Untouched Until Her Ultra-Rich Husband

by Dani Collins

  Gabriel had enjoyed eavesdropping on the power struggle as Luli attempted to pry the location of the iron from the maid while the young woman had earnestly, politely and vehemently insisted she be allowed to do her job.

  “You’re uniquely qualified for this position. You know the vulnerabilities and will be creative and thorough in fixing them. When you know what you want, you have no problem going after it. You even stand up to me to get it. You’ll be fine.”

  “Yes, well, that’s the issue. I don’t want it.”

  “You don’t want this exceptionally good job I’m giving you.”

  “Giving,” she repeated. “So this is nepotism.”

  “No.” He took a firmer grip on his patience. “I just explained why I chose you.”

  “Do I get a choice? Is it an offer or an order?”

  “It’s an offer with a salary of a quarter million dollars attached to it.” Why was she fighting him? Did she not realize they would work together every day?

  “Oh, that does stink of nepotism.”

  “Call a headhunter.” He pointed at the telephone. “It’s competitive, not outrageous.”

  “You call a headhunter,” she muttered. “I can make twice that staying home with my feet up, waiting for my allowance to roll in.”

  He threw up his hands, truly baffled by this woman.

  “In Singapore, you said you were proving your skills to me,” he reminded her. “You have. You just proved them to a roomful of top-notch programmers. I’m offering you a job in this field and you’re refusing it?”

  “For how long, Gabriel?”

  The barb of sadness in her voice caught in his heart, pulling him up short.

  “Will I be able to finish before our marriage is over? Will you still want me here when we’re divorced? Will you trust me not to move on to some competitor with what I know? You don’t want me that deeply entwined in your livelihood. I know you don’t. That’s why you’ve spent every day since we met prying me out of it.”

  He squeezed the back of his neck. Had he thought that far ahead? Only insofar as to think that maybe, if enough incentives were offered, she would stay here. In his office, in his home, in his bed.

  “We could have a successful marriage, Luli.”

  “Provided I give you babies and never expect anything more of you than having my physical needs met. I have other needs, Gabriel.” Her soft voice and the quiet torment in her gaze were too much to face.

  He turned to the window.

  After a moment, her footsteps padded toward him. Her arms came around his waist and the weight of her head settled between his shoulder blades.

  “I’m always going to wonder who I’m supposed to be. Not the person my mother or Mae or you turned me into. The person I make of myself. I have to do that.”

  “By turning yourself into an object in front of cameras?”

  “Maybe. At least it would be my choice.”

  He looked at her hands folded across his middle, his ring bright on her finger. He could give her his heart or her freedom.

  He swallowed, picked up her hands and brought them to his mouth, kissing the inside of each wrist.

  “Do what you need to do, then,” he said, even though the words burned like acid through his torso. “I’ll find someone else.”

  “Thank you. Oh, shoot.” She drew back and brushed her fingers in the middle of his spine. “I got lipstick on your shirt. You’ll have to change it. Sorry.”

  He turned and looped his arms around her lower back, pulling her in again to ease the line of pain still burning down his center. “You know what people are going to think if I change my shirt after a private meeting with my wife in my office.”

  “That I threw my coffee at you?” Her lips tilted into the seductive smile that tightened his skin all over his body.

  She twined her arms around his neck, crushing her breasts to his chest, growing more self-assured in her feminine power by the day. He thrilled at this brazen side of her. It allowed him to unleash his appetites to the fullest, confident she would slow him down if he became too aggressive.

  He slid his hands under her ass and lifted, swelling with invincible strength. Her skirt rode up and she wrapped her thighs in a squeeze around his waist.

  He could have taken her to his sofa, but he took her to his desk. It wasn’t as comfortable, but as he pressed her onto her back against his blotter, and her earrings winked at him, he knew he would think of her every single time he sat here.

  It was foolish and sentimental and self-destructive to want her memory to infuse his private space, but he did. He wanted her everywhere. Her scent on his body, her long hairs on his sleeve, her teeth marks in his shoulder and her hot breath against his ear.

  He needed all these things because one day it would be all he had.

  That realization slowed him down.

  Much as he wanted to strip her naked and drive into her and make her his, he was suddenly gripped by a deeper need. One that demanded he take his time, immerse himself in every caress, wring the furthest reaches of pleasure from her with each kiss and tantalizing touch.

  He smoothed his lips across her nipples through her shirt, making her writhe, and made her turn her head so he could unpin her hair, then ran his fingers through the mass that made him crazy, every single time he came near her.

  He kissed her tenderly and smiled with satisfaction when she tried to urge him along, driving her tongue into his mouth and reaching for his belt.

  He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, how much pleasure he wanted to give her. Words tangled into a fiery knot in his throat while flames continued to lick inside his chest, branding her deep behind his breastbone where she would stay imprinted forever.

  He hurt. Deep inside, he ached with emptiness. The only way to assuage that ache was this. Touch her, bare her, hold her. Cover her and press into her and stay there, unmoving while he kissed her long and slow, drugging both of them with this potent magic they created.

  And when she quivered on the knife’s edge with him, when the borders of reality smudged and time ceased to exist, he gathered her up so they were eye to eye as the fire consumed them in a golden shimmer that, he knew, would bind him to her forever.

  * * *

  Three weeks later, with great excitement, Luli sat for a test shoot. Not wanting to spend Gabriel’s money, she gave students from the professor’s school an opportunity to build their own portfolio while starting hers. A handful of designers, stylists and photographers had given her a taste of the grueling work that was the inside view of modeling.

  The end result was a selection of photos from classic perfume ad fare to an avant-garde shot of her in smeared makeup with a roller still stuck in her hair and a tinfoil robe hanging off one shoulder.

  Gabriel didn’t say much beyond, “The clamor to represent you won’t have anything to do with me. You’re very photogenic.”

  She hadn’t expected him to gush, but she had hoped for more. A deep chasm had begun opening since the day they had made love in his office. He swore he wasn’t angry that she hadn’t taken the job he’d offered. He agreed that he would prefer to keep his business separate from her, now that Mae’s holdings had been absorbed into his own.

  Luli kept trying to bring them closer with lovemaking and it worked temporarily, but always made the separation afterward more painful than if they’d maintained their individuality in the first place.

  It was becoming clear to her that his prediction was true. She wanted his love and he couldn’t offer it. It was agony to be denied his heart and for that reason, she had to begin building the life she would have when their marriage was over. At least a demanding schedule of working away would give her some distance from the pain and provide an excuse for the inevitable publicity when the time came.

  “I’ve decided to take the job in Milan,” she
told him as they dressed to go to a Broadway premiere.

  She saw his hand check as he reached for a shirt on a hanger. He wore only a towel. His lean back was a study in animal beauty, flaring upward from his hips to wide shoulders and muscles that twisted as he pulled the shirt free.

  “I’ll leave Saturday morning so I’m well rested and ready to work on Monday.”

  Please tell me not to go, she silently pleaded. Tell me you can’t live without me.

  “You’re not flying commercial.”

  “First class. They’re paying for Marco to go with me.” Among Marco’s many talents, she had learned he also ensured her physical safety. Gabriel had never been a target for kidnapping or other threats, but given his position, he took precautions. She and Marco were becoming friends so she didn’t mind that he was her constant companion when Gabriel wasn’t with her.

  “Take the jet.”

  At a million dollars per nautical mile?

  “They’ve already made the arrangements. There’s no reason you should be out of pocket.”

  “I don’t care about the money.”

  “What do you care about?” she blurted, and regretted it immediately.

  Especially when he dragged in a breath that hissed.

  “What do you want me to say, Luli? You’ve put me in a no-win situation. If I ask you not to work, I’m holding you back. If I let you go, I’m abandoning you.”

  “It is a win for you, though,” she insisted with a spark of temper. “You didn’t want me in the first place. I’m leaving, giving you the solitude you prefer and you’re not even thanking me.” Her voice started to break.

  She walked out of the closet and strode down the hall to her room. She might sleep in his bed, but all her clothes were in here. Not even her dental floss had made it into his treasured private space.

  “I told you,” he said, following her to brace his arms in the open doorway of her room. “I told you this was how it would be.”

  “Yes, you tried to be so honorable and save me from my silly romantic notions that you might actually come to care for me.” She took a shaky breath and flipped her hair back behind her shoulder. “You’re right, okay? It is painful to have feelings for someone. No matter how loved you make me feel when we’re in bed, the pain comes back afterward when I remember you don’t. That’s why I’m leaving. And I’ll take every job they will throw at me to keep from coming back here and...wishing.”

  “Luli—” He hung his head.

  “Don’t worry about it, Gabriel. You can’t make someone love you. I accepted that a long time ago. But I do have to stop trying.” She swallowed. “I’d rather not go out if you don’t mind. I’m going to have a bath and an early night.” She locked herself into the bathroom.

  * * *

  He stirred, aching with arousal, and reached for her.

  She wasn’t here.

  Gabriel snapped awake and groaned like an injured animal, wondering how he was going to cope with even one more day of this. It had been six and he was dying.

  Withering.

  It wasn’t just sexual hunger, although he missed the physical release. Everything about the act. Everything about her. He missed her—the feel of her skin against his own, her weight on the mattress beside him, her smile across the table and her laughter echoing from far down a hall.

  You can’t make someone love you. But I do have to stop trying.

  The anguish that had gripped him as she said that had been nearly unbearable. He didn’t want her to stop trying. Did she think he didn’t notice when she stroked her fingers across his shoulders, simply because she was passing behind where he was seated? Or that she wore those damned earrings at the most ridiculous times, most certainly to get the best possible rise out of him? She flirted and cuddled and kept him on his toes.

  It was painful to have feelings for someone. He had always known that love hurt. But was he making both of them suffer just to prove he was right?

  He sure as hell hadn’t spared himself any pain by holding her off. She had acted like she was doing him a favor by leaving and he had tried to convince himself he didn’t want her to stay.

  But he did. He needed her. Like air and water and sunlight.

  Throwing off his covers, he picked up his phone, trying to think what he’d say to her if she answered. It was midmorning in Milan. She was probably already working.

  He tapped to wake the screen and read a text from Marco that stopped his heart.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  IT HAD ALREADY been an impossibly long day, but Luli dug deep and conjured a sultry expression, lips parted with invitation only a hair’s breadth from her fellow model’s. He was a gorgeous Italian whose smoky stare drifted toward Marco every time they took a break, but he made his passion for her seem real as he clutched her close and bent dominantly over her.

  “What the hell?”

  Gabriel’s voice jolted through the studio, halting the rapid click of the camera shutter. Her partner tightened his hold on her, helping her straighten and catch her balance. Then he angled her away from Gabriel as he strode toward them looking like he would take them both apart.

  “Sir!” Marco raced forward to intercept him.

  “Gabriel!” Luli extricated herself from the Italian’s hold. “What are you doing here?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Working. Obviously.”

  He gave the Italian a filthy look that suggested he didn’t care for her type of “work,” but only asked, “Why?”

  “What do you mean, why?”

  “Sir—” The photographer was taking a tone. Even worse, he was glaring at Luli as though he blamed her for the interruption.

  “I’m sorry—I texted him,” Marco said, holding up his hands. “This is my fault. I was worried,” he added in a gentle apology directed at Luli. Then he smiled placatingly at Gabriel. “They’re almost finished. We can wait outside.”

  “I’ll wait right here.” He crossed his arms and stood with his toes mere inches from the carpet of the set.

  Luli shouldn’t have been surprised Marco had told Gabriel that her mother had died. For years, she had set alerts to pick up her mother’s name, but yesterday’s had been the first in ages to ping a headline about her. Her death after a medical complication had been noted by the Venezuelan press because she had once been a renowned beauty, but details had been scant.

  Luli had mentioned it to Marco, though, and asked him to prepare a statement in the unlikely case the connection was discovered by an overzealous reporter. He had pointed out her contract allowed for family emergency and bereavement leave, but she was too early in this new career of hers to be anything but unrelentingly reliable.

  Besides, the news changed nothing.

  She should have realized Marco would warn Gabriel of the potential media storm. Had something leaked into the press? Was that why he was stomping in here, breathing fire?

  She couldn’t think about that right now. She had to do what she was paid to do.

  Thirty minutes later they wrapped. As she changed, she heard Gabriel ask Marco, “What the hell are they even selling with all that sex?”

  Marco cleared his throat. “The handbag on the chair.”

  The resounding silence that followed that statement told her what Gabriel thought of that.

  Marco apologized to her again when she rejoined them.

  “It’s fine. We both know who pays your salary.” She freed her hair from the collar of her light coat.

  “Mrs. Dean.” He put out a hand in a plea. “You were upset. I could see it even if the camera couldn’t.”

  And he thought she and Gabriel had a relationship that included endearments and a deeper caring than it did.

  “I’m fine,” she assured Marco with a faint smile. “Take the evening off. Enjoy the city.” Enjoy the Italian. />
  She went back to her hotel with Gabriel, the silence between them thick as gelatin.

  As the door closed behind him, Gabriel was the first to speak, asking tightly, “Why are you angry Marco told me?”

  “Why are you angry?” The hollow sensation in the base of her throat was spreading into her chest cavity, growing too big to suppress or ignore.

  “Because you didn’t tell me yourself. Why didn’t you?”

  Something broke inside her, sending a flood of anguished emotion through her. Not at the knowledge her mother was dead, but at the other knowledge that had struck like a blow when she had considered telling Gabriel.

  “I didn’t think you’d care.”

  He closed his eyes in a way that suggested she had run him through.

  “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty,” she muttered, biting her lip. “I’m not trying to make you feel anything.”

  “And yet I feel like hell,” he bit out. “She doesn’t deserve your grief, Luli.”

  “I know that.” She realized she was convulsively opening and shutting the clasp on her purse. She threw it into a chair.

  “And yet you still grieve.”

  “That’s why you’re angry? I can’t help how I feel, Gabriel!”

  “Neither can I! That’s why I’m angry. At myself. I knew immediately that you’d be hurting and I wasn’t here for you.”

  “You hurt me,” she reminded wildly, instantly plunged back into the despair of their last conversation.

  “I know that,” he thundered. “I stood there and saw that I was turning a knife in you exactly as you are turning one in me right now. I hate that we can do this to each other.”

  Her eyes grew wet. She turned away, thinking that she had known this was coming, but she couldn’t bear it. “Please don’t say it,” she begged, agonized.

  “Say what? That I love you? I do. I love you, Luli.”

  Her heart swerved. “What?”