Desert Jewels & Rising Stars

by Sharon Kendrick

  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.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “Are you saying your father has nothing to do with the man you’ll marry?” He watched as the light in her dark eyes dimmed. “Are you saying you get to choose?”

  She shook her head. “Not … It’s complicated.”

  “Not really.”

  “I can’t,” Vanessa said, keeping her voice hard, commanding. The voice she used during board meetings and to men who assumed she couldn’t handle being in charge.

  “You’re already promised to someone, aren’t you? Someone with the appropriate bloodlines?” His lip curled into a sneer. “Waiting for one of those golden boys to bail you out?”

  “You know my father, he doesn’t leave loose ends. Of course there’s someone in his plans.” The admittance was strange because no one, herself included, had ever voiced it. But no one had ever had to say anything. It was understood. It was as ingrained in her as which fork to use for the salad.

  “Do you love him?”

  “No.” She didn’t love Craig Freeman, or even know him, by her own design. She’d taken pains to avoid him, in fact. That hadn’t been too hard since he’d been across the country for the majority of their tentative arrangement. He seemed about as interested in the whole thing as she was.

  And that was another reason she’d never broached the subject with her father.

  “Then why do you have an issue with a business-oriented marriage where I’m concerned?”

  Because Craig Freeman could be put off. He was unchallenging. He was a nonentity. In some ways, it had been easier knowing that he was in the not-too-distant future. It took the pressure off her finding Mr. Right when she hardly had enough time to put on lipstick in the morning. Craig didn’t make her heart race or her body burn. Lazaro Marino did. And he would not be put off by anyone.

  Vanessa sucked in a sharp breath. “Before this goes any further, I need to know what this is about.”

  “Why is it that I can’t get business deals with your father’s cronies? Why is it that their businesses languish, and yet they sit in their clubs sipping brandy and smoking cigars, ignoring the downfall, rather than pursuing help?”

  “Because they’re a bunch of stubborn old men who are set in their ways,” she said. “Their business models are outdated, just as you’ve accused Pickett’s of being.”

  “Perhaps. And also because I am not worthy in their eyes. They would rather watch their companies crumble than ask someone like me, with my dirty blood, for help.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she said, even though she knew it was true. Those men would never stoop to taking a consultation from someone so far beneath them in station. That exclusivity was the source of their power, and they weren’t about to let it go, no matter how modernized the rest of the world had become.

  “It’s not. We both know that.”

  “And you think marrying me will fix that for you?”

  He chuckled. “I’m sure the son-in-law of Michael Pickett would be due some respect.”

  “If my father didn’t disown me for marrying you instead of the golden boy he’s selected for me,” she said.

  “Would he?”

  She paused for a moment, honestly wondering if he would. She’d been ready to take the chan
ce twelve years ago. More than ready to carve a new life for herself and Lazaro, to leave it all behind.

  That dream had ended quickly. Maddeningly, it tantalized her sometimes when she was in bed, on the edge between sleep and wakefulness. Stupid subconscious.

  Finally, she shook her head. “No. He wouldn’t. He has too much invested in me. And I own more stock than he does at this point. He can’t vote me out of my position, which would mean that if he did disown me he would be separating himself from the company, and he won’t do that.”

  “But if there is no company?” he asked.

  If there was no company, her father would never speak to her again. Her life, everything she had worked for for so long, would be meaningless. She would have nothing but her big, empty town house—if she could even afford to keep it—with her big, empty bedroom and her big, empty bed. The thought made her sick, made her stomach physically cramp.

  “It’s not an option,” she said. She refused to think about it. Refused to entertain the idea.

  Her relationship with her father was complicated. It wasn’t a happy, hugging sort of relationship, but he was all that she had, her only family. He was the one constant in her world. He had always cared for her, he had set her path in front of her and he had paid for her schooling to make sure his goals were met.

  And she’d done all she could to earn his approval, done what she could to help fill the void Thomas had left behind. The Pickett heir—the real Pickett heir—hadn’t lived to graduate from high school.

  It was up to her now. It wasn’t a responsibility she could simply shake off or ignore.

  “And can you risk that, Vanessa?”

  “No.” She choked on the word.

  “Then marry me.”

  “It’s crazy, you know that, right?”

  “More so than the arrangement you already have?”

  “Yes,” she fired back, brown eyes blazing. Lazaro’s gut tightened. Of course she would feel that way. He was beneath her. He had been a toy to her twelve years ago. Good enough to flirt with, to tease, but nothing more.

  What would people think? The look of horror on her face, the incredulity in her voice, was crystal clear in his mind, as though she had spoken it only a moment ago, instead of what amounted to a lifetime ago.

  He was the housekeeper’s son, and she was the princess of the castle. Years later, now that he had billions to his name and a reputation as one of the world’s savviest business minds, she still believed herself above him.

  Even as the anger coursed through him, he wanted her. Wanted her with the same burning desire he’d had for her when they were teenagers. Yes, he wanted the vital connections marrying her would provide. But at the moment, more than anything, he wanted her body. He wanted to finish what he had started twelve years ago. He wanted Vanessa, naked, willing, in his bed, crying out his name. His and no other man’s. He wanted to brand her as she had done to him with those kisses years ago.

  Vanessa’s lips on his, her delicate hands skimming over his skin—everything narrowed down to that. The broader goal was lost. There was nothing beyond lust. Simple, pure lust that had been with him since the first moment he’d seen her. A lust that had never released its hold on him. The need to satisfy it was suddenly driving, imperative.

  He closed his hands into fists, took in a deep breath.

  As much as he wanted that, he had to remember what his real goal was. There would be plenty of time to seduce Vanessa once they were married. It was about business now, and the rest would come later. Business, and dealing with Michael Pickett.

  What sweet justice it would be, marrying Vanessa. Having her replace her hallowed last name with his.

  How wonderful it would be to see Michael Pickett’s face when he discovered his only daughter would be marrying the man he had had beaten in a back alley for daring to touch his beloved princess. For daring to sully her with his hands. A laborer’s hands. An immigrant’s hands.

  Lazaro curled his fingers, forming fists.

  The other man’s fate—the fate of his much-loved business and that of his only child—was now Lazaro’s to decide.

  Just as his fate and his mother’s fate, had once been Michael Pickett’s to decide. And what a decision he’d made. He’d had them evicted. Had made sure they couldn’t find work in Boston and that what little they’d had was lost to them.

  Now the older man would know what it was like to feel desperate, to have to depend on the whims of someone else. What it was like to have his power stripped from him.

  Men like him didn’t deserve such absolute power.

  “I’m offering you a very simple solution, Vanessa.”

  “Oh, yes, simple. In what world is marriage the simple solution?”

  “In this world. Alliances are made by advantageous marriages, it happens every single day. You admitted it is already in your future.”

  “Nothing was finalized. I believe marriage should be about love.”

  She looked so sincere when she said it, brown eyes liquid in the dim light. What would Vanessa Pickett know about love? No more than he did.

  “Romanticizing an institution has always seemed pointless to me.”

  Vanessa swallowed hard, her heart thundering, the pulse in her neck fluttering. “You don’t seem the type to romanticize anything.”

  She knew that about him. Had known it the moment kissing had turned into more and he’d produced a condom rather than words of love. Ironic that her very first marriage proposal was from him, twelve years after she’d been hoping to hear it. Of course, there was still no mention of love.

  She’d been a romantic then, with all of her heart and not just a piece of it. And she’d learned, at Lazaro’s hands, that blind naïveté didn’t protect you from cold reality.

  And what she had now was cold reality at its finest. A dying business, one that was under her control, the very real danger of losing that control. Worse, of losing the entire company to bankruptcy along with any respect she’d managed to gain from her father. She would be the one to destroy a family legacy that had stood for one hundred years. She was so close to losing absolutely everything, having nothing but a cold, arranged marriage waiting for her when the dust settled.

  She also had an out in the form of Lazaro Marino. A deal with the devil, and it would only cost her soul. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration. But from where she was standing, it must look a lot that way. A dark, handsome devil, sure, but the devil nonetheless. And it was truly an exchange of one marriage of convenience for another.

  Of course, for better or for worse, the arrangement with Lazaro would never be cold.

  No. Impossible. She looked at him, broad shoulders, thickly muscled chest, trim waist and hips. He had a body most women would pay money to get their hands on, and the face of a fallen angel. Perfectly handsome, but with that hint of danger provided by his slightly bent nose and dark stubble. Stubble that would feel rough against her hands, her cheek …

  “It isn’t as though we would marry immediately,” he said, his deep voice breaking through her fantasy.

  “We wouldn’t?” A stupid response, as though she’d agreed to something when she hadn’t done any such thing.

  “No. It takes time to plan a wedding. Especially of the calibre I have in mind.”

  “Oh, you’ve thought about this?” For some reason that made her stomach tighten.

  “Not in a specific sense. But there are certain things expected from a society wedding.” His lips curved up into a smile. A smile that lacked humor and warmth. It made her shiver.

  She’d never wanted a huge wedding. She’d seen that circus one too many times. Had been a part of it for family friends. Those weddings were impersonal, affairs for the guests and not for the couple, and she’d always found them disingenuous. Although, she was certain, the choice would have been taken from her when the time came with Craig. A big, three ring circus of a wedding, befitting the alliance between the Picketts and the Freemans. The thought made her slig
htly dizzy. She hadn’t given a lot of thought to that eventual union, but all this wedding talk was forcing it to the forefront, making her face something she’d been dutifully ignoring for years.

  It had been a foolish thing, keeping that corner of her heart reserved for romantic fantasy. There had never been a hope for that in her future. Never. Lazaro’s appearance didn’t alter that, it just altered the groom. Craig, with his pale, angelic looks, was after her for the connections she would provide, and Lazaro, dark and dangerous, wanted the same. Neither man offered her love. Lazaro, at least, would help her hold on to Pickett Industries.

  “And what do you intend to do with me until the wedding?”

  He smiled again, and this time it touched his eyes, lighting a spark in their depths. Heat. She knew the look. She’d been on the receiving end of it before. And it was no less devastating to her at twenty-eight than it had been to her at sixteen.

  He extended his hand, his open palm cupping her cheek, and heat spread through her, making her knees feel shaky, her breasts heavy. How long had it been since she’d been so close to a man? And how long had it been since one had made her feel like this? The very few times she’d come into contact with Craig she hadn’t felt even the slightest twinge of electricity.

  “I’ll spend that time seducing my future wife,” he said, his voice husky, the remnants of his accent clinging to the syllables, making each word sound like a sensual caress.

  She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight and dry as though it had been lined with sandpaper. He was talking about seduction. Sex. It took her right back to that moment, the moment when he’d made it clear that sex was on his agenda for the night, his hand in his pocket, reaching for a condom. She’d been tempted then too, but … she’d loved him then. Or something. She’d been sixteen and sixteen-year-old girls were given to the dramatic when it came to matters of the heart.

  That romantic part of herself had always hoped against hope that the man she gave her body to would be a man who loved her desperately, a man she felt the same way about.

  It wasn’t that that made her want to hold back from Lazaro though. It was the fact that he seemed to command some sort of power over her body, that he could get her hot just by looking at her. He robbed her of all the steely control no other man had ever been able to crack.