Sweat

by Tasha Fawkes

  He wanted to celebrate something, but I didn’t know what it was. Once again loathe to spoil his mood, I forced myself to smile, to not think about the big decision I needed to make hanging over me, the sword of Damocles dangling over my head as he smiled, watching as the waiter opened the bottle of champagne and poured. He reached for his glass and lifted it in a silent salute. Even though I studied him closely, I couldn’t understand what was in his thoughts.

  “You do remember that our last time here didn’t end so well,” I said, attempting to joke. “I certainly hope you’re not breaking up with me…” I paused and sobered as a chill raced down my spine. I suddenly felt empty. “Are you?”

  He chuckled softly. Once again, I marveled at the change that came over his face when he smiled. He appeared almost boyish, despite his age, despite the troubles we’d both been through recently. I thought that things must’ve gone exceedingly well with Tarasov. Maybe that was what he wanted to celebrate.

  Lifting my glass of sparkling champagne to his, I wished more than anything that things could’ve been different. That he had a normal job. That he wasn’t the leader of one of the most recognizable mob syndicates in Philadelphia. That maybe he was a stockbroker or even a spoiled millionaire’s son. Anything but what he was.

  Our glasses softly clinked together, and then I lifted mine to my lips and took a sip, my hand trembling slightly. I hoped he didn’t notice, but I’d come to realize that nothing much escaped Marcus’s attention.

  He smiled. “Quite the opposite, actually.”

  For a moment, I frowned in confusion, my thoughts having carried me to places I didn’t want to go. Okay, so he wasn’t breaking up with me. I struggled with the need to tell him about Felicia Warner’s visit and ultimatum, but at the opposite end of the spectrum, I wanted this night with him. I didn’t want to spoil it with images of betrayal and fear. I didn’t want to have to walk out of this restaurant again, alone.

  Maybe I should just get it over with. Maybe we should both just lay our cards out on the table. I watched as he reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled something out. I was paying attention to his expression, mesmerized by the look he was giving me.

  I should have been looking at his hands.

  It wasn’t until they moved closer to me that I realized he was holding something in his palm. I gasped as he opened the small velvet box.

  The ring was incredible. Delicate in its design, the size of the diamond was perfect. Not tiny, but not gaudy either. I blinked rapidly, my mouth dry as I stared at it, then at him. He grinned as my face flamed with heat. Excitement? Dismay? Thrill and horror raced through me simultaneously.

  “Allie Cross, will you marry me?”

  Nine

  Allie

  I stared wide-eyed at the ring for several seconds, a myriad of emotions racing through my mind. I was thrilled, anxious, and even a bit fearful. Marriage was a serious business, and I knew that no marriage was all love and roses.

  My dad had told me quite a lot about his marriage to Mom, how it was a constant give-and-take, a lot of understanding, and more than a little patience. What did I know about relationships? Marcus was one of the first I’d ever had, and of course, I was aware of our age difference. Not so much in a physical or even psychological way, but in experience. He’d lived nearly two decades longer than me. How could I possibly catch up and offer him what I considered an equal partnership?

  My gaze shifted from the small velvet box with the ring inside. It was absolutely perfect. I didn’t wear jewelry much, and he’d clearly taken that into consideration when he made the purchase. The dainty diamond in a gold setting was surprisingly old-fashioned, both in design and craftsmanship.

  A soft gasp escaped. One that seemed to exhale much of my confusion with it. I looked down at my left hand, my fingers still resting against the white cloth napkin, then back again. It didn’t escape me that I couldn’t bear to look up into Marcus’s eyes, at least for the moment. I needed to absorb this. I knew what I wanted to say, but should I?

  I’d never even come close to feeling strong emotions for any man before Marcus. Still, I was barely twenty years old. As much as I strove to be an adult, I knew my emotions ruled many of my decisions. What if I said yes now and then changed my mind later? What if he did? What if he decided I didn’t have enough maturity, or that I acted like a child?

  A renewed rush of emotions raced through me. I wanted to say yes, but at the same time, I toyed with saying no. I was scared. That was it. Scared of what this meant.

  This changed everything. Or did it? Even though I realized that this was the same restaurant he had brought me to before, and I’d suspected that something was going to happen here tonight between us, I certainly hadn’t seen this coming. I wasn’t sure what I thought, but I knew that not even Marcus would take me to the same place to break up with me again. Although that first time hadn’t been a breakup. It had been the end of a contract. But marriage was a contract of sorts, wasn’t it?

  “What are you thinking, Allie?”

  He asked the question slowly and softly, not impatient, more like curious. What was I thinking? I was thinking so many thoughts—ambitions and anticipation, looking to the future. I was thinking that I didn’t really fit into his world, and he didn’t really fit into mine. I was thinking how different we were on so many levels. I was thinking that we had been pulled together for a reason, and that I could help him and that I could show him how life could be.

  Seconds passed slowly, a brief blink in time, though perhaps to Marcus, they were in eternity. Still, I was so surprised that I sat frozen. I finally glanced up at him, saw the slightly lifted eyebrow, the quirk of the grin, and yet at the same time, he looked so earnest. Uncertain. I sensed some hesitance as well.

  My thoughts scrambled to catch up, to acknowledge the tingling in my chest, a sensation of lightheadedness as once more I gazed down at the ring.

  “I don’t know what to say,” I murmured.

  His eyes held all the emotion in the world. “Say yes.”

  My soul melted as I gazed into the soft warmth in his eyes. I’d rarely seen him this vulnerable, this earnest. The closest was in the moments after we made love.

  “Marcus, I…I wasn’t expecting this. This is happening so fast. Are you sure?”

  He reached a hand across the table and placed it over mine. “I must confess that I never saw this coming either, Allie. But, as I’ve said, I’ve claimed you as my own, and I assure you that there’s nothing I want more.”

  My heart surged with affection for him, but was it one-sided? I noticed the notably absent ‘L’ word. Was his offer a marriage merely a ploy to keep me safe from the Russian syndicate? Or did he really love me? Then again, I hadn’t said the ‘L’ word either.

  Did I love Marcus? Did I really? Or was I infatuated with him and what he represented?

  No. I missed him when he wasn’t with me. When we made love, I felt connected to him on a level I didn’t know existed. I wanted to share everything with him. My life, my dreams, my goals. I wanted to show him my world, what life with me could be.

  So yes, I loved him. Still, I wasn’t sure if I should say the word. I didn’t want him to think me a silly love-struck girl, gushing professions of love and devotion just because a ring sat between us.

  When I told Marcus I loved him, I wanted him to be ready to hear it. I wanted to be sure that he loved me too. Really loved me. Not just that he felt an obligation to protect me.

  Tears burned my eyes as confusion roiled within me. I wanted to say yes. I was desperate to say yes. I was also desperately afraid of being hurt.

  Of course, I could say yes now, and if things didn’t develop and align with my ideas of what love and marriage meant to me, then I could always break the engagement. Not the best way to even start an engagement, but I needed time to think.

  I felt conflicted. Should I tell him how I truly felt? Should I tell him about meeting with the ATF agent a few days ago? The warmt
h that had flooded through me morphed into odd sensations. Cold when I recalled Felicia Warner’s thinly veiled threat. Should I tell Marcus or just keep quiet about it? I didn’t want to hurt him, and to be honest, I didn’t know what he would do if I told him that my conversation with her was one of the reasons I wasn’t ready to give him an answer.

  Glancing once more into his face, I watched hope fading fast. Would he understand if I told him I wasn’t sure I could go through with this? Then again, considering the way he was looking at me, I realized, deep down, that I already knew the answer.

  I knew what I wanted and what he wanted. That look on his face that conveyed what words couldn’t. I wanted to think that he would be willing to do anything for me, even as I remembered my dad’s advice. I couldn’t expect to turn Marcus into something I wanted him to be. That was something he had to do for himself.

  Standing at this crossroad, the questions warred in my mind. Had I been wrong about him? Could he walk away from this life of violence that Niall had so deeply ingrained in him? Could he put this world behind him so that he and I could live in peace and enjoy our lives together? This marriage proposal didn’t mean that he would walk away from that life. Could I accept that?

  Selena’s words rang in my ears. It’s just a matter of time before the truce between the Outfit and the Russians is broken. And so the cycle of violence keeps repeating itself.

  Him asking me to marry him didn’t mean that everything was going to change. It didn’t change the fact that I’d already been caught in a tug-of-war between two mob bosses. I had no doubt that Niall disliked me. I also had no doubt that I didn’t want to live in this world of violence that Marcus had called his own since he was a teenager. But I also knew that I didn’t want to live without this loving and generous man.

  The words left my lips on a sigh, and before I knew it, I had whispered my answer. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Marcus.”

  The relief in his eyes prompted a slow smile, and for my part, I felt a strong inability to land on one feeling over another. Excitement, desire, gratitude, fear. My chest expanded with emotion, and warm tears filled my eyes, my vision going starry for a moment before I blinked them back.

  With exquisite gentleness, he slid the engagement ring onto my finger, then once more placed his large, strong, warm hand over my own. He said nothing, but I felt sure that the expression, his posture, and his relief said more than words ever could.

  As he sat back in his chair with a nod of satisfaction, my heart skipped a beat and reality took over once more. I inhaled and exhaled deeply. Now was not the time to mention that I was afraid.

  What if Marcus refused to walk away from this life? Was I ready to accept that? Could I ever make peace with the fact that I might have to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life? So many uncertainties. For the moment, however, they couldn’t outweigh my affection and love for this man.

  I could be patient. I knew how he felt about me, but he just had to make peace with it himself. He had to realize it himself. When he said the words, if they ever came, he would mean them to the depths of his soul. As it should be.

  I had no doubt that he felt a great deal toward me. He wouldn’t have risked his life or compromised his beliefs and agreed to work with the Russians if he didn’t feel something for me. So, as far as the ‘L’ word, I could wait for him to say it. He might feel it already and not even know how to express such an emotion. It wasn’t like words of love were common in his world, in his experience. Loyalty, yes. Devotion? Well, his devotion to Niall was one thing. Devotion to a wife was quite another.

  Sighing, I glanced down at the sparkling ring on my finger, feeling its weight though it didn’t weigh more than a few grams, if that. For now, all my questions were too much self-analysis. For once, I didn’t want to overthink things. I had accepted Marcus’s proposal because I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to him, not like this. Maybe after I told him about Agent Warner, he would take it all back anyway. I accepted that.

  If I only had a few hours more with him before I told him the truth, I wanted to hold on to this moment, when it was just the two of us, and nothing else mattered. Not the Russians, not Niall, not the Outfit, and certainly not the ATF or the FBI. I had bought myself a little bit more time, but I knew that sooner or later, I would have to face a reckoning.

  For now, I just wanted to be with Marcus and enjoy this moment.

  We ended up skipping dinner. For my part, I was way too emotional to eat. I had no idea what Marcus was thinking, but with the look in his eyes, the way his gaze lingered on my face and neck before dipping lower, I had no doubt what he wanted.

  Less than an hour later, we were back at the penthouse, laughing as we entered, his hands resting on my hips as he lowered his head and kissed me, deeply and with passion. My pulse shot skyward, as it always did when his lips touched mine. He held me close, and his cock pressed hard against my stomach.

  My breath caught in my throat, and my knees grew soft as liquid warmth surged through me. He guided me to the sofa, his strong hands grasping my shoulders. The back of my legs touched the cushions, and I sat, my hands sliding down his body. He remained standing as I realized his crotch was right in front of me, my eyes now fastened on his zipper. Even in the darkness, I saw the bulge of desire there. As I stared, that bulge moved. I smiled and experienced a thrill that I could have this kind of effect on him.

  I glanced up at him with a wicked smile. As if of their own accord, my fingers unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned the top button of his pants, and then slowly unzipped. His grip on my shoulders tightened, but he didn’t stop me. I smiled as his cock emerged from the slit in his boxers, aimed at my face as if demanding my touch. Without any hesitation, I dampened my lips and took him into my mouth, gently circling the tip of his penis with my tongue.

  He stiffened and groaned as my tongue slid over that smooth surface, one hand now reaching for his shaft, hard and pulsing beneath my touch. My other hand braced against his hip, my mouth and tongue worked their magic until his hips began to softly rock. I stroked, suckled, and licked until he grunted, and I knew he was about to explode.

  Every time he came close, I eased off, my fingers digging into his hips as my tongue lathed his shaft with careful, loving strokes. His hands left my shoulders and grasped handfuls of hair, then left my hair to grope for my breasts. My nipples hard and erect, I craved his touch and gained just as much pleasure from the encounter as he did.

  His groan made me groan. I wanted to feel his dick deep inside me. In seconds, I had shifted our positions, and he moved with me. I stood while he sat, his knees spread, his cock at full attention, glistening, wet, and ready. My hands made quick work of my dress, and I stood half naked in front of him. I removed my bra and leaned down to kiss him again. His hand cupped my breasts, my nipples aching for his touch.

  Nearly gasping with impatience, I flung off my shoes, quickly divested myself of underwear, and straddled his lap without any urging on his part. I pressed my breasts against his chest as I slid onto his cock, surrounding his shaft with warmth and wetness.

  “Yes,” I breathed.

  Yes, to the marriage. Yes, to this. Yes, to him.

  I began to rock, slowly at first, relishing the sensations before gaining momentum.

  “Allie…”

  The sound of my name was a curse. It was a prayer. I would never forget the look on his face as it flowed across his lips as we came together. It took a long time for us both to recover our breathing. It took a long time before his body slid out of mine.

  Only after the throbbing waves of ecstasy ebbed, after the last shudder left my body, I leaned my head weakly against his shoulder, his harsh breathing matching my own.

  As his erection faded, I climbed off him, looking down at him for several moments, my emotions spiraling once again. I took his hand, and together we walked to the shower where he made love once again.

  This time, I watched the diamond sparkle as he took me against the tile.


  A ring.

  An engagement ring.

  As I came this time, I began to cry.

  Ten

  Marcus

  I sat in my car, parked at the edge of one of the lots at the docks overlooking the harbor, overseeing our collection of Tarasov’s second shipment. From a short distance away, I had watched a group of my men open a large metal container in the shipping yard. I had no idea from where it had originated. I guessed it didn’t matter. The less I thought about that, the better.

  I watched them remove four large wooden crates and place them inside two nondescript white vans. Soon, those vans would be driven to another location predetermined by Tarasov, and the transfer would be complete. The Russian’s men would take the boxes wherever they were headed.

  My gaze never stopped searching for anyone who didn’t appear to belong there, or who seemed to be watching my guys too closely. I knew the feds could be undercover, so I also watched to make sure any of the dockworkers actually worked and didn’t look as if they were paying much attention to our deal. I stayed especially alert to any overt signal by anyone on that area of the dock, most especially one who might be talking to himself or his sleeve, a key indicator of a hidden mic.

  Though I kept a sharp eye out for any odd movements or behaviors of dockworkers around the stacks of shipping containers, the few I saw were busy operating and maneuvering another metal container onto a three-high stack at the other end of the yard, the crate swinging gently from several chains attached to a crane maneuvering the container into place. I glanced back at my men as they stepped away from the metal container, closed the doors of the vans, climbed in, and drove away.

  I knew that putting myself this close to the operation was risky, but I couldn’t chance anything going wrong. And if it did, I wanted to know first-hand who to blame. Not only that, but I didn’t trust Tarasov. Our alliance was tenuous at best. I needed to stay close to the action and ensure everything went as planned.