The Tycoon's Red Hot Marriage Merger (5 page)

She mewled and lust slammed into his groin.
Hold back. Stand down. Caution.
His mind warred with the heat stirring through his blood. “You’re making it difficult to stop,” he warned, ending his delicious decadent tastes of her skin.

“I don’t want to stop. I want to get it over with.”

“Having sex should be fun, not a chore,” Marco said, stepping away from her and feigning nonchalance in an attempt to control his arousal.

“I see,” she said. “But we’re not talking about making love, we’re discussing having sex. And I’m more than ready.”

“You’re an inexperienced virgin and our agreement has been very sudden. If you’re not comfortable, it will be a chore for the rest of our lives,” he said. “I don’t want that kind of marriage.”

She tapped her foot. “This is about making sure I’m able to adequately satisfy your needs. Because I know you don’t actually care about my feelings.”

His chest tightened. Good god, why was she making this so difficult? He’d practiced restraint and she acted like he’d committed a cardinal sin. “We made a deal, but I’m not a monster,” he said. “I care about how you feel when I’m sleeping with you. Just because this marriage is a professional arrangement doesn’t mean we shouldn’t enjoy a lifetime of hot, sexy nights.”

Chapter Three

Emotion tangled in her throat, scraping it raw. Though she’d inadvertently set the events in motion that had brought her to this point, Cassandra had half-wished that a heart existed beneath Marco’s broad chest when he’d offered to give her time to grow accustomed to the idea of having sex. But he’d given her his assurances because he wanted a great lover. There would never be anything more between them.

No affection.

No tenderness.

No love.

Cassandra raised her chin. “Your lovemaking lessons better last a lot longer than your dancing moves,” she said flippantly. “Because I don’t want to spend a lifetime wondering if I made the wrong choice.”

She’d be his wife in the real world and learn to be his lover in the bedroom, but she should never expect anything else. Letting her emotions become involved would lead to misery should Marco ever discover her role in the regatta crash.

Marco raised a brow and shot her a very sexy look. “Oh, I promise that when the time is right, you’ll be more than satisfied.”

His voice was husky, raw with the effort of suppressing his sexual desire. The air between them felt thick with unspoken needs, wants, cravings. Every atom in her body vibrated for him. Yet he insisted on making her wait, temptation be damned.

“If we aren’t going to have sex, give me my glasses,” she said. “I need them to see.” Not really. She liked the way the over-sized frames made her feel: safe from the world’s scrutiny. And now they would shield her from Marco’s gleaming savage gaze.

“Of course,” he said, slipping them back onto her face, slowly edging them in place. He held his finger on the bridge, pressing ever so slightly.

She swallowed hard, flustered. Need and trepidation mingled and merged, confusing her. Would he kiss her again? He hadn’t given her more than a quick brush on the lips after they had finished repeating their vows.

Tension hummed beneath his surface calm. A muscle jumped along his jaw, and for a moment she thought he might change his mind. Instead, he tucked her hair behind her ear. “Sleep well,” he said. “See you in the morning.”

Pressure built inside her chest and she struggled against the urge to burst into anger that warred with a longing to beg him to stay. But before she could respond, or ask where he planned to spend the night, Marco stepped away and exited the master suite.

And then she was alone. Alone with her thoughts, and her calculations, and her multitude of conflicting feelings about the man she had married. For the life of her, despite her ability to solve any equation or complex computer diagnostic problem, she could not compute internal forces that propelled her husband.

Marco was as mysterious and unpredictable as the chaos string theories she’d studied at college. But he was a great deal more interesting to decipher.

Those calculations carried her to sleep. The following morning, three days after her proposal, Cassandra’s inner alarm clock jolted her out of her dreams of Marco and back to the reality of her marriage in name only. After going through her usual morning routine, Cassandra opened the French doors and walked onto the terrace.

A cool breeze rustled through the estate’s trees and kicked up her turquoise skirt’s short hem. In the distance, the ocean’s expanse, dark and blue and capped with white waves, beckoned. She had never returned to the sea after her older brother Justin had died, but Cassandra still drew comfort from the familiar scents and sounds.

Inhaling a deep breath, she turned and faced the huge, empty master bed. She felt like an anchor had dropped in her chest. Of all the wedding night scenarios she had imagined, waking up without her husband in the room had not been one.

She had not spent the night how she had expected, and her typical day’s routine had been upended. No work. No calculations. No reason to rise other than her blasted internal alarm clock that had her all dressed up and no place to go. Cassandra twisted away from the bed and returned her gaze to the picture perfect view outside. One that belied the very imperfect state of her marriage.

A painful lump balled in her throat and the ocean’s crashing waves blurred. She had traded computer science and engineering state of the art yachts for being a guest in Marco’s home. Nothing, not even the perfume she’d dabbed behind her ears this morning, was her own. Swallowing hard, Cassandra turned and padded back into the bedroom, then grabbed her computer bag.

Thirty minutes later, Cassandra peered at her laptop’s screen. She angled her elbow on the antique desktop and wiggled her foot, thinking. Suddenly, the solution snapped into place. Adrenaline rushed through her, quickening her pulse. If she recalibrated the pitch of the
Barracuda’s
mainsail, the regatta racer’s speed would increase by ten knots and give her catamaran the winning edge in the next Platinum Cup to be held five months later in July.

Excited, she began keying in the calculations and dimensions to her engineering program’s schematics. She heard the bedroom door open, and her fingers faltered.

Marco. She could feel his presence invade her dome of scientific solace. Cassandra snatched her glasses, zipped them onto her face, and stared at the computer screen again.

Her back turned, she continued typing in her modifications. She heard his feet cross the marble floor, and a shiver of anticipation threaded through her body.
Focus on the calculations. Don’t let him get the upper hand.
Cassandra refused to budge from her seat, using the well-worn comfort of the rhythm of work to suppress her hormone’s hallelujah chorus.

“Good morning,” Marco said when he reached the desk. “Did you sleep well?”

Cassandra pressed the alt-save buttons before she accidentally erased all her changes. “Not bad considering I spent the night alone,” she said.

“That will change soon enough.” He leaned over her and rested his hands on either side of her laptop. “Is this a new design?”

She could feel his heat, the sheer energy of his masculinity radiated into her skin. The tips of her fingers tingled and her pulse skipped several beats. Dear lord, the man was a walking human pheromone. All he had to do was be within a yard of her and she lost all ability to think rationally.

“It’s an ongoing project,” she said, closing the screen. Marco owned her, but he’d given her Nelson Industries. The
Barracuda
was hers. The catamaran’s chances to win the next regatta, along with her position as Chief Operating Officer of Nelson Industries, had been what she had traded love for when she’d spoken her wedding vows. “And none of your concern.”

“Everything about you is important to me.” Marco traced a line down the column of her neck. “Business can wait. I was about to have some breakfast. Care to join me?”

Tiny lightening strokes zipped along her nerve endings. Every erogenous zone she possessed, even some she hadn’t known existed until now, fired to life. Oh, but his touch was her undoing.

“Sure,” she said. “I’m famished.” Truthfully, the only thing she was hungry for was Marco. But Cassandra refused to give him any evidence of her craving. Spending her honeymoon night alone while he had slept who-knows-where had been humiliating enough.

“
Buenos
.” He pushed away from the desk, then slowly swiveled her office chair around. “My housekeeper would be disappointed if we didn’t eat the wedding brunch she prepared.”

She gazed directly at his torso. Marco’s black shirt stretched across his rock hard abs and his linen pants did nothing to hide the evidence of his impressive arousal. Cassandra’s mouth watered—hunger would do that to a girl—but she swallowed her reaction, then tipped her head up to take in Marco’s gorgeous face.

“I’m ready to head to the veranda when you move out of my way.” She injected her words with glacier ice. “After all, I wouldn’t want to upset Imelda. And I can see quite clearly that you’re starving, too.”

His eyes gleamed hot. “We’ll quench every appetite soon enough.”

She glanced down, then back up, quirking her lips into a half smile. “I can hardly wait.” A measure of satisfaction coursed through her when she saw the tic jump in his jawline.

Marco took her hand, rubbed the pad of his thumb over her empty ring finger, then frowned. “I believe when we were shopping in Vegas for your new wardrobe, I forgot two important items that I always want to see you wearing.”

Her heartbeat fluttered wildly in her wrist. It was like a thousand hummingbirds had taken flight inside her body and she had no inner net to contain them. “I understand. It’s not like we had a formal announcement, or engagement, or…” an emotional history to bond them.

“Shh.” He kissed each slender tapered finger and knuckle. “You’re my wife. After brunch, we’ll drive to Mar del Plata and fix this mistake.”

Cassandra stared into Marco’s emerald green eyes. Eyes that promised passion in their depths. Her skin tingled and the air between them felt thick with unspoken needs. And dreams that no longer mattered.

“Of course. We need to prove that I’m
yours
when we return to Key West in three weeks for the reception my parents are coordinating,” she said. Her mother had been shocked by the news of her hasty wedding to their family’s sworn enemy, but her father had been more than thrilled to take Marco’s money.

“You want our marriage to look legit.” She broke their contact, then stood. “Rings should do the trick.” Though they would never become a meaningful symbol of their marriage.

###

After they had gone to the city and purchased matching wedding bands, Cassandra thought Marco would take her straight back to the villa. Instead he’d driven along the winding coastal highway until they reached the heart of Mar del Plata’s bustling city.

They parked near the famous seaside playground’s beach. The shores reminded her of Key West where she’d learned to love and, ultimately, fear the water. The sun had begun to set in the west while reflecting off the yellow fishing boats returning from the ocean with their days’ catches of shrimp, sea bass, and mackerel.

Large luxurious hotels and apartments filled Mar del Plata. The sidewalks swelled with tourists taking advantage of the late afternoon warm weather and outdoor activities.

“Did you grow up here?” Cassandra asked after Marco helped her out of the car.

“I grew up everywhere,” he said, twisting his new wedding band round and round.

Her muscles tensed and knots formed at the base of her neck. Connecting with Marco was like trying to use an etch-a-sketch to calculate complex mathematical algorithms. Next to impossible. She gritted her teeth, determined to get him to open up.

“Honestly, Marco, how can you expect me to feel comfortable with you if you won’t even share a scrap of your life with me?” she asked. “Is this how we’re going to spend the rest of our married life together?”

“This is a professional agreement with sexy side benefits—that’s all,” he said.

She blew out a breath, then mentally calculated a complex series of convex triangles to calm her nerves before she lashed out. The resulting numbers steadied the rising pitch of her storming synapses.

“Right now I see zero sexy side benefits. And I refuse to be a cheap piece of arm candy for you to parade around the racing circuit without some kind of relationship,” she said. “We can’t have that if you don’t tell me something about yourself.” Regardless of what had brought her to this point, she yearned for more.

“I don’t like talking about the past,” he said. “It’s not part of our deal.”

Cassandra latched onto his words, and recalibrated her
getting to know Marco
strategy. “Part of our negotiation included making babies.” And oh how she wanted to get him to start that process. “How are we going to raise our children in a household where they feel loved and accepted if we can’t even have a normal conversation about life?” she pressed.