So she was aiming for cool and distant. She could do that. She had plenty of practice being treated with cool distance; she ought to be able to dish a little bit out.
Lazaro got out of the limo and opened the trunk, retrieving their bags without waiting for the driver or for aid from one of the apartment building’s employees.
She couldn’t help but admire the grace in his movements, the easy strength. Even angry—and he was angry with her, that much was obvious—he was the single most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. Deep bronze skin, square jaw—which he was clenching tightly. He always did that when he was annoyed with her.
“You’re going to get TMJ,” she blurted, following him into the building.
“Que?”
“TMJ. You can get it from grinding your teeth. There was a girl at school who had to wear a mouth guard to stop her from doing it.”
A smile curved his lips and a ridiculous, happy, fluttering sensation assaulted her. “Perhaps you should just endeavor to be less of a cause of stress.”
She huffed out a laugh. “I stress you out, Lazaro? Really?”
He stopped walking and turned to face her, the look on his face intense. And for a second, she forgot that breathing was important. Because nothing seemed more important, more compelling, than what was happening between herself and Lazaro.
“Maybe stress is the wrong word.”
Vanessa leaned back slightly and her shoulders connected with the wall. “It is?”
“But I am having trouble sleeping.”
“Why is that?”
“Because every night since you came to me at the museum I have stayed awake. Wanting you. In my arms. In my bed.”
The need to kiss him again was unbearable. It was hard to remember why she was fighting her attraction for him, especially when sleeping with him was inevitable.
A thrill shot through her system when she realized that fully, for the first time. It was a matter of when, not if, and having it suddenly seem real made the distance between Lazaro and herself seem that much smaller.
He released his hold on one of the bags and let it drop to the carpeted floor of the lobby area. He brushed his thumb over her lower lip, an action that was becoming familiar to her. Maybe familiar was the wrong word, because each time he touched her like that it made her knees weaken.
She flicked the tip of her tongue to his finger, curiosity and desire mixing together to create a potent temptation she couldn’t resist. His body shuddered, the movement running through every strong inch of him. She leaned her head back against the wall, pulling away from him. But he was still close. So close it wouldn’t take a very big action for him to close the distance between them and take her in his arms. To kiss her again as he’d done in her office. As he’d done in the guesthouse.
“Oh, yes, Vanessa, I very much look forward to getting to know you better this week.” He picked up the suitcase again and turned away from her, the spell that had descended over her breaking.
He was playing with her. Teasing her. Proving that at any moment he could call up that desire in her that was so strong, so close to the surface.
If he kept behaving like that, it wouldn’t be hard to keep her emotional distance from him. Not hard at all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“WHAT’S this?”
Lazaro flicked her an uninterested look from his position at the sleek penthouse bar. “I had some things sent ahead for you.”
A lot of things. Dresses, a swimsuit … the large armoire had been stocked with items, as had the freestanding vanity in the massive bathroom that was just off her expansive bedroom. But that wasn’t what caught her eye. “This,” she said again, picking up a black camera bag that was positioned in the middle of the sumptuous four-poster bed, almost afraid to open it.
She peered through the open door of her bedroom and out into the spacious living area.
Lazaro waved his hand in a dismissive manner. “You mentioned you liked taking pictures.”
Her heart thundered hard in her head, and she felt dizzy. Overwhelmed. She ran her fingers along the edge of the bag. It was very high-quality heavy canvas sewn with thick nylon thread.
She grasped the zipper and pulled it open. Her hands shook as she pulled the camera out. It wasn’t just a camera. It was lenses and filters and just about every other accessory she could think of. Much more than she would ever need to take pictures as a hobby.
She walked out of her room and into the living room, stepping up the marble steps into the bar area.
She felt short of breath as she turned the camera over in her hands, her fingers sliding over the slick black casing. Her body felt strange, hollow.
“Lazaro, why … why did you do this for me?”
He moved around to the other side of the bar, drink in hand. “Why not? You said you liked to take pictures. You were doing it with your phone and I thought you might want a real camera. Especially as I knew you would want pictures of Buenos Aires.”
“I do … I was … I was so wishing I could capture it all forever while we were driving from the airport and … you knew.”
He shrugged. “It isn’t a big deal. Money is nothing to me.”
“This is more than money.”
“It’s not,” he said, his focus on the city skyline beyond the large window that extended the length of the living area.
“But I just don’t understand why you went to the trouble to …”
“You’re going to be my wife, Vanessa,” he said, cutting her off. “I don’t want you to be miserable. Do you think I mean to keep you as my captive and make you pay penance for the rest of your life? I have no interest in that.”
“I hadn’t really given it a lot of thought.”
That he intended to make her happy was an entirely foreign concept. It wasn’t that she’d imagined he wanted her to be miserable, it was just that she didn’t think he’d cared one way or the other.
“Really?” he asked, his tone dry.
“I’ve just been trying to get through the day-to-day stuff. Not only since you decided to play a little game of Russian roulette with my life, before that too. I’ve just been trying to get by.”
“I have a lot of experience in just trying to get by,” he said slowly.
“It’s not fun.”
“No, it’s not.” He looked at her, his dark eyes veiling his emotions, but she felt that his eyes were able to see into her, to read her thoughts. “It begs the question, why do you choose to do it?”
“I don’t. Not really.”
“You do.”
“Fine, maybe. I choose to do it because as I said before, it isn’t just me. It’s my family. It’s the inheritance for all my—our children.”
“You could take an inactive role.”
“It’s not the same.”
“No, it would save you all that money you spend on antacids,” he said, his voice flat.
“It doesn’t come naturally to me, I’ll admit that. I took all the classes, I got really good grades, in fact, but a classroom isn’t the real world. I don’t have that extra thing that takes someone from good to great.”
He took a long sip of his drink and walked back to the bar, putting both