Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
Alejandro
Ikiss my mother on the cheek and close the car door behind her. She refused my offer to stay for the night, wanting to visit an old friend while she’s in LA. She also made it clear that she had no desire to intrude on the newlyweds.
The irony of that isn’t lost on me. Truth is Alana and I got along much better with my mother here—even if it was all a show for her benefit.
I head back into the house and look for Alana. Whatever my opinion of my new wife, she did a good job convincing my mother that this thing between the two of us is real, and I’m grateful. However, I do wonder how much it’s going to cost me to repay that particular favor.
I find her in the kitchen helping Magda clear the dishes from our late lunch.
They’re laughing at something but stop when they see me.
Annoyance prickles beneath my skin. Not because I particularly care what they were laughing about, but Alana has never laughed with me like that, and for a reason completely unknown to me, it pisses me off.
Perhaps they’re simply rehashing my mother’s tales of my misspent youth. Magda has worked for my family since I was a child, so they weren’t new to her. But it was clear how much delight Alana took in listening to my mamá’s stories.
“I’ll just go and fetch the glasses from the garden.” Magda excuses herself and leaves Alana and me alone.
I stride across the kitchen, and she watches me with those huge brown eyes of hers.
“Thank you for today.” The words want to stick in my throat. Showing gratitude is not a natural response for me.
“Pardon?” She cups her hand around her ear in an exaggerated fashion, pretending she didn’t hear what I said.
Can she not just accept my thanks and smile sweetly, like I’ve seen her do countless times when she was interviewed on TV?
But she’s getting much bolder around me, and I don’t yet know if that’s good or bad.
But it definitely makes these exchanges more interesting.
“You heard me,” I tell her. “You have my mamá completely fooled. She loves you.”
“Well, I’m actually quite lovable,” she says with a smirk. “Your mom obviously has very good taste.”
I snort and stuff my hands in my pockets, not wanting to admit that her assessment may well be spot on.
Ordinarily, my mother is an excellent judge of character, and if she adores Alana so much after only a few hours in her company, then my new wife is either a much better actress than I pegged her for, or I have her all wrong. My ego leads me to believe the former.
Alana tilts her head and studies me for a few seconds before she speaks again. “Well, your mamá is lovely,” she finally says. “I really enjoyed visiting with her. It’s a shame she had to leave so soon.”
Abruptly, she turns to look out the window, but I’m sure I saw tears in her eyes.
Perhaps being around my mother has brought out the chivalrous qualities she tried her hardest to instill in me. “Alana, are you okay?”
“Yes.” Her answer comes a little too quickly, and she scrubs at her eyes. “I suppose spending time with your mom today just reminded me how lonely I am here,” she adds softly. Then she shrugs and goes back to clearing dishes.
This is the most vulnerable I’ve seen her. As I watch her work, I feel something for her that is unexpected and unfamiliar.
Gratitude, perhaps?
Despite the circumstances of our arrangement and my determination to feel nothing but apathy toward her, I cannot discount that she put in the effort to make my mom feel welcome today.
She played her part of the doting wife beautifully and in doing so made my mom a very happy woman.
Whatever her agenda, Alana could have at least tried to make my life difficult this afternoon, but she didn’t. And that kiss …
Fuck. Me.
Even the memory of her sweet taste and the sensation of my tongue in her mouth has my cock feeling livelier than he’s been in weeks.
It may have all been an act, but there was a moment when she gave into it like I did.
Of that I am certain. It was a purely physical reaction, of course, but perhaps it’s one worth exploring.
Particularly as I’ve been unable to even look at another woman since she slipped this goddamn ring on my finger, and a man has needs.
“You’ve not mentioned feeling lonely before,” I say, if only to distract myself from the situation going on in my pants.
She snorts in response.
Of course she’s lonely. Any fool could have seen that coming. It’s easy for me to forget that she gave up her whole life to move here. Or maybe I’ve chosen to ignore it. I’m sure a shopping trip with my Black Amex would make her feel better.
Instead of offering that up immediately, I ask, “Well, what would it take to make you feel less lonely?”
She spins to face me. “I don’t know. Friends?” She shrugs. “But I’m not that great at making them. What do the women around here do to occupy their time if they don’t work?”
Rubbing my hand across my jaw, I shake my head, at a loss for an answer. “I don’t know.”
“What do your friends’ wives do?”
I don’t really do friends, and the few I have aren’t married. But the wives of other rich men around here have plenty of liquid lunches, spend their husbands’ money, and justify it by raising a few bucks for charity once a year. I bet that would be right up Alana’s street.
“A group of local wives run a charity committee. I’m sure they get together a few times a week.”
Her eyes light up, confirming my suspicion. “Oh, that sounds perfect. Can I just show up? Or do you need to introduce me or something?”
“Amanda Grant is the chair. I’ll have a quiet word with her husband and tell her to expect you—”
“Tomorrow?” she blurts out, all bright-eyed.
“If they meet tomorrow, then yes, tomorrow.”
“That would be wonderful, Alejandro. Thank you.” She offers a shy smile.
“You’ll need to take Hank with you,” I add, and her smile turns to a scowl.
Just what the fuck is wrong with her now? “Do you have a problem with that?” She pouts, and it makes me want to do bad fucking things to her, like bend her over my desk and … I mentally shake those images away.
“Hank hates me.”
Probably true. “Hank hates everyone.”
“Couldn’t I just go to this thing alone?
Please?” She flutters her eyelashes, unaware I can’t be manipulated as easily as that, no matter what my cock is telling me—which is to give her whatever the fuck she wants if she keeps looking at us like that.
Thankfully, my brain is still engaged enough to run the show. For now.
“No, you cannot go alone, Alana,” I say more sharply than I intended. “You can’t just wander around this city without protection. Not now that you’re my wife.”
For a second, she looks like she might bite my head off, but then she sinks her teeth into her luscious bottom lip and nods her agreement. “I understand that. But Hank, though? Isn’t there anyone else who could come with me? You must have some female security staff.”
I do, but there is no chance in hell I’m trusting her protection to one of them. Instead of admitting that and giving her any ideas that she might mean more to me than she thinks, I say, “If you are in danger, a man is stronger and faster and better able to protect you.”
“That’s sexist,” she scoffs.
I take a step toward her. “That’s genetics, princesa.”
She glares at me, her eyes ablaze, and visibly bites back a retort.
I’m allowing her a little more freedom, and she’s shrewd enough to know that I can take it away just as easily if she pushes me too far.
But the skin on her chest and neck turns a pretty shade of pink as she struggles to keep a lid on her temper.
I try not to smile. She’s even hotter when she’s angry. Definitely something to explore at a later date.
I’m still anticipating a minor temper tantrum though. Isn’t that what spoiled little princesses do when they can’t get their way? But she takes a deep breath and leans back against the counter.
“Okay,” she says softly. Defeated. “If it has to be Hank, then so be it.”
Well that was much easier than I expected.
I can hardly blame her for not wanting to spend too much time in Hank’s company.
He’s a miserable bastard on his best days, but he’s good at his job, which is why he’s assigned to protect her.
She drops her head, looking at the floor, the joy from only a moment ago already extinguished.
Why the fuck do I care?
I almost reach out to her, almost cup her jaw in my hand and tip her head up so I can stare at her beautiful face a little longer. Almost pick her up and carry her to my bed to make us both feel good.
“How about I pick a few of my best men and send them over here tomorrow, and you can interview them yourself?” I offer instead. “Then you can choose your own personal bodyguard.”
She looks up, her eyes shining with delight once more. “You’d do that?”
Against all odds, it seems I would. “Yes. But you will choose one of them, Alana. Or you simply don’t leave this house.”
She nods eagerly. “Agreed. But you won’t choose a load of Hank-alikes, will you?”
An unexpected laugh bursts out of me. There is only one Hank—a blessing and a curse. “No, I won’t do that.”
“Then that sounds wonderful.” She flutters those long eyelashes again. Is she flirting with me? “Thank you, Alejandro.” The way she says my name heads straight to my cock and does nothing to ease the ache in it.
She seems very grateful though, and she is my wife.
How grateful would she be if I asked her to get on her knees right now?
The image alone makes my cock throb uncomfortably, and it’s the smile on her face that pulls me out of that filthy fantasy.
She looks so fucking … innocent. Why is she so grateful for such a small gesture? Or is she playing me?
I take a half step closer, bringing our bodies a mere few inches apart.
She’s still looking up at me, her breathing fast and shallow as her eyes search my face.
What if I lifted her onto this counter? Slid my hands under that curve-hugging dress and discovered what lies beneath?
Would she let me? My palms twitch to touch her, and I’m unaccustomed to not taking what I want when I want it, but with her, I fucking can’t.
Her body leans closer. Her pupils dilate.
Magda walks back into the room.
Alana’s focus redirects to my housekeeper, whom she gapes at. Maybe she was thinking the same kind of filthy thoughts I was.
Or maybe she’s grateful for Magda’s untimely interruption. It’s probably better that I don’t know the answer. I’ve already yielded too much to her today, and if I touch her, if I let her get under my skin that way, who knows what other compromises I’d be willing to make.
“I’ll send the candidates here tomorrow at nine a.m.,” I say, and then I walk out of the kitchen with a raging hard-on and fuck all I can do about it.
Leaning back against the soft leather seat of my car while my driver drives Jax and me to my hotel, I brush the pad of my thumb against the platinum band on my finger. It still feels entirely alien to me, and I’m not sure if it will ever feel otherwise.
How the fuck did I end up married again?
Oh yeah, because my father presented me with a proposal three months ago, and since I’m a good son and I respect him, I agreed.
Plus, an alliance with the Carmichael family is good for business.
The public at large has no idea what a piece of shit Foster Carmichael actually is, and on paper at least, he’s a good ally.
The head of a powerful political family, he adds a legitimacy to the Montoya Corporation that we’ve historically lacked. We have plenty of legitimate businesses, but we made our wealth in the illegitimate kind. If only his daughter were as easy to dislike as he is.
Her being a spoiled Manhattan brat was a huge part of her appeal.
Of course I didn’t miss her dangerous curves either.
Despite my reluctance to become a father, I do see the necessity of continuing the Montoya name, and she seemed like the perfect choice to provide the next heir to the Montoya empire—a woman I’d be happy enough to fuck on occasion, but not one I would like.
Definitely not one I’d ever fall in love with.
“You okay, amigo?” Jax knocks his shoulder against mine, the scent of his favorite cinnamon gum filling the car.
“I’ll be better once I’ve had a drink,” I tell him with a heavy sigh.
Surely a night of drinking with my best buddy is exactly what I need, and he was more than happy to oblige. I need to stop thinking about Alana and her curves and the way her ass felt in my hand today. Need to remind myself that all this emotional shit isn’t what I signed on for.
It’s a contract. A business deal that’s no different from any other. If it were anything more, I wouldn’t have had to lie to my mamá about it. But seeing her so happy today has eased my conscience.
Alana played a big part in that happiness.
Alana and her infectious laugh and incredible smile.
Alana Montoya is taking up far too much space in my head, and it needs to stop.