“And revenge.”
“Yes, that too. I had never planned on seeking revenge …” “But the temptation was too great. I get that. I just don’t think I like being in the middle of it. But I’ve told my father that he isn’t to bar your entrance into the inner circles of society in any way. He’s to roll out the red carpet for you.” “And how did you get him to agree to that?” Vanessa looked down at her food again, unable to meet his searching gaze. “I threatened him. You would have been proud. I actually used the same threat you used on me. I told him we would dismantle Pickett Industries, brick by brick if necessary. Because what he did to you, what he’s done to me all of my life, it’s not right.”
“How do you feel now that you’ve stood up to him?” She sighed heavily and spun her glass in a slow circle on the table. “I felt free. For about ten minutes.” She looked at Lazaro again, then down at the diamond engagement ring and the thick platinum band next to it. “I’m tired. I think I’ll go to bed.”
She stood from the table, expecting him to stop her, to kiss her, demand she join him in bed on their wedding night. He did none of those things. He hardly flicked her a glance.
“Good night.”
Her throat tightened. “Good night.”
Vanessa felt empty. The bed felt empty. Everything did. She rolled onto her back and stared at the unfamiliar ceiling. No tiles to count. It was smooth and glossy, just like the rest of the house.
She wondered if Lazaro was in bed. If he was asleep.
It was their wedding night and it didn’t seem right for them to sleep separately. But then, they were married and it didn’t seem right for there to be this … distance between them.
She was the one who’d tried to back out of the agreement. She was the one who’d created the distance between them—to protect herself because she was afraid of her feelings for Lazaro. They were so strong, woven through her being, like roots of one plant overtaking the roots of another beneath the surface of the ground. Impossible to extricate either without destroying the delicate flower involved.
She loved him. All he had been, all he had become. The man with so much determination and brilliance. The man who was still hurting beneath it all. She sensed that hurt, mostly because she kept coming close to the wounds. She had a knack for saying the wrong things, things that brought those little flashes of pain into his eyes.
He didn’t feel like he was enough. She knew it now, recognized it, because it was what she felt about herself. Lazaro had married her for status, she had done it for Pickett. And none of it was that clean or simple now. Because if all of the external things were stripped away, Lazaro was the man she would want.
It was all the things, they were the deterrent now, not the draw.
She wanted just him. She wanted to forget. To let go of all of the pain and just feel alive. Feel what only he could make her feel.
She slid out of bed and padded over to the door, and out onto the mezzanine floor that overlooked the living area, the windows that stretched from the floor to the ceiling showing the lights of Boston shining in the inky night.
The city, at least, was home, even if the house didn’t feel like it.
She knocked on Lazaro’s bedroom door.
“Vanessa?” She heard his accented voice, sleepy and muffled through the bedroom door.
She pushed open the door and crossed to his bed, standing at the side of it. “I couldn’t sleep. And it’s our wedding night, and frankly, I didn’t imagine I would be spending my wedding night alone.”
“You said you were tired, was I meant to break down your door and demand you make love with me?” He was lying in the bed, a blanket pulled up over his lap, revealing his bare chest.
She tried to keep her eyes on his face and not glued to his amazing body. But it was hard. “No. But I … I don’t want to be alone.”
“Neither do I.” He drew back the covers and she slipped in beside him, her heart hammering.
She placed her hand delicately on his chest, excitement and arousal firing through her. “I missed you,” she said. “I missed this.”
This was the man she loved. Here, in bed, it brought him back. There was nothing else now. No revenge. No company. No status. It was everything he’d made her feel from the beginning, before so many things had gotten in the way.
“I did too,” he said, brushing her hair away from her face, trailing his fingertips down over her shoulder to her hand. He lifted it to his lips and kissed the sensitive skin of her palm.
Her heart ached. It was tempting to wonder what might have been. Where they would be now if they had never parted. Maybe poor. In an apartment somewhere with him mowing lawns and her taking wedding pictures. With children. Without all of the anger and the trappings of life that they seemed so tangled up in.
With love.
She closed her eyes, fought the tears that were mounting. She wasn’t living in a fantasy. Right now, this was her reality, and she meant to feel all of it.
He pressed his lips to hers, his kiss urgent, his hands roaming over her curves, slow and firm, his movements sure and expert. “I will never tire of this,” he said against her lips. “Of you.”
Her heart burned in her chest, pain lancing her. He would tire of her. She was a status symbol, the ultimate I-told-you-so. He had been told he couldn’t have her, and Lazaro wasn’t a man who liked to be told no. Beyond that, there was nothing unique about her. He’d wanted to select a society bride and she had been available, and had come with the added perk of vengeance.
She believed him when he said he hadn’t been planning revenge for the entirety of the past twelve years, but she also knew that she served to satisfy a wrong that had been committed against him. And in his place, she wasn’t entirely certain she wouldn’t have done the same thing.
She blocked out the thoughts that were flooding her mind, increasing the flow of pain to her chest. She focused only on Lazaro’s hands, his lips, all the amazing things he could make her body feel. She ignored the pain gushing from her heart with every beat.
“It’s convenient that you don’t wear pajamas to bed,” she said, sliding her hand over his washboard-flat abs and down to where he was hard and ready for her.
He tilted his head back, and even in the dark, she could see his expression, one of pure pleasure. It filled her with feminine pride to know she had the power to make him feel that way.
“More than convenient,” he said, his voice strained.
“I want to try something.”
She moved down his body, flicked her tongue over the head of his erection.
Air hissed hard through his teeth and he wove his fingers through her hair, holding on to her tightly while she explored him, taking pleasure in giving him pleasure.
His thighs were tight beneath her hands, his muscles starting to shake as she took him fully into her mouth.
“Vanessa, someday we’ll do it this way … but now … now I need you.”
The words were broken, strained, and she understood exactly what he meant, because she needed him too. She’d been without him for too long, aching and lonely. To the outside world, she was only the part that she played. But Lazaro knew the woman beneath.
Having one person in the world who knew, truly knew, what she wanted, what made her happy, had made her wonder how she’d ever lived without that. And being without him had been so isolating. She’d felt cut off from everyone, even more than she normally did. She’d felt trapped inside of herself.
She’d been squeezed into a box all of her life, trying so hard to be who she was supposed to be. Not now. Not with him.
Here and now, she was free.
She pushed herself up and positioned herself over him, leaning in to kiss his lips, her palms on his chest, his heart raging beneath them. He was watching her, not giving instruction, just watching and waiting. And she knew that she was in control now.
She smiled and changed her position slightly, bringing the head of his erection against the entra
nce to her body, slick and so very ready for him. He helped her by guiding himself to the right place and she sank onto him slowly, sighing as he filled her completely.
She locked eyes with him as she moved over him, finding her rhythm slowly, awkwardly at first. Lazaro gripped her hips and urged her on, his words alternating between sweet and explicit, encouraging her.
She could feel her climax building within her, could feel it building with each thrust, could feel, as Lazaro’s muscles tensed and shook, that he was close too.
He thrust up into her and pushed her over the edge, her orgasm moving through her like a crescendo, building as it flowed through her body.
“Lazaro.” She gripped his shoulders hard, her nails digging into his skin.
He groaned harshly as he found his own pleasure and Vanessa collapsed against him, her cheek resting on his sweat-slicked chest, his heart pounding hard beneath her ear, evidence of what she’d done to him. To them.
She wished she knew what it had meant to him. What he felt. It was frightening, being connected with someone physically and feeling so blocked out emotionally. Feeling alone.
Her eyes filled with tears and one escaped, sliding down her nose and onto Lazaro’s chest. He tightened his hold on her and kissed her hair.
Vanessa closed her eyes, trying to focus on the sweet languor that was making her limbs feel heavy, that was bringing her closer to sleep.
Anything to dull the ache in her chest.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LAZARO couldn’t erase the impression of the tear on his chest; it was as though it had burned into his skin, through to his heart. He felt weighted down by it, by the unhappiness it represented. Vanessa’s unhappiness.
In the days since, she’d spent every night in his bed, making love to him with an abandon that blew his mind each and every time. The passion between them was explosive, but afterwards she seemed to retreat, to fold in on herself and move away from him. He hadn’t seen her tears since, but he wondered if they were still there.
He had never thought it possible, but he wanted to hold her after they made love. He wanted to ask what she was thinking. To tell her his thoughts, to pour himself out to her. He had never felt that need, had never understood it.
But he needed it with Vanessa. Needed to find some way to feel close to her. To make her happy. He could make her happy. He could give her everything she desired. He would make her happy.
He would do whatever it took. He would buy her her own studio, her own gallery to display her work. Take her to any location she wanted to photograph. Whatever she could possibly want to have, he could buy for her. Money was no object.
She’d been enjoying her classes, and had been cutting back on hours at Pickett while the board worked on finding a replacement they could all agree upon. In some ways, she was more relaxed than he’d seen her. But sometimes … sometimes he saw a deep sadness in her eyes that tore at his gut. And with that pain came a sense of helplessness. He had given her everything he knew to give, and he didn’t know another way to make her happy.
He pushed the thought to the side and headed upstairs, hoping he could entice Vanessa into bed for the afternoon. Or, if not that, maybe entice a smile from her.
Her bedroom door was partway opened and he let himself in. Vanessa was sitting at her computer, leaning in, examining images on the screen.
“Did you get some good shots?” he asked.
“I did.” She turned to face him and he felt as if he’d been punched in the chest. Her smile made him weak and as though he could move the earth if he had to, all at once. “We’re doing a mini exhibition at the end of the class. A lot of the technical things I knew already, but I love the way the teacher talks about melding art and technique. It’s all so fascinating.”
“You love it,” he said, looking at the way her eyes caught fire when she spoke. He would chase the happiness he saw in her eyes now. Would give her whatever she needed to made her smile like that.
“I really do.” The light in her eyes turned impish. “Hey, we’re supposed to do live subjects this week.”
“I have a friend who has a dog. He might be willing to help.”
The corners of her mouth turned up. “No, I want to take your picture.”
“Wanting and having are two very different things.”
“Lazaro, please?” The look of sweet supplication on her face undid him entirely. He couldn’t say no to her, not when the idea made her so … happy. She truly looked happy now, not because she was smiling, but because of what he saw reflecting in her eyes. He hadn’t seen her look that way since Buenos Aires.
“Where?” he asked, indulging her because there was nothing else he could do.
“The bed.”
“No, Vanessa.”
She walked to him and pressed a kiss to his cheek, her fingers working at the buttons on his shirt. The flood of desire was instant, unstoppable.
“I just want you to look relaxed,” she said. “You always look relaxed in the morning, right when you wake up.”
“There are other times I look relaxed.”
She laughed. “No, there really aren’t.”
She gripped the lapels of his shirt and tugged and he went willingly, allowing her to bring him down onto the bed. He gripped her hips and held her to him, kissing her, tasting her. Just being with her. She was happy with him. She wasn’t acting as though he was her jailer.
Aren’t you?
He gritted his teeth and banished the thought, focusing instead on the slide of her tongue, the scent of her body, the way her hands moved over him.
She pulled away from him and got off the bed, going to her desk for her camera. She clicked off a succession of shots.
“What is it you want me to do?” A male model he was not.
“Just look at me.”
How could he do anything else? With her glossy brown curls loose and mussed, her cheeks flushed with the same arousal that was pounding through him. Those lips, full and pink, and her body … so perfect. Made for him.
She stopped and lowered the camera, looking at the screen, her lips parting. “Wow. Can you … can you look away now?”
He did, tearing his focus from her one of the harder things he’d ever attempted. He heard the click of the shutter and turned back to her.
“Come here,” he said.
He didn’t have to ask twice. She came willingly, camera in hand. He took it from her and used the viewfinder screen on the back, taking a picture of her. “Fair is fair,” he said.
She smiled, one corner of her mouth turning up higher than the other. It made her look wicked and very, very tempting. He took the shot, capturing it forever. The look that spoke of her desire, and all the naughty things she was thinking of.
“I think you’re done now,” she said, kissing his neck.
“With the camera, yes. With you? Not nearly.”
His heart pounded fiercely as he lifted her shirt over her head, exposing her breasts to his gaze. She was so beautiful, everything he had ever desired and so much more. Things he had never known to want.
He shrugged his shirt off the rest of the way and made quick work of the rest of his clothes. He always wanted to spend hours touching and tasting her, to lavish her with every sort of pleasure his mind could conjure up. But when he started uncovering her body, inch by delicious inch, impatience seemed to overtake him.
He tugged her jeans and her delicate, barely-there panties down her thighs and tossed them to the floor. “Now I’d like the camera back,” he said.
Pink color suffused her cheeks. “No way.”
“Someday.”
She shook her head and he leaned in and captured her lips, pulling her up so that she was sitting on his lap, her thighs draped over his. He pressed a kiss to her throat, her breasts, his hands moving over her elegant curves, her waist, her hips.
“I want to capture this perfection forever,” he said.
He urged her up, positioning himself at the entrance o
f her body, and she accepted, took him in on a sigh of pleasure.
He watched her face as she moved over him, the way her lips parted, the way a heavy flush of color spread over her skin as she neared her climax. How she squeezed her eyes tight, and grabbed his shoulders as her orgasm started to take her. Every detail seemed important. Every nuance of who she was and what gave her pleasure.
He wanted to give her everything, to be everything she needed.
And then he was too caught in the grip of his own pleasure to think of anything else. He let himself go over the edge, let his release steal everything from his mind, let it break through the walls surrounding his heart so that he felt everything, truly felt it.
Sex had always been something he’d enjoyed at a distance, pleasure he’d let his body take while his emotions stayed unaffected.
Not now. Not with Vanessa. Never with her. From the first moment she had put a crack in his defenses, and this time, the walls crumbled down. He felt raw, exposed, naked and vulnerable to the kind of pain that intense emotion promised to bring.
And yet, he couldn’t stop the flow, wouldn’t if he had the power.
He held her after, her silken hair spread over his chest, her breath hot against his neck as she slept off the post love-making lethargy.
He knew how to bring her pleasure. He could make her happy.
Except he would always be the man who’d had to buy her to make her his wife. Who’d had to threaten her down the aisle. She was here for what he had, not who he was. And he was a fool to have believed otherwise, even for a moment.
The pain he’d cleared a path for began to flood him. Overtake him.
She was growing now, changing what she did, who she was. And he had clipped her wings. He was everything he had always despised. A man who used people. A man who treated everyone like steps, there to be trod upon as he made his way to the top.
But she was his wife. He tightened his grip on her. She was his. He needed her, like air.
He loved her.
Vanessa noticed a change in Lazaro after their afternoon photo session. He seemed distant. Cold. The only time he warmed for her was in bed at night, and then he was on fire. The flames of their passion were enough to consume both of them for a moment, to make the reality of their situation fade away.
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