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by Shandi Boyes

  “I can’t go with you,” I mutter to Marcus, the regret in my tone unmissable.

  Marcus fights to hide his disappointment. He fails.

  Hating the rejection marring his striking face, I starkly whisper, “They know about us.” My voice is riddled with frustration, loathing that I’m allowing a woman like Delilah to dictate our lives.

  Marcus shakes his head, the command in his eyes as staunch as ever. “They know nothing, Cleo. Not a single thing,” he vows, his deep timbre clear-cut.

  I balk, utterly flabbergasted by his confidence. “How can you be so sure? You don’t know this woman, Marcus; she is a monster. She won’t stop until everyone knows your secret, and I’m living in the gutter.” I say my last sentence softly, guaranteeing Marcus won’t hear it.

  The hairs on my nape prickle when Marcus pushes off his feet and moves to stand in front of me. I gasp in greedy breaths when he peers into my eyes. As I return his ardent stare, my stunned state amplifies. I misread the glint in his eyes. He isn't overly confident or bossy. He's worried. But not about himself. He's concerned about me.

  My defenses are knocked out of the park when he says, "If I thought they had a single thing, I wouldn't be here, because I would never put you in that predicament.” He glances into my eyes, using his honest gaze to bolster his confession.

  His eyes float between my marked cheek and cut lip as he mutters, “They are trying to scare you into making a mistake, Cleo. Don’t fall into their trap.”

  My nose tingles as moisture looms in my eyes. “I can’t take you down with me, Marcus. I just. . . can’t.” I care about you way too much to let that happen.

  “You have our stories confused. If anyone is taking anyone down, it's me dragging you down, not the other way around,” he replies as the corner of his full lips crimps.

  I drift my eyes between his. I am more confused than ever.

  “The media has been interested in my story for years, way before you stumbled onto your knees in front of me,” he advises, his tone as cocky as his facial expression.

  If I weren’t being strangled with worry, I’d be tempted to wipe the pretentious look off his face. But since my heart is still sitting at the balls of my feet, I leash my goading for a more appropriate time.

  “This is different, Marcus. Since I refused to fall to my knees in front of her, Delilah is gunning for blood, and she won’t stop until she gets it.”

  Marcus’s eyes flare with anger as his fists ball. I don’t know if his anger stems from another person wanting me to kneel before them, or because I’m not taking his assurance I have nothing to worry about at face value.

  “I’ve always been one step ahead of the media, Cleo. That won’t change because you work at Global Ten.”

  “Yes, it will,” I interrupt. “I’m legally bound not to discuss any stories Global Ten Media are investigating. If I don’t adhere to my contract, they will sue me. I can’t afford that. I can barely afford to live as it is.” My last sentence comes out in a whisper, ashamed to admit I am drowning in debt.

  Marcus's pulse pulverizes my jawline when he cups my face. His thumbs catch my tears before they have the chance to fall. His kind gesture causes more moisture to well in my eyes.

  “I would never let that happen to you, Cleo,” he vows, confirming my suspicion that he would defend me against prosecution.

  Fighting against being snared by his alluring gaze, I mumble, “I can’t let you do that. I can’t let you fight my battles. This isn’t some small press company writing a story full of half-truths. This is one of the biggest media companies in the world. Even a man as wealthy as you would have a hard time going up against them if they sue me.”

  "Then there’s your answer. Don't give them a reason to sue you," Marcus states matter-of-factly, like it's the most natural thing in the world to do.

  “And how am I supposed to do that?” I ask, loathing that I’m once again relying on him to make a mammoth decision in my life.

  "You come to Ravenshoe as my guest, not as a reporter." Although his tone is stern, his eyes pacify the sting of his words. "We live in the twenty-first century. Money ensures nothing is sacred. So, you can be assured I didn't ask you to come with me to pry confidential information out of you, Cleo. I invited you to my home to show you me, the real Marcus."

  Blood gushes into my heart at a faster rate than it can pump it out.

  Sensing my wavering constraint, Marcus continues with his ploy. “Your one and only request during our negotiation last week was to know me. I’m trying to uphold my end of our agreement. I can’t do that if you defy my every move.”

  "I do not mean to defy you, Marcus; I just don't want them to destroy you."

  His thumbs brush my crimson cheeks as an unidentifiable glint in his eyes grows. “Losing you would gut me more than any story they could muster.”

  Oh. My. God. My heart just combusted, and every inhibition I’ve ever had about us vanishes.

  “Are you sure this is what you want? This will change everything between us. Not just Global Ten’s investigation. Everything,” I warn, wanting to ensure he understands what this means for our relationship.

  If I go home with him, I’ll never see our relationship as a standard Dom/sub agreement. If he is hoping we stick to that path, he needs to remove his offer from the table.

  Spotting the indecisiveness in his eyes, I say, “If you're doing this because you feel guilty about what happened last night, please don’t. You’re not responsible—”

  My assured speech stops midsentence when Marcus presses his luscious lips against mine. Although I know he is using my attraction to him to his advantage, I can’t stop the throaty purr rumbling up my throat when his tongue slides into my mouth in a slow and seductive lick. He samples every inch of my mouth, lapping up any indecisiveness left floating inside. His kiss is so mind-stealing, if I didn’t hear the snickering of my baby sister behind me, I’d be tempted to forgo our entire conversation and skip straight to dessert.

  After ensuring I am utterly drunk on lust, Marcus pulls his luscious lips away from mine. My shameful whimper causes my sister's small chuckle to break into rapturous laughter. I crank my neck to the side and glare at her, but it doesn't decrease her childish giggles. It increases them. I arch my brow, soundlessly requesting some privacy. Lexi pouts, disappointed by my appeal. My eyes track her shuddering frame as she saunters toward the hallway, her steps dramatically slow.

  Incapable of leaving without having the final remark, Lexi jests, “Be sure to text me what vitamins Chains is taking before you leave. I’d hate to miss the opportunity to have my Christmas stocking stuffed over and over again while you’re away.” Her tone is so lewd, not even a saint would miss the innuendo of her request. “Oh, and a heads up, the entranceway table is a perfect height for settling disagreements on.” She locks her devious eyes with Marcus and brazenly winks before exiting the room.

  As my eyes rocket to the small wooden table in our foyer, my stomach lurches into my throat. I’ve never been more pleased for an empty stomach as I am right now.

  Marcus draws my attention back to him by tracking his thumb along the throb in my throat. His touch is so tantalizing, Lexi’s hyena chuckle bellowing down the hallway fades into the background. In no time at all, I am once again at the complete mercy of Master Chains and his soul-baiting eyes.

  “Did that feel like guilt talking, Cleo?” he asks, his voice husky from our hunger-fueled kiss.

  Shaking my head, I take a step backward, putting some much-needed space between us before I get snared by his alluring eyes. Seeing my action as defiance, Marcus angles his head to the side before taking a step forward. I hold my hands out in front of my body, advising this isn't a tactic to gain his attention. I genuinely do need space. I can barely breathe when he is in front of me, much less think rationally.

  The fire blazing through me combusts when Marcus denies my silent request by taking another step closer to me.

  “Stop it,” I sco
ld, faking annoyance. I’m not annoyed. I’m far from annoyed. Deep down inside, I’m loving every bit of attention.

  Marcus takes another step closer to me. And another. And another. Until the last snippet of air left dangling between us is filled by his impressive frame.

  “Defiance only delays the inevitable, Cleo,” he mutters, glancing into my eyes.

  My god—I forgot how masterful he is. One glance and all coherent thoughts vanish.

  “I’m not being defiant; I just need time to think. I can’t do that with you right here.” I attempt to gesture to the small portion of space between us, but since Marcus is standing so close, I physically can’t. “You’re too. . . beguiling. I can’t think straight when you’re close to me.”

  “You stole the words right out of my mouth, Cleo,” he croons. “That’s what you do to me. You have me tangled up in knots, unsure if I’m coming or going. But I must say, I thought that was all part of the process?”

  “Process?” I mumble, my brows inching into my hairline.

  The unfamiliar glint I spotted in his eyes earlier flares as he replies, “Dating. That's what we are doing, isn’t it?”

  A highly inappropriately timed smile threatens to etch onto my mouth from the uncertainty smeared in his deep tone. Anyone would swear he is giving a sermon on the sanctity of marriage in a biker bar full of cheating husbands for how uneasy his words are.

  Biting on the inside of my cheek to leash my smile, I say, “To be honest, I don’t know what the hell this is.” I once again attempt to gesture my arm between us. I once again fail. “It’s daunting. Scary. Confusing. Magical.”

  I wasn't meant to say the last word, but I'm glad I did when the most breathtaking, flawless smile I've ever seen etches on Marcus's face. If I didn't already know I am lost to this man, his smile ensures there is no mistake.

  “Then let the magic continue, Cleo, in a place where no one will be looking for it,” Marcus suggests.

  My brows furrow, sending a smattering of wrinkles across my forehead.

  "Chains is a New York-based company. No one is looking for its owner in Florida," Marcus advises my bemused expression.

  My heart beats triple time. I can’t believe I didn’t click to this earlier. Is that how Marcus’s identity has remained concealed for so long? Because everyone assumes he is a local New Yorker?

  I take a moment to consider his suggestion. I come up with the same response time and time again. Although my intuition is telling me to be wary, I’ve barely lived the past four years, so isn’t a little bit of recklessness well overdue? Yes, it is.

  “Are you sure this is what you want? This isn’t going to be a walk in the park.”

  “The instant you refused to sign our contract, I knew our relationship was never going to be a walk in the park,” Marcus interrupts, his tone forthright. “But nothing worth having comes easy.”

  A snarl curls on my lips. “You should be grateful I didn’t sign the contract. Six months with a Garcia woman is a hard limit for any man.” I bounce my eyes between his. “Lucky for me, you seem to be determined to discover that the hard way.”

  I take back my first admission. There is nothing more captivating in the world than Marcus smiling while his mesmerizing eyes blaze with lust. It is like looking at a solar eclipse. You know you shouldn't do it, as your eyes will never recover, but you can't help but look.

  Marcus moves to stand behind me before he flattens his hand on my stomach. I swoon towards him, the hunger for friction on my skin unmissable. Taking advantage of the exposed skin on my neck from my flopped head, he nibbles a trail of kisses from my earlobe to my collarbone.

  “I heard what you did to your boss,” Marcus discloses, leaning closer to me. A chill of anticipation glides down my back when his lips press up against the shell of my ear. “For someone who says they aren’t in the BDSM lifestyle, you sure do defend it a lot.”

  I try to fire a comeback that I wasn’t defending the BDSM lifestyle; I was simply defending the right for people to make their own decisions in regards to their sexual proclivities—BDSM lifestyle or not, but my words stay entombed in my throat when Marcus’s teeth tug on my earlobe.

  “You don’t play fair,” I moan, my words barely coherent as I slant my head more to the side, giving him better access to my neck.

  “Life isn’t fair, Cleo. You just have to take the good and throw out the bad.”

  The heat of his breath fans my sweat-drenched neck when he draws me back, awarding me the opportunity to feel how aroused he is.

  “What happens if the bad is also good?” I mumble, my heightened state projected by my low tone.

  My nostrils flare as I gasp in a ragged breath from Marcus’s teeth grazing my shoulder. His bite isn’t painful, just oddly arousing.

  “Then you’ve got the perfect combination,” he groans against my skin before the lash of his tongue eases the sting of his bite.

  Once the zing of pain has been replaced with the zap of lust, Marcus mutters, “Spend the week with me, Cleo? Show me the real you. The one no one else gets to see. And in return, I’ll do the same.”

  My heart beats triple time, pleased he is asking me to go away with him instead of demanding my attendance. “I am officially on leave, which means I’m not technically investigating any stories for Global Ten Media,” I blubber out, working through my concerns out loud.

  Marcus’s grip on my waist firms, but he maintains a quiet front, neither encouraging or discouraging my thought process. That, in itself, eases some of my anxieties.

  I purse my lips. “I’ve also never been out of the state,” I add on, my heart using any excuse it can find to convince my brain that this is a good idea.

  I feel Marcus’s lips curve into a smile on my neck, but his silence remains staunch. After gathering the small snippet of composure I have left from him standing so close, I pull away from our embrace and turn around to face him. The nerves making my skin a sticky mess clear away when my eyes meet Marcus's. His eyes aren't harboring doubts or concerns. They are clear of any encumbrances. All they show is gratitude I am considering his request.

  “You want to see me? The real Cleo?”

  When Marcus nods, I add on, "You've already seen her. You’re the only man who has.” My declaration comes out unashamed, not the slightest bit confronted that I’m declaring he is the only person who has seen the real Cleo Garcia in a very long time.

  “Good. And if I have it my way, I’ll be the only man who does.”

  I sigh as dizziness clusters in my head. “For a guy who doesn’t know relationships, you’re doing a mighty fine job of making me swoon, Master Chains.”

  His eyes flare, thrilled by my compliment. “I’m learning. Slowly.”

  Smiling, I lean in and place a kiss on the edge of his mouth. His dark brows furrow when I spin on my heels and amble down the hall. Compared to twenty minutes ago, my steps aren’t weighed down by remorse. They are springy and carefree, much like my attitude which has had a dramatic uptick the past twenty minutes.

  My quick strides slow when Marcus's thick, deep voice rumbles down the hall. "Where are you going?"

  “To pack.” I don’t bother spinning around. “Supposedly, I have a plane to catch.”

  When my reply is met with silence, I pivot around to face Marcus. My next step is a little clumsier than the three before it when I see the deliciously scrumptious smile carved on his gorgeous face. Loving my giddy response to his smile, Marcus brazenly winks.

  “Ten minutes, Cleo,” he warns, his tone as commanding as ever. “Our plane is already on the tarmac waiting for us.”

  My strides are unstoppable as I continue walking backward. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re bossy?”

  “Not lately.” Marcus’s voice is throaty. “The only person I’m striving to impress is usually too busy goading me to inform me of my bossiness.”

  Although I am excited by his playful banter, I am also eager to erase the cockiness beaming out of him in invi
sible waves. Stopping halfway down the hall, I say, “Twenty minutes, and I promise not to goad you our entire flight.”

  Marcus slants his head to the side and cocks a brow. “You want to re-negotiate the terms of our agreement?”

  “No,” I reply with a shake of the head. “I’m just adding an appendix to our previously arranged agreement.”

  Marcus smirks. “Alright.” He considers my suggestion for a moment before muttering, “Fifteen minutes, and I’ll continue to pretend your goading doesn’t annoy the hell out of me.”

  I try to hold in my laughter, but with my entire composure off-skew, my girly giggles jingle down the hall before I can stop them.

  “Twenty minutes, and I’ll buy you dinner on the way to our flight,” I negotiate once my laughter settles down.

  “Seventeen minutes, and I’ll buy you dinner,” Marcus barters, stepping closer to me.

  My brow quirks. “I thought a negotiation was supposed to be about both parties getting what they want?”

  “It is.” Marcus takes another step closer to me.

  I fold my arms under my chest, vainly trying to act unaffected by his prowling steps. It's a pathetic effort.

  “How is giving me more time and buying me dinner a good negotiation on your behalf?”

  Marcus peers straight into my eyes, his expression deadpan. “I get to make up for the mistakes I made while getting back the curves you lost during our week apart.” As he takes another stalking step, his eyes roam appreciatively over my body. “You’ll also need to fuel your energy for what I have planned for you.”

  My knees crash together as lust heats my skin.

  Marcus’s full lips tug high, smug about my silent response. “Do we have a deal, Ms. Garcia?”

  Struggling to clear the eagerness from my voice, I stumble out, “Yes. . . on one condition.”

  His prowling steps stop midstride. As he connects his eyes with mine, his dark brow inches higher on his handsome face, interrogating me without a word spilling from his lips.

  After I've settled down the wild thrumming between my legs, I barter, "Eighteen minutes, you can buy us dinner on the way and. . . I get to suck your cock on the plane ride to Florida.”