by Amy Ayers
It didn’t matter that they were arguing, no woman had ever made him stir and harden the way she did. He wanted her with a deep physical ache that could be eased only by taking her to his bed. But it wasn’t the time for that now. It may never be the time for that.
“You were and always will be special, Senna. You have to know that.” A hint of a smile played on her stunning features, and then it was gone.
He walked over to where she was standing with an involuntary need to be closer to her. She faced him, and the vulnerability etched into her features made him long to take her in his arms and kiss her until she was breathless.
“Please,” she implored, her hands finding their way to a resting spot on his chest. He didn’t know if he could resist her much longer. “The past is, well, the past. We have a son, and we need to look ahead. We don’t have to be best friends or even friendly acquaintances if you don’t want to. But you have to promise me, whatever happens, you’ll always be there for Max. And I don’t mean by sending a check once in a while. Promise me you’ll be a father, a dad. That you’ll take him to a baseball game. Or you’ll take him to the beach and look for starfish together. Promise me you’ll just be a presence in his life. He deserves that.”
He swallowed hard. “Always, princesa. I promise.”
They stood that way for what seemed like a long while, neither speaking, just being close with each other and processing the intimacy between them. He wanted to kiss her. He needed to kiss her. It was all flooding back, all the memories that had been locked away so he could focus on his father and ensure that Medina Enterprises would endure. That his family would endure.
He’d forgotten how her essence had a way of seeping into the marrow of his bones. How hard it was to keep his hands off her while working together. She was honest, pure. No guile. She demanded nothing of him directly, but his body begged to obey hers.
Without thinking, Marco reached up to cup her face, lifting her chin closer to his. He brought her lips to his, and she did nothing to resist. They came together slowly at first; he brushed his lips with hers, tasting, teasing. But he couldn’t hold back, and their kiss intensified. Her arms snaked around his neck and held his head firmly in place. His hands moved lower until they rested low on her hips right above the curve of her behind. He brought her hips closer, eliminating the space between them.
His tongue found its way into her mouth, gently exploring every crevice. She moaned softly under his ministrations, and he was hard and throbbing almost instantly.
How could he have forgotten the sweetness of her lips, the softness of her skin, the silky feel of her tresses as his hands wandered up and down her back? He wanted to sneak out onto the grounds, forgetting about everyone else, and spirit her away to the gentle rolling hills by the nearby lake and spend all night making up for lost time.
But the sharp, quick clicks of tiny feet meant a stolen night with Senna was not to be.
The library doors flew open, and in came his mother. “Marco? Are you in here?”
Pulling away from Senna’s heat was a Herculean task. She looked confused.
“There you are, mio, it’s time to take our seats. Oh, you are not alone.”
“Hello, Mother. I haven’t yet had the opportunity to introduce you. This is Senna Callas. Senna, this is my mother, Ezmerelda Medina.”
She turned slowly to face Senna directly as she stood only mere inches from Marco’s side. But Ezme didn’t make any movement toward her. Marco wasn’t surprised. His mother was an expert in the game of setting the rules of any engagement, and, by standing there, she was asserting herself as the person in the room with the most power, almost daring Senna to make her feel differently. Senna approached his mother with an outstretched arm. “It’s nice to meet you, Señora Medina.”
His mother leaned in and kissed Senna’s cheeks by way of greeting. Marco knew that Ezme lived an insulated life. Her social circles were tight and difficult to breach, so meeting new people and being welcoming was not her forte. But he was glad she was at least making an effort.
“Hello. Welcome to Girona.” Ezme’s voice was warm but guarded. “I’m very much looking forward to meeting my grandson.”
Marco watched Senna’s smile gently falter. Again setting the rules, the hierarchy. In essence, Max was important; Senna was secondary.
Ezme took Marco’s arm. “Marco, come. I had Laurent set up tables in the wine garden. We’ll eat outside. It’s a lovely evening. Please join us, Sara.”
“It’s Senna,” Marco corrected her. He turned to find Senna walking quickly toward the double doors. She opened one of them.
“After you, Señora Medina.” Senna glared at him as he approached the door.
His mother patted his arm. “It’s always nice when a girl knows how to be helpful.”
Marco heard Senna slam the library doors behind them.
Chapter Six
The dinner was course after course of rich local fare. Senna allowed herself one glass of wine, which was having a sedating effect and compounded her longing for this interminable day to end.
Mila sat next to her and rambled on and on about everything and nothing. Senna was able to add to the conversation, but it was overwhelming to be around Marco’s large and loud family. Especially now that she knew the truth.
Mila had once again dressed her in clothes that allowed her to feel that she fit in. But she was sure the expensive makeup didn’t cover the shame she also wore on her face.
Her shame had gradually shifted to anger. How dare he not even warn me about Brynn. She never would have slept with a man who was committed to someone else. It didn’t matter that they had an open agreement about being with other people. It mattered to her. Her mother had been the other woman and in the end, it killed her. How dare Marco put her in the same position?
And that kiss in the library. He had no business doing that. Regardless of how right it felt, how gentle.
At least Ezme had been right about their setting. It was a beautiful night with a slight breeze and an endless canopy of stars. She concentrated on picking out constellations, but it did little to distract her from Marco sitting across the table between Ezme and Brynn, neither interested in letting Senna anywhere near him.
“And then the photographer said, ‘No, no, the dog is supposed to be wearing the Versace pumps’.” Everyone at the table laughed at the punchline to Mila’s story. Everyone but her. “Isn’t that hysterical, Senna?”
She nodded and smiled blandly at Mila. Reaching for her sparkling water with lime in the most ornate crystal goblet she’d ever seen, she paused. Even water here is fancy.
The light conversation continued, but Senna wanted no part of it. She knew enough about European culture to know dinners like this went on and on. She didn’t think she could endure one more minute without having some sort of breakdown.
Leaning over to catch Mila’s attention, she whispered, “I think I’m done for the night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Mila’s eyes widened. “No, no, you can’t go yet, they haven’t served dessert.”
“I can go, and I will. Good night, Mila.” She had been shown no hospitality by Ezme or Brynn or practically anyone else there besides Mila. She’d been seated next to Mila and Matteo. Senna liked Marco’s soft-spoken younger brother. His life working as a helicopter pilot for an international relief team fascinated her. But as kind as he was to her, she still felt utterly alone at this table full of people who saw her as an interloper, a complication.
Marco hadn’t even bothered trying to catch her eye. How could he have kissed her like that and then acted like nothing had happened? Ezme and Brynn were talking over him. Senna kept hearing words like “roses” and “foie gras,” and she knew they were discussing the wedding. She couldn’t let Marco kiss her like that again. She wasn’t going to encroach on his commitment to Brynn. One thing she knew for sure, she was exhausted and she was done. That’s two things. Whatever.
She placed her napkin on the tabl
e and slid her chair back from the table. She whispered a quick good night to Mila and stood up.
Marco’s head snapped up.
“Thank you everyone for a lovely dinner, but I need to tend to Max. It was nice meeting all of you.” That was true. But she really needed about twelve hours of continuous, dreamless sleep.
“Wait, I’ll walk you up.” Mila stood quickly and fell in step next to Senna.
Brynn’s cheerful voice rang out. “Good night, Senna. See you tomorrow.”
Tomorrow? Am I going to have to see that woman daily? Senna didn’t think she could stomach that. It would be like pouring salty lemonade in a very fresh wound.
Senna took one last glance at where Marco sat. He smiled at her. “Good night, Senna.” His voice slid over her like warm honey. Her mind flickered back to their kiss in the library, hard and soft and completely delicious. She forced herself to break away from his pointed gaze.
“Good night, Marco.”
Mila followed close behind her. When they reached the bottom of the staircase, Mila stopped. “Senna, this probably isn’t my place, but—”
“Look, Mila, I don’t want to talk about Marco or your mother or even Brynn. I’m tired. I want to see my baby. Then I want to sleep.”
“You need to know that this thing between Brynn and Marco is complicated.”
“I know. That’s what everyone keeps telling me.” And at that particular moment, she really didn’t care.
…
Marco watched as Senna and his sister went inside. Senna had been a good sport all night. This had to have been difficult for her. After dessert and coffee, he said his good nights and headed toward the staircase. His rooms were conveniently next to Senna’s. He wanted to see Max before he settled into bed. His cold, empty bed. With Senna sleeping only steps away.
Suddenly, he felt a large hand on his shoulder slowing his stride.
“So you’re really going through with this? You’re going to marry Brynn? Man, I thought you were smarter than that.” It was his brother, Marcellus. No one else would even think about speaking to him that way.
Marcellus matched Marco in height, and they shared the same Medina eyes, but that was where the physical resemblance ended. Marcellus took after their mother, whose French heritage gave him more refined features and a leaner body type. Marco was pure Spanish conquistador—all muscles and fire; Marcellus was more French spy—lean, strong, with a quiet intelligence. They made quite a formidable pair, especially when running the Medina empire.
“What are you talking about?”
Marcellus broke it down. “Look, Marco. You’re this close to marrying Brynn. A woman you don’t love. A woman you don’t even like. You have a son with Senna, a woman you seem to be attracted to, a woman who endured this probably very uncomfortable dinner just because you asked her to.” He shook his head. “I just don’t understand how you think.”
He’d never understand. He wasn’t the firstborn. “Maybe if you were the oldest son you’d be a little more sympathetic.” His words were hard and issued a silent warning.
“Look, I get that you feel like you need to honor this agreement. Papi has talked of nothing else since you were born.” Marcellus sighed and rested his hand on Marco’s shoulder. “But just because it’s important to him, it doesn’t mean it has to be important to you.”
“How are we only eighteen months apart and it seems like we grew up in completely different homes? It’s the way it’s done, Marcellus. It’s the price you pay being the first son. You’re tasked with keeping the traditions, being the heir.”
“The heir.” Marcellus laughed derisively. “Medina Enterprises is going to be successful whether you marry a Vandermere or not. This ‘merging of the families’ Papi is always talking about is just subterfuge.”
“It’s what’s expected. When you have the livelihoods of thousands of people resting on your shoulders, you can talk to me about upholding tradition and family fealty. Since you don’t, please refrain from lecturing me on doing what I was born to do.”
Marco issued the words like a dare. Marcellus must have recognized the stubborn tone of his command because he changed the subject handily.
“Fine. But look, Marco. There’s something we need to discuss.” Marcellus began pacing and rubbing the back of his neck, like he was trying to work out a knot of stress.
Marcellus had been his liaison to the Miami office while Marco had stayed in Spain. Marco had made a few trips to the States, but with modern technology and Marcellus’s leadership, he’d been able to run the company from across the Atlantic. It wasn’t ideal, but the situation demanded it. Plus the guilt he felt chained him to his father’s side.
Marcellus didn’t understand, but that was only because he wasn’t in Marco’s shoes. Even though he presented a facade of the buttoned-up numbers guy, Marcellus still was the most forward thinking of the Medina brothers. He had all the new tech gadgets before they made their way to market, and Marco knew in his spare time he liked to tinker with his electronics more than just about anything else. He was glad to see him getting close to Vivica. His brother needed something other than gadgets and numbers to keep him entertained.
“I’ve been doing some forensic accounting in the last year,” Marcellus began. “I have a team, only a few analysts, a team that I’d trust with my life if it came to that, and what we’ve found is unsettling.”
“You did this without telling me? I’m in charge of this damn company, Marcellus, and I’m the one who has to answer to Papi and the board. Why did you leave me in the dark?”
“So you’re not upset I did it and found something worth investigating? You’re just mad I haven’t had the chance to tell you about it? Classic, Marco.”
Marco knew he was being unfair. “Please explain. I’m listening.”
He acted like a man who didn’t want to talk but was forcing himself to confess.
“During a routine audit some anomalies came up with our asset allocations. So I decided to check them out. The more we dug, the crazier it got.”
“Define crazy.”
“In a nutshell, someone, someone with unparalleled access to company funds, has been reassigning assets to lower subsidiaries.”
“Monies above and beyond financial support needed for fiscal projects?” Marco asked.
“Yes. Our team is certain equities and assets have disappeared from Medina books and then reappeared as windfalls to these subsidiaries.”
Marco began pacing. It helped him think. “How do you know the two are connected?”
“The dollar amounts debited then credited are almost identical, and the transactions happen within weeks of one another.” Marcellus continued. “These aren’t small amounts, Marco. We’re talking seven figures in most cases.”
The company was bleeding money? Under my watch, no less? He felt a cool trickle of sweat break out across his forehead.
“Once the money hits the subsidiary accounts it’s squirreled away and drops off our radar. It’s clunky. There’s little finesse to it, but it gets the job done. “
“The job being the embezzlement of Medina funds to line the pockets of someone in our sphere of companies.” Marco wanted to punch something. Or throw something.
“Yes.” Marcellus’s voice dripped with displeasure.
Marco cocked his head and stared at his brother. “How long?”
“I don’t know, but we’ve been able to track several of these transactions over the last decade at least. There’s a good possibility it’s been happening longer than that.”
“Decade? Marcellus, how are we first learning of this now?”
“That’s what’s so disturbing. I don’t know how it’s been going on under the radar like this.”
“Do you think Papi knew?”
“I haven’t talked to him, I have only hunches right now. The only proof is the strange accounting that someone has made efforts to hide. The only reason this is coming to light now is because we’re auditing before we
move over to that Linux based financials software. Without that audit, I think we’d still be in the dark.”
“Marcellus, I trust you, I trust your financial team. I do. But I just don’t understand the why. Why move it around under the same parent company? And who has that kind of access?”
“That’s why we’re still investigating. We need to find out who the ultimate beneficiary party is. Who is at the end of this trail of assets and capital.”
“How long until we can get some hard evidence?”
“I don’t know. But we’re close.”
“You have my full support. Take whatever resources you need. We need to get to the bottom of this sooner rather than later.”
“Agreed.” Marcellus nodded.
Marcellus started to make his way back to his date currently deep in conversation with Brynn, before turning. “Marco, I wish you didn’t feel this weight, this pressure, to sacrifice your own happiness for this family.”
“Who says I’m not doing what makes me happy?”
“I do. Watching you barely tolerating this arrangement with Brynn is hard to stomach.” He paused and seemed to hesitate over his next words. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way. But did you ever think that maybe Brynn doesn’t deserve to be married to a man who doesn’t love her? You’re both so focused on duty that you’re not thinking about what’s actually good for anyone.”
“And that is exactly why Father chose me to take over instead of you. Duty means everything. It is why I pledge everything to Senna and Max despite my obligations to Brynn and our families.”
Marcellus threw up his hands. “Whatever you say, brother. I’ll butt out. But don’t think that we didn’t see how you looked at Senna during dinner, and she looked just as smitten. I’m just saying you have options.”