. “Your brother is crazy.”

  Despite her predicament, a smile tugged at Catalina’s lips. This could only be Ashley, Smith’s new wife and a real-life Hollywood actress. Seeing her in person for the first time, it was easy to understand how she landed a starring role on television at just seventeen. Medium-blonde hair fell past her shoulders in glossy waves, setting off a pleasing contrast to her black, cap-sleeve T-shirt and dark-gray capri pants. Catalina’s practiced eye noticed she wasn’t wearing makeup—and she didn’t need any. Her skin had that creamy, flawless glow moisturizer commercials talked about. Although partly obscured by a garment bag draped over her arm, her figure was firm and athletic.

  Smith dropped a quick kiss on her forehead. “I was just teasing, nena.” He turned toward Catalina. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

  The kindness in his tone should have been a balm on her frazzled nerves. Instead, it made hot tears rush into her eyes. The events of the past twenty-four hours hurtled around her mind—Walter’s probable heart attack, the arrest, confronting Juan after five years…finding out he was strong-arming her into an arranged marriage.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but a sob came out.

  In what seemed like a single movement, Smith pulled Ashley into the office, closed the door, and crossed to the desk. He gathered Catalina in his arms and tucked her head against his shoulder. Ashley stood at his side, her blue eyes huge and worried.

  Smith spoke into Catalina’s ear, his voice low and reassuring. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

  For a moment, she indulged herself in the security of his embrace. The last time he held her like this was at his mother’s funeral five years ago. With a start, she realized it had been just as long since anyone held her this way—the simple, solid comfort of a platonic hug. Standing there, with her head on his shoulder, she could almost believe everything was okay. A cautious balloon of hope rose in her chest. The tears receded, and she lifted her head and stepped back.

  Ashley offered her an encouraging smile. A tiny beauty mark above one corner of her mouth emphasized her wholesome prettiness.

  Heat entered Catalina’s cheeks. Here she was, meeting Smith’s wife for the first time, and the contrast between them couldn’t be more obvious. The cocktail dress was a Valentino, but it was made to drape across the foot of a man’s bed. Ashley looked like she spent her days tending her own vegetable garden in the sun. The last time Catalina saw a vegetable garden was on the roof of a CEO’s private terrace as the sun came up.

  She folded her arms. The position thrust her breasts higher. The fire in her cheeks flamed hotter, and she flung her arms to her sides.

  “Cat?” Smith’s hazel eyes were shaded with concern. “What happened this morning?”

  Fortunately, he seemed to interpret her awkwardness as unease over the impending marriage ceremony. She sighed. “How much do you know?”

  “Juan told me about the will a few weeks ago.”

  Annoyance spiked in her veins. Apparently, Juan had told everyone except her about his plans for rearranging her life. “What do you think about it?”

  “Do I think it’s real, you mean?” He gave a single nod. “Yes, absolutely. You can be sure Juan’s done enough digging to know for certain.” He exchanged a look with Ashley. “As for the rest…”

  Ashley settled the garment bag over the back of one of the chairs. “As for the rest,” she said, “Juan is out of his mind.”

  Gratitude surged through Catalina. At least someone else dared to question Juan’s actions. Emily was clearly a lost cause, and Smith was a Salvatierra. Surprise wills and arranged marriages were downright quaint compared to a childhood spent on a drug lord’s compound.

  Smith ran his hand through his hair and held it on the back of his neck. “I don’t know, Ash. It’s not that crazy of a plan.”

  Ashley’s mouth dropped open. “Your brother is forcing your sister to marry him so he can bankrupt your other brother. In what universe is that not crazy?”

  “Cat’s not really our sister,” Smith said. He seemed to realize how that sounded, because he looked at her. “I didn’t mean it that way. You know I love you more than anything.”

  She waved it off. “I know what you meant.”

  When he noticed Ashley still frowning at him, Smith said, “Go on. Tell me what a jerk I am.”

  “You’re a jerk.” She glanced at Catalina. “An arranged marriage. Do you know what year it is?”

  “Juan described it as a business arrangement.”

  Pop. There went the freaking hope balloon. Now Catalina did fold her arms. Who cared if her tits were showing? That was the least of her worries.

  Smith seemed to realize his opinion was in the minority. Flanked by two angry, exasperated women, he put up his hands. “Listen, I don’t have to agree with Juan’s methods to understand why he’s doing this. The drug trade has been a dark shadow over our lives since we were children.” He looked at Catalina, and his gaze softened. “Your father lost his life because of it.”

  “I know,” she said, “but does that mean I should give up a year of mine?”

  He was quiet a moment, as if he wanted to select his next words carefully. “Rafe isn’t the only reason Juan’s doing this.”

  Et tu, Smith? She tightened her arms around her middle. “My private life is none of Juan’s business…or yours.”

  “It’s dangerous, Catalina.”

  She should have known better than to expect understanding from Smith—at least not around this subject. He was a police officer. Like most in his line of work, he tended to see things in black and white, and he had very little tolerance for gray. By some tacit agreement, they never spoke about her profession. This was the closest Smith had ever come to acknowledging how much he disapproved.

  Of course, he was on Juan’s side in this.

  She glanced at Ashley. “I run background checks on all my clients.”

  Smith looked unimpressed, but he was too much of a gentleman to argue. Like Juan, he simply shifted tactics. “A year isn’t such a long time. And when it’s over, you’ll be an incredibly wealthy woman.” He left it unsaid that she wouldn’t need to work, let alone do the kind of work she did now.

  Eight hundred million dollars. She could do a lot of things with that kind of money. She could do anything with that kind of money.

  To earn it, she just had to endure twelve months of Juan’s company. Three hundred and sixty-five days as his “model wife.” Most people would jump at the chance.

  Then again, most people didn’t know Juan—at least not the way she did.

  Her gaze strayed to the desk. Even if she walked away from the money, could she really stand by while he ruined Walter and the other men on that list? He’d do it, too. Juan wasn’t one for idle threats.

  Smith’s voice was soft. “Is it that much of a sacrifice, Cat?” There was a thread of bewilderment in the question, as if he couldn’t understand why she would possibly object to Juan’s arrangement.

  Then again, there were plenty of things Smith didn’t know. The ache in the middle of her forehead pulsed. She rubbed the spot. At the same moment, her stomach growled. Maybe this was part of Juan’s plan—wear her down with exhaustion and starvation.

  Ashley touched Smith’s arm. “Why don’t you go talk to your brother. Maybe he’ll change his mind.”

  “He won’t,” Catalina said. “I appreciate the effort. Really, I do. But it’s
pointless to fight him.” She forced levity into her voice. “Once Juan’s made up his mind…” She didn’t have to finish. Smith knew his brother. Rafe might be the drug lord, but Juan was just as ruthless.

  “He’s like a freight train,” Smith murmured. He came to her and clasped her shoulders. “Catalina… Is there anything else I should know?” His gaze searched her face, his eyes just a little too discerning for her comfort.

  “Nothing,” she said quickly. She stepped out of his hold. “I think I’m just tired from—” She shot a look at Ashley. No need to shock her by sharing details about the county jail. “I’m just ready to get this over with.”

  For a second, it seemed like Smith might argue. But then he nodded. “All right.” He and Ashley locked gazes, some unspoken communication passing between them.

  Ashley touched the garment bag on the back of the chair. For the first time, she seemed almost shy. “I brought you something to wear,” she told Catalina. Then she spoke in a rush. “I know it’s not a real wedding day or anything, and you definitely don’t have to change. No pressure.”

  “A wedding dress?” Catalina stared at the bag. An image formed in her head—a big, poofy princess gown with a heart-shaped bodice and yards of tulle. The kind of dress every girl dreams of while fantasizing about her wedding.

  Or maybe just every nineteen-year-old girl.

  “It’s actually mine,” Ashley said. She smiled at Smith. “We had a courthouse wedding, too.”

  That jerked Catalina out of her thoughts. “You did?” When she heard about Smith’s marriage, she took it for granted she was off the guest list. After Sarah’s funeral, Juan made it clear she wasn’t welcome at family gatherings.

  “Yeah,” Ashley said. Her smile turned wry. “It was the only way to keep my mother from interfering. Thank goodness Smith agreed to elope.” She shuddered. “I don’t think I could have handled a big, fancy wedding. The thought of picking out votive holders made me twitch.”

  With that little tidbit, Catalina knew she could really like this woman. It also helped to know Smith hadn’t excluded her from his wedding.