by Stasia Black
“Thank you,” she breathed, drunk on his nearness. Deep down, a little voice whispered a warning, but the rest of her was too far gone. Her heart fluttered in her chest, wild but happy. Happily trapped.
“No, baby,” Marcus stopped, so close if she stepped forward, her nipples would brush his suit again. The tiny alarm bell abruptly cut off. “I meant, do you really wanna thank me?”
“Yes?”
“Then stay here. Live in this apartment. Enjoy it. And have dinner with me tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow,” she whispered. His dark hair fell over his brow, softening the hard planes of his face. She swayed.
“Tomorrow,” he whispered back. And he backed up, breaking her trance. She hoped he’d stay, but he only gave her that damnable half-smile and said, “Goodnight, goddess.”
She was left so desperately wanting as he withdrew and closed the front door behind him. After it clicked shut, she slumped against it and lifted her hands to her lips, to her face, through her hair.
All she knew was that something huge had begun tonight with Marcus Ubeli, and her life would never be the same.
Six
Marcus was a perfect gentleman. Cora stood in the foyer of her beautiful apartment a month later, putting on her earrings in front of the mirror, waiting for Sharo to knock on the door.
Occasionally Marcus sent his employee to pick her up. Marcus got caught up in meetings sometimes, but didn’t like to be late for their outings. Sharo was a decent stand in, taking her to a restaurant, where they would serve her a glass of wine, and Marcus would always arrive soon after, smiling and full of compliments to her beauty.
A perfect gentleman, she thought again. He hadn’t kissed her again, but he put his arm around her to keep her warm whenever they went on long drives through the park, or to his favored private club on the edge of the city. And when he took her to more dangerous parts of town in order to show her a friend’s restaurant, he would loop her arm through his as they walked from the car into the building, and stay by her side all night. She felt safe with him.
He was generous, too. The roses in the foyer were a gift from him. The dress and necklace she wore were other gifts. She always blushed when she got a gift—it seemed too much. But try telling Marcus that and he just shook his head and got stubborn. And when Marcus got stubborn, well…
Once, telling her that he had to miss a date because of business, he told her to go into a shop and try on whatever she liked. Sharo had followed, a silent shadow who saw everything and said nothing. Everything she touched, whether she liked it or not, arrived in large shopping bags at her apartment the next day.
She would have been exasperated—she already felt that things were so uneven between them, and every gift he gave her only made her feel that gap all the more. She didn’t care about the jewelry or the clothes. Sure they were nice.
But all she wanted was Marcus.
In the end, it was why she accepted all the gifts. Because she knew it made him happy. It meant something to him, she could tell, to be able to drape the woman he cared for in fine things. To help her stand out as his. And that was all she ever wanted because she could barely remember a time before Marcus.
But could something so beautiful and perfect actually last? For her, Cora Vestian?
Things were just so good. And well…she couldn’t help feeling on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She couldn’t help it. Her mother had built a lifetime of paranoia in her.
It didn’t help that she felt sure she was being watched. Once in a while, returning home from work in the evening, she’d be coming down the street and get the feeling. She’d look over quickly, and there would be the sleek tip of a car, turning out of an alley, or parked on the street. The windows were always tinted so she could never see inside.
At first she’d been terrified, sure it was her mother come to steal her back to the farm. But when nothing ever came of it, when the cars continued simply waiting patiently and following her movements…she couldn’t help wondering. Was…was Marcus having her followed? Or was she just being totally paranoid and no one was following her at all?
It’s a coincidence, Cora thought to herself as she got ready for her evening out. You’re making up something to be worried about.
Standing in the small room that served as a foyer in front of the door, she faced the mirror one last time.
Tonight was important. Marcus had been busy lately, working early and late and all hours in between, so that she barely saw him. Their last date had been three nights ago, at a new restaurant called simply ‘Nectar’. His car had met her at the animal shelter where she’d been dropping off a volunteer application and taken her straight to the place, despite her protests that she wasn’t dressed for the occasion. The night started with champagne in the car and ended with them both on the rooftop of the building, looking down over the world while the band played softly for the few late customers.
“This is beautiful,” she said.
“You’re beautiful.” Marcus wasn’t looking at the city. “I think I like you in your work clothes.”
She was just wearing jeans and a plain T-shirt. She tugged at the hem of the t-shirt. “You owe me for this, Marcus Ubeli.”
His mouth quirked and she went on. “Dragging me to this fancy restaurant, plying me with champagne…I’m barely fit to ride on public transport in these clothes.”
“I’ll make it up to you,” he said. “I’ll buy you a dress.”
She rolled her eyes and blushed like she always did. And his face, usually so serious under his dark and shining hair, had held a little half smile.
“I’d buy you all this if I could.” He swept his hand over the city, glittering below them like a box of jewels. Cora giggled at his teasing. Seeing Marcus so at ease and making jokes, while he stood so close to her, she felt euphoric.
“You mean you can’t?” she smiled back. “Mr. Ubeli, what will we do with you? You’ve been working too hard.” The moonlight cupped his dark features, the shadows under his eyes evidence of long, long nights. She wanted to reach up and touch his face but she didn’t quite dare.
“I’ve missed you,” he said. Two fingers came to stroke her cheek. Her heartbeat took flight. He was touching her. Gods, he was touching her. “I can’t believe I have someone like you.”
She stared at him and he stared back. Had he really just said that? To her? She knew she was infatuated with him. Any girl would be. But was it… Was it actually within the realm of possibility that he could actually feel anything back? For her?
But as he stared at her, she’d swear he looked just as stunned as she felt. Oh gods, could it be true? Please, please, could it be true? She’d give anything, pay any price for this man to care for her back even half of what she felt for him.
And then she realized she just been standing here silently. Crap.
She spoke up, haltingly. “You’ve been great too. You’re kind, more than generous. You’ve treated me like a princess.” Gods, she wasn’t saying this right. How could she make him understand? “I came to the city with such big dreams, but . . . every girl dreams of a life like this. You’ve made it come true.” She looked up at him, knowing that her cheeks were alive with the heat of the moment and the cold of the wind.
Her words weren’t enough. She wanted to tell him how she felt about him. It wasn’t just gratitude for all he done. Even if he’d never given her a single thing, she would feel the same way about him. She saw how he was with everybody else. Cold. Distant. The greatest gift he’d given her was himself. He’d let her in when he never let anyone in besides Sharo.
His fingers remained on her cheek, but still as if any movement more than breathing would shatter it all.
“Cora,” he whispered, and she strained to hear. The wind nearly took his words. “I want…”
“What?” she had whispered back, but there was no answer.
In the silence she’d shivered a little, and he was there, folding her into his chest, s
uit jacket and satin handkerchief pressing into her cheek. And he was warm, so strong, and nothing could take her away from his shelter or his heat.
“I want to keep you safe,” he said. “I want to hold you, like this…”
When he didn’t go on, she realized he didn’t have to. It was okay if he didn’t have the words. “Shh…” she whispered and closed her eyes, sinking into him.
They had stayed that way for a long time, till after the band stopped playing, and the waiters swept up, and finally they went back down to where Sharo sat in the car with a fist over his mouth to keep from yawning. She had kept her head on Marcus’s shoulder all the way home, as the light on the car window softened with dawn.
Marcus had kept his promise. The dress had arrived that afternoon, with a note: Wear it, and we’ll call it even. She had grown used to opening gifts in the weeks that he had been preoccupied with work, but this one made her gasp as she lifted it from the tissue—the fabric was luminous gray and covered over with clear beads that glinted like city lights. A small box accompanied it. It opened to showcase a necklace. The setting was shaped like a tear, two diamonds and another stone, a large red one she couldn’t recognize.
So now she found herself standing in the dim light of the little foyer, allowing herself one last look in the mirror before her escort knocked on the door and whisked her away to Marcus. She couldn’t wait to see him, but she wanted to look perfect for him.
The dress was lovely, soft and gray, like the stuff of clouds. The tiny beads twinkled, even though the only light in her dark apartment came from the cityscape outside her windows. She had turned out the lights in preparation to go out, and now saw her reflection in stark shadow and dulled light.
Still, her eyes were shining, and the jewels at her ears and neck flashed in the light of the city. She smiled. A happy, but pale face smiled back. She touched her cheek with cold fingers. So white, as if she’d been frightened. Patting them sharply to give them some color, she breathed in the scent of the roses.
A knock sounded behind her, and she all but jumped out of her skin. She laughed at herself as she put a hand to her chest. Grabbing her clutch, she turned to the door. She almost grabbed for the doorknob but stopped herself and checked through the peephole, as Marcus had instructed her. City instinct, he had told her. Don’t trust you know what’s beyond your own front door.
He sounded like her mother. But still, she humored him.
The head outside the door was bent. Frowning, she waited for it to straighten so she could see a face. It certainly wasn’t Sharo; his head was shaved. The one she was looking at had a full head of hair, brown and a bit tousled, though wet like it had been raining on the streets.
Finally, the head raised. Her mouth dropped open in a silent gasp and she went cold as she recognized the face from that night at the club. The night that ended with her on her back in a car, before she escaped into the streets and the empty club where she had met Marcus.
She backed silently away from the door, fright closing her throat.
He didn’t see you. He can’t see you.
Still, all she wanted was to run to her bedroom and hide under the bed like a little kid. Instead, she retreated to the kitchen, grabbed her phone along with a big kitchen knife, and went into the bathroom. She closed and locked the door behind her.
Shaking, she dialed. It was a number Marcus had given her if she needed to reach him. No one ever picked up, but she had never left a message before without Marcus or Sharo getting the information.
“Hello,” she whispered in the bathroom, “this is Cora.” Even though she was speaking as quietly as she could, her voice echoed off the bathroom walls. Was the man still out there? Could he hear her?
“There’s a man outside my door,” she continued into the phone, both her hand and her voice shaking, but she gave every detail as carefully as she could, speaking slowly, like a small child. She hung up and waited.
Ten minutes later, she thought she could hear another knock on the door. Phone in hand, she didn’t move. Again, a knock. The phone rang, breaking the silence and nearly causing her to scream. She answered it with a half-strangled, “Hello?”
Sharo was at the door. It took three tries for her shaking hands to unlock it, and when she did, he came in before she asked him, ushering her to a couch with a strong hand, flipping on lights as he did. He poured her a drink and assured her Marcus was on his way. Then he went back to the foyer and she heard his deep voice, talking to what she assumed were more of Marcus’s security team.
Sharo was back a few minutes later, a certain look on his face that told her that he was cautiously pleased with something.
“You okay?” he asked. She’d gotten to know Sharo a little bit over the past month, well, as much as you could get to know a gruff, silent security guard. But there was genuine concern in his eyes as he looked down at her.
“Yes,” she said, smoothing still trembling hands down over her gown. “I think so.”
“Two of my men were outside the apartment. They think they may have spotted him, and seen him dive down into city transport. They’re still on the trail.” There it was again, a look of quiet smugness that suggested Sharo was sure he’d have his hands on the man soon. “You’ll never see him again.”
Cora frowned. The way Sharo said it, it sounded…final. Not like if they found the guy, they’d call the cops.
“He didn’t do anything,” she said. “Just scared me, that’s all.” What the hell was she doing? Defending her kidnapper? She lifted hands to her temples and rubbed. “How—how did he find me?”
But Sharo’s face was now impassive, and he was suddenly no longer willing to speak. A few minutes later, Marcus arrived, and she was comforted, complemented, and cradled in his strong arms. All the while Sharo watched, and Cora felt the silent, knowing glances between the man and his boss.
“Why don’t we stay in tonight, babe. Go order Greek. Sharo will pick it up for us.”
She left the room reluctantly, feeling the eyes of the two men on her. When she returned, they were standing close to one another, both faces were hard and strained, though she had heard no raised voices. As quiet as she was creeping back, she only heard Marcus mutter, “Don’t let it happen again,” before he turned back to her, a cold but gracious host.
Cora stood at the threshold of the room. She’d changed out of the beautiful gown into soft jeans and a plum colored cashmere sweater. This was the other side of the man she…the man she cared for. It was easy to let herself get swept away in the Marcus he was when they were alone together. Passionate. Tender. Sweet. But there was another side to him. A darkness.
“Give Sharo the restaurant name so he can get the food.” Before the bald man left the room, Marcus added, “I don’t want any delivery boy knowing where she lives.” The quiet fury on his face made her pause halfway to the couch. He put out his hand to call her to him and she remained where she was.
“Marcus,” she asked when Sharo had gone, “who is this guy?” Would he open up to her?
“I told you, babe. He’s some dick off the streets who saw a goddess he can never touch and can’t get wise.” With a sigh he seated himself on the couch, staring off into nowhere, his face turned to stone.
Finally, though, he relaxed. “Come here,” he said, and held out his hand again. Slowly, she moved forward and took it, allowing him to pull her down onto the couch. He cradled her as he had when they had first met, arm around her, her head against his suit jacket.
“I don’t want you scared,” he whispered, his lips right near her face, “Don’t think you aren’t safe. Nobody, I mean nobody,” she felt him tense up, angry, “touches my girl.”
She wanted to soothe him. She wanted her Marcus back. “I’m fine,” she murmured. “Nothing happened.”
They sat in silence for a time, and as the clock ticked, the tension left his body. Cora could feel his breathing soften. She held herself very still, like a moth trapped against a lamp; feeling the dang
er, unable to break away. But she didn’t want to break away.
Let me in, she pleaded silently. She could handle his darkness, if he would let her be his light.
“And nothing ever will. I’ll keep you safe,” he said. “I won’t let you out of my sight.”
She remembered the gleam of the black car she spotted sometimes and frowned. “You already don’t.”
“What?” His voice mixed with the doorbell and she pulled away.
“It’s okay,” Marcus said, his hands steadying her, “it’s only Sharo with the food.” He mistook her anxiety and she let him, body still taut and held away from him, even though she was still so close her hair spilled over his suit.
“Cora,” he repeated, and she relaxed.
“I’m hungry, go get dinner,” she said, but she turned her face away from him as he stood up and went to the door.
He was having her followed, she knew it now. Sharo had all but admitted it when he said men watching her apartment had followed her abductor, and Marcus’s words just now… This was exactly the kind of thing she’d left her mother to get away from.
She breathed out and squeezed her eyes shut. What had she gotten herself into? Did Marcus think she didn’t know? Did he think she was an idiot? Was that what he wanted, some dumb, foolish little plaything he could occasionally amuse himself with?
Moving to one corner of the couch and tucking her legs under her, she listened hard. Voices in the foyer—Marcus and another, no, two other men. Sharo? Or the other two, the ones who had been so conveniently close to her apartment? The question was: why was he having her watched? For her safety…or because he didn’t trust her?
“You okay?” Marcus asked when he returned with a paper sack of food. Cora smiled and nodded, but it was the fake smile she always used to use with her mother. Gods how she hated to use it with Marcus. But she didn’t know what else to do. Everything had seemed so sure only an hour before and now…
They set out the food, and before they tucked in, Marcus asked again, “You sure you’re okay?”