She closed the door and went down the stairs thinking of how she would evade Markus’s driver who was dutifully bent on following her every step.
She walked out of the building and looked around. She would not miss the right-leaning utopias of the whitewashed New York City suburbs, especially not her landlady, who proclaimed her neighborhood a safe haven for her tenants, while with her friends she pretended she wasn’t upstate.
Her eyes landed on the bar in the corner.
Pointing to it, she said to Donovan, “I have to meet a friend and it will take a while. I can call a taxi afterwards.”
“Mr. Blackthorn won’t be needing me.” Donovan shook his head. “I will be waiting here for you when you are ready.”
Great. Just great. Hannah rolled her eyes at herself. “Give me an hour or so.”
Hannah entered the bar, waved to Lily, and walked to the back. Putting a coin inside the payphone, she punched in Luciano’s mobile number with shaky fingers.
A male voice she didn’t recognize answered on the first ring. “Yeah?”
“May I speak with Mr. Aquila? It’s Hannah Kristensen.”
“Hold on.”
She could hear muffled voices on the other side of the line. Feeling a bit woozy, she leaned on the wall and remembered she had not eaten since the day before.
“Do you have the money?” the same male voice asked.
She swallowed to wet her parched throat. “Yes.”
“Mr. Aquila is waiting.”
She heard the click on the line and for once it didn’t sound ominous. She straightened herself and marched to the back door of the bar, waving once more at Lilly. First step to freedom.
The Blackthorn Corporation headquarters
3:30 p.m.
“Ms. Kane, from Boucheron, is here.” Thomas’s voice informed via the intercom.
Automatically, Markus’s gaze dropped to his watch. Jesus! Where the hell has the time gone?
He glanced at the Haskell & Sons files on his large desk. With all the meetings he’d had to start the ball rolling for getting Hannah settled in his apartment, his impending wedding, and a new hearing on Victoria’s custody, he was still only halfway through it all.
“Send her in.” He rose to receive the saleswoman and he realized he didn’t know Hannah’s finger size. And he couldn’t call her to ask because he didn’t even have her cell number. He was letting basic things slip past his usually sharp mind.
“Ms. Janet Kane,” announced Thomas from the door as the Boucheron representative entered the office.
“Hello, Janet. Please, sit.” He motioned to the sofa and told his secretary, “Thomas, put Donovan on the line.”
New Jersey
4:00 p.m.
Jacob Muller’s lap around the large office included peering out the window and circling the desk to see the large computer screen, which kept him apprised of stock market fluctuations in real-time. He came around the desk and stopped in front of the brothers Angelo and Stephano Avelatto, Luciano Aquila’s first Lieutenants.
“I know Mr. Aquila is not happy that Blackthorn bought Haskell,” Jacob said. “But he did. You should be planning on moving the operation from Velid to another laboratory. Because shit will hit the fan when Blackthorn finds out.”
“If,” Angelo corrected, as he leaned back in the comfortable leather chair, adjusting his suit jacket.
“You don’t tell him—we don’t tell anyone.” Stephano smiled wryly. “As soon as you manage to convince him to sell Velid Pharmaceutical, Mr. Aquila will establish his full operation there.”
“Meanwhile, we continue as planned,” Angelo added in a voice that didn’t admit contradiction.
Jacob, exhaling a white cloud of smoke from his electronic cigarette, asked the question that sat heavily on his mind, “But what happens if he doesn’t sell Velid? And worse, if he finds out?”
“If he starts sniffing around,”—Stephano cracked his fingers together,—“let me know. I’ll take care of him.”
Jacob opened his mouth to ask what Stephano would do, but thought better of it. The less he knew, the better. “Right. All right. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
The brothers rose and Jacob accompanied them to the elevators.
At the last second, Angelo’s big hand stopped the doors from closing. “Muller.”
Jacob turned. “Yes?”
“Give my regards to that beautiful wife of yours,” said Angelo.
The closed-mouth smile that followed the subtle warning gave Jacob goosebumps.
Markus Blackthorn’s penthouse
5:45 p.m.
“Ma’am, we’ve arrived,” Donovan’s voice snapped Hannah out of the light slumber into which she had fallen right after entering the car.
She looked around and realized they were in the garage, in front of the elevators, and Donovan was holding the door open for her. Darn.
She stepped out of the car and smiled at the driver. “Thank you.”
He smiled back at her and said, “I’ll bring your luggage up.”
When the elevator doors at Markus’s penthouse opened, the first thing she saw was Markus, looking devastatingly manly in a plain white cotton shirt, a navy cardigan, and dark jeans.
Perhaps being his fake wife won’t be so bad. It might even be downright enjoyable. She smiled at him, but it withered away when she noticed the dark scowl on his face.
“Where have you been?” he asked without preamble when she stepped into the hall.
She could feel his stare taking stock of her and for a moment she wondered if he was worried that something else had happened to her, but then remembered his warning about the safety of his daughter.
“I was…” Then it dawned on her. “You ordered me watched.”
“No, I didn’t.” He frowned. In a sense, he had, and it didn’t settle well with him that he had to keep an eye on her. His life was already too complicated as it was. “I needed to talk with you and I realized I didn’t have your number. So, I called Donovan’s and…he didn’t find you where you said you would be. But that is not the point. Where have you been?”
“If you must know, I was putting my life in order as I promised.” She tried to cross her arms over her chest, again forgetting the cast, and let her arms hang at her sides. “Are you going to invite me in, or what?”
Markus sighed loudly, his impatience showing, but motioned her in. “Welcome to my home, Hannah.”
“Thanks.”
He turned and began walking.
His hair gleamed a rich, evocative black under the lights, his back solid and strong in front of her. She allowed her eyes to roam over his big, splendidly proportioned and powerfully muscled body.
When she didn’t step up beside him, he stopped and shot her an amused look over his shoulder. “Ah, an old-fashioned woman.”
It was taking all of her concentration to breathe but she managed to ask, “What?”
“You obviously believe in walking a step—or rather, three steps—behind a man.”
In your dreams. It was beyond tempting to slap his face.
Smiling down at her when she joined him, as if he’d read her thoughts, he said, “I’ll give you a tour later. I thought you might want to take a shower before Dr. Hanssen arrives.”
She responded tersely, “Yes, thank you.”
“The living room, dining room, and kitchen are that way,” he said, pointing at an opening to his right as he walked through his tastefully decorated apartment in the direction of an elaborately punctured red copper staircase under which was a black grand piano. “My home office is in the back.”
All she could garner from the walk was an impressive floor spread with the interiors done in vivid-red, pristine-white, and void-black filled with priceless contemporary art, all of which was soothed by the vastness of Central Park right outside an all-glass wall.
Although it had a sort of warmth, it was not an apartment created for a couple or a family, but a place made to impress.
Hannah’s temperament was not really suited to brooding and it was difficult to be anything but excited, being that she had solved most of her problems, was surrounded by such sinful luxury, and had such a specimen of manly beauty as her host.
“Thanks.” He smiled wickedly at her. “Bedrooms and family room are here on the second floor.”
There was a sudden shift in palette in the private area. Softer and calmer, the second floor was done in silver and taupe, with icy and navy blues, but no less impressive than the first floor had been. The stairs opened into a large room with silk damask papered walls, a big, fluffy, overstuffed velvet couch, and huge, inviting armchairs facing a 75” TV that was set in a bookshelf. The navy carpet was so soft and thick she almost sighed.
Hannah was ready to crash and curl up in an armchair—or even on that plush carpet—pull what looked like a soft blanket over herself and sleep for a whole day. Accepting Markus’s offer, packing and leaving her cramped room for good, and paying Luciano, had sapped the last of her energies and left her floating numb in a blur of robotic movements.
“Outdoor pool and workout room are to the other side.” He pointed with a thumb over his shoulder as he veered left into a corridor. Opening the farthest door at its end, he said, “Your clothes have arrived.”
The huge bedroom was done in masculine blues with whimsical ivory, blue, and green chinoiserie patterned curtains offsetting its starkness.
Nothing at all like my cramped room. She didn’t doubt that the ivory-and-navy sheets on the California-king bed cost more than she paid in rent per year. The room was larger than her entire apartment. Who knows what the paintings on the walls are worth. Yep, the accommodations could have been much, much worse.
The alternative surely would have included a cubicle at The Eagle Nest, held at the mercy of Luciano, who’d likely use her unwilling body to take a never-ending payment of her debt.
She followed a silent Markus through the bedroom and into a walk-in dressing room.
The floor of the big, airy room was littered with bags and boxes of all sizes, and occupying one side of the room were clothes of all kinds, with the tags still attached.
She ran her hand over silk, wool, cotton, velvet; jeans, blouses, dresses, overcoats; and stared back at him. All that?
“Those are just a few things,” Markus informed her, unable to read in her composed face what she was thinking. “When you have time, go to Bergdorf and pick whatever you think you’ll need to accompany me with my varied activities.”
“Thanks.”
“Your bathroom is this way. You’ll find toiletries and towels already there for you.” The thought of Hannah’s wet body sent a surge of blood pumping south. “Do you need help?”
“Help?” she squeaked, betraying her nervousness.
He laughed smoothly at the soft blush that spread over her face. “With the cast.”
“No,” she snapped, then said softly, “No, thanks. I can manage.”
With a wicked grin, he pushed her in the direction of the bathroom. “Go, Hannah. We still have many things to decide.”
CHAPTER 8
Hannah sighed deeply as she discovered the large stash of brand new body-soaps and oils that lined the glass shelves in the back of the Carrara marble shower. She sighed even deeper as the hot water cascaded over her knotted muscles and tired body.
She had never indulged in such luxury. She’d lived in proximity to such luxury once, but the staff quarters she and her mother shared at the Blackthorn estate was not outfitted with the style and class of the main residence. They observed luxury, but did not enjoy it themselves. A wry smile touched her lips as she washed her long hair in a flowery scented shampoo with one hand. I will now.
At last, she reluctantly wrapped her hair and her body in fluffy towels and walked into the dressing room. She picked up a new cotton T-shirt and a pair of jeans from the rack and set them on a big stool in the middle of the room.
Hannah looked around for her luggage and not seeing it, crossed to the bedroom.
But what she discovered in the bedroom wasn’t her luggage. It was not even a something.
Instead, sprawled on the bed, with his hands under his head, was a tall, dark-haired, midnight-eyed man who made her breath catch in her throat and strange things flutter in the pit of her stomach.
Darn. Darn? Double darn. Clutching the towel tightly about her naked body she glared into his sinful eyes. “What do you want?”
You. Markus motioned to a wooden bench at the foot of the bed as his gaze took a full, blatant inventory of her slender form. He drawled softly, “I thought you might wish to eat something.”
His voice held a smooth darkness that slithered straight down her spine and the flutters beat all the harder from him caring enough to bring her a snack. Lord! What’s wrong with me? “I can hardly eat…”—naked—“dressed as I am.”
He gave a smoky laugh. “Why not? I assure you I don’t mind.”
“I do.” Even as she resented his confidence, she was stirred by it.
“Very well.” But he didn’t move from his place on the bed. His gaze, so very dark—like the finest chocolate, rich and decadent—once again roamed downward, lingering upon the swell of her breasts. His smile slowly widened as if he could sense her nipples tighten in response.
He was reducing her to a pool of molten desire with just one glance. With an abrupt motion, she turned her back to him, pretending to herself she wasn’t affected. “I need my luggage.”
“What for?” He frowned at her back. “Didn’t any of the new clothes please you?”
There was something in his voice that made her turn. “Oh, they did, but I need—” She interrupted herself. She was not telling him she needed a bra and panties. “I just need them, Markus. Could you please bring them here?”
He stared at her for a full minute before rising from the bed. “They will be brought up. Meet me in my office when you are ready.”
“Thank you.” And here I go thanking him again.
As soon as Markus was out the door, Hannah advanced on the tray. It had been more than a day since she had eaten some meager toast with stale cheese for breakfast. She drank the orange juice and licked her lips at the freshness of it. As for the sandwich, it was a delicacy, and having known firsthand the pangs of hunger, Hannah gladly feasted on it.
Yeah, this could be much, much worse.
Markus walked through his apartment with a wry smile on his lips. Hannah was going to play hard-to-get, something he wasn’t accustomed to.
But, oh, aren’t I going to enjoy the chase. “Well, Hannah Kristensen, you will make this year much more interesting.”
When she came to him—and she would—it would be of her own free will. In the meantime, he would woo her during the day and wear her down at night by sleeping next to her.
He was almost willing to make a bet with himself she would be begging for him to touch her by the end of next week.
The Eagle Nest
7:00 p.m.
“That is unexpected, Mr. Muller.”
Jacob watched as Luciano paced the expensively but discreetly decorated large room at the back of the club. “I know, Mr. Aquila. But I will get it under control in no time. It’s just this first month of adjustments. After Maximilian goes back to Blackthorn headquarters, Velid will start to have the usual problems…and I will convince Blackthorn to sell it.”
Luciano tilted his head to the side. “And what do you propose we do until then, Mr. Muller?”
“Well, perhaps your men can work a night shift…” Jacob’s gaze moved to the goons stationed at the end of the room. “I am sure your men—”
Luciano’s amused laughter cut Jacob off. “My men? You’re delusional. The shipment is arriving on time and I expect you to have everything ready to package it as always.”
The or else was implied. He could feel sweat gluing his shirt to his bac
k. The audience with the oh-so-powerful drug lord of New York had ended, Jacob knew. “Of course, signore.”
“You look like you need some relaxation, Mr. Muller. You are welcome to use The Eagle Nest’s services. On the house,” Luciano said as he sat behind his desk, already concentrating on The Eagle Nest balance spreadsheet on his computer screen.
“Thank you, Mr. Aquila.”
When the door closed behind Jacob, Luciano snapped his fingers to his right-hand-man, Armando Spedale. “Put a shadow on the fucker and get a man inside Velid Pharmaceutical tomorrow. Keep me posted.”
Luciano didn’t like men who could not honor their word.
In the syndicate, such a man was as good as dead.
CHAPTER 9
Markus Blackthorn’s penthouse
7:30 p.m.
Entering Markus’s office was an experience in itself.
With a cathedral-like towering ceiling, the double doors opened to a large wide space directly facing a seamless floor-to-ceiling glass wall.
Her feet took her toward it and Hannah felt as if she was flying over Manhattan—as if she owned it. Nothing short of feeling like a goddess.
“It’s as close to floating on a cloud as one can conceivably get.”
Her senses snapped back in place by Markus’s tenor voice coming from her right.
Seated in an area comprised of black calf-skin sofa and black leather ebony armchairs, he perfectly fit the god part.
“Not exactly a white cloud on a blue sky,” she answered, her heels faintly clicking over the black marble floor.
“White clouds and blue skies are for angels,” he retorted.
She sat on the far side of the sofa, sighing when the soft leather embraced her body. “And you are?”
“Certainly not an angel.” He smirked.
No god, no angel, but more of a devil. Coal black hair, bold, black eyes combined with high cheekbones, a patrician nose and a sullen sensuality of a mouth, his face alone identified his lineage with Lucifer. And he was tempting her to sin. A very sexy devil. “What did you tell Dr. Hanssen?” She waved her hand over her face. “About…”
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