by CC MacKenzie
It was a damn shame Elena wasn't sober or he'd be acting on that need.
Marc hadn't been with a woman, hadn't wanted a woman, since his father had passed.
Now he settled Elena in a chair with her purse on her lap. He pulled on his coat and prepared to trudge up the well-lit path, a five minute walk, from Ludlow Hall to Elena's coach house. There was no point in calling a taxi. And he couldn't drive her there because he'd left his car at home, a house situated less than a hundred yards from hers.
Elena didn't resist when he took her small purse, opened it and found her door keys.
Marc stuffed her purse in his coat pocket.
The walk would probably do her good.
He hoped.
Outside, he knew the temperature had dropped like a stone, so he wound his cashmere scarf around her neck and hefted her to her feet.
"Let's go."
His arm wound around her waist and her arm wound around his.
The crazy giggle that came from her throat was yet another reminder that she was absolutely wasted.
The Elena Kennedy he knew, the one who manned reception, had never giggled in her life.
As they left the warmth of the hotel and hit the path Elena took a deep breath and then another.
Her feet in her high heels stumbled and Marc steadied her.
"You okay?" He bent his knees to look into her face.
Her hand went to her head.
"'kay," she said. "My head's spinning."
His arm went around her waist again as they moved forward.
"Yeah, well a couple of After Shocks on top of wine will do that."
"I don't have a head for alcohol."
"You don't say," he said.
"Yep. I'm rubbish at drinking competitions, too." She went quiet for a moment. "Marc?"
"Elena?"
She sniffed.
"Do you see me as just one of the guys?"
He stopped dead, bent his knees again to look at her face to see if she was yanking his chain.
And saw with something like shock that Elena was deadly serious.
Big brown eyes were filled with what looked like hurt, looked like confusion, as they stared into his.
No way could he lie.
"Baby, I regard you as one hell of a sexy woman."
Her eyes filled.
Oh shit.
Marc Atelier might be a tough guy, but female tears terrified him.
Elena gave him a pitiful attempt at a smile.
"Thank you so much for saying that, Marc. You're a very nice man. That was a very nice thing to say," she said, as if he was spinning her a line and she didn't believe a single word.
He shook his head in dismay.
He was a very nice man, was he?
She couldn't be more wrong.
Marc Atelier didn't have a nice bone in his body.
As soon as Miss. Elena Kennedy was sober, they'd be having a very long talk.
By the time they arrived at her door, she was shivering.
The porch light was lit.
And behind thick curtains, the sitting room light was on, too.
As he held her up with one hand, Marc unlocked a large oak door with the other and shoved her through and into the warmth.
It didn't escape his attention that Elena hadn't engaged the security alarm.
Marc frowned.
He'd be having a little chat about that, too.
A woman living alone couldn't be too careful.
Closing the heavy door behind him, he turned to fiddle with the central heating thermostat to turn it up. Then he opened the oak door into the open plan sitting room/kitchen and settled her into a large comfy chair next to the wood-burner, which burned low in a vast fire-place. Elena was tidy. The place was immaculate. The interior design in the coach houses was impressive. He shrugged off his coat, loosened his tie, as he looked at the cosy and snug seating arrangements. Set around a chunky coffee table, there was a big sofa in crushed velvet the colour of dark chocolate. He dumped his coat on the arm of a chair. The serving table that sat behind the sofa and divided the eating and dining space had two glass lamps with shades matching the curtains placed at each end along with a huge vase of fresh winter flowers with springs of red berries woven through it. There were two fat chairs covered in a tartan check design in russets and creams that went well with thick interlined curtains in silk the colour of old gold at the window and French doors. Marc had seen plenty of Ferranti senior staff quarters around the world and gave this designer ten out ten. Hand crafted wooden shutters kept the heat in at the kitchen window. Six hand thrown terracotta pots on the kitchen window ledge held a variety of herbs. It appeared Elena liked to cook. Although it also appeared Elena didn't go in for girly cushions and candles and dust catchers. However, she'd crammed the heavy oak mantelpiece and every available surface with family photos of her father and brothers, interlaced with sprigs of fresh holly in a nod to the season. The place had a lovely warm and comfortable vibe.
Marc turned his attention to the woman sprawled in the chair, hazel eyes flickering with gold as she stared unseeing into the glowing log burner. He added a couple of logs to keep it going through the night.
"Let's take your coat off," he said in a friendly tone. "Are you still cold?"
She blinked and looked a little surprised to see him.
Her wide smile made him smile, too.
It appeared Elena was a happy drunk and Marc thanked heaven for small mercies.
At some point, she'd kicked off her heels.
Now when she stood, the top of her head came under his chin.
He inhaled the scent of her floral shampoo, warm woman and eau de After Shock.
For the first time since he'd met her, Elena appeared slight and very vulnerable.
As he took her coat, goose bumps rose over her smooth, creamy flesh. And Marc's hands itched to touch, to taste. He tried very hard not to notice how her nipples strained against the fine fabric of her dress. He grabbed her coat, and his, and moved to the tiny hall to hang them on the wall hooks. When he returned to the room Elena was standing in exactly the same spot, swaying on her stocking feet.
With gentle hands, he pushed her down into the chair.
"Why don't you sit down, sweetheart." He wrapped a handy woollen throw around her for warmth, to hide all that skin and to stop the whisper of temptation in his ear. "And I'll get you a hot drink. What would you like?"
Eyes filled with nothing but love and affection for him met his.
Common sense told him she was sloshed, not to take any notice of how she looked at him or what she said, but something clicked in the region of Marc's carefully guarded heart.
He cleared his throat.
"Are you hungry? Fancy a sandwich?"
Fancy me?
She shook her head.
"Tea would be nice."
Elena had a wide and sensitive mouth that just begged to be kissed.
His shaft went rock hard.
He'd kiss her tomorrow, Marc promised himself fiercely.
The cupboards and appliances in the kitchens of the coach houses, all six of them, were organised in exactly the same way, which made doing the inventory check-list for breakages etc., before and after a person moved in, easy to maintain.
Marc switched on the stainless steel kettle, grabbed a couple of mugs, noting that she'd replaced the standard issue white with her own. They were large and the colour of ivory with tiny lilac flowers. Girly. He grinned. Her teapot matched the mugs and he warmed it with boiling water before placing two teabags in the pot and adding boiled water. He placed the mugs, a jug of milk and sugar and teapot on the tray and moved into the sitting room. Without asking her, he poured the tea, added three teaspoons of sugar and milk to the mug and handed it to her. After pouring tea for himself, Marc settled down to watch the myriad of expressions crossing her beautiful face.
She was staring and smiling into the fire and Marc wondered what she was thinking.
> He didn't have to wonder long.
"Marc, since the very first moment I saw you walk into Ludlow Hall," Elena said in a dreamy voice as she stared into the fire. "You made my lady bits tingle."
Chapter Six
Happily existing in a blissful and contented place, Elena watched Marc inhale his tea and struggle not to spill it as he coughed up a lung.
Calmly, she handed him a couple of tissues plucked from the box on the coffee table.
"Christ," he said, as he mopped his streaming eyes.
Somewhere, fluttering on the extreme edges of a mind living in a happy haze of alcohol, somewhere where common sense lived, Elena knew that how she felt in this moment, in that wondrous sense of rightness, that this strange new world she was living in, was in fact, all wrong.
And she couldn't give a hot damn.
She waited until his eyes claimed hers.
"I dream about you all the time," she said with brutal honesty.
The poor man shook his head, his blue eyes wide and sincere.
"Elena, sweetheart. I don't think you should be telling me this. It's not you speaking, it's After Shock. And it's named that for a reason."
Aww, poor baby, he was worried she'd embarrass herself?
What a nice guy.
Well, Elena couldn't care less.
For some strange reason it was really important, crucial even, for her to tell him how she felt.
So she leaned over to pat the hand that was resting on the arm of the sofa.
She studied that hand now.
The man had lovely hands with long fingers and short, clean nails.
From his wrist, he also had a sprinkling of fine dark hair peeping out of the cuff of his white cotton shirt.
She wondered if he had a snake of dark hair leading to the impressive bulge between his legs, too. Her eyes rested on that bulge as the tingling between her legs clicked up a notch.
"I love After Shocks. And let me tell you something else," she said.
Her eyes slid up his body to his face.
His Adam's apple bobbed twice.
"What's that?" he asked in a hoarse voice.
She blinked into his eyes.
"In my dreams you and I are in this very room. My panties are at my ankles, you bend me over the arm of the sofa and take me hard and fast until I scream. Do you think you could do that, Marc?"
Yes.
His dick was screaming that it could most definitely do that.
Right now in fact.
If only she wasn't pissed and didn't have a clue what she was saying.
Jeeeeeezus.
It appeared a couple of After Shock's were better than truth serum.
Unable to listen to another word, Marc leapt to his feet.
"Okay, that's enough. Drink up your tea like a good girl and we'll get you up to bed."
"I've finished my tea. Are we going to bed to fuck?"
It cost him, but Marc ignored the question as he whipped the mug out of her hand and placed it on the tea tray.
It terrified him that his hand was shaking.
As he moved around the coffee table to take a hold of her slim wrist, Marc found his arms full of a very warm and very willing woman. Her arms were around his neck, those wonderful breasts now plastered against his chest and her pelvis slid against his in a way that made him grit his teeth and just hang on. No matter how hard he tried, his dick went so hard he closed his eyes.
"Oh my. You are happy to see me, big boy."
Oh God, baby Jesus, Christ help him.
He trembled.
She laughed.
A throaty, sultry sound that made him groan out loud.
When her hand slid down his front to rest on his throbbing shaft and squeeze, his eyes rolled back in his head.
Marc hadn't lived thirty-four years without women touching him like this. Of course they had. But he'd never, ever, experienced the force of nature that was Elena Kennedy. Her touch, the purr in her throat, the way she smelled, did something to him that was beyond pleasure, beyond pain.
If only she was sober.
If only she was in her right mind.
But she wasn't, he reminded himself desperately.
He was a good man.
And good men did not take advantage of a woman under the influence, no matter what she said, no matter what she did and no matter what his dick demanded.
She was licking his neck now, still rubbing herself up and down his body like a cat in heat. This needed to end, right now.
Without a word, he scooped her up in his arms, marched through the door, up the narrow stairs (not without difficulty) and through a process of elimination found her bedroom.
Her little yelp of delight when he tossed her on the bed seriously tested his resolve.
Annoyance with her, and with himself, was beginning to churn and burn hot and bright in his gut now. And that annoyance was winning the battle with a brutal arousal.
Without a lick of conscience, he started to rummage through a beautiful antique set of drawers. Her silk underwear was predominately in neutral colours, expensive and incredibly feminine with lace and ribbons. The thought of her wearing the sheer bras, the panties, under her crisp and tailored uniform every day, nearly made him come in his pants.
"Ooooh Maaaarc," the siren sang his name in a way that made him close eyes.
Not a religious man, Marc prayed.
And he promised himself that tomorrow he'd make her pay for this.
He slammed the drawer shut and opened the next to find a pair of white flannel pyjama bottoms with pink teddy bears. Perfect. Because he knew there was no way in hell he'd have coped with something in silk or lace. It would have fucking killed him. He grabbed the flannel pyjama bottoms as a man might grab a life belt in a stormy sea. In the next drawer, he found an oversized pink T-shirt. Even better, so he grabbed that, too, and turned around.
And stopped dead, his heart thudding like a pneumatic drill against his ribs.
He broke out in a cold sweat.
Oh. My. God.
One long leg was stretched up to the ceiling, her toe pointed like a ballet dancer as she tossed the black hold up silk stocking to the floor. Slowly, so slowly, she brought the leg down. The woman had fabulous stomach muscles. She bent the other leg as her hands slid up, up her thigh, to slide off the other stocking. She turned her head to watch his face and licked her lips. When she tossed the stocking towards him, he couldn't look away. Then she pulled the hem of her dress up to her waist, wiggled down the bed and placed her thumbs either side of tiny panties of sheer black silk. The Brazilian between her thighs made him blink as both legs were bent at the knees, as she pulled down her panties exposing the swollen pink lips of her sex. In a smooth move, she whipped off her panties before stretching both legs to the ceiling and pointing her toes.
And Marc knew that if he didn't get out of there, right now, he'd do something that would shame him as a man and make her hate him for ever.
He moved fast and flipped her over onto her belly.
Unfortunately, the move made her think they were going to do something kinky because she was on her knees with her bare ass in the air.
His hand itched, really itched, to spank that tight little bottom.
He actually closed his eyes and visualised the scene.
But that could wait for another day.
Clenching his jaw so hard he was lucky not to shatter his molars, he pulled her legs down and quickly dressed her in her teddy bear pyjama bottoms. He should have felt better. But as he turned her over and whipped her dress over her head and arms, her magnificent breasts were released. Gorgeous, was all he could think. But although Marc whimpered, he battled on and the way bitter disappointment filled those big hazel eyes and made them swim made him feel like a complete bastard. However, he ruthlessly ignored those big eyes as he tugged her pink T-shirt over her head. His hands were shaking as he tucked the thick comforter around her.
By this time his dick was howlin
g between his legs, but Marc soldiered on.
He marched into her en-suite and filled a large glass with cold water from the tap.
By a process of elimination, he rummaged through feminine unmentionables in cupboards and drawers to find aspirin for the headache from hell she would surely have in the morning. He popped two from the packet before stalking back into her bedroom.
Her eyes were teary and drowsy as she sat up and took the pills and swallowed the water like a good little girl.
"I'll leave the bathroom light on in case you get up in the night. How are you feeling?" he asked in a tight voice.
Heat rose up her neck and into her cheeks.
And he was delighted to see it.
Her eyes were a little clearer, too.
"Fine. Thank you for looking after me," she said, and her chin wobbled. When her bottom lip trembled, he felt like crying himself. "I'm sorry you don't want to fuck me."
Ooooookay.
So the After Shocks had still not quite worn off.
He placed her cell on the bedside table.
"If you feel unwell, give me a call. My number's at the top of the list, on speed dial. I'm just up the path. Don't hesitate to call me."
He really should stay the night, but there was no way in hell he could be under the same roof and not take her. If Elena was throwing up then he'd definitely stay, but her eyes looked clearer and she didn't look grey and pasty. If anything she looked amazing, all rosy and glowing.
She sniffed pathetically as she settled into her pillows, tugged the comforter right up to her chin.
Lord, she was so beautiful, even if she did look pitiful.
It shouldn't have made his throat ache.
It shouldn't have made his eyes sting.
His balls were actually throbbing in time to the hectic beat of his heart.
And right there Marc made a firm pledge to the universe, to karma, to any deity or divine being who might be listening that Elena Kennedy was going to live to regret putting him through hell this night.
Chapter Seven
Elena awoke precisely ten hours after the moment she'd shut her eyes.
Her curtains were closed, but light bathed her big bed from her en-suite bathroom.