by Stasia Black
Cora froze and gritted her teeth.
It’s a paycheck. Grin and take it for the paycheck.
She waited for him to come at her again, with either more pins or more abuse. But another one of the assistants turned from the rack of clothes and pulled the second man away. He spoke in an urgent whisper.
“Mr. Ubeli,” were the only words Cora caught as she waited, trying to keep a brave face. The first assistant returned and finished his work, silent and stiff. The second disappeared, and reappeared with a bottle of water.
“The lights can be hot,” he explained. Cora noticed none of the other models being given water, but she accepted it. She was directed off to the side to wait her turn.
“But don’t sit down,” was the assistant’s last instruction. “Don’t crease the fabric.” She gave him a thumbs up but he was already off.
With her clothing draped like a Greek statue and water bottle in hand, she felt like the Statue of Liberty.
She didn’t have to wait long, though.
“Babe, there you are—” a photographer waved at her, “You’re next.”
Cora nodded and hurried forward. Another model, being unpinned from her clothes, turned her head. “Wow,” she remarked on Cora’s get up, “you look really cool. Who are you supposed to be?”
“Uh . . . I don’t know.” Cora stood aside as two men pushing a huge mirror came through. The thing stood six feet tall, and was still higher on its wheeled mount and gilt frame. They stopped in front of her, cutting off the other model’s conversation.
Into the reflected surface, Cora stared at the striking woman in robes. She’d only been able to see her face in the makeup mirror earlier, but now she was hit with the entire effect.
Kohl-darkened eyes stared back at her. Her hair was big and wild around her but it didn’t detract from the luminous, violet sheen of her skin. The tones of the gown only served to highlight the glow of her pale skin even more.
She looked larger than life. Powerful. She blinked in surprise at the thought. It wasn’t an adjective she’d ever used to describe herself before.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the goddess.”
Cora turned around and saw a familiar face, lips quirked up in a half smile.
Marcus.
The room around them, chaos only a second ago, cleared out. Stepping back to look beyond the mirror, she could see another model’s bare back, the assistant helping her with the bottom half of her costume as they both hurried away. Cora looked back into the mirror as Marcus approached behind her. His smile had dropped and instead his eyes held the intensity of a hunter.
“Marcus,” she breathed, her stomach feeling strange and swoopy.
He was looking her up and down. With his handsome face and sculpted cheekbones, he looked like a model himself. He wasn’t pretty, but the strength and symmetry of his features were powerful. Timeless. Next to him, regular guys were eye-wateringly ugly—until you realized that they weren’t, they were normal looking and Marcus was a god. Mere mortals couldn’t compare.
Her stomach did a sad little spiral. Marcus fit in better here than she did.
A few steps and he had crossed the distance between them. She gazed at him in the mirror. When he was right behind her, the two of them looked like a snapshot out of any style magazine. He was wearing a gray button up. He often wore gray or other dark colors. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, and the shirt’s smoothness couldn’t hide the outline of his muscles. He was so strong. He didn’t have the physique you would expect of a businessman.
Marcus’s cheek tugged up in one of his signature half smirks. Oh no, he’d noticed her checking him out.
She felt her cheeks heat, and she looked at her own face in the mirror in alarm, but for once her blush didn’t show because of the makeup.
But as she looked in the mirror—oh crap! There was plenty that was showing. Her gown might be gorgeous but all that sheer fabric was practically see-through. Had Marcus noticed?
She hurriedly crossed her arms in front of her. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
“Do I make you nervous?” he whispered, and she could feel the warmth of his breath on her ear as he skewered her with his gaze in the mirror’s reflection.
Even with her arms over her chest, the outline of her body was perfectly clear through the gauziness of the dress. Her hips. The line of her inner thighs.
Marcus leaned his face over her shoulder so that their faces were side by side, cheek to cheek.
Cora felt paralyzed by his gaze.
“You are a goddess,” he breathed.
“You shouldn’t call me that…”
Marcus turned her to him. “Look at me.”
She couldn’t bear to obey, so she stared at his shirt. He’d undone the top two buttons, giving her a peek of the chiseled line of his pectorals with a faint dusting of hair. It was so…masculine.
When he raised her chin to look at him, she was able to follow the sculpted line of his neck up to his jaw and finally, over the strong features of his face.
“Perfect body, perfect skin,” he murmured. “How could you not be a goddess?”
“That’s very sweet but you don’t have to—” she started.
“No, angel. In a second, you’re going to walk out there, and everyone will know how lovely you are.”
Her eyes darted away.
“Look at me.” He took her in his arms, keeping her still. After a long pause, “Beautiful,” he pronounced.
She laughed nervously. Marcus smiled and tightened his hold around her, “I’m telling Armand he owes me big for letting him borrow you. Not one—three or four favors.”
Cora was unsure what to think about that. Borrow. Like Marcus owned her. The thought should disturb her but all she could think was, yes, please. What would it be like to belong to a man like Marcus Ubeli?
Cora looked at herself and Marcus in the mirror again, a gorgeous couple out of a magazine. The woman in the mirror’s lips were parted slightly, while the man let his eyes browse along her bare shoulders and neck. When he raised his head, his look was cool, but his eyes smoldered. They consumed her.
“Goddess,” he whispered again.
“Queen of the Dead, we’re ready for you—” a woman with a tablet came out, saw the two of them and took a step back. “Oh, Mr. Ubeli, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No, no,” Marcus called back, “she’s ready.”
Cora was still feeling paralyzed but somehow she forced her feet to move forward anyway. Away from him. How, she wasn’t sure. But she even managed speech. “Queen of the Dead?” she asked the woman with the tablet. “Do you mean me?”
The woman nodded.
“Come find me at the after party,” Marcus called. “After the show. I’ll be waiting.”
Without looking back, Cora crossed through the door, into the lights.
Afterwards, her eyes remained dazzled by cameras. She couldn’t even remember walking the catwalk. All she could focus on was not tripping in the heels they’d put her in. She’d gotten to the end and posed like an assistant had instructed her, and the explosion of camera flashes had about blinded her. But she’d turned on cue and managed to get backstage without tripping herself or any other models so, win.
And now the afterparty. One of the assistants had brought Cora a dress to change into. The assistant said it was from Armand, but from the silent looks Cora got from all the other models, she guessed it was really from Marcus.
What are you doing? she asked herself as she walked with the group of models and Armand’s entourage and show attendees one block over to where the afterparty was being held. Do you really think he’s not going to expect something in return for all these so-called ‘gifts’?
Men were pathologically incapable of being trustworthy, her mother always told her. They always want one thing and one thing only. That’s why I keep you here where it’s safe.
But…would it be so bad if Marcus wanted her like that? She didn’t nee
d gifts. It would be enough if he was interested in her. He didn’t need to do anything else.
And oh, the way she felt when he even looked at her…
And besides, he hadn’t tried anything. Nothing like the ‘one thing’ men supposedly only wanted. If Marcus were a bad man, he could have tried to force himself upon her a hundred times over when he had her alone in his penthouse.
But he hadn’t. Because he was honorable. He was a good man. And kind, and generous, and handsome and—
They got to the afterparty and if she thought the show and preparations for it had been overwhelming, she quickly realized it was nothing compared to when New Olympians really got down to party.
The party was held on a gorgeous rooftop terrace. The evening was cool but there were space heaters all throughout the terrace keeping it warm and everyone around her seemed to be in a jubilant mood. The show was apparently an unmitigated success according to early reviews and social media.
All around her people laughed and chatted and Cora smiled but she never seemed to be in on the jokes about this or that model or actor.
And all they served was champagne and other alcohol. Cora was parched and dying for a glass of water.
She went in search of one when she heard her name called.
“Cora! Darling!”
Armand came over to her and clasped her hand. “Our famous Queen of the Dead, in the flesh. I wondered where you’d gotten off to. Come, come, I have so many people I want to introduce you to.”
And for the next thirty minutes, Cora was whisked around in a whirlwind of introductions, names and faces Cora knew she’d never remember. She tried to object when Armand kept introducing her as Marcus’s girl but to no avail.
Finally, Cora managed to excuse herself from Armand’s side to go in look of the water she needed even more desperately now.
She’d asked for a cup from the bartender and taken her first amazing, refreshing, beautiful sip when a shadow loomed in front of her, making her almost choke on her last swallow.
“Hello, goddess.”
Marcus.
She rolled her eyes and coughed into her elbow, some of the water going down the wrong pipe in her surprise at seeing him.
How did he always sneak up on her like that?
“Not a goddess anymore,” she finally managed to say once she got her breathing under control. She snuck another sip of water. “Just regular old me.” She lifted her hands, ta da, here I am, like a dork.
“I beg to differ.”
She shook her head at him. She couldn’t even look him in the eye. It had only been hours since she’d last seen him, but she was overwhelmed all over again. Every time. How could she not be? He was the epitome of power and masculine beauty. Plato’s form of the perfect man, made flesh.
“Cora,” he called softly. “Look at me.”
She obeyed. She couldn’t tell him she couldn’t look at him directly or his perfection would scorch her like the sun. She met his grey eyes and welcomed the inner flutters, a thousand butterflies throwing a party in her middle.
“How do you like the party?” he asked, eyes crinkling. Like he knew how he affected her and he liked it.
The glittering terrace stretched before them. A jewel-blue pool was illuminated in the center and everywhere beautiful people stood gathered, chatting beautifully.
“Everything’s so lovely.” Cora tilted her head to the side.
“But?”
Cora blinked. She hadn’t meant to let any dissatisfaction show through. She knew this was all meant to be a treat. Getting to be a model. Coming here to this fancy after-party. It was a Cinderella moment and she didn’t mean to be ungrateful—especially since she was getting paid on top of all of the rest of it.
“Don’t go shy on me now,” he said. This was yet another reason she couldn’t look at him. His intense, demanding stare always brought out the truth.
She leaned in. “This isn’t exactly my scene. I sort of feel like…” She looked out at everyone again. “I don’t know, like I’m a scientist and this is a sociological experiment. And I’m in disguise, getting to observe the beautiful people in their natural habitat. I feel like I should be taking notes for a paper or something.”
Marcus lifted a brow.
“Like her.” Cora nodded her head toward an especially emaciated model who’d been fascinating her for the better part of an hour. “Species modelsapian domesticus, approximately 95 pounds. Never actually eats food but holds it between her forefinger and thumb and pretends to nibble at it for thirty-eight and a half minutes. Then she casually sets it down on a passing waiter’s tray and starts the whole charade again with another item of food. And don’t even get me started on the mating rituals.”
Marcus barked out a laugh, and looked surprised at himself.
And then, to Cora’s surprise, he hooked her around the waist and pulled her away from the bar where she’d been standing and over to the shadowed corner, hidden behind two tall planted palm trees.
There was just enough light to see the glint in his eyes.
“I like you.” He pronounced it so solemnly, Cora couldn’t tell if he was happy about it or not. Cora was definitely happy to hear it. Exhilarated in fact.
“Really?” she squeaked.
This brought out the half smile she was quickly becoming addicted to. “Really.”
He leaned in, his weight shifting to press her back against the wall of the building.
Wait, was he really about to—?
His lips were gentle against hers, but only for a moment. Like everything else about him, his lips quickly turned demanding.
And Cora was helpless to do anything other than obey.
Her lips parted on a gasp and he took the opportunity to plunge his tongue into her mouth.
She’d never been kissed, really kissed, and— She lifted her arms and wrapped them around Marcus’s broad shoulders if only to have something to hold onto and ground herself. Because she felt like she could float up, up, and away.
He was kissing her senseless. Her stomach somersaulted with every powerful swipe of his tongue. Cora couldn’t help arching her breasts up and into his chest. Oh gods, had she really done that?
She tried to pull back but Marcus wrapped a hand around her waist between her and the wall, securing her even more tightly against his body.
Her eyes flew open. He was— She could feel his—his hardness. She gasped for breath in between kisses and when he finally pulled away and cupped her face in his strong hand, she rolled her cheek into his touch, blinking dazedly up at him.
He had a satisfied smile on his face.
Would he take her home now and—and make love to her? That was what happened next, right? Even though he’d put a little bit of space between them, she could still feel him.
She didn’t know much about sex but she knew she wanted it. She wanted everything Marcus had to give.
She’d never felt this way before. His presence rolled over her, overwhelming, taking no prisoners. Was this attraction? Or something more? Every molecule in her quivered, standing at attention.
Marcus dominated her senses, made her giddy. Alarm bells rang in her head. Let him in, and he will rule your world. Marcus wasn’t a man who did anything by half measures. His control over her would be absolute, but she wouldn’t hate it. She’d revel in it.
It was too much. It was happening so fast. She closed her eyes, dizzy.
Now she knew why the poets sang of “falling in love.” Because it felt like falling. A wild and free and awful descent. And once you fell, it was over. There was no coming back.
“Cora, are you all right?”
She nodded, eyes still closed. She couldn’t look at him. It was like staring into the sun.
“Cora. Look at me. Don’t hide.”
She lifted her chin and blinked at him. “You terrify me,” she whispered.
He raised an eyebrow. “Well, you’ve always struck me as an intelligent girl.”
“
What happens now?”
He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and she shuddered in pleasure at the touch. His eyes flared and she immediately wanted to press her breasts into his chest again.
What would it feel like to have his hands on her? She hadn’t forgotten the way he’d looked her up and down in the mirror earlier. He was such an intense man. What would it feel like to have all that intensity directed at her? To have nothing between them. No clothes. No pretenses. No years.
“Now,” he leaned in and pressed his lips against hers again, the briefest kiss before pulling away, “we get Cinderella back home to sleep before she turns into a pumpkin.”
He pulled back and took her arm.
“I don’t think that’s quite how the fairy tale goes,” she murmured as he began to lead her through the crowd. Conversations stopped and eyes turned to them, the crowd parting like the Red Sea as they passed through.
Why did they all treat him that way? She glanced up at Marcus but his face was cold as marble. If his arm hadn’t been so warm and sure on hers, she might have shivered from seeing it. She glanced around at the faces of some of the crowd.
There was more than respect on their faces. There was fear.
Who was Marcus Ubeli besides the man who was turning her life upside down? Did she want to know? Or, a more disturbing question—did it matter to her, as long as in private she got to see the man beneath the mask?
She was tense-slash-giddy for the entire ride home. Sharo drove them and when a window closed between the driver and the back seat, she was sure that Marcus would kiss her again. He didn’t, though. He put an arm around her and played with her hair absently during the ride home. It was silent other than the Rachmaninoff that echoed throughout the car.
She frowned when the car stopped after only a short ten-minute drive and Sharo got out and opened her door.
Marcus pulled away from her and she looked at him in confusion. “We aren’t to the Crown yet, are we?” It had taken over half an hour to get from the hotel to the venue for the fashion show earlier today. Granted there had been traffic but surely they hadn’t covered all that distance so quickly, had they?