Her Billionaire Rancher Boss Read online

  She reached over and took his hand, because he shouldn’t be alone admitting this. Not when she felt the same about her own little brother. He turned his hand over so that their palms met, their fingers curling around each other as if carved to fit.

  They took a long moment like that, just holding on to each other. She didn’t feel the need to talk, nor did she need him to say anything. It was better in the silence, this new understanding between them.

  After a time, he gave her hand a quick squeeze, then pulled away. She let her lips twist briefly at the loss, but that was all. Time to return to their professional roles.

  “The salad is really good,” she offered. “Thanks for thinking of it.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.” When he smiled, there wasn’t any heat in it—it was friendly, open, happy. It warmed her all over.

  When they’d finished up and stacked the plates onto the catering cart for Hank, he glanced at his watch. “What time is your meeting today?”

  “I have to be at the high school at three thirty.”

  He slowly lowered his forearm, his movements taking on a deliberateness that made all of her come to attention. “And how long do you have for lunch?” he asked, slow and sultry as a Sunday afternoon in July.

  “An hour.” Oh, she was already all breathy and twitchy. What was he up to? Or was he up to anything?

  He slipped the watch from his wrist, setting the heavy gold band onto his desk with a weighty thump. “You have ten more minutes off the clock then.”

  She stared at the watch face looking back at her, watching as the hand swept away the seconds. “Yes. But—”

  “Sit down.” Not quite a command from him—just enough force there to make her breath hitch.

  She found her way to her usual chair, the one across from his desk, the one she always sat in as she took his orders. The watch stared sightlessly back at her.

  “Do you want me to…?” She kept her gaze on the watch as she let that question fade between them, feeling him prowling behind her.

  He set his hands on the arms of her chair, the bulk of him at her back, his mouth coming close to her ear. All of her prickled with his nearness.

  “Tell me when your ten minutes is up,” he said with pleasant menace.

  She pressed her knees hard together, trying to keep her desire contained. “You can’t—We’re in your office.”

  “I won’t touch you. And in ten minutes, you’ll go back to your desk.”

  There was a metallic scrape. His belt buckle, rubbing against the back of her chair.

  What could he possibly do to her in ten minutes? Without touching her?

  God, but she wanted to know. Her toes curled in her shoes.

  “Watch the clock,” he ordered, low and harsh, his breath hot against her neck. “Wouldn’t want to steal any company time.”

  His fingers tightened on the arms of the chair, and she could almost feel his fingertips sinking into her flesh. Right there on her upper thighs, gripping her tight, holding her open for him…

  He didn’t even have to do anything. Her own filthy imagination was doing all the work.

  He blew on the exposed skin of her neck, drawing a line from the tendon of her shoulder all the way to her neck, hot and humid.

  “Oh Jesus,” she moaned, every muscle clenching tight.

  He laughed, soft and deep. “I wish that had been my tongue. Don’t you?”

  She whimpered. Okay, she’d been wrong. He was going to do a hell of a lot in just ten minutes without even touching her.

  He repeated his breath trick on the other side and her breasts tightened, nipples coming to hard points. But she knew he wasn’t going to cup them, wasn’t going to rub away the torment building there, and that made it so much worse.

  She could feel him behind her, hovering over her. He could probably look right down her shirt like that, might even see the lace edging of her bra, black as sin.

  “I like your lingerie,” he said.

  Her eyes dipped closed. He was good. So good. His fingers would dip beneath that black lace, slip down to find her nipples—

  “How much time left?” he asked.

  She forced her eyes open, tried to focus on the watch.

  “Six minutes,” she got out finally.

  “Mmm.”

  She couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or pleased. All she knew was that one little noise of his seemed to have lodged in her midsection and shaken her.

  He leaned over her shoulder, the strands of his dark hair filling her peripheral vision. She kept her gaze hard on the watch and went still.

  She could reach up and stroke his hair if she wanted. Which she did. Very badly. And he was more than close enough to touch her. Accidentally.

  Would he?

  He directed a caressing stream of breath right down her shirt, finally touching her breasts. She arched back, searching for more. But it wasn’t enough—she slipped her foot from her shoe, rubbed her arch along her calf, needing something, anything to keep from dying of need.

  “Christ,” he muttered.

  It was what she would have said, had she been able to speak, and it proved he was just as caught up in this as she. That, along with the rasp of his breathing in her ear, his lungs working as hard as hers.

  She hooked her foot around her calf, held tight, needing something to anchor her if he wasn’t going to touch her. He swallowed hard behind her, his fingers so tight on the arms of the chair that his knuckles were bone white.

  “Pilar.” Harder than a whisper, softer than a demand—he made her name into an imprecation.

  “Yes?” Ragged. Needy.

  And then the phone rang.

  His arms framing her went taut and long as he leaned away. “Fuck,” he sighed under his breath.

  She blinked at the watch, twisted to look up at him. “But we still have four minutes.”

  The roar of his laughter twined with the insistent trill of the phone. He sobered and wiped at his eyes. “Duty calls.” He sounded as if he’d rather do anything but answer that phone.

  “I’ll just let you get that then.” She stood on wobbly legs, feeling as if she’d downed too much champagne way too fast.

  As she made her way back to her desk, she realized that these next three months were going to be much more interesting than she’d ever imagined.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Benedict had a really nice truck.

  Pilar ran her hands along the leather of the seat and admired the walnut trim of the console. Who knew they made luxury trucks?

  He’d hauled hay in it recently though. The sweetly dry smell of it tickled her nose even now.

  Benedict’s truck was just like his life—a mixture of orderly luxury and rugged functionality. He certainly kept the truck cabin as clean and clutter-free as his office was. No doubt the interior of her car would give him fits.

  She glanced over at him, his hands firm on the wheel, gaze straight on the road. He hadn’t said much as they made their way to the high school, which she appreciated. Drivers who didn’t pay enough attention to the road made her nervous.

  Plus she could keep sneaking glances at him like a creeper without freaking him out too much. She liked looking at him openly like this. No need to hide her want anymore.

  That one pesky hunk of hair had fallen across his forehead, but he hadn’t bothered to push it back. His eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses, but the flat line of his mouth spoke to his focus on driving.

  Maybe, after what Josh had done, he didn’t like it when people didn’t pay enough attention to the road too.

  His confessions at lunch had been so intimate. Almost more intimate than his little game of “no touching” after. Had he ever shared those feelings with his siblings? Or was she the first person he’d ever shown them to?

  She had the feeling he hadn’t said anything to Liliana or Luke. They probably guessed at Josh’s rejection and Benedict’s hurt—they weren’t stupid—but Benedict likely hadn’t
openly confessed what had happened. He would want to appear strong, unflappable, to his younger siblings.

  That was certainly how she wanted to appear to Javier. As if she actually knew what she was doing in all this.

  She sighed as they pulled up to a stoplight. She had no clue what she was doing, and in about fifteen minutes, the career counselor was going to realize that as well.

  Maybe Ms. Ramirez could convince Javier of the importance of college. Or at least get him to discuss the idea.

  “What’s this meeting about?” Benedict asked. He kept his eyes on the road, even though they were stopped.

  “All the graduating seniors and their parents meet with the career counselor to talk about their future plans.” She brought her thumbnail to her mouth and started to worry at it. What would Javier say at this meeting? That he didn’t want to talk about his future plans?

  Lord, the counselor was going to think they were a dysfunctional wreck of a family.

  “What did you tell the counselor when you were graduating?” he asked.

  “Oh, that I was going to major in Latin American history.” She laughed. “Of course, after the first quarter I realized I should pick something that actually gave me a chance of getting a job.”

  “So you left behind Latin American history for the glamour of accounting?”

  “I enjoy accounting. There’s something very satisfying about organizing account information and money flow.” She gestured as if to organize an imaginary spreadsheet, a warm glow sparking in her. “I’m bringing order to what most people would leave as chaos.”

  He nodded. “Yep. I like order too.”

  “Yeah, I can tell from your truck. And your office.”

  “I like things to be in their place. Their proper place.” He flicked a glance toward her, and she wished the sunglasses were gone so that she might read his expression.

  Did he mean that her proper place was as his secretary?

  Or something more?

  The light changed and his focus returned to driving.

  She let out a silent breath. It had been nothing. Only her imagination. “I didn’t leave Latin American history behind,” she said. “I kept it as my minor. I thought then that I could have everything I wanted out of life if I just reached for it.”

  He made a sad sort of exhale. “That’s the trouble with getting older: you realize everything isn’t yours for the asking.”

  She agreed, but—“I don’t mean to be bitchy or to suggest that you don’t have problems, but what do you want that you can’t have?”

  A long, tense silence. “There’s something I’ve wanted for a long time that I’m starting to suspect I’ll never have.” Grim. Just skirting the border of despair.

  Her skin tightened as goosebumps rose all over. He didn’t mean her. He said he wanted her and she’d agreed to this secret affair. That was the exact opposite of him not getting what he wanted.

  Before she could figure it out, they were pulling into the high school parking lot. And there was Javier, looking just delighted to be waiting for her.

  This meeting was going to be an utter disaster.

  Her seat belt released with a sharp click, and she looked down in surprise to find Benedict unbuckling it for her.

  “Stay where you are,” he warned her. “I’m coming around to get the door for you.”

  “Oh, but you don’t need to—”

  He raised his eyebrow.

  She closed her mouth.

  Watching him stalk around the front of the truck as he went for her door made flutters dance in her stomach. His caveman act was surprising—and surprisingly hot. He’d never insisted on such a thing before, but he’d also never played sexy head games with her in the office before either.

  He swung the door open and held a hand out to her.

  “I’m beginning to think I don’t know you very well at all,” she said wonderingly, slipping her hand into his.

  “Just figuring that out, huh?” The left corner of his mouth quirked up, putting a dent of a dimple into his cheek. “Think three months is enough now?”

  She was beginning to suspect it wasn’t. Which was a very bad thing.

  “Where’s your car?” Javier had come over and was scowling.

  “The tire had a bulge.” She pulled her hand from Benedict’s, both her feet now safely on the ground.

  Javier sneered as he looked at Benedict. “So your boss brought you? Nice.” He made it sound anything but nice.

  Benedict’s jaw tensed, but he kept quiet.

  “Javier,” she hissed, “watch it.”

  “What? I said it was nice.”

  “I’ll just wait in the truck.” Benedict did not sound happy.

  “Really,” she said, “you don’t have to—”

  Both his eyebrows went up.

  She sighed. “We should be done in about an hour.”

  As they trudged toward the office, she asked, “How was your day?”

  Javier didn’t answer, only slumped over as if his backpack were filled with bricks.

  Great. This meeting was going to be just great. She gritted her teeth and reached for the office door handle.

  “Why is he driving you?”

  She blinked in surprise at that outburst from her brother. “I told you, the tire had a bulge. I couldn’t drive on it.”

  “So Mr. Big Shot drove you here ’cause he’s such a nice guy?” Caustic enough to burn her ears.

  No, he drove me because I told him I wanted to fuck him.

  “I didn’t have time to get the tire fixed, and I wanted to be sure I made this meeting,” she said, intent and deliberate. Javier needed to snap out of this right this instant.

  “Who’s fixing the tire?” he demanded.

  Oh, so now he cared? Maybe he should have cared before she’d left for work this morning. “I don’t know. Benedict’s got someone doing it.”

  “Benedict,” he sneered under his breath.

  “Knock it off,” she snapped. “I don’t know what your problem is, but we need to get to this meeting.”

  He just shrugged.

  She dug her knuckles into her forehead for a second, then dropped her hand, shook herself. Javier’s pissiness couldn’t get to her. She had to look competent here.

  Ms. Ramirez was waiting for them, looking as tired as Pilar felt. No wonder—the poor woman had to spend her day interacting with hundreds of teenagers. Just dealing with the one was more than enough for Pilar.

  “Javier. Pilar.” She smiled warmly as she gestured them into her office. It was the same one she’d been in when Pilar had been in high school. But this meeting would be a lot different than her last one with Ms. Ramirez. No scholarship for Javier, no acceptance to any schools. And no parents beaming proudly at him.

  Just Pilar doing her best and failing miserably.

  “How are you, Ms. Ramirez?” She smiled and shook the counselor’s hand.

  “Good. And don’t you look well.”

  “Thank you.” Pilar gave herself half a moment to internally preen, because she really did look good in these pants.

  “So,” Ms. Ramirez began, “we’re here to discuss Javier’s plans for after graduation. I understand that you want him to apply to some colleges—”

  “Tell her I don’t want to go,” Javier cut in, his voice thin and high.

  Surprised silence.

  “Javier,” Pilar began, her tone cajoling, “I don’t think you’ve thought this through.” She knew he hadn’t. Otherwise he’d have already picked a school.

  “How would you know? You won’t listen to me. About anything.”

  “You won’t talk!” This was not her fault.

  “Let’s take a step back,” Ms. Ramirez said.

  “Yes, let’s.” Pilar glared at Javier. Stupid, stupid boy. “Okay, so you don’t go to college. What do you do then? Mop floors? Pick in the fields? Our parents worked too long and hard—and you’re going to toss all that away?”

  “See?” He t
hrew a pleading glance at Ms. Ramirez as he shoved a hand at Pilar. “She throws our parents at me every time.”

  “Throw them at you? I just want for you what they wanted for you.”

  “How do you know what they wanted for me?”

  “But they wanted me to go to college,” she said. “They were so happy about it.” Why wouldn’t they want the same for Javier?

  “I’m not you.” Defiant. Sullen. His attitude was back to square one.

  Ms. Ramirez held her hands up for silence. “Perhaps we should try another tack—”

  “Yes.” Pilar nodded enthusiastically. Perhaps the counselor knew of another way to convince Javier of how important college was.

  “—and let’s shelve the college discussion for now,” Ms. Ramirez finished.

  Pilar’s head stopped midnod. What? Not talk about college?

  “Good,” Javier huffed. “’Cause I’m not going.”

  She turned on him, ready to launch into a tirade.

  “Ah.” Ms. Ramirez waggled her finger at her.

  Okay. No more college talk. Fine. She could do that. “So,” she asked her brother, “what will you do instead?”

  He dropped his head and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  She stared at him for a long time, not caring that Ms. Ramirez was there.

  I don’t know.

  All that money sitting in the bank, thousands and thousands of dollars—five years of her life—and he didn’t know what he was going to be doing in three months? Or for the rest of his life?

  He should have punched her right in the chest—that would have been less shocking. Would have hurt less.

  “Javier, that’s not really an answer,” Ms. Ramirez said gently.

  He just shrugged again, his face averted as if he might cry.

  Pilar felt as if she might cry too. And tired. She was so, so tired.

  Ms. Ramirez’s deep sigh seemed to capture all the sadness and exhaustion floating between Pilar and her brother. “Let’s try this again later. Javier, you come up with an answer for your sister. And Pilar, you be ready to listen. Really listen.”

  She did listen. She always listened. Javier wouldn’t talk.