Maisey Yates - Married On Paper

“Come with me,” he whispered, his voice rough.

He was leading. She was following. This felt like part of the dance too.

And yet it wasn’t.

He brought her into a small alcove just off the dance floor, partly secluded with swaths of fabric that cascaded from the ceiling to the floor.

“Lazaro …” She couldn’t think of anything else to say. Not when he was looking at her as though she was the only thing he could see.

He leaned in slightly and braced himself on the wall behind her, his hand resting by her head, his other arm wrapped around her waist. She was effectively trapped, and she didn’t mind at all.

She tilted her head slightly, hoping that he would take the hint and kiss her. Logic and self-preservation had no place in what was happening between them now. This was about feeling, desire, the kind of passion she’d tasted once twelve years ago and had been starving for every night since then.

He kissed her and she forgot everything—everything but the graze of rough stubble on her cheeks, the velvet slide of his tongue, the firm warmth of his lips. There was nothing else.

She kissed him back with everything she had, all of the pent-up desire that had lain dormant in her for so long. Desire for him.

He cupped her cheek for a moment before sliding his hand through her hair, weaving his fingers into the thick curls. He held her like that, anchored to him, his kiss giving and demanding at the same time. Too much and not enough.

She arched against him, needing to be closer to him, as close to him as she could possibly get. She needed his touch. His hands. Needed him.

He tilted his head and kissed the tender skin beneath her jaw, the curve of her neck, her shoulder. She shivered and he continued down, his tongue tracing the line of her collarbone. He lifted his hand and cupped her breast, teased her hardened nipple until she was panting, desperate, dying of the want that had taken over her body.

She gripped his shoulders, needing something to hold her to earth. He shifted his hand lower, palming her bottom, coupling it with a kiss to her collarbone. And then he was traveling down again, the tip of his tongue on the curve of her breast, exposed by the low neckline of her gown.

She opened her eyes for a moment and saw a flash of movement through the partly closed curtains. A reminder. Just enough to bring her back to reality.

“Lazaro, stop. We have to stop,” she said, her tongue thick and clumsy, unable to form words effectively.

“No, querida ,” he whispered, kissing her throat. “Not yet.”

“But … what … what will people think?”

Lazaro froze, all of the heat, the molten lust that had been roaring through his veins turning into ice.

What will people think?

He tightened his hold on her for a moment and then released her. “Don’t worry, no one here will think anything, Vanessa. No one here knows that you are the Pickett heiress and I’m your housekeeper’s bastard son.” He spat the words from his mouth, vile words that reflected the clash of emotions raging inside him.

She shook her head and took a step toward him, her hand outstretched. “Lazaro …”

“How will you bear the humiliation of being married to a man like me?” He stepped away from her, his stomach tight with disgust. “Although my money is good enough for you. My ring—” he reached out and took her hand, lifting it so that the diamond caught the light “—seems to be good enough for you.”

“Don’t say that. That’s not fair. I …”

“Don’t say what, Vanessa? Don’t tell you the truth? I’m good enough to marry, as long as I’m bailing you out and giving you a ring that ought to come with its own security detail? Good enough to screw around with in your father’s guesthouse as long as no one sees you slumming it with the boy who cuts the grass?”

“Lazaro …”

“You need me,” he said, his voice sounding like a growl, shocking even him. “Admit it.”

“I …”

Pain tore through him, made him want retribution. “Say it.”

“Or what? You’ll walk away? You’ll forget that you need me ?” She pulled away from him. “Because no matter how much you pretend to disdain me, my father, society, you want your place at the top. And you need me to get it.”

Angry brown eyes clashed with his, a tear, not one of sadness but of pure rage, spilled down her cheek. “I want to go now,” she said, her voice low.

He inclined his head. “Of course, princesa ,” he said, the term not meant as one of endearment.

She turned, walking ahead of him, pushing the door open.

It was warmer outside than it was in the club, the night air heavy and clinging, weighing him down, along with what felt like a rock in his gut. She was acting as though she’d been deeply wronged—offended by his touch, most likely. Because he was so beneath her. At least in public.

He curled his hands into fists, holding them so tight the tendons in his wrists ached.

The penthouse was only a couple of blocks away and Vanessa maintained her stony silence the entire way there. Once they were inside the lobby she kept a few paces in front of him, clearly determined not to look at him or acknowledge his presence.

Anger roared to life in him, replacing the unsettling guilt that had momentarily crept in. She wouldn’t have her way. Not now. He wasn’t a boy anymore, at the mercy of her father’s henchman. And she was no longer the princess in a tower, no longer so far above him she could dismiss him at will. She couldn’t just walk away from him.

“You will have to get over your aversion to being seen with me in public, mi amor ,” he said.

She stopped mid-stride and turned to face him, her dark eyes shimmering with heat. “Do I also have to get over my aversion to being groped in public? Does it somehow offend you that I want to maintain some level of public decency?”

“You maintain a high level of private decency as well, since you do not allow me in your bed.”

“You take it pretty personally when a woman says no to you. I remember that well.”

“No, what I take personally is a woman thinking I’m good enough to tease, but not good enough to take to her bed.”

She took a step toward him, her lips tightened into a line.

“Is that what you think that was? Me teasing you?” She shook her head. “I wasn’t thinking. If I was thinking I would never have let you touch me.”

“You think that’s the basis for a happy marriage?”

“I think maybe the basis for a happy marriage is not pursuing the union for business purposes, but then, I’m not really an expert.”

“That is a shame, as you have agreed to marry for the benefit of your company. And, as we’ve discussed, no one has forced you into this. And I will not be made a fool of. Not twice. Not by the same woman.”

“You think I made a fool of you, Lazaro?” Her voice was barely raised above a whisper, the force of her emotions making her words tremble. “You weren’t the one pressed up against the wall in a public place and … and you have the gall to be angry at me?”

He took a step toward her, softening his voice. “Is that what bothers you the most, Vanessa Pickett, that I make you lose all of that respectability that’s so important to you and your family?”

“No, what bothers me is that you think nothing of … of … humiliating me like that in public. Treating me like a thing, your possession that you can put your hands on whenever you want to.”

“Is that it? My touch humiliates you?”

Vanessa took a step toward him, her breasts rising and falling with each breath, her delicate hands curled into fists. Arousal and lust warred with anger for prime position inside him. His body still wanted her, was still craving her after that small taste he’d gotten back at the club.