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Her hands went damp and she discreetly wiped them at her sides. “Lover.” When his long steps brought him over to her, she instinctively backed away until her calves hit a small ottoman.
Unperturbed, Marcos headed over to the bookshelf, his strides sure and unhurried. “Would you be interested in doing this for me?”
Her head whizzed with unwelcome, naughty thoughts. Thoughts of Mexico and Marcos. Martinis and Marcos. Mariachis and Marcos. “Yes, definitely.” But what exactly did he mean by pretend? “So what would you expect of me, for how long?” An unprecedented thrill was trickling along her veins.
He rummaged through the books, moving tome after tome. “A week as my escort in Monterrey, and perhaps some work after hours until I’m able to close. I’ll be sure to handle your…little problem.”
“That’s all?”
He shot her a look of incredulity. “That’s not enough?”
She just smiled. And waited.
And watched.
The muscles under his shirt flexed as he reached the top shelf and pulled out a huge leather volume.
“Maybe your company at the Fintech dinner?” he continued, winged eyebrows flying up. “Would you mind? Going with me?”
She fiddled with her pearls, unable to stop fidgeting. “You… I can always arrange a date for you.”
His lips curved upward as he waved the heavy book in her line of vision as easily as if it were a mere piece of pape
r. “I don’t want a date, Miss Hollis. Here. You can take this—a bit about Monterrey, if you’d like.” He set it on the ottoman. He had a lovely, lazy kind of smile, and she felt it curl her toes.
“I feel like I’m robbing you blind,” she said, lifting the shiny book.
He paused in the middle of the room and stared at her with his deep gypsy eyes. “If I allowed it, it wouldn’t be robbery, would it.”
She saw his cool, brief smile and flattened the book tight against her breasts when they pricked. Traitors. But he’d smiled three times tonight. Three. Or more? Three or more just had to be a record.
“You’re an asset to my company,” he continued in an unnaturally husky voice, stalking back around the desk. “A week of your time is valuable to me. You’re hard-working, smart. Loyal. You’ve gained my trust, Virginia, and my admiration—both difficult feats.”
A feathery sensation coursed along her skin. She was certain he used that same self-assured tone in his meetings, but she wondered if it had the same thrilling effect on the members of his board.
When she couldn’t seem to find anything useful to do other than ogle stupidly, she automatically did what she always did to cure herself. She set the book aside and began arranging the papers at the edge of his desk—from a messy pile to a neat pile. “T-thank you for the compliments. I enjoy working at Fintech very much. And for you…of course. Which is why I don’t want to jeopardize my position.”
She continued arranging, aware that he was doing nothing—nothing—but towering a few feet away and watching her. Like he did in the office sometimes. He would stop what he was doing and watch with those black, exciting eyes.
“What will we say at the office?” she rambled.
Gossip could be ruthless at Fintech. To think Lindsay or Mrs. Fuller might believe she’d done something un-professional to land a business trip with Marcos gripped her with unease.
When Marcos didn’t reply, she looked up and caught the wicked sparkle in his eyes. She had the strangest sensation that he’d been staring at her bottom. “We will say that I ordered you to accompany me, of course. You are my assistant, after all.”
His brows drew together and he peered at her hard, as though daring her to argue with him.
But a pang struck her right where it hurt; she knew she could never be more than an assistant to him. He was Marcos Allende. He could be Zeus himself, he was so unattainable.
Virginia was dreaming if she wanted more than a seat outside his office. Dreaming if she thought the desire in his eyes was for her. Dreaming to think that, even if it were, he’d do something about it and she’d dare let him.
No. She could not, would not allow herself to continue harboring those foolish nightly fantasies about him. The daily ones had to go, too. It was hopeless, and it was hurtful, and it was stupid. He was offering her an assignment.
When the pile couldn’t be a more perfect tower, she straightened it with as much dignity as she could muster. “I’d be happy to be your escort.”
He nodded slowly. “Good. Great. Excellent.” His voice was strangely terse, so utterly rich it seemed to sink into her body until it pulsed inside of her. “I knew we’d come to an agreement, then.”
Dealing with a tumult of emotions without betraying herself proved difficult. Excitement warred with worry, gratitude with desire.
