The Tycoon's Red Hot Marriage Merger (6 page)

“You want to talk about
life
? Fine. But leave my past out of it. Tell me about yours,” he demanded, stopping in front of a souvenir shop. “What was it like to grow up blue blood royalty of Key West?”

Her stomach hollowed. Marco’s question hung in the air between them, challenging Cassandra. How could she explain her life when he clearly had her pegged as a spoiled society girl?

People scooted around them while Cassandra considered her options. She had been an outcast in so many ways. Yet, she had her family name to guarantee her place whether or not people wanted her there.

She focused on his silver chain and the St. Brendan’s pendant resting just below his throat. Though far from religious, inwardly Cassandra asked the Patron Saint of sailors and mariners to help her navigate her way to telling a piece of the truth. “You want to know what it was like to be in the regatta world? I can tell you in one word.” Cassandra resumed her progress along the boardwalk. “Lonely.”

“
Lonely
?” he asked. “How could you be lonely when you had the world at your beck and call? Family. Friends. Money. Acceptance.”

She shrugged. “You of all people should know that boatloads of money can’t buy everything. Especially not friends. I spent a lot of nights hiding from the other kids because they teased me whenever my brother wasn’t around to protect me.” How many days had she endured their taunts on the playground and in her prep school? She was a math whiz, but even she had lost count of the insults and jibes. Only her brother’s presence had prevented her tormentors from bullying her. But the words cut just as deep, bruised just as hard, and wounded just as violently.

Marco curved his arm around her waist, drawing her into his warmth. “You might have offered me a raw deal back in Key West when you proposed,” he said. “How can you give me entry into the society you claim made you feel lonely, unwanted?”

Though he questioned her deal’s validity, understanding warmed his tone. By giving him a measure of the truth, Cassandra had finally found a way to connect with Marco beyond the physical.

She could see the fine dark hairs on his bronzed forearm, and inhaled his sensual aroma of musk and man. For the first time in years, a sense of security bathed her battered soul. “I was alone in a crowd of people who didn’t want to know me,” she said. “People who wanted to use me for my connections.” Like her ex-fiancé. And, in truth, like Marco, too.

But unlike her ex and her father, she had entered into this arrangement with Marco with her eyes wide open. She had made sure she secured the Chief Operating Officer position even if she gave up on a chance for love. And that concession from Marco guaranteed her ownership of the catamaran she had designed.

The wind lifted and tugged a few strands of her hair from the elastic band. They whipped across her cheeks. Gray clouds gathered in the horizon while the sun’s rays faded across the black expanse of the ocean’s choppy white caps.

They passed by an open door of a traditional Argentinian beef restaurant. Smells of chorizo and other Argentinian beef dishes melded with the salt, and sea, and tang of the Atlantic Ocean.

“Your family name opens many doors. Doors closed to me for years,” Marco said. “No one would dare shun a Nelson.”

Noise, laughter, loud conversations in many languages punctuated their slow walk down the boulevard. Here a person could be free, alive, part of a larger community. Unlike the regatta racing society Marco wanted to reenter.

“True.” She had given him a get-back-into-society pass, but he could never know why she’d offered the deal. “But they could cause plenty of damage when given the opportunity.”

They continued strolling along the promenade. Ahead she could see an older boy holding his little sister’s hand. Her eyes burned, but she refused to cave into the emotions threatening to overwhelm her. Her older brother had done his best to protect her from the worst of the teasing, but even he couldn’t prevent the sneakier bullies in her grade from taunting her for being different.

A geek.

A loser.

And to her father—a useless girl.

Now her double X chromosomes were more than useful. Cassandra pushed her glasses up her nose and switched the topic of conversation away from her personal life. “So now you know a little about me,” she said. “Tell me about you. Were you raised here?”

“Yes and no. My father and I trained here for the regattas.” His jaw worked and he raked his free hand through his coffee-colored hair. “Sailing was the one way we connected.”

Another sliver of remorse sliced through her chest. She had inadvertently taken that tenuous bond away. But going back wasn’t an option. She’d save the family company, redeem Marco’s reputation, and try to carve a little future happiness for herself.

“And when you weren’t training? Where did you live?” Cassandra asked, wanting to take Marco’s mind, and hers, away from the crash four years ago. A day that had led her to this marriage of convenience.

He tightened his grip, drawing her closer. “With the
gauchos
on my father’s
Estancia
in La Plata west of Buenos Aires,” Marco replied in a voice devoid of emotion.

Adrenaline rushed to her extremities. Her skin prickled with tiny goose bumps. With that one monotone sentence Marco had revealed more about himself than he realized. He had been taken in by his father, but he’d never been accepted or given a seat in the main house.

The knowledge spoke volumes about what had driven Marco to go after her family’s shipbuilding corporation. Only then did she fully realize the magnitude of his father’s rejection, and that her society’s shunning ripped open those childhood scars after his father died. He’d lost everything once before. No wonder regaining his passport to her world was so vital.

It wasn’t much. A nugget at best. If she mined that knowledge carefully, she’d find the piece of gold that flowed through Marco’s veins. That sliver of treasure had the potential to give her more than a business agreement—if he would allow her to get close enough to chip away the barriers guarding his heart.

She’d already given him the key to reentry when she’d committed to their loveless marriage. But maybe, just maybe, building an emotional connection with him would eliminate the emotional gulf between them.

A gust of wind slapped her dress against the back of her thighs. Memories of the crash, the accusations afterward, flashed warning signals. Chilled, Cassandra shivered, but drew away ever so slightly from Marco’s sheltering heat.

Quickly recalibrating her thoughts, Cassandra refocused her line of questioning on all the aspects of Marco’s life on land, not the sea. “Tell me about the
Estancia
,” she said as they approached a small outdoor festival.

Bright lights illuminated the town square. Color was everywhere—in the street with its jewel-toned mopeds, the small cars whipping around the traffic circle, and in the people’s bright colored outfits.

“The ranch covered hundreds of thousands of acres and the villa was typical Spanish colonial style.” Marco escorted her to an outdoor street café with wrought iron tables that lined the sidewalk. “I learned how to rope, and to ride, and to play polo, but my passion has always been the sea.”

Music and dancers filled the street around her. The tourists and locals relaxed, enjoying the cool evening weather with the stars peeking through the blanket of indigo above. But Cassandra would have to tread carefully while here.

The cacophony of sounds, twinkling lights, people rushing to and from the square blurred. Marco had returned their conversation to the last place she wanted to discuss. Shaking, she grasped the edges of a metal chair for support. “Why is the sea so important?” she asked, unable to look at him for fear of betraying herself.

“I was born near the ocean. The sea flowed through my mother’s bloodline.” A measure of pride inflected his voice. “I come from a line of sailors, and fishermen, and one very determined world wide dancing champion.”

That the man had a ballroom dancing mother didn’t shock Cassandra. After all, Marco had certainly impressed her with his moves on the dance floor. If only he would impress her with his moves in the bedroom, too.

She pushed down the errant thought.
Focus on Marco. Don’t let your hormones do the talking.
“What about your father? How did you learn about Ramone Delgado?” she asked.

“If my mother hadn’t died, I’d never have known the man.” He waved his hand toward the street. “Let’s dance.”

Tightness banded around her chest. She had a thousand questions swirling through her head, but she tucked them away. This was a business deal. However, connecting with Marco on a less dangerous playing field might lead to further revelations and at least offer them a chance of friendship, too.

“Fabulous idea,” she said.

Marco swept his arms around her and twirled her toward the dancing crowd. Moving in tandem with him, she forgot about everything that had brought her to Argentina. She felt alive, vibrant, sensual, and adored. A thrill raced up and down her spine. She could feel his arousal. The cut of his designer slacks rubbed sensually against her bare thighs while he moved her in and out of the dancing throng.

He dipped her low, then swept his hand along the curve of her waist and her hip, bracing her. “You’re driving me insane,” he said.

Heat pooled between her thighs. Her nipples tightened into taut buds and everything in her body sang for this man, for him to claim her. “Then take me back to the villa and make love to me.” She arched her back and he kissed the base of her neck right where her pulse raced wildly.

He swung her up and pulled her into his powerful chest. She could feel his heart pounding—the breath filling his lungs. Marco moved with her face-to-face, hip-to-hip. “I will have you.” His eyes gleamed hot and a dangerous fire sparked in their depths. “My way. My terms. I want you panting for me—only me—Cassandra.”

“I
am
panting for you.”

“Good. Soon you’ll be begging for me and you’ll never doubt your decision to merge your name with my wealth.”

A sharp pain jabbed behind her breastbone. Suddenly, she hated her lineage. Would Marco never think of her as more than a commodity?

“I refuse to beg.” She wrenched away and ended the dance. “I’ve got everything that I need from you. The rest is duty.”

“
Duty
?” He arched his brow, then raked his gaze from the top of her head to the indent above her waistline. “I don’t think your body feels like it’s duty.”

She crossed her arms, hiding the evidence of her arousal. “My body doesn’t matter. It’s my brain that’s doing the talking.”

“Your brain won’t be engaged in a conversation when we go to bed.”

“I can’t put a do-not-disturb sign on my brain while we’re
engaging
in the bed,” she said.

“Then I’ll make sure you’re unable to think,” Marco said, stroking his hand down her arm until she slackened her grip on her waist. “Do you even know how to have fun, Cassandra?” He linked his fingers through hers.

Her skin tingled at his touch. An image of Marco having
fun
with her flashed bright. “I have a great time when I work on my designs. I love listening to my music and solving complicated problems,” she said. “Face it, Marco. You’re stuck with a first class geek.”

“I married a first class sexy and smart woman.” He raised her hand to his mouth, brushed his lips on the delicate underside, smiling. The grin reached his eyes and crinkled the corners. “A fabulous combination.”

He looked softer, more approachable. And he’d complimented her brain in addition to her looks. Still, she’d spent enough time with him to know he was toying with her, manipulating her with flattery.

“My intellect has never been in question. But my looks?” She jerked her hand from his and smoothed her short turquoise dress’s pleats. “I suppose they’ve improved a great deal since you shoved me into my new wardrobe.” A scandalously scanty selection of low cut dresses and high heels accompanied by various sexy matching sets of lingerie.

“Your new outfits improve on what’s already awesome,” he said, his eyes appreciative and he reached for her again.

She re-crossed her arms, then dropped them. Unsure. Wanting to run away, yet unbearably drawn to Marco’s smooth, seductive tone. Even now her insides flip-flopped, making her want so much more.

“What’s your idea of fun?” she asked warily.

“The ocean is my refuge.”

Her knees turned to mud. She wanted to sink to the ground and disappear. The ocean had been her sanctuary until she’d lost her brother. Now she feared the water—the dark and inky depths and what lay beneath the waves.

She willed herself to stand ramrod straight. So much for question number one. “Anything else?” she asked hopefully.

He lifted a corner of his mouth into a half smile. “What do you think?”

The man had a one-track mind. And though she enjoyed being the object of his passion, she had to find a way to equalize the terms of their relationship. “Anything besides sex.”

“Polo. Extreme sports.”

She sighed. “Neither of them are my idea of a good time. Next?”

“We have little in common except dancing—and sailing.”

Cassandra hugged her waist. “I’ve been a little reluctant to go back to the ocean ever since my brother…”

“I see,” Marco said gently. “It brings back painful memories.”

“Yes.” But memories were the least of her problems. She didn’t dare confess her post-traumatic stress induced phobia. Not without revealing more about the day of the crash. Her fear threatened to burst through her lungs. She rushed to inhale it and pushed it deep down.
Don’t say anything. Don’t give him a reason to cast this marriage overboard.

Cassandra pasted a smile on her face. “I’d be happy to teach you calculus. After all, you did teach me how to dance.”

He laughed. “Calculus isn’t necessary for what I have in mind.”

Her heart sank lower. “What do you have in mind?” she asked lightly in defiance of her hammering pulse.

“My staff is preparing the
Diablo
for our honeymoon.” He closed the distance between them. “We’ll have all the privacy and time we need to get to know each other before we return to Key West. And we’ll erase your hurt with amazing new memories.”