by Danielle Monsch, Cate Rowan, Jennifer Lewis, Jeannie Lin, Nadia Lee, Dee Carney
She slipped a hand down over the smooth fabric of his jacket and slid it underneath. Her fingers clawed at the cotton of his shirt, scratching at the fabric, groping for the hard muscle beneath it.
Marco moaned and shifted as their kiss deepened. His hands reached lower, cupping her buttocks and lifting her, pulling her up against him.
His arousal strained against the crisp fabric of his pants. He wanted her, and he didn’t care if she knew it.
Her breasts stirred under the gauzy fabric of her dress. Deep in her belly she felt a thickening of her own, a warming of the darkest, most secret places inside her that ached to be explored by this man.
She was a woman. She had desires—feelings, thoughts, fantasies. Her body found its own release in dreams.
She wanted to join with this man and find their release together.
A shudder of longing pressed her hard against him. His nose tickled her skin as he kissed her neck with soft butterfly kisses that made her heart flutter.
One of his hands now moved languorously up the front of her chest. It teased the thin silver fabric of her dress and caressed her skin through the delicate material. His fingertips rested lightly on the tip of her nipple, which strained against the fabric, craving his touch.
Sandy jumped when the clang of a spoon on a glass summoned the guests inside for dinner. She’d all but forgotten the party. She’d been lost in a private world with Marco.
“I guess we’d better go in,” he said softly.
Sandy smiled. “Is my lipstick all over my face?”
“What lipstick?” Marco winked at her. “You look gorgeous.”
He led her to her seat at the head table, where she and Marco were seated next to the couple celebrating their anniversary.
“Hey, Marco,” said their host Dave, a big jovial-looking man in his mid-thirties with a brown beard and a colorful cummerbund strained by an ample belly. “How come you didn’t tell us you have a new lady?”
Marco smiled politely and said, “Alexandra and I are recent acquaintances.”
“Oh yeah? And you were just outside to check on the phase of the moon?”
Sandy bit her lip as her face heated. Then she threw her shoulders back and picked up her glass, trying to act nonchalant.
“Leave Marco alone,” said his wife with a smile. She was beautiful, blonde and elegant, and looked to be a few years older than her husband.
“I can rib this guy because we go way back,” continued Dave, loudly. “I’m one of the few people who knew Marco when he was still tinkering with car stereos. Easy to forget that now you’re one of the richest people in the Northern Hemisphere.”
“Lucky thing I’ve got you around to remind me.”
“I still don’t know how he did it,” said Dave to Sandy. “I’ve busted my ass in commercial real estate for fifteen years and I don’t have a fraction of the dough this guy does.”
“It’s called genius.” Marco winked at Sandy.
“The hell it is. Car stereos were around before you were born.”
“Car stereos are only a part of my business. My reach extends to the stars.” Marco looked at Sandy and narrowed his eyes. She gulped and reached for her glass, for any distraction.
The way Marco surveyed her curiously, she was suddenly glad of the people pressed around them, preventing intimacy. Keeping her true identity safe.
Dinner hummed along, the conversation—led by the ebullient Dave—straying to politics, religion, and all the other things you weren’t supposed to talk about. Voices were raised and much wine drunk. Marco talked frankly and easily with the other guests. Sandy mostly watched the conversation, chiming in when summoned for comment.
She knew more about Marco now and liked him more than ever.
Time was wasting and she didn’t have all that much left. This time she’d stowed her bag in the janitor’s closet inside the office building. Conchita had given her a key, but she had to hope no one would see her going inside—in her finery—to retrieve it. And she still needed time to change before her shift began. The last thing she needed were probing questions about where she’d been and with whom. Especially since her supervisor seemed to have it in for her.
At last they rose from the table and people flocked to the dance floor. It was past eleven, and Sandy was already racking her brain for a way to make her exit.
“You’re not leaving tonight until I get your phone number,” whispered Marco in her ear. His hand slipped around her waist, pulling her close. Clouded eyes searched her face. A little frisson of fear danced over her skin.
“I can’t give out that number.” She turned her head away slightly. She didn’t have a cell phone. No need of one when she was either at home or on the phone at work. And she didn’t want him to be able to find out where she lived—which he could if he had her home phone number.
“Even to me?” He lowered his lips to her ear. “You know my views on everything under the moon, thanks to Dave, and you can’t trust me with your phone number?”
“I’m sorry.” She turned to him.
His face was clouded with suspicion. “Are you a spy or something?”
“No. Nothing like that. Please stop asking me.”
Marco said nothing. He took her hand and pulled her rather roughly toward the dance floor. The band was playing a fast number, and he whirled them both into it. He pulled her this way and that, spinning and dipping her so fast she was a rag doll in his hands.
He was mad.
No doubt he felt used and he didn’t like it.
But she still had to leave. And not just because she had to work. If she stayed any longer, she’d lose the will to maintain her charade. The deceit was gnawing at her, sharp fingers of accusation prodding her ribs from the inside.
If she didn’t get away now, she’d have no choice but to bare her soul to him, to tell him her secrets. And then she’d see his handsome face darken with distaste. A sour end to their liaison that would leave a bitter taste in both their mouths.
Mystery never disappoints.
“I have to go to the ladies’ room,” she whispered in his ear when the band paused between songs.
“This time I’m coming with you.” His voice was gruff. He didn’t trust her.
“You can’t.”
“The hell I can’t.”
He followed her across the floor as she pushed her way through the tipsy throng of guests.
“I’ll wait right here.” He planted himself outside the doorway. For the first time she was aware of his bulk. He was a big man, a little threatening in appearance when he wanted to be. His expression was suspicious, wary, daring her to try to pull something on him.
For a moment she considered actually coming back out of the bathroom and explaining that she had to go but that she’d call him soon.
But it would be a lie. She couldn’t call him again.
From now on she’d confine herself to admiring him from afar. Enjoying his company in her dreams.
And when she saw the bathroom had an emergency exit door leading right to the outside, she knew it was a sign. With expert ease she disabled the window alarm and slipped out into the enveloping darkness of the park.
This time he wasn’t going to stand around like a chump. When Alexandra didn’t emerge from the bathroom after two minutes, Marco pushed the door open. He didn’t care if he surprised some broad re-glueing her eyelashes.
He pushed past the empty stalls and saw the exit door.
“Damn her!”
He shoved out through the exit door into the unlit blackness of the night.
She couldn’t have gone far.
It had started to rain and the pattering of raindrops muffled any sounds that might betray which way she’d gone.
A single streetlight illuminated a bench on the far side of a grove of trees, and for a split second he thought he saw a shadow jump off to the side of his vision.
He took off toward the shadow at full speed. It moved again, ducking behind a
tree. As he pulled closer he saw a female form crouch down, remove her shoes, then take off in the direction away from the light.
“Alexandra!”
She didn’t pause. She was fast, darting around trees and over the rock outcroppings, running in her bare feet.
Raindrops blurred Marco’s vision as he ran after her, gaining on her with his longer stride.
As she approached a wide expanse of grass, he put on a burst of speed. He pelted across the grass until he managed to throw out an arm and tackle her to the ground.
He fell heavily on top of her, and she cried out as they hit the wet grass together.
He rolled her over onto her back. Her eyes were wide with terror, her wet hair clung to her skin, and her mouth opened as if to scream.
Marco stopped and stared down at her. What the hell was he doing?
If she wanted to go, why didn’t he let her? What was he doing crashing through the park like a caveman, wrestling a woman to the ground in a show of his superior force?
He sat back on his heels and looked at her.
What was this woman doing to him?
She sat up, pushing wet hair out of her face. For a split second she looked ready to leap up and run, then her shoulders slumped in resignation.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have jumped you like that.”
They looked at each other as the raindrops poured softly over them. The smell of wet grass and drenched earth rose around them. Sandy’s dress clung wetly to the alluring lines of her slender body. Her nipples stood out against the silvery cloth.
Her hair hung in curly tendrils that framed her face and made her look like a wood nymph—a mystical creature visiting from another realm to torment him with her unattainable beauty.
He reached toward her and rested his hand on her arm. He half expected her to evaporate into the darkness, as she’d tried to do by running away. His fingers touched warm flesh. A living, breathing woman, panting slightly with the exertion of her attempted escape.
He pulled her toward him, and she melted into his arms. Their lips met in a hot and breathless kiss. Hungry and desperate with unfulfilled longing, they let their mouths roamed over each other. Marco’s hands squeezed and held her body through the sodden fabric of her dress, pulling her close.
Her delicate fingers slid over the skin of his face, up into his wet hair. She clung to him, kissing him hard, wanting him as much as he wanted her.
Then she pulled away.
Her face was taut, and desire warred with fear in her eyes.
“I have to go.”
“I know you do.”
He watched her hesitate. If she was determined to leave him, to disappear without giving him a way to contact her, then he’d let her go.
“Will you see me again?” His voice sounded strange to him. He was used to making demands, not begging acquiescence.
“Perhaps.”
And with that tentative word still hovering in the air between them, she took off again across the broad, flat expanse of grass that led back toward the lights of the Tavern and Central Park West.
Marco rubbed a hand over his wet face.
There was no question of going back to the party drenched and disheveled, so he set out for home. His body tormented with longing, he strode across the darkened oasis of the park, his only companions the night creatures rustling in the undergrowth around him.
Chapter Four
‡
Conchita was waiting in the janitor’s closet when Sandy opened the door, panting from her run across Chelsea. Sandy managed to suppress a cry of alarm, and the tiny woman pulled her in behind the closed door and tut-tutted over her drenched appearance. “What happened?”
“It was wonderful.” She admitted. “He took me to a party.”
A big grin crossed Conchita’s wrinkled face. “See? I told you he’d make you happy.”
Sanda smiled. “He’s way out of my league. He has no idea I work for him. He thinks I’m a successful businesswoman.”
Conchita’s expression grew serious. “One day you will be.”
“Not if Miss Mean upstairs has anything to say about it.” She was shrugging out of her dress and into her work clothes. “I don’t know why she hates me so much. If I’m not up there in four minutes I’ll lose another five dollars.”
“She’s jealous because you’re young and beautiful.” Conchita pinched her cheek. “I’m jealous, too.” She released one of her oddly cackling laughs. “But it makes me happy to live through you.”
“I always wondered what the fairy godmother got out of it,” said Sandy with a wink. She shoved her feet into her sneakers. “I’ll tell you more later when my wicked stepmother takes her coffee break.” She knew Conchita would want all the details—even their kiss and her failed escape attempt. She scraped her hair back into a ponytail and kissed Conchita’s velvety cheek. “None of it would be happening without you.”
She shoved her damp dress into her bag and scrambled for the bathroom to remove the blue contacts. Scrubbed free of her ruined makeup, her face looked younger and plainer. Marco would walk right past her if he saw her now. Which should be a relief.
The night passed quickly as she made her phone calls with one part of her brain while the other part danced with Marco in the park. At 8:00 a.m. she logged off her computer, slung her bag over her shoulder, and headed out.
She was tired but her body still hummed with adrenaline from the dance, the chase, their last kiss. Every time she thought of Marco, a fresh jolt of nervous energy made her heart trip. She could hardly wait to be safe in the privacy of her apartment, to relive their night together and savor it again in her dreams.
The elevator was original to the building, complete with heavy gates that had to be lugged open and closed before it would go anywhere. She slammed the gates shut and pushed the down button, bracing herself as the elevator lurched into its downward journey. But instead of descending wearily to the ground floor as usual, the elevator jerked to a stop on the second floor and the gates creaked open.
When she saw who stepped in, her blood froze.
Marco.
She held her breath as he spoke.
“Why the delay in shipping the new components?” He spoke to an older man she didn’t recognize.
Her brain was barely able to function as her blood pounded between her ears. Marco’s attention was fixed on the other man, and she shrunk into the corner, stealing glances at him out of the corner of her eye.
“The new security requirements are slowing down production,” his companion muttered as he pulled the gates shut.
Marco moved further into the elevator, leaning casually against the wall. She’d last seen him in the darkened park, hair dripping into his face, fire burning in his eyes. This morning he looked calm, rested, polished. “We’ll just have to work around the security issues. We can’t afford to jeopardize this contract.”
Sandy willed herself to remain calm while her heart thundered so loudly he could probably hear it. Her throat grew so tight she could barely swallow. She realized she was holding her black gym bag. He’d seen it, would he recognize it? Her fingers closed more tightly around the handles as her chest tightened, constricting her breathing.
Marco continued his conversation with the other man. Sandy breathed in slow, controlled sips, suppressing with great effort the urge to pant like an exhausted dog.
The elevator seemed to move so slowly that, if it weren’t for the grinding of the old machinery, she might have wondered if time was literally standing still.
At last it clunked to a stop on the ground floor and relief flooded her muscles. She slunk further into the corner, waiting for the two men to exit.
And then Marco turned to her.
She felt like Cinderella after the ball, caught in rags with her pumpkin and rats scattering at her feet, as he looked directly into her eyes and gestured toward the doorway. She hesitated, thoughts barreling through her
brain.
Surely he must recognize her?
But not a flicker of familiarity lit his calm, gray eyes.
“After you.”
Her heart seized. He was merely waiting for her to leave first, a common courtesy.
Her mind whirling, Sandy jumped forward, striding out of the elevator ahead of them, clutching her bag.
As she pushed out onto the street, heart racing, she couldn’t help but sneak a risky glance back at Marco and his companion. They were absorbed in conversation, totally uninterested in her or what she was doing.
Marco may have seen her, but he hadn’t noticed her at all.
Sandy slouched through her usual daily routine. The adrenaline rush of being in the elevator with Marco had subsided to leave her sagging with misery.
It confirmed her worst fears.
As a blue-eyed fantasy creation in a fancy outfit, she was worthy of notice. As herself, plain old mousy Sandy Riley, she disappeared right into the background like fading carpet.
Why would Marco Danieli pay any attention to her? He could have any woman in the world. She should be grateful he was interested in her even as Alexandra.
Perhaps she could become Alexandra permanently, with a relaxer and regular use of her blue contact lenses?
But Alexandra was a myth.
Even if she assumed the look, she still wouldn’t be a confident, successful business woman. She hadn’t even finished college. Even though she was already twenty-four she still had three more years to go. Not because she wasn’t smart, but because she’d been busy trying to keep food on the table.
She looked over at the stack of books. All the homework she had to do before her next class. Her job paid for college, and the graveyard hours allowed her to attend any class she chose. Not many companies would employ a girl with only a GED and pay the tuition reimbursement that allowed her to go to school.
College was her ticket to a better life, the ladder that would take her up out of the hand-to-mouth existence she knew. Dull as it was, this job had been a godsend because of the perks that came with it. If she lost it, she might be back washing dishes in a greasy spoon, with college a distant dream. Her whole life was balanced on a precarious tightrope of dreams and desperation, and if she wanted to put it on more substantial ground, she’d better stop dreaming and start doing.