by CC MacKenzie
It baffled Duncan the way all his offspring, except for Marcus, strove to be human.
They were born vampyre so why the hell didn’t they embrace their race?
"He is the eldest, why does Marcus tarry?" Samuel wanted to know.
Good question.
Duncan wanted to know the answer himself.
He shrugged.
"He is busy in China with contract negotiations for Constantine's pharmaceutical acquisition. I did give him a gentle reminder. He says he has the issue well in hand. He also told me to mind my own fucking business."
Cristophe threw back his head and roared with laughter.
He slapped Duncan on the back.
"The woman he has his eye on will need courage."
True.
Duncan sincerely pitied the woman Marcus chose as his bonded mate.
Marcus was ruthless.
Her needs would not be an issue.
As far as Prince Marcus Gillespie was concerned he took what he wanted and damn the consequences.
Chapter One
Shanghai, The People's Republic of China.
When Anais told people she was soon to be a junior partner in the corporate law department in the legal monolith that was Gillespie, Pattullo and Hindmarch, their first reaction was raised brows over eyes filled with a healthy respect, followed by words of deep sympathy, "You're so young. Poor you, what's it like working for Marcus Gillespie? Is it true he's a complete bastard?"
All right, possibly the phrases changed but the underlying narrative was the same. As the only woman on his team, how the hell did she deal with one of the toughest misogynists in the business? Those comments made her want to hunt down and find the bitch who'd labelled Marcus as a woman-hater, and slap her hard. Although knowing Marcus, he'd probably have taken care of the bitch in the first place.
Anais didn't find it hard working for Marcus.
She found it exciting, stimulating, challenging and on days like today... exhausting.
On days like today, Anais decided she more than deserved a pay raise.
"Didn't I tell you this was a very bad idea?" Anais said in a furious whisper.
She lifted her chin to look up into the gorgeous face of a man whose expression might have been carved from solid rock. He was tall. Too tall. At least six foot four and built like a linebacker for the New York Giants. A linebacker dressed in the best lightweight wool by a tailor in Savile Row. The jacket hugged those wide shoulders like a lover, while the sharp crease of the pants showcased the brilliant cut. Behind black-framed glasses, eyes of an undiluted blue sea stared unblinking into hers. As usual when he looked at her like that, as if he could see right into her very soul, the blood in her veins seemed to shiver with a curious charge. After working for Marcus Gillespie for six months, Anais told herself she should be used to it by now. But instead of getting better, the sensation was getting worse. And because the sensation was pressing buttons she didn't want pressed, her mouth took on a stubborn line.
"Anais," his deep voice rumbled in his chest. The curve of his incredible mouth bore more than a hint of derision, of a deeply male self-satisfaction... and of a decisive focus. "Now is not the time, or the place, to discuss this."
Pulling out a chair at the huge meeting table, he waited.
She hesitated, more than aware of his height, the overpowering presence of the man. He always made her feel like this. Young. Delicate. Even... weak. That he could cause her to go through those sensations, without frankly any effort, pressed another button and made her chance a retaliation.
"I'm perfectly capable of sitting myself."
A flicker of surprise in those amazingly blue eyes.
"Rude, Anais. Sit."
She sat.
He bent down and the wonderful scent of his signature cologne, spice and male, made her take a deep inhale.
His deep voice whispered in her ear.
"What happened to self-preservation? I've never known you to argue with me."
With Marcus, she'd learned never to prevaricate or even attempt to fool.
"I wouldn't say we were arguing. In this particular matter, I wish you'd listen to me."
He sat next to her and she noticed his mouth curve, as if he found her amusing.
"We will talk later. Perhaps over dinner."
She blinked.
Dinner?
What the hell did that mean?
They'd never so much as shared a coffee.
However, she had no time to dwell on the shock that Marcus had asked her out to dinner with him. The Chinese trade delegation had arrived back in the room after a lengthy break and she rose with the rest of her team as the bowing and scraping began again.
According to the glossy travel brochure, Shanghai was an exotic bustling metropolis.
And, according to the same brochure, the seven stars Mandarin Orient was one of the top hotels in the world. After ten days and eleven nights, all Anais had seen of the bustling metropolis was the ride in the back seat of a sleek limousine from the airport through dark, damp streets. All she’d seen of the hotel was her bedroom in the luxuriously appointed penthouse suite, the corridor and the excitement of the glass elevator. And as the only woman in the negotiating party, she'd been condemned to this meeting room for days. A meeting room humming with such an overabundance of male testosterone it made her skin feel itchy.
She reminded herself that she was coming to the end of a six month probation period for the next step in what promised to be a stellar career. If she kept her nose clean for the next twenty-four hours.
Excitement fizzed in her blood.
Success was so tantalizingly close, she could almost taste it.
Like the rest of the team, her working uniform consisted of conservatively cut bespoke suits. Today her skirt suit was made of the finest Italian wool and designed by Armani. The color, black, was almost the same shade as the inky hair tied at the nape in a long tail. Her silk shirt was the color of bone, collarless, and buttoned to the neck.
Fourteen people sat at the massive round table. Under the blank masks of carefully polite smiles and nods, there buzzed a tension filled with latent hostility. A hostility that now whipped through the cavernous space like a living, breathing entity. A hostility that emanated from the big man sitting next to her. Tension coiled in Anais's belly, too, as it trickled a skinny worm of sweat between her shoulder blades.
Things were not going well.
Marcus was sitting to her right
The way he held himself, shoulders stiff, back rigid, signalled loud and clear to Anais that Marcus was not amused with the ducking and diving of the slippery Chinese minister for trade.
And the way Marcus was blanking and ignoring her, he was not pleased with Anais, either.
Her heart beat faster as her brain tried to work out where she'd gone wrong.
For the life of her, she couldn't work out a single misstep.
Anais inhaled a deep breath and gently exhaled.
She did it again and ordered herself to calm the hell down.
Hadn't she told Marcus in New York that it was a bad idea she accompany him to China?
Hadn't she?
Had he listened to her?
Nope.
Because he never bloody listened. Because Marcus Gillespie was the knower of all things.
He was never wrong.
He was always right.
And he was driving her crazy.
Anais never, ever, lied to herself.
She knew, deep down where it really mattered, that the reason Marcus drove her crazy most of the time was because, in spite of giving herself a stern talking to on an almost daily basis, she adored him. Since Anais was self-aware, too, she admitted that that adoration was mixed with a healthy amount of... wary apprehension. No matter how hard she tried, and she couldn't quite put her finger on why, Marcus Gillespie not only intimidated her, but sort of... scared her, too. Anais just could not understand it. She'd never been afraid of anyone,
certainly not of a mere man (no matter how drop-dead-gorgeous) in her life.
Her parents, especially her mother, had taught her from the time she could crawl that women were equal, even more equal at times, than men. Her father not only adored her, but he'd treated Anais as a very precious human being. A human being with a clever and gifted mind. He'd taught her to ignore gender, race, color. He'd taught her to see both sides in a debate, to treat everyone from the highest to the lowest with the same dignity and respect. Her father had also prepared her to understand that not everyone she'd meet in the world would hold or agree with those ethics or beliefs, and that they'd fight, sometimes to the death, to defend their own.
So along with a rigid career plan, Anais had followed in her parent's footsteps and studied the Israeli self-defence discipline of Krav Maga. She was a blue belt level GII. Studying and excelling in the subject had given her not only an awareness of self, but an awareness of space, of her surroundings. Therefore Anais had an enhanced sensitivity to atmosphere, the vibe, surrounding other people. She particularly paid very close attention to the reaction of her gut. Even though she was fiercely attracted to Marcus, she was also on her guard around him. Anais knew to implicitly trust her instincts. And those instincts told her very loud and very clear that something about Marcus Gillespie was... off.
She frowned now, the two emotions of attraction plus feeling desperately, uncomfortable, in his vicinity, simply didn't gel. No matter how hard she examined her physical responses to him, which included an elevated heartbeat, dry mouth and a strange disconnect in her mind, a weird brain-fog, those responses didn't make sense. They confused her. She'd never been confused in her life. And that confusion left her jittery around the man. It left her watchful and waiting.
As for Marcus Gillespie himself, he was the eldest son of the intimidating Duncan Gillespie. However, there was no room for nepotism in Gillespie, Pattullo and Hindmarch. Marcus had reached the heady heights of his chosen profession with an intellect that was as sharp as a blade. From day one he had treated Anais with nothing but a professional respect. Even if his amazingly blue eyes seemed to see right through her, in his dealings with her, he was coolly polite. Marcus listened. Even if, most of the time, he didn't agree with her thoughts or ideas. But that was fine, too, because she was here in Shanghai to learn from the best negotiator in the business. She supposed a person became the best by being able to get his own way in all things. Marcus never lost his temper, at least never in front of her. His greatest skill appeared to be one of infinite patience. Plus, a self confidence that appeared absolute. When he made a business decision, he expected unquestioning obedience from his team. And got it, too.
The fact Marcus didn't appear to be attracted to her brought Anais feelings of both relief and dismay. He handled her like any other junior member of his crack legal team. He certainly didn't treat her as if she was an attractive woman, and that was just fine with Anais. She'd come to the realisation that her complicated feelings for him were her own responsibility, not his. And it was up to her to deal with them in as professional a manner as possible.
Which was fine on a normal day at work in the office in New York. If she spent an hour per day one-on-one in his company she was lucky. But when Marcus had first mentioned that she accompany him on the China trip, Anais hadn't been able to hide her shock, or her deep unease. No way would she be able to cope with being in too close a proximity with him twenty-four-seven.
No way.
However, her attraction to him was the least of her worries.
Taking great care to choose her words, she'd given Marcus her honest opinion that due to her heritage there was a distinct possibility her presence might be an issue for the Chinese.
Marcus's answer had been an endless look out of his blue eyes, followed by silence, the result of which had nerves doing a frantic dance in her belly.
In general, Anais did exactly what her charismatic boss asked of her. When Marcus said jump her usual response was how high. So the fact she'd opened her mouth in apparent disagreement had taken him by surprise.
Those blue eyes had given her a very long and very thorough study. A study that went right through her in a way that had made her cheeks go nuclear. It was okay for him, he came from a blue-chip family and background. Plus, he spoke Mandarin like a native.
Anais was mixed race, adopted by a wonderful American couple. She was also female, single, and since she hadn't been beaten with the ugly stick, there was a risk she might be regarded as Marcus's little bit of fluff on the side. She didn't have the personal flair, the polish of an inherited wealth, that cloaked Marcus. That wealth and status greatly impressed his Chinese counterparts.
After careful consideration of her opinion, Marcus had simply shrugged, reiterated he needed her, and that was that.
End of discussion.
Annoyed with herself, with the way her mind seemed to wander when she was in the vicinity of Marcus's incredible aura, Anais ordered herself to focus on the main goal. She was so close to that goal, having her dream job, that she could taste it. Tomorrow she'd be doing the happy dance of success. Because tomorrow she'd be a junior corporate law partner in Gillespie, Pattullo and Hindmarch. Yay! Now Anais took a deep breath, ordered herself firmly to keep her mind on the job, not to count her chickens, etc., etc.
She tuned back in to the discussion and listened to Marcus make a point to the Chinese trade minister. The man's command of the language was utterly flawless. Actually, Anais was no slouch herself. But Marcus's tone, his inflection, his body language, the way he held his dark head, the rhythm of his speech pattern, was a thing of beauty.
As the minister of trade began his counter debate, Anais was very careful to keep her eyes lowered on the thick file of notes that lay on the table before her. Four days ago the Chinese delegation had become aware she was sharing the vast penthouse suite with her boss and his brother James, and since then the delegation had become deaf, dumb and blind around Anais. The situation had been difficult enough in the beginning. After all she was a mere woman. She'd been certain she'd been winning the battle for a little respect from the Chinese delegation. Now that respect had disappeared into thin air.
The atmosphere that surrounded her these days was intense, intimidating and entirely unfair. And none of it was her fault.
An indignant irritation with Marcus, and the untenable situation he'd placed her in, bubbled and brewed quite nicely in her belly.
Hadn't she told him it wasn't wise for her to share a suite with the Gillespie brothers?
Hadn't she?
And had he listened?
Had he hell!
Anais knew it was so important, as guests in a foreign land, to be culturally aware.
Surely the great Marcus Gillespie, as skilled socially as he was in the language, must understand how easy it might be, even when things were perfectly innocent, to cause offense? To lose face? Plus, Anais was Eurasian. She was an exotic mix of Vietnamese, French and Irish. And she was a single woman. It didn't matter the reason she was sharing the huge four double bed roomed suite with Marcus and his brother was for business reasons. The Chinese now regarded her as a woman of loose morals, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Now a young man, an aide to the Chinese trade minister, and a man she'd twice turned down his very polite requests for a date, slid as smooth as a snake closer to Anais.
Without wishing to cause further offence, she carefully leaned her torso away.
Not far enough, because now his voice whispered in her ear, "Jianhuo," he hissed.
Whore.
Dismay was a nasty fist in the belly.
But it was the jerk of shock that had the heavy file slip from the table to land with a thud on the floor.
Knowing the aide had timed his remark to cause a distraction at a crucial point in the discussions didn't help. Mortified she'd fallen for the trick, Anais found herself red-faced and on her hands and knees on the floor under the table, eyeballing a
pair of black shoes, handmade in Italy. She had a thing for shoes, and these were gorgeous. Marcus's long legs were spread apart. The fabric of his bespoke suit, a silk and wool mix in deepest charcoal, was fabulous, too. The well cut pants encased muscled thighs. Her eyes flicked to the impressive bulge between his legs. And a brutal arousal flared so fast she nearly gasped out loud. Dear God. Heat scorched her neck, her cheeks. She couldn't look away as her eyes lingered too long on the way the fabric tightened now on a place they had no right to linger.
"Everything okay down there, Anais?" asked Marcus, his voice deep and low.
Oh yeah, everything was more than okay.
Then she realised the whole room had gone quiet.
She cleared her throat.
"Everything is fine, sir."
Cursing her stupid behaviour under her breath, Anais found her legs weak as she rose and placed the file on the table. Ignoring the frantic beat of the pulse in her neck, she sank into the chair with her back straight, chin up.
Anais picked up her pen, and waited.
Out of the corner of her eye she was alarmed to find that Marcus had turned his head to study her carefully. The man never missed a trick. And something, call it intuition, told her he'd picked up on her mood. Tension contracted in her gut before crawling up her spine, over her shoulders, to settle horribly tight in the back of her neck.
Now her gaze dropped to stare at his hands resting on the table. They were beautiful hands with smooth skin. Strong. A sculpture's hands, with long fingers, short, clean nails. No scars or nicks. Hands that would feel wonderful against bare skin... her skin... if he...
Marcus cleared his throat, the sound making Anais blink.
Good God.
What on earth was she doing thinking about his hands?
This was not the time for daydreaming.
She needed to focus.
Now the Chinese minister began the lengthy process of wrapping up the meeting.