Darkside Love Affair

by Michelle Rosigliani

  I owed Liv more than I could ever repay, but tonight, my time and focus belonged to someone else. Charlotte was in my bed, flushed with rapture and languorous like a goddess in her resting pose. Tonight, everything apart from Charlotte and her warm, supple body lost in my arms was superfluous.

  When her hair was satisfyingly dry, I slid beside her and gathered her to my chest. She was uniquely beautiful while asleep. Restrictions and inhibitions left aside, her face was serene, almost smiling, arranged into a peaceful, sated, and purely feminine expression.

  “I’m pulling you to the dark side, sweet Charlotte,” I sighed in the night. Like I had done time and time again with all the people I loved.

  I held Charlotte tightly and brushed my lips across her forehead, wishing she were enough to make the remorse go away.

  I always felt guilty and indebted when Liv called, and so, I always ran to her. It was nearly a compulsion, one that had already hurt Charlotte’s feelings when, without so much as an explanation, I had left her alone in my apartment to save a girl who perhaps could never be saved.

  THE TIRES SCREECHING on the pavement and the booming of the engines amplified with each step I took, yet it was the pounding of my blood that I heard the loudest. Liv’s scared, nearly pained cries echoed in my head until they became real. My head snapped forward, and all of a sudden, I saw red.

  In a crowd of drunken, jeering men, Liv was cowering like a defenseless little bird. Her sobs wafted in the night, and her fear dribbled like poison in the air. Of all people, Liv shouldn’t be scared or aggrieved again.

  “Take your filthy hands off her,” I growled right before my fist connected with a jaw that quickly cracked.

  I possessed the advantage of having surprised them, and I also possessed the rage they lacked. I pushed Liv behind me so fast and so forcefully that she almost collapsed.

  A fuming gorilla with a bald head and an unkempt beard approached me, and I greeted him with a knee precisely placed to his gut. He howled and fell to the ground as another buddy came to the rescue.

  The poor excuse of a man hit me in the chest, managing only to enrage me a little bit more. I caught his arm, pulled him forward, and elbowed him so hard that he staggered a few feet to the side, holding his jaw and whining like a puppy.

  “Marcus, be careful.”

  Liv’s soft-spoken warning came at the same time a brutal blow to my head caught me off guard and pushed me backward. I slammed into Liv’s body, the impact affecting her balance. She dropped to the ground as I cupped my right ear, a terrible ringing deafening me shortly.

  “All of you, cease this nonsense.”

  A motorcycle stopped next to us, casting a cloud of smoke. I looked up to see Kai climbing off, his furious countenance so unlike him. He jerked his chin, his eyes spat fire, and instantly, everybody except Liv and me scattered away. Here, at the races, Kai was in command, but I was impressed to realize how influential he was.

  “Where were you?” I spat, bending to help Liv to her feet.

  Head bowed, hands powerlessly linked together, she was crying. I hated when she was crying. I hated the most that I could do nothing to make her tears disappear.

  “She is not my responsibility.” Kai walked to me, a stern, resolute expression on his face. “And neither is she yours.”

  Liv sobbed and sagged into me. My arms went around her naturally, knowing the shape of her soft, fragile body all too well.

  When she was crying, when she was so weak and so painfully defenseless, she unraveled me. I pressed my lips to the top of her head, inhaling her scent and instead remembering how Charlotte had felt underneath me less than an hour ago.

  Liv cried harder and wrapped her arms around my waist to steady herself. Guilt ate at me with a ferocious, merciless brutality that stole my breath. Here I was with Liv crying in my arms, and my thoughts were directed to another woman, my whole body remembering and needing that woman.

  “She is not your responsibility anymore.” Kai watched me fixedly, his jaw rolling at the sight of Liv in my arms.

  He didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand that Liv was always going to be my responsibility. My debt to her was never going to be settled.

  “That is enough, Kai.”

  I was much too quickly drained of energy. After days and days of restlessness, I finally felt tired, but then again, I always seemed to feel tired around Liv. I cradled her close and steered her to my car without casting another glance at my cousin.

  “Why were you here, Olivia?”

  Raw anger struck me like lightning. Nobody should have valued and pursued safety more than Liv herself. And yet, she didn’t. Liv eyed me, startled, looking as if I had just slapped her.

  Swallowing down my remorse, I went on. “What were you thinking, coming to a place filled with drunk people? Have you lost your mind?” Tears trickled down her pale face, inflaming the guilt and therefore the anger. Was she doing this to torment me? “Answer me, damn it.”

  “I—I—” Words failed her as she began crying in earnest.

  “Stop crying,” I snapped, then bumped my fist against the steering wheel.

  Olivia Lambert generated many emotions in me: happiness, pleasure, affection, despondency, guilt, but most frequently anger. And most commonly, I didn’t know whether I was mad at her or at myself.

  “I was looking for you,” she sobbed then looked out the passenger window.

  I turned on the engine and stepped on the gas with an economy of movements that rendered me brusque and stiff. Liv covered her mouth with her tiny fist in a failed attempt to muffle her sobs.

  “Why?” Despite my efforts to soften my voice, it still sounded angry and harsh, but I needed to know why I had left an excited Charlotte, without so much as an explanation, alone in my apartment.

  “I have been calling. You never answered. You fought with Brayden, and I was so worried. And you never call or visit and—I was worried.”

  “You were worried about me fighting with Brayden? It was not a fight, Liv. We were blowing off some steam.”

  “Oh yes, because for you getting in fistfights is recreational.”

  Brayden and I had a long history of settling our issues in random boxing matches, but those could hardly be called fistfights. By the time the match was over, both of us would feel better and any problem would be forgotten. For us, it was a way to let go of bad energy, a method Liv had never understood nor approved of.

  I ran a nervous hand through my hair then grabbed the steering wheel with unnecessary force. I had learned my lesson not to argue with Liv while I was driving, so I let the silence stretch and ignored her crying, inquisitive eyes.

  We were close to Liv’s apartment building when I realized it was the same building Charlotte lived in. I clenched my teeth and prayed with all my might for this night to not get even worse than it had already been.

  “Talk to me, please.” Liv leaned in and rested a hand on my knee that I couldn’t help but glare at. It struck me all of a sudden that her touch didn’t feel like it used to. Or I was the one who had stopped needing the intimacy?

  By the time we reached the confines of her apartment without any casual encounters, I had yet to talk. I locked the door and strode to the window, my hands shoved in my pockets. With some degree of difficulty, Liv followed me, but hesitation radiated off her.

  “Please, Marcus, don’t be mad at me.” It was so like her to drive me mad then sneak her way past my anger and appease me once again. This time it was not working. Not yet.

  “Do you have the tiniest understanding of what you do to me, Olivia?”

  “Don’t call me that,” she whimpered.

  Slender arms wrapped around my waist, and she leaned her head against my rigid back. Her feminine touch reminded me of soft, tuberose-scented skin, heated cheeks, and brown eyes. It reminded me of everything that was amiss and could never be mended between us.

  “Are you doing it on purpose?” I continued, ignoring her. “Do you consciously put yo
urself in danger to torture me, to show me that I cannot protect you, to remind me that I never could?”

  “How can you say that? I would never try to hurt you.”

  She kissed my shoulder and nuzzled her cheek against my sweatshirt. The hands she kept locked around my waist started a journey of their own. While one hand traveled north, stroking my chest in a practiced, possessive gesture, the other one dived south, brazenly ducking past the waistband of my sweatpants. The gesture that once would have instantly ignited me, now did nothing more than leave me cold.

  “No.” I caught her wrists and pulled her hands away, letting them fall limply by her sides. When I turned around to face her, Liv was pale with shock.

  “No?” Shock was replaced by a deep lack of comprehension.

  “What we do is not healthy. It should stop. I think I should leave.”

  I was halfway to the door when her furious sobs stopped me.

  “Of-of course. Y-you only come when you need me. N-never when I n-need you.”

  “Never when you need me? I always drop everything and come running to you when you need me, Olivia.”

  I whirled back around so fast and closed the space between us so wrathfully that her eyes widened in fear. She stumbled backward, and in a matter of seconds, she was on the ground, sagging and sobbing. Watching how she clasped her limp leg and gathered her knees to her chest as if she sought protection made me fist my hands in my hair and almost howl. I was torn between frustration and the need to be the one protecting her, but eventually, the latter prevailed.

  “Liv, I’m sorry.” I went to my knee, crouching over her, but stopped dead when she flinched away. It was so déjà vu.

  “Don’t. I don’t want you near me.”

  “Then why do you call, Liv? Why do you keep drawing me back if you don’t want me near you? You drive me insane.”

  “I-I need you. I d-don’t know how to show you what I feel anymore.”

  Hurt in its purest, severest form oozed from her eyes. The tears never stopped pouring down her cheeks. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her small nose looked just as red. The genuineness of her vulnerability called to me.

  My protective instincts kicked in, and just like that, I was cradling Liv in my lap. She cowered and clung to me like a little girl. I watched her through eyes filled with pain of my own. She had once been my girl.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you angry.” She rocked back and forth in my arms, her trembling hands covering her eyes. “I was wrong in looking for you at the race. I was wrong—about everything—tonight.”

  Liv was a complete rollercoaster. One moment she was arguing and fighting, and the next she was apologizing, seeking my good graces with a persistence that made me believe her whole life depended on my approval.

  “Hush, Liv. Stop crying.”

  “You were so violent tonight. Why must violence always be involved?”

  Violence repulsed her not because of its primal brutality but because of its bloody outcome. Liv couldn’t bear the sight of blood. When she shuddered, my arms automatically tightened around her.

  “Liv, you called me. You asked me to be there. What did you expect? Besides, nothing would have happened if you had stayed home.” Anger was barely contained behind a soft but stiff voice.

  “I needed to see you. I needed to make sure you were alright. How could I reach you otherwise if you don’t answer my calls?” A spark of anger leaked in her voice, but she quickly resumed her quiet, unstoppable sobbing.

  “Let’s make a deal. I answer when you call, and you stop doing this sort of stupidity. Does this sound like a fair deal?”

  “Okay.”

  “Liv, I’m serious. Next time you willingly put yourself in danger I will not come to the rescue.”

  Liv gasped and gaped, noticing an adverse determination in me that hadn’t existed before. I could feel the change too, and I also knew the change bore a name.

  Charlotte.

  WHEN I WOKE UP IN THE morning, the bed was empty. Only the outline of Charlotte’s body in the rumpled sheet was proof of her having been there. I heard the shower running before I climbed off the bed, and an adolescent pleasure filled me at the idea of having Charlotte going through her morning routine under my roof.

  I opened the glass door and strode into the steamy bathroom, leaning casually against the sink. With arms folded on my chest and desire-loaded eyes, I watched her silhouette behind the misty screen of the shower cabin.

  My body recalled with stark accuracy her soft curves and supple legs wrapped around my hips, her swollen lips and pear-shaped breasts pressed against my chest, and her ever-present tuberose scent.

  The shower door opened, and Charlotte emerged with excessive carefulness. Her hair was piled up on top of her head in a messy bun. A few brown curls disengaged from the sexily mussed updo and caressed her pale shoulders with the same softness I longed to touch her.

  Her eyes lifted from the floor and lazily focused on me. She watched me with astonishment and longing of her own, then she gave a start that only fed my amusement.

  “Marcus,” Charlotte hissed.

  “Charlotte,” I chuckled.

  Her hands hesitated in midair, then they went around herself to cover her breasts. I muffled the growl but couldn’t disguise the disapproving look in my eyes.

  She lost her balance, and I was instantly in front of her, wrapping my arms securely around her invitingly wet body.

  “There’s no point in hiding from me now.”

  I scooped her up into my arms and locked her legs around my waist. Only the inconsequential material of my pajama bottoms separated us. She bent, and my mouth naturally found hers, engaging in a fanatical dance of inflamed lips, searching tongues, and ragged breaths. By the time I placed her on the cold marble next to the sink, my response to her couldn’t be concealed.

  Charlotte gave a soft, shy moan and let her head fall back against the mirror behind her. I trailed kisses down her chin and her jaw, to the graceful column of her throat. With eyes tightly shut and lips parted to allow quick, panting breaths, Charlotte looked divine.

  A mischievous grin lit my expression as I bent to kiss her throat again and gently bit on the flesh at its base. She gasped.

  “We don’t have time for this. I need to go home before work and change. My clothes aren’t exactly useable.”

  Palms flat on my chest, she gave me a soft shove, stopping me. Every instinct in my body urged me to stop her, but I didn’t want to be the cause of her drawbacks. I didn’t want to give her reasons to turn from me.

  “I will drive you—after you eat.”

  “I don’t eat in the morning.”

  “You will now.” My resolve initially surprised her, then she rolled her eyes but wisely chose not to protest.

  Twenty minutes later, Charlotte descended the stairs to the living room, wearing one of my shirts and begging to be disheveled again. I bit down a smile and motioned her to take a seat at the table where a plate full of scrambled eggs, bacon, and waffles with maple syrup and berries was already waiting for her.

  “You are going to eat too, right?” Her eyes widened as she gestured to her own plate.

  “I would very much like to eat, but I wouldn’t want to be the reason you are late, Miss Burton.”

  Then I couldn’t restrain my smile anymore. She blushed with renewed shyness, which, as much as it fascinated me, had no place between us.

  I pulled a chair next to her and sat so my knee brushed against hers, and each time I moved, our arms casually touched. I planned to make Charlotte completely aware of me on all levels. She took a bite of the waffles and gave an enticing moan that came from deep in her throat.

  “How do you take your coffee?”

  A loose curl escaped from her low ponytail, and my fingers quickly pushed it behind her ear. Once I touched her, my hand remained in permanent contact with her skin.

  “Black.”

  I arched an eyebrow, rather surprised at her choice.


  “What?”

  Charlotte put up an affronted façade, but the rosiness in her cheeks and the way her eyes quickly looked away betrayed her coyness.

  “It is not a common selection for women.”

  “I wasn’t aware we drink our coffee depending on gender.”

  Smiling at her sassy reply, I poured her a generous cup of coffee, involuntarily remembering they day she crashed into me, spilling coffee all over herself. The sight of Charlotte angry was delightful, yet the sight of Charlotte unguarded and overwhelmed by pleasure was an image not likely to ever ebb from my mind.

  “You never told me how your trip to D.C. was.”

  “Tiring,” Charlotte answered in a small voice, after diligently chewing on her lip.

  Her professional persona slipped in place. The tranquility of her features took on a stone-hard quality while her eyes grew vacant with recollections that made her press her lips in a straight line. But what worried me the most was the pallor that had suddenly chased away the color in her cheeks.

  “Tell me,” I encouraged, my hand wrapping around her small fist. Charlotte tilted her head to the side, studying me as she absently chewed on her waffles. I had almost resigned myself to her silence when she started speaking.

  “It’s tradition for an associate who is promoted to Junior Partner to receive a top-level case, one that offers as much exposure as possible. I’ve been expecting one, but I never imagined that my father would appoint me Jack Stewart’s case.”

  During the past two weeks, Jack Stewart’s story had been all over the news. From daily reports to the last editions of the most important newspapers, the prodigal son of Mayor Mitch Stewart had been ever-present. To top it off, not a day had passed at Burton & Associates without someone mentioning the troubling news.

  Jack Stewart had been discovered unconscious in a hotel room, lying beside the corpse of his fiancée. At first glance, he seemed as much of a victim as the dead woman. Speculations, however, arose when the results of the preliminary investigations were received. The lethal weapon, a Beretta M9, was covered in a single set of fingerprints—Jack’s.