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There was no picture of the old man who’d raised him. The soccer posters—vintage ones that his old man had collected—were no longer on the walls. She’d taken everything, that heartless witch. Everything!
“This is your father’s office?” Virginia watched him, and the pity in her eyes made him desperate to eliminate it.
“Not anymore.” He smiled tightly, snatching up her hand. “Come on, let’s go. The office staff is coming in later.”
He escorted her outside. Thinking of how it was too late for his father and him—but maybe not for hers. Marcos’s old man had not been a gambler, but his quest for a woman had trampled his own son.
It seemed unfair a child should sacrifice their happiness for a parent. Marcos had not been willing. He’d never accept as a stepmother a woman who’d months before been his lover, never accept as a stepmother a woman who was so obviously playing his father for a fool. After numerous heated arguments where Carlos Allende refused to admit his son’s view as true, Marcos had packed his bags and left. But Virginia?
When her father fell into that dark gambling pit once more, what was this generous, loyal creature going to do? And what would he be willing to do to help her?
She loved Mexico.
There was something deliciously decadent about the time they spent during the following days poking around little shops, eating in restaurants, walking the city.
This afternoon, as Virginia’s heels hit the marbled floors of the awe-inspiring MARCO museum, she drew in a deep, reverent breath. This was a luxury she’d never allowed herself before. She’d rarely allowed herself outings to relax or to stimulate the mind; she’d always been so consumed by worry.
Now she wove through the paintings on exhibit, feeling Marcos’s presence next to her, and felt like she’d stepped into an alternate reality.
Every painting that caught her eye, every sculpture she viewed with the eyes of a woman who had suddenly acquired sight. And hearing. And touch. The colors were vibrant, and the themes were all passionate. Even death seemed passionate.
At night, Marcos took her out to eat in a small café just blocks away from the city plaza. After salad, tacos and fries, they walked arm-in-arm through the throng of people.
She’d never felt so safe.
She was in a dangerous city, surrounded by a language she did not understand and among unique, intriguing people, and she felt utterly safe. Her world felt so distant. Her father’s debts, the threats, the fact that things could get worse. Nothing mattered when these long, sinewy, rock-hard arms were around her.
She felt, for the first time in her life, protected. Secure.
During their ride back to the hotel, she caught Marcos watching her with those eyes and that knowing smile, and a sneaky little voice whispered to her. It accompanied them to their rooms, nestling somewhere deep inside her.
This is as real as real gets, Virginia Hollis. Can you make him see it?
No, she doubted that she could. He viewed the world with the eyes of a man. While she, with those of a woman.
As she struggled to tame her welling emotions, Marcos grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tipped her head back. “Who does he gamble with? Do you know?”
It took a moment for her to grasp his train of thought. She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Marcos hadn’t dropped the subject of her father for days. It was as though he were intent on avoiding the topic of his own parent and was focusing instead on fixing the troubles of hers.
Shrugging off his shirt, his eyes held hers in the lamplight, his voice a mellow rumble. “You said his gambling put you in this position. In that bed right behind you. My bed. Did you mean it?”
She considered the question at length, and though she’d needed to save her father no matter what, she also softly admitted, as she pulled off her short-sleeved sweater, “I think I brought myself here.”
She tossed her sweater aside, then her bra. Even in the flickering shadows, she caught the tightening flex of his jaw and throat. That her nakedness affected him made her smile and move close to him. Her palms hit the smooth velvet of his chest and her fingers rubbed upward. “What do you say about that, Mr. Allende?” she whispered.
With slow deliberation, he turned his head toward hers. As his fingers ventured in a languorous caress up her back, his mouth grazed her cheek and his sweet, hot breath coasted across her skin. “I say you’re the sexiest little thing I’ve ever seen. Miss Hollis. And I want you to promise me—whatever happens between us, you’re coming to me if your father’s ever again in trouble.”
“No, Marcos.”
“Yes. You are. I’d make you give me your word you’ll not pay debts that aren’t yours, but I know that’d be unfair to ask of you. You feel responsible for him, I respect that. Now please understand I feel responsible for you.”
Her toes curled at the proprietary gleam in his eyes. “But you’re not.”
“You’re my employee.”
“You have thousands of employees.”
