by Sofia Grey
Alex watched them, amused by their banter, and more than a little wistful. He was trying to give his liver a rest, but after this open display of love and affection, it would be hard to stay away from the vodka tonight.
* * * *
Marianne sat at her desk on Wednesday afternoon and examined her schedule as minutely as though it held the secrets to the universe. She needed to block out every half-hour to a work activity. Leave no empty spaces that might be claimed by Marcus.
Spending Saturday with him was a mistake. Incredibly good fun, but wrong at the same time. From the minute they kissed on the bench in Trafalgar Square, she’d been fighting with herself. She’d hoped they could go back to being friends, but the simmering attraction grew stronger. The more time they spent together, the harder it became to resist him.
She glanced at the half-empty takeout coffee-cup beside her. That was supposed to have been a five-minute meeting with him, to update him on the laptop encryptions. Five minutes spun into half an hour before she tore herself away.
If she banged her head against the desk, it might knock some sense into her brain. He was married. Had a young child. Was clearly unhappy. No. She couldn’t think about that. She refused to be the other woman. She did that once before, with AJ, and vowed never again.
In a moment of weakness, she agreed to have dinner with Marcus tonight, but she’d make it clear that it wouldn’t be repeated.
The audit had been running for less than a week. It was unrealistic to expect anything to surface yet, but she hoped to find something—a clue as to how TM-Tech blueprints and marketing plans had flooded the market. Their customers were getting nervous about signing contracts, and Marcus had his work cut out, keeping everything running.
Rico was rarely at his desk, his schedule as blocked out as hers. He met all the people she asked him to and covered the items on his action list, but there was something about him that didn’t ring true. Most of the time, he acted like the geeky accountant he said he was, but every now and then, she saw a different side to him. A reflexive grab at a falling can of soda. A deeper knowledge of security systems than she’d expect. A vagueness, when they talked about his work history. If pressed, he said he worked abroad a lot, and then he deftly changed the subject.
She made a mental note to ask Marcus about him. They seemed to have some history. Her phone pinged with a reminder, and she dragged her focus back to work.
They cut the evening briefing short that night, as there was no real progress to report, and Marianne lingered in the office, waiting for Marcus. “We going to dinner?”
“Damn right. Let’s get the hell out of here.” He locked away his laptop and paperwork, and grabbed his overcoat. He placed a hand in the small of Marianne’s back, and guided her out of the office and to the elevators. With anyone else, she’d step away, but the second Marcus touched her, all rational thought disappeared. His citrus cologne teased her, making her wonder what fragrance he wore.
As soon as they stepped into the elevator, he dropped his hand. Marianne felt bereft, and then mentally kicked herself. She was playing with fire, if she thought there was any chance of a thing between them. She needed to stay aloof. Be professional.
“Earth calling Marianne.” Marcus nudged her elbow. “You coming?”
Shit. They’d reached the ground floor without her noticing. Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket. That gave her the distraction she needed. “One moment,” she said, and took the call without checking the number. “This is Marianne.”
“Darling.” It was her mother. Marianne wished she’d left the phone unanswered.
“I know you’re back in London at the moment,” her mother said. “It’d be good to see you. Joni would love to.”
Yeah, right. Marianne covered the mouthpiece with her hand and looked at Marcus. “I’ll be quick,” she whispered, and he nodded.
He stepped away and flicked through something on his own phone.
“Mum, you know I’m the last person Joni wants to see, and the feeling is mutual. We agreed years ago to keep apart.” Her mother tried to speak, but Marianne carried on, raising her voice. “I’m here to work on an important project, and I don’t have time to come up to Manchester. I’m sorry.”
She had this same conversation with her mother every time they spoke. Mum would come up with some reason why Marianne should go home, and it always revolved around healing the rift between her and her sister.
“Joni’s not well,” her mother said.
Marianne pinched the bridge of her nose. She felt a headache starting. “Nothing serious, I hope.” She could be polite.
“She’s fragile. You know that.”
Fragile, my ass. Drug-addled was a better description. The only difference between the Joni from ten years ago and the one now was a better class of prescription. Her investment-banker husband was happy to pay whatever bills came his way. “I have to go, Mum. I’m on my way to a meeting. Bye.” Marianne disconnected before she could second-guess herself, and shoved the phone back in her pocket.
Marcus cast his head to one side, knitting his brows together. “I was gonna ask if everything is okay, but I’ve a better question. Do you want wine or whisky?” He tucked his phone away and moved to her side, to slip her arm through his. “And I know the answer. Let’s find us some God damn malt. Stat.”
They walked in silence to the bistro closest to work. She loved that they could be so easy with each other—that they didn’t need to fill the gap with chatter. It was getting harder to remind herself she couldn’t afford to love anything about him.
Marianne only spoke when they settled at a quiet table at the back. “Families suck.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
“No. But thank you.” She pleated the napkin with her fingers, smoothed it flat, and then folded it again. The waiter placed a large malt whisky in front of her, and she wrapped her hands around the heavy tumbler. There was too much rattling around inside her brain, and this would help. She sniffed the amber liquid. A whiff of iodine drifted up, followed by an earthy fragrance. Peaty. She closed her eyes and sipped. The malt burned her tongue and set fire to her throat, but slipped down fine. She licked her lips, considered the taste, and opened her eyes to look at Marcus.
“It’s an Islay. Maybe Bowmore?”
“Nope.” The grin lit up his face, his perfect teeth gleaming. “Fooled you. Want another guess, or can I claim a forfeit?”
She laughed, the tension draining out of her. This was the game they played the first time they met. The first time they got drunk together. It felt like a hundred years ago. “What kind of forfeit?”
“The good kind.”
Oh my. She was in such trouble. “Marcus, we can’t get involved. You know that.” Why did she blurt that out? Why did she jump to that conclusion?
Hurt flashed in his brilliant blue eyes. “I know,” he said. “We’re friends.” There was a note of finality in his voice, and a shiver rippled down her spine. That was what she wanted, right?
“What was the forfeit?” she asked.
“Dinner tomorrow as well. Lou is coming down on Friday, for the weekend.”
Marianne forced a smile. “That’s good. Isn’t it?”
He shrugged. “I guess.”
A million unspoken conversations lurked beneath the surface, and Marianne was more confused than ever. She knocked back the rest of her drink. “You didn’t tell me which malt this is.”
“Do you take the forfeit?”
One more dinner, and then she’d keep her distance. She could do that.
Chapter Nine
There was nothing to discuss in the Friday evening briefing, but Marcus clung to the appointment. Was he trying to put off the moment he faced his wife? Possibly. It was childish behaviour, but he felt compelled to prove he was busy, since he said he was. He justified the two dinners with Marianne this week as business meetings. They discussed TM-Tech issues. Mostly.
He braced himself as he entered the apart
ment. What mood was Louisa in today? She travelled down to London on the train—first class—so it shouldn’t have been a stressful journey. And she compromised by coming on Friday, rather than earlier in the week. He’d play nicely.
A sweet fragrance drifted on the air. A scented candle? He walked into the lounge and saw Louisa curled up on the sofa, a glossy magazine in her hands. She was a beautiful woman and grew more so with every year that passed. Her blonde hair was piled on top of her head in a messy way, with tendrils falling across her face. She wore a satin bathrobe with a hint of something lacy underneath, and as she got up and sashayed toward him, she seemed hell bent on seduction.
At one time, the sight would make him ache to be inside her, but not any more. When did he fall out of love with his wife? And could he fall back in again? He needed to sit down and think this through, preferably with a large bottle of Jack Daniels.
“Hey.” She cupped his cheeks and pressed a fleeting kiss on his lips. “I just climbed out of the bath. I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”
Right. She applied a full face of makeup while she bathed. Unlikely. Marcus ignored her lie and forced a smile. “Hey, yourself. How was the trip down?”
“It was good. Better than I expected.” She dropped her hands to his throat and deftly unknotted his tie. “I could come here for a couple of days at a time, you know. Keep you company.” She tugged his tie free and dropped it on the sofa. “I miss you, baby.” The top button of his shirt was next to be unfastened.
It was the right time for Marcus to say he missed her too, but the words jammed in his throat.
Louisa paused, then carried on as smoothly as if he’d responded. “So I thought we’d have a quiet night in. Takeaway and a movie. We can catch up.” She waited again, and when he didn’t speak, she smiled. “If you’d rather go out, we could do that instead. I’ll need a minute to get changed.”
She flicked at the fastening on her robe, and it fell open. Her luscious body was clad in a wispy, lacy thing that showed her breasts to perfection. Marcus should be slavering by now, but he felt detached. He couldn’t move past the idea he no longer loved her. The thought bounced inside his brain, sapping his focus, and driving everything else from his head.
“You’ve had a hard day.” She moved behind him and squeezed his shoulders. “Why don’t you go shower, while I phone out for food?” She pressed her breasts into his back, her breath warm on his neck.
Shower. Yes. He found his voice. “Yeah. Good idea.”
He spun out the shower as long as he could, then dressed in casual sweatpants and a T-shirt and went to find her. Her back rigid, she sat flicking through channels on the TV. Marcus watched from the doorway. He hadn’t figured out what to say, but they needed to talk.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asked.
“I’ve got one.” In the space of half an hour, she’d gone from seductive to frosty. What now? She dropped the remote on the sofa, stood, and turned to face him. Her smile was fragile, and he saw fear in her eyes, before she masked it. “I’ve ordered Chinese takeout. It’ll be here soon.”
“Is something the matter?”
“Of course not.” Her reply was too quick, and Marcus was on his guard.
“I’ll get a beer.” He stepped into the kitchen and tugged open the fridge door. He heard her footsteps behind him.
“I thought we might go out tomorrow, for dinner. There’s a new Italian place I heard about. La Bamba, in Mayfair.”
Marcus’s hand slipped as he drew the bottle from the fridge. It crashed to the floor in a clatter of broken glass and beer. “Fuck.” His heart raced. That was where he took Marianne for dinner on Saturday. Did Louisa guess?
“Marcus.” Louisa grabbed a stack of paper napkins and crouched, to mop up the spill. “Get me the dustpan and brush. I don’t want to cut myself on the glass.”
“Yes. Sorry.” What was the matter with him? He never used to be like this. He never flirted with other women, or had romantic dinners. Or kissed them. Why couldn’t he love Louisa like he used to? Was it too late?
They cleaned the mess, and as they finished, the door buzzed with the food delivery. He’d managed to duck the question about La Bamba, but it was only a matter of time before Louisa raised it again. Should he admit to going there? How did she know?
Louisa picked at her meal, pushing it around her plate. “I used your credit card to order the food. I hope that’s okay.” Fuck. She’d been in his wallet, so she must have seen the dinner receipt there.
Beads of perspiration dotted his brow. What the fuck was he stressing about? He hadn’t done anything wrong. It wasn’t like he was having an affair. One dinner did not signal the end of his marriage. He tried to fall back onto common sense, but instead he felt as bad as if he had been cheating.
“Sure,” he muttered. Inspiration struck. “I went to La Bamba at the weekend, and it wasn’t that good. If you want Italian, there’s a great Trattoria in Bond Street. Good food. The service is better too.”
“Who did you go with? Was it a work thing?”
That put him on the spot again. If it were a business dinner, he’d have used his corporate credit card, and not his personal one. She’d also be able to tell it was dinner for two, so he couldn’t claim it was a group event.
“Work.” He hated himself for lying. He met her gaze, and it was Louisa who looked away first.
* * * *
Despite the fact Rico sat only a few desks away, Sylvie barely saw him all week. Apart from work talk, they only shared a few words, to confirm they were both going to kickboxing on Friday night and meeting for drinks afterwards.
They were paired at the class again, and like last week, she got the distinct impression he was holding back on her. It was another great workout, though, and this time, she took street clothes with her for later.
When they met in the foyer after class, she wanted to hug herself at the open look of interest on his face. She wore her tightest black jeans, a pair of spiky heeled black ankle boots, and a clingy T-shirt, with her favourite leather biker jacket. She was ready for drinking, dancing, and anything else on the menu.
She was pleased she made the effort tonight, because Rico looked hot in casual gear. Dark, distressed denims clung to his thighs, and the T-shirt-and-hoodie combination suited him perfectly.
He was a handsome man with lovely manners, and one way or another, she planned to find out tonight if he was interested in her.
They walked to the Frog & Bucket again, chatting about the class and what they might do for the rest of the night. As they entered the bar, he pointed out the same seats they claimed the week before, and once again, he spent a minute checking out the people already there. Maybe he was avoiding someone. She hoped it wasn’t a girlfriend or an ex.
He was there with her, and she planned to make the most of it. While they waited to be served, she pulled up the local events guide on her phone. “Friday nights are great for live music. Do you fancy catching a gig? There are a couple within easy walking distance.”
He didn’t reply. She looked up to see him staring at the doors, focused on someone or something.
She felt a tremor of concern at the intent look on his face. “Rico?”
He snapped his attention back to her, leaned close, and brushed his lips across her mouth. What the hell?
“I’ve been waiting ages to do that.” His words were for her alone.
Sylvie was speechless. Her pulse boomed in her ears, and she knew she had a giant grin spreading across her face. He kissed her. In the wine bar. In public.
He flashed her a brief smile. “I need to make a quick phone call. Would you get the drinks and maybe order some snacks? I’ll be right back.”
“Yes.” It came out as a croak, but it didn’t seem to matter.
He was already blending into the crowded room.
Sylvie touched her lips with her fingertips. That was the last thing she expected, but she longed to repeat it. His lips were soft, and his stubbled
chin was scratchy in an interesting way. As first kisses went, she’d had worse. Who was she kidding? He was delicious. She wanted more. Lots more.
Ten minutes later, there was no sign of him. A bowl of chips & dips had been delivered, his beer was getting warm, and Sylvie was worried. Did he run out on her? Or see his girlfriend? Sylvie didn’t like that scenario. She waited another five minutes, then slipped into her jacket, picked up her tiny shoulder bag, and went to find him.
The street outside was quiet. He didn’t come back into the bar, so where was he? Her lovely evening was turning into shit. And what the hell was that kiss about? Anger, hurt, and disappointment merged together, as she walked up the street. If she didn’t see him by the time she reached the end of the road, she was going home. He was another can’t-commit like Chris. She deserved better.
“I don’t think so.”
She heard his voice as she walked past an unlit alley, and she paused and turned on her toes. It was two steps to the alley entrance, and she peered into the darkness. What was Rico doing there?
Her eyes adjusted to the gloom, and she made out his figure in a doorway. “Oh no you don’t,” he said, steel lacing his voice.
His tone made her shiver, and that was when she saw he was talking to someone else—a guy with his back to her. She pressed herself against the wall, out of reach of the street lamp. Who on earth was he with? Her heart thumped against her ribs. Something was very wrong.
Another figure materialised out of the shadows, and he and the first guy lunged toward Rico. Metal flashed in the weak street lighting. He was being attacked. Two on one.
Sylvie stifled her cry of alarm and took a deep breath, adrenaline flooding her system. She was a yellow-belt in kickboxing. Knew the basics of self defence. Had trained herself to react if this situation ever occurred.
She was terrified. The police could never get there in time, and Rico might be hurt.
“Stop right there.” Sylvie shouted as loud as she could and ran into the fray.
Rico swore, and the two other men broke apart. There was another flash of metal. Did they both have knives? There was no time to analyse the situation. Sylvie grabbed one man’s arm and spun him around. He grunted, and she followed up with a sidekick that knocked him into the wall.