Chapter Seven #2
“You’re asking me to share something highly personal.
” She could have pulled her hand away, but she didn’t.
Her chin went up a notch. Her lashes flickered and he thought her breath stuttered.
“Too personal for the workplace.” Inappropriate, her defiant glare said as she slid a pointed glance to his grip on her hand.
She was getting back at him for that day in the corridor, when he’d told her she was out of line with her personal question about children.
He’d felt small when he’d slapped it down, but every moment around her was a struggle.
Even as he commuted to the office, before he saw her, he would wonder what she would be wearing today.
Hair up or down? Glasses or contacts? Heels or boots?
Did he have a meeting scheduled that would bring her up to his floor?
Or did he have to engineer a glimpse of her from afar?
Then, when he did see her, he had to fight the urge to fall into bantering with her. He fought standing too close. Fought asking her to dinner. Fought pulling her near—
He wanted to yank her into his arms right now.
He let go of her hand.
The pen dropped to the desktop.
“Tell me how you know him or I’ll imagine you were lovers.” He drew the folder closer, pretending disinterest even though his vision was still violent green.
She made a choked noise. “Why would you care if we were?”
“I care,” he ground out and jerked up his head.
Her breath cut in and her eyes flared wide at whatever she read in his face. Her mouth softened and her jaw went slack.
Angry with himself for revealing so much, frustrated at this sensation of being eaten alive, he said bitingly, “I thought you had hard boundaries around adultery. He’s been married for years. They have children.”
“I know that,” she said with a flash of her own temper. “My sister is married to his brother.”
“Henri?” Joaquin had met Ramon’s identical twin on more than one occasion along with both their wives. “Your sister is Cinnia?” The resemblance seemed obvious now as he looked past Siobhan’s dark hair. “This is the wealthy family you’re related to?”
“Yes.” She folded her arms and radiated defensiveness. “Why does it matter?”
Because wealthy was a gross understatement.
Joaquin was wealthy. The Sauveterre family, two pairs of identical twins, were celebrities.
The younger pair of girls was royalty. The family’s wealth and fame had made them targets, though.
When Ramon and Henri had been teenagers, one of their sisters had been kidnapped.
She’d been recovered and all the siblings were married with children of their own now, but they still maintained a heavy security presence as a precaution.
“When your boyfriend took those unauthorized photos, it was them?”
“Ex,” she corrected tightly. “Yes. Ramon’s children. I was staying with them while I went to Cambridge.”
“Why?”
“I was working on my language degree.”
“Why were you staying with them?” he spelled out.
“Because I was going to Cambridge,” she said with exasperation.
“Ramon was working out of the London office. Izzy had just had their twins. They had nannies, but I had already helped Cinnia with their twins and Izzy doesn’t have siblings.
She didn’t have a network in London and needed someone she…
” She cleared her throat. “Someone she could trust. It seemed like a win-win for me to stay with them.”
“But it wasn’t? Because of what your ex did?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Her shoulders hunched in disgrace.
“Why did Ramon call you Dorry?” he asked in confusion.
“I told you I changed my name.”
“Yes, but why?”
“Why do you want to know?” Her voice thinned with persecution.
“Because you don’t need this job.” He stabbed at his desktop. “Which makes me wonder why you fought so hard to keep it.”
“Oh, my gawd,” she muttered, striding toward the pair of sofas that faced each other over a coffee table. “You’re right. I don’t need to work. Henri has been paying me an outrageous allowance since I went to live with him and Cinnia at fourteen, when she had their twins.”
“They didn’t have nannies?”
“Yes, but Cin was actually very sick when she delivered them and they were taken by C-section. Plus, she and Henri had just got back together. He thought she would feel isolated if she didn’t have family around.
I was already homeschooling and helping Cin with her estate practice so it made sense.
I stayed because I liked being part of their family.
” Her voice softened and she traced the seam on the back of the sofa.
“Henri’s siblings all treated me like I was one of them. It was nice.”
“He still supports you?”
“No.” She crinkled her brow at him. “You must know their family history, that Henri’s sister was kidnapped when they were young?”
“Of course.” It had dominated the headlines, especially here in Spain.
“Henri is very careful about security because of that. He wanted me to live with them because he knew I was safe there. He put me through the self-defense courses that Cin and his sisters took and I was drilled on all the security protocols. I knew what was at stake and didn’t make social profiles, but Dorry Whitley was well-known enough that if people heard my name, they would ask me about them.
I learned to spot when I was being befriended because someone wanted access to them. Then I missed one.”
“What’s his name?”
“Putrid McDogmeat.” She stood with her arms folded, back stiff. “I had always felt wrong about accepting Henri’s support. It felt as though I was being paid to be Auntie Dorry. When I put Ramon’s children at risk…” She shuddered. “I couldn’t be on the family payroll after that.”
“Did Henri blame you? Because Ramon doesn’t seem to be holding any grudges.”
“No. They’ve always been very magnanimous.
Ramon says it was his mistake because he allowed me to introduce Gilbert to his children.
But it was my mistake. I dated the man. I vouched for him.
” She turned to stab between her breasts.
“I couldn’t stay with them after that. And I didn’t want any footprints leading back to them, either.
I moved to Australia and asked Killian to give me a new ID and school records, so I wasn’t Dorry Whitley anymore.
I kept a low profile, worked my butt off for top grades and got this job on my own merit.
That actually means a lot to me. I like being Siobhan Upton. ”
Joaquin leaned his hip on the desk. “That’s not the only reason, though, is it?”
“For what?”
“For changing your name. You don’t want to be Dorry because you’re mad at her. You’re punishing her.”
“No.” She scowled into the middle distance, mouth twitching sullenly. “Maybe. I deserve to be punished. It was a horrible, dangerous mistake.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself.”
“You’re entitled to your opinion even if you’re wrong.” She looked to the side.
He snorted and moved close enough to catch her gaze. “I’m never wrong. Like you, I’m perfect. Never make mistakes.”
She frowned, mouth pouting. “Can you please—” she cleared her throat “—not tell anyone who I am?”
“I won’t say a word,” he assured her.
“Thank you.” Her shoulders relaxed. “I just don’t want people to…”
“I understand.” It was a lot to carry. He was annoyed that Henri had put that much pressure on her, but he also had the impression she put a lot on herself.
Dios, her scent went to his head when he stood this close. It wasn’t bold enough to be perfume. It was a subtle combination of shampoo and hand cream and the summer peach fragrance of her. He searched for its source, gaze tracking into her throat then back to her cheeks.
She tilted her head back and her gaze tangled with his. She licked her lips.
He was a man, not a machine. With temptation this close and the nip of jealousy still in his blood, his resistance to her all but vanished. He hooked his finger in her belt and tugged, inviting her closer.
She flowed into him so he was able to slide his arms around the soft column of her. His mouth found hers and her taste washed through him. Lust flexed its claws deep into his skin, fueling his hands in their quest to map her shape and meld her to his front.
“Joaquin,” she moaned as he sought the fragrant skin of her throat. Her arms climbed behind his neck so it was no effort at all to hitch her hips onto the back of the sofa and push her skirt up, exposing her thighs in thin black leggings to his restless hands.
This was where he had longed to be again. He pushed deeper into the V of her thighs until he felt the heat of her against the ridge of his erection. Until her mouth was firmly under his again so he could devour her.
The wrinkled suede of her boots pressed erotically against the backs of his legs, urging him to press harder.
The gorgeous weight of her breast filled his hand, her nipple pebbled firmly enough he could feel it through the knit.
He set his other hand on her tailbone, the bar of his arm keeping her from falling to the cushions while he ground himself against her.
She said something. It could have been a demand or a plea. He didn’t know. All he knew was that he was starving and needed this. Her.
As lust began to overwhelm him, compelling him to claim her, he drew her back onto her feet and turned her to face the back of the sofa.
She gasped and thrust her ass against his fly, crushing the ridge of his erection in the most delicious way. He dragged her skirt up and caught the waistband of her leggings, starting to drag them down, revealing her round ass and the midnight-blue lace that cut across her cheeks.
He followed the dark line of color with his fingertips into the crevice of her thighs, seeking the heat. The dampness. The welcoming clasp of her sheath as he delved into paradise.
She moaned in a way that stroked him like velvet and arched her back. Inviting him to explore deeper. To take.
Condom, he thought and glanced around, only then seeing where he was.
He cursed crudely and pulled his touch away too roughly, pulling back from her so abruptly, she gasped in shock and clung to the sofa while she sent him a wild look over her shoulder.
“What’s wrong?”
She was nearly irresistible with that sensual flush and her heavy eyelids and her pupils shot wide with passion.
“I didn’t lock the door. This is a dangerous mistake, Siobhan.” She worked for him.
She gasped and yanked her clothes back into order, mouth taking on a bruised pout, eyes wide with speechless hurt. Her ankle wobbled and he tried to steady her, but she disdainfully pulled from his touch.
“Leave the folder with your assistant,” she said in a hollow voice. “I need the ladies’ room.”
“Siobhan.” He took a step to go after her, then stopped himself. Damn it.
He was her employer. He couldn’t do this.
How had this even happened. He had been succeeding at treating her like any other employee until— No.
He hadn’t. If he was brutally honest with himself, he would recognize that even when he wasn’t overstepping boundaries, he was a little harder on her, a little slower to offer praise, taking care not to reveal so much as a hint of favoritism toward her.
He was trying to protect her, though. She saw every day the lengths Lorenzo would go to strike at him. Surely, she understood why this couldn’t happen?
Who could comprehend it, though? Really?
He didn’t fully understand Lorenzo’s hatred of him.
Lorenzo had been equally hard on Fernando, but had at least acknowledged Fernando’s position as his heir and groomed him accordingly.
For years it had merely been favoritism of one son over the other, but once Lorenzo had been back here at LVG, it had become outright efforts to sabotage Joaquin. Why?
Yes, he’d been a boisterous child, always getting into things. He saw the same energy and curiosity in his nephew and knew it was easy to see that behavior as defiance.
We caught him putting his dinosaurs in the toaster, Fernando had said of the boy during one of their last conversations. Pulled a chair over to reach it. He wanted to know what would happen.
Fernando had been nonplussed, but proud of the boy’s ingenuity and desire to experiment.
Lorenzo had never been proud of Joaquin, though. He’d saved his praise for Fernando, who’d been smart and athletic, but also deferential and disciplined. Lorenzo had blamed his wife for Joaquin’s strongmindedness. Teach him his place, Lorenzo had told her many times.
Then his mother had left and Lorenzo had taken on putting Joaquin in his place with his own firm hand. Fernando had intervened as often as he could, but Lorenzo had swung enough at both of them that it made little difference. He preferred to punish his youngest, though. The one who didn’t matter.
There were times Joaquin had kept himself on a tight leash, thinking maybe, if he was good enough, his mother would come back.
She had sworn to him that Lorenzo had driven her away, not him, but he still blamed himself.
He was too quick to speak out, always determined to find a way to whatever he wanted even if he would be punished for it.
He knew now that his mother had taken the brunt of Lorenzo’s anger until she feared for her life, never dreaming her husband would turn on their sons. Then Lorenzo had undermined her financially and socially, making it impossible for her to gain custody of them.
Eventually, Joaquin had realized how much abuse she had taken on his behalf and, in a twisted way, was glad she had left so he didn’t have to worry about her.
Then there was Esperanza. Joaquin never would have engaged himself to her if he had known he would wind up back in his father’s sphere.
From the moment Lorenzo was introduced to her at Fernando’s wake, Lorenzo had behaved intolerably toward her.
When she broke their engagement a few weeks later, Joaquin knew it was for the best that she distance herself from him.
Women didn’t fare well when they were attached to him. Even his brief liaisons were fraught with the same thing that was plaguing Siobhan right now—he was aloof. Inaccessible. Not outwardly cruel, but carrying a history that left him stunted. Unable to attach.
Women left him and he let them go for their sake and his own.
He wasn’t letting Siobhan go, though. He kept trying to make himself relegate her to his past, but every time he pushed her away, he felt as though he was peeling away his own skin.
Even so, this obsession with her had to stop.