by CC MacKenzie
Liam had been quick with a joke and generous with his time and attention. He’d never talked about his kinsfolk other than to complain that they’d had plans for him to join the family firm. But he’d needed freedom to be his own man, he’d told her, to find his own road in life. His choice of career was something vague and far into the future.
Naïve and starved of affection, Gia had sucked up every smooth word. Believed every slickly delivered line. He’d dazzled her with his charm, told her she was gorgeous, told her she was beautiful. The number of times he’d lost or forgotten his credit cards she was so dazzled by that little boy smile she’d hardly noticed. And when in a fevered excitement she’d handed him her innocence, he gave her the impression of being deeply, even madly, in love with her. But she would never, ever, forgive herself for not seeing through the son-of-a-bitch.
When he’d popped the question she’d agreed, happy to keep house for him and keep his bed warm. She’d married a man with an engaging personality, with a pretty face and a crafty tongue who’d turned out to be a human being who was a liar and thief and liked to use his fists and worse on his wife.
When he’d lifted his hand to her that first time she’d truly believed she deserved it for disappointing him. By this time he’d chip, chip, chipped away at her confidence, her shaky self-esteem. Instead of love, the icy clutch of dread had taken up residence low in her belly. Of course he’d made sure not to mark her face or anywhere the bruises might show.
Throughout it all she’d been employed by Gillespie, Pattullo and Hindmarch, working hard as the personal assistant to top corporate lawyer Daniel Gillespie. The long hours Daniel demanded were rewarded accordingly. While Liam chased after his own interests, which included other women and spurning employment. Good job the bastard was dead or she’d have killed him herself for the pain and misery he’d brought to the people she loved more than anything in this world or the next. He'd died, murdered, by the man he owed money and refused to pay the debt. A debt that she'd taken upon her shoulders, not that she'd been left any choice.
So here she was homeless, moonlighting by singing in a smoky club, dressed like a slut and fighting off over stimulated members of the opposite sex each and every night.
Gia hiked up her backpack and shouldered open the side door to the alley.
Shivering, her breath smoked in the freezing air of a New York February.
The sidewalk glistened wet and dank.
"Hey, babe. How many times have I told you not to use this exit?"
The deep rumbling voice with the musical tones of the Caribbean made Gia grin up into the big moon face of Jesus Rutherford, doorman and unofficial bodyguard who’d taken her under his wing.
"I’m taking a taxi, Jesus."
"You killed them tonight, honey."
Gia gave a jerky shrug of a thin shoulder, gathering up heavy hair the color of dark copper into a high ponytail. She secured it with a hair tie.
"It’s not a big deal," she said her voice no more than a whisper.
Built like a sumo wrestler, Jesus shook his head and gave a gentle tug of her ponytail.
"I’ve no idea what sort of trouble you’re in, Gia, but two of Donatti’s goons were asking questions about you yesterday and tonight. Don’t nobody wanna be on those bastard’s radar."
The constant anxiety that had taken up residence her gut for six long months morphed into a rock of solid ice. It had taken her weeks to find this gig. She wouldn’t be terrorized into moving on again. Perhaps the time had come to make a stand?
Who was she kidding? Liam had betrayed an organized crime boss for God’s sake, stolen drugs and cash and they wanted payback.
She’d sold her house and was paying them every week, but it didn’t matter, they always wanted more. And she knew they wouldn’t be satisfied until she was under their total control. Especially the control of Enricho Donatti who’d taken one look at her at Liam’s funeral and made it crystal clear he wanted her, all of her.
Enricho wasn’t the clichéd corpulent Mafia Don either. He looked like a handsome advertisement for one of the Wall Street types with a wide mouth that had a ready smile and a polished manner.
But it was his eyes that terrified her.
They were dead, cold, and forcibly reminded her of a reptile she'd once seen at the zoo.
Under his handsome good looks, the man was a monster.
Revulsion crawled up Gia’s spine along with a dark despair.
What was it about her that attracted control freaks? Did she have Please treat me like shit tattooed on her forehead?
Donatti's text messages, the voicemails, the invites to breakfast, to lunch, to dinner, were becoming more and more insistent.
The boxed white rose, which arrived every single day was seriously freaking her out.
She knew she was becoming desperate now and desperate people did desperate things.
How many times had the sly whisper of ending it all entered her mind?
If it hadn’t been for her grandparents and her church she’d have made the ultimate sacrifice long ago.
And she knew that if Enricho Donatti laid a manicured finger on her she would do it in a heartbeat even if it meant an eternity burning in a fiery hell.
Dark eyes glued to her face, Jesus heaved out a sigh when she kept quiet.
"I’ve organized my brother Jerry to take you home every night. No, don’t argue. Just call it payback for the pleasure you give me listening to the voice of an angel."
The small act of kindness had Gia blinking rapidly.
Eyes riveted on her sneakers she scuffed her toe on the sidewalk.
"Thanks."
A yellow cab slid into the alley and a man with his brother’s genetic footprint and even bigger than Jesus hauled himself out of the driver’s door.
"Yo bro, is this the babe?"
"Yep. You make sure she gets to where she’s go 'in in one piece."
Gia slid into the back of the cab and Jesus closed the door.
Jerry turned to her with a smile bright enough to be seen from outer space.
"Where to?"
In spite of her worries Gia found she couldn’t help but grin back.
"GPH Towers."
Black brows winged up his forehead as he blew out a low whistle.
"You live in the financial district?"
Her bland stare had him nod and the car swung out of the alley.
At this time of night the streets were quiet.
Gia stared unseeing out of the window and wondered how the hell she was going to get out of the big deep hole her late husband had dug for her.
The Vampyre Legal Chronicles – Marcus: Book 1
Introduction
Magic will return to the human realm of Earth. And Earth will burn as the ground shakes and mankind will perish under the combined fists of pestilence and disease. And magic will rule the land. And so it begins...
Take one broodingly hot vampyre. Add one gorgeous New Born. And this is just the beginning...
Anais Walker has one passion – Corporate Law.
And one goal – a glittering career with Gillespie, Pattullo & Hindmarch.
Success is so close she can taste it.
Until a lamentable slip of concentration jeopardises a billion dollar deal with the Chinese in Shanghai.
Is Anais about to lose it all?
Famously ruthless corporate lawyer Marcus Gillespie has two secrets.
He’s a Vampyre Prince.
And after two hundred and thirty years he’s found the woman for him.
She’s beautiful, smart and with a body to die for. After six months of mentoring Anais, the time has come to move her from the boardroom to the bedroom. And when Anais makes a costly mistake, Marcus has the gorgeous lawyer just where he wants her…
But although passions run red hot in the bedroom, Anais refuses to give her heart or commit to a future not of her choosing. When an ancient enemy arrives in Shanghai with bad news, Marcus finds himself in a race
against time not only to win her heart, but also to save her life…
Chapter One - Marcus
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. The
refore 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.