Married on Paper: The Argentine's Price / The Inherited Bride / Marriage Made on Paper

“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 flash of movement pulled her focus away from the plate just in time for her to see Lazaro’s very nice-looking hands drop a very generous tip onto the table. She looked up then.

“That’s a nice tip.”

He shrugged and extended his hand to her. She looked at Claire, who was pretending to pay attention to her date, but who had one eye on them, then accepted his offered hand as she stood.

“Waiting tables is a thankless job,” Lazaro said. “I like to add a thank-you.”

“Oh.” She dropped her hand to her side and flexed her fingers, trying to erase the impression of his touch.

Lazaro didn’t really seem like a generous tipper. He didn’t seem generous at all. He’d smashed his way back into her life with all the destructive power of a tornado, and that, combined with his callous treatment of her all those years ago, the insults he’d hurled at her, made it hard for her to attach humanity to him.

He leaned in, his dark eyes glittering. “I’ve been there, Vanessa. Name the grunt job and I’ve had it. I escaped it. A lot of people in this position never will. They’ll work hard forever just to barely pay the bills. I haven’t forgotten what that feels like.”

“I … I hadn’t thought of it like that.” Vanessa had never known what it was like to worry about basic necessities. She’d never even had to worry about the frills in life. A new car at sixteen, vacations to exotic places, a luxury town house as a gift for her eighteenth birthday.

Even now, with Pickett Industries facing bankruptcy, her own position in life wasn’t jeopardized in that way. She wouldn’t have to worry about being homeless, keeping her car. She’d never had that worry.

Lazaro had.

“Of course you hadn’t,” he said, his tone dismissive.

She put her hand on his forearm and was shocked by the flash of heat that raced through her. She jerked her hand away. “What does that mean?”

“It means I wouldn’t have expected you to have such a far-reaching thought.”

“Are you calling me a snob?”

“Do you believe you aren’t one, Vanessa?”

The chill in his tone shocked her. The condemnation and anger. “I’m not.”

“Because you write checks to charities?”

“No, because … I’m not.” She’d never bought into the idea that money or status added to someone’s worth, but she did have to admit to herself that she didn’t often think too far out of the scope of her own reality either.

She hadn’t looked down on Lazaro for being poor. For doing maintenance on the estate to earn money. But neither had she imagined him working toward other things, being unsatisfied, having financial needs that weren’t really met by his position. It seemed silly now. Shortsighted.

Lazaro grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted her face up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “They’re waiting for me to kiss you now,” he said, his tone soft again.

“Who?” she asked, her heart dropping into her stomach.

“Our audience.”

She licked her lips, the breath shuddering from her body. Her stomach tightened in anticipation.

She swallowed. “Are you going to?”

He dipped his head slightly and her heart felt as though it was going into free fall. “No.”

He put his arm around her waist and drew her near to his body, his palm warm and enticing on her waist, his fingers stroking her gently.

“Why not?” she asked. “I mean … we’re putting on a … show.”

“I’m not going to kiss you, because this is more than just a date.” He raised his hand and brushed her hair behind her ear, his eyes locked with hers.

She wanted to laugh, because really, it wasn’t a date at all. Parts of her seemed to be forgetting that, her knees certainly had. They were weak now, trembling a little bit. But just because her body seemed to have forgotten didn’t mean her mind had.

This wasn’t a date. They barely knew each other. She had the sense that Lazaro didn’t like her very much, and considering all he’d done to her in the past few weeks, she really shouldn’t like him either.

“I’m not going to kiss you because you’re my future wife. And I’m showing my respect for you. Discretion,” he said softly.

Oh yes, discretion was law as far as her father was concerned. And anyone present who knew her would know that.

“G-good,” she said, allowing him to lead her out of the restaurant and into the cool night air. His limousine was waiting for them, idling at the curb.

He opened the door for her and helped her inside, his manners those of a perfect gentleman, the earlier tension absent now.

Vanessa leaned her head back on the seat.