Secrets Of The A-List

“You make me feel like I’m fifteen again,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

She took one of his big hands in hers. Her heart leaped to find that his fingers trembled as she lifted it and placed it over her breast.

“Mariella,” he murmured, and her name on his lips was beautiful. He leaned in and claimed her mouth again. As he did, his thumb grazed her sensitive nipple.

Her body grew heavy, and a moan rose in her throat. The noise—both blessed and damned—jolted her back to reality. She was on the verge of inviting a man who wasn’t her husband into her bed.

The lusty moan turned into a strangled cry as she wrenched herself away and rushed toward the dresser on the opposite wall, pulling up her bathing suit straps as she moved.

“Mariella,” he said again, and this time it was a plea.

“I can’t,” she said on a sob, fighting back tears. She would not cry. This was wrong. She was a married woman. Joe was Harrison’s best friend. It had to be the stress they were under, she told herself, although she knew it was a lie.

Pulling in a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and turned to face Joe. His tie was loosened and askew. Several buttons of his shirt were undone, the hem untucked where she’d yanked it from his suit pants. Even now the glimpse of his bare chest made her mouth go dry.

“I’m a horrible person,” she whispered and held up a hand as Joe took a step toward her. “Don’t,” she told him. “When you touch me, I forget everything except how I feel. I’m a married woman. What was I thinking?”

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving the ends sticking up at adorable angles that made her want to smooth her fingers over them. But it wasn’t her place. Joe Reynolds didn’t belong to her, and she sure as hell didn’t belong to him.

“You weren’t thinking,” he told her gently. “You said the word that describes this. You were feeling, Mariella. And following your heart.” His voice lowered as he added, “I know where my heart lies, and it’s with you.”

She shook her head, unwilling to admit the truth in his words. “That’s crazy. I love my husband, and he’s injured. He needs me more than ever.” He only continued to study her. “Did you hear me? I said I love him.”

“I know you do,” he answered after a moment, slowly buttoning his shirt. “But he doesn’t deserve you, sweetheart. He never did.”

Mariella sniffed. “Harrison does his best.” In truth, they still made love often. But as for passion...well, they weren’t newlyweds anymore.

Joe moved toward her slowly, as if approaching a caged animal. Mariella wasn’t sure whether to be moved by the care with which he treated her or offended that he thought her weak enough to need kid gloves.

“I don’t want to pressure you.” He reached for her hand, lifted her fingers to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on each knuckle. “The last thing I want is to cause you pain.”

“I know,” she assured him, her heart stammering at the reverence in his touch. “You’ve been my rock through all of this, Joe. You’re a good friend. You always have been.”

“I want to be there for you, Mariella.” He squeezed her fingers. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. You know that, right?”

“This has been an emotional time. I understand—”

“Do you?” he interrupted, his blue eyes piercing her with their intensity. “I’ve always loved you. Always wanted you.”

His declaration pounded against her head like a tidal wave. She tried to take a step away, but he held fast to her hand.

“My feelings can’t be a surprise. From the start—”

“I was with Harrison,” Mariella interrupted.

One side of Joe’s mouth quirked, not quite a smile. Something infinitely softer. Sadder. “Do you remember the first time Harrison and I met you?”

“Of course. I was out with my girlfriends. I couldn’t believe it when Harrison approached the group and singled me out.”

“You were wearing an aqua dress with a pleated skirt and a black belt. You were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”

Mariella laughed. “That dress was my absolute favorite. I can’t believe you remember it.”

“I remember everything about that night,” Joe said softly, “especially the fact that my best friend saw that I wanted the beautiful girl with the long, shiny hair and luminous brown eyes and made his move on her before I even got to the courage to say hello.”

“Joe.”

“I was shy and awkward with women.” He flashed a smile. “Some things never change. Harrison was always a ladies’ man. He had charm oozing from every pore.”

“Some things never change,” Mariella murmured.

“But he couldn’t get over the advantages I had because of my family and education. It became a sport for him to best me where he could.” He lifted her hand again and placed a tender kiss on the inside of her palm then released his grip on her. “You were something special. He and I both recognized it from the start.”

Mariella pressed her fingers to her chest, unable to hide her shock. “You’ve been his friend all these years.”

“Harrison Marshall can’t change who he is any more than a great white shark can stop its instinct to hunt,” Joe said with a shrug. “Anyone who knows your husband loves him despite his flaws. He’s like fire on a bitter-cold winter’s night, and it’s almost impossible to walk away from that kind of heat.”

“Yes,” she agreed before her gaze strayed to the bed with its rumpled covers. She’d had that comforter custom made in Italy five years ago when she’d been trying to reignite the spark in her marriage because she and Harrison become so busy with the business and rarely saw each other.

As if expensive bedding and Egyptian cotton sheets would be enough when they both continued to work nonstop creating their empire. She still loved her husband. He’d swept her off her feet when she’d been a girl of twenty-three, reeling from the heartbreak of her first love’s betrayal. But after thirty-two years, their marriage had begun to feel more like a business partnership than a true love match.

Joe massaged his jaw between his fingers, as if her admission of Harrison’s magnetism was a physical blow. “I apologize if I misread the situation. The last thing in the world I want is to hurt you. Already I—”

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” she assured him.

“I wish that were the case,” he whispered, taking several steps toward the door. He turned back to her, tucking in his shirt then straightening his cuffs. “The decision is yours to make, Mariella. I’ll be waiting. I always have been.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I can accept the truth of my feelings for you,” he answered. “Whether we remain friends or become lovers, I’ll still be here when you need me.”

“Oh, Joe.”

He smoothed a hand over his hair then opened the door and peered out. “I’m going to go before anyone sees us together. You know where to find me.”

Mariella watched as the door closed behind him. Her grip on the edge of the mahogany dresser was so tight her knuckles went white. She turned to study herself in the mirror and willed her breath to even out.

Adrenaline coursed through her, and her head reeled from acknowledging a passion she hadn’t felt for a man in years. It might make her a horrible person and a terrible wife, but she wanted Joe. Heaven help her, she needed to find a way to control her desire.

Her husband was in a coma. Their entire family remained vulnerable to the machinations of the Fixer and whatever power he or she might choose to wield against them. She forced herself to remember her place in this family—what was expected of her and the fact that weakness wasn’t an option. Not for Mariella Santiago-Marshall.

Nothing good would come of pursuing a relationship with Joe. He’d told her he would remain her friend no matter what she decided, and she intended to hold him to that promise. With one more glance at the mussed bed, she changed into one of the slim black sheath dresses she favored for work, reapplied lipstick from the gold tube that sat on her dresser and walked toward the door.

No one must ever guess what had almost happened here, and she couldn’t afford to let it happen again.

Chapter Two (#u532df281-b514-5b41-aa39-3605fb09e350)

Several hours later Mariella looked up from her computer, surprised to see the play of light and shadow spilling across the room that signaled the afternoon was beginning to wane.