by Zaires, Anna
She’s asleep.
“She was exhausted when she arrived a half hour ago,” Geoffrey informs me as I’m taking off my coat. “Said she was too tired to eat and was going to take a nap.”
A spike of guilt pierces my chest. I must’ve completely exhausted her last night. “Did she say anything about packing and going home?”
“No, Mr. Carelli. She went straight up to the bedroom and hasn’t come down since.” He pauses, then asks carefully, “Shall I warm up dinner for you? Or would you like to wait for Ms. Walsh?”
“Give me a few minutes, and I’ll let you know.”
I head upstairs, pausing only to pet Cottonball, who’s taken to greeting me every evening by the door. Of course, a few seconds of head scratching is insufficient for the needy feline, so when he meows loudly, looking up at me with those big green eyes, I bend down and pick him up, taking him with me so I can stroke him as I walk.
Entering the bedroom with a purring Cottonball in my arms, I find Emma tucked under the blanket, with the two other cats curled up next to her on my pillow.
A month ago, I would’ve immediately stripped the sheets and had Geoffrey boil my pillowcase with bleach. But as I take in the scene in front of me, cat germs are the last thing on my mind.
If I hadn’t already realized that I love her, I would’ve known it in this instant. Lust and tenderness, possessiveness and adoration—all of it commingles in my chest. Emma in repose is a sight that melts my heart and turns my cock rock hard. She’s lying on her side, one pale arm draped over her pillow and her curls like flame spirals around her softly pretty face. With her eyes closed, her thick lashes are like auburn half-moons on her freckled cheeks and her rosebud lips are slightly parted, making me want to kneel in front of her and kiss them—then roll her onto her back and fuck her all night long.
Even with my kitten looking like a Botticelli angel, the savage inside me is alive and well.
Heart thudding heavily, I walk over and stop at the edge of the bed, staring down at her. Emma’s breathing is completely even; she’s deep in the throes of sleep. Both cats raise their heads at my approach, then lay them back down, unimpressed.
I don’t know how long I stand there watching her, but eventually, I quietly back away and go back downstairs. With Cottonball sitting on my lap, I eat the dinner Geoffrey prepared, then go into my home office to do more work. The cat follows me there, napping on my desk while I go through research reports. I consider shooing him away, but he’s not bothering me, and having him here is a little bit like having a part of Emma with me.
When I’m done, I do a few dozen laps in my pool, shower, and head into the bedroom to join my kitten, whose evening nap is transitioning into nightly sleep. Quietly, I approach the bed and turn on the bedside lamp. Mr. Puffs and Queen Elizabeth are still lying on my pillow, pointedly ignoring me. Since chasing them away might wake Emma, I grab another pillow from my closet and carefully move the pillow with the cats aside. Then I flick off the lamp and stretch out beside Emma, pulling her soft, warm body into my embrace.
She stirs at my touch, mumbling, “Marcus?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Sleep, my sweet.” My cock is painfully hard, but I want her to rest and recover. I’m used to the nonstop pace of my life, with business dinners that run late into the night, followed by early-morning exercise or meetings. But she’s new to this, and the last thing I want is to undermine her health by exhausting her with my sexual demands on top of everything else.
She snuggles closer, yawning against my shoulder. “I didn’t go home,” she says sleepily. “I was going to, but I didn’t.”
I suppress a smile. “I noticed.”
“And I don’t want to.” She sounds slightly more awake.
My heart skips a beat, then starts thumping. “You don’t have to.” Is she saying what I think she’s saying? Pulling back, I turn on the lamp and meet her gaze. “Kitten, you don’t have to go anywhere. I want you here always. You know that.”
She blinks a few times, the sleep rapidly clearing from her eyes. “Marcus, I…” She sits up, holding the blanket to her chest. “I think I want to try this. That is, if you’re sure.”
I sit up too, my heartbeat accelerating further. “I am. Very sure.” So sure I just agreed to pay Weston Long three million dollars in exchange for one of his companies purchasing her landlady’s townhouse. Is that what’s prompting this? Did the woman already speak to Emma about ending her lease early?
But no, it’s way too soon. Long said he’d need a couple of days to make an offer.
“Okay then.” Emma takes a breath, causing the blanket to slip and expose a pale breast tipped with a temptingly pink nipple. “It’s a trial run. Officially.”
“Yes, a trial run,” I say thickly, and unable to resist, I shoo the cats off the bed and pull her to me.
* * *
By the next morning, I still don’t know what prompted my kitten to change her mind, but I don’t question my good fortune. Instead, I move swiftly to consolidate my victory. As we sit down to eat breakfast, I ask Emma for the keys to her studio, so Geoffrey can send the movers there today.
“They’ll only take the cat maze, your clothes, and some books,” I tell her when she looks panicked. “It’ll be easy to bring it all back if this trial run doesn’t work out.”
She hesitates, then nods. “All right. I suppose we can do that.”
It takes everything I have not to let my fierce triumph show. “Good, it’s settled then. I’ll ask Geoffrey to make room in my closet for your things.” Not that she has a lot. Hopefully, once we’re married, she’ll let me buy her more.
And we will be married soon.
Now that Emma is living with me, it’ll be that much easier to make her fall in love with me, turning this “trial run” into forever.
Finishing her poached eggs, Emma pours herself a glass of green juice and downs it in a few gulps. She seems to really like it, so I make a mental note to have Geoffrey always prepare it for her at breakfast. I’ll also ask him to pack a lunch for her every day; I have no idea what she eats at work, but I’m sure it’s not nearly as good as the gourmet sandwiches my butler makes for me.
“Oh, almost forgot,” Emma says, patting her lips with a napkin. “Janie called me yesterday. She wants us to meet up with her and Landon this week. Do you think you might be too busy?”
I raise my eyebrows at the strangely worded question. “Do you want me to be too busy?” I do have a ton of work and I’m not a fan of the pushy investment banker, but for Emma, I’m willing to tolerate the guy for one night.
Busy or not, I want to get to know her friends.
Emma’s cheeks turn pink. “Well… kind of. I mean, I want to see Janie, but I think her boyfriend just wants to suck up to you.”
That was obvious to everyone last night. “Right. So?”
She looks taken aback. “So that doesn’t bother you?”
“Why would it?” I pick up my fork. “The whole point of having power and wealth is to be in the position where people want to suck up to you. In the business world, it’s called ‘networking,’ and it’s an essential skill for career advancement.”
Emma pushes her plate aside. “But that’s using people. It’s—”
“It’s human nature, kitten. And not just human.” I know where her views are coming from, so I choose my words carefully. “Observe any social animals, and you’ll see it. The weak curry favor from the strong; the unskilled learn from the skilled. Are they using them? Sure. But is it wrong? I doubt it.”
Emma regards me with a frown. “I don’t understand. Are you saying it’s okay if a woman is with you for your money? Or if someone only wants to be your friend to network with your billionaire boyfriend?”
“Of course not.” I push my own plate aside and cover her hand with mine. “There’s a world of difference between deceiving and emotionally manipulating someone, and knowing that a person may be of help to you. I would never be with a woman who only want
s me for the luxuries I can provide—not if I’m looking for a genuine emotional connection with her—but I’m more than happy to provide those luxuries for the woman I love and who loves me back… and it’s totally fine if she enjoys that aspect of our relationship. In fact, I’d want her to.”
Emma’s color heightens, and she looks away, her voice strained as she says, “I see.”
“Kitten, look at me.” I wait until she meets my gaze before continuing. “If you don’t like your friend’s boyfriend, I can be as busy as you need me to be. We don’t have to spend time with anyone you dislike. But I want you to know that if your friends or family do need a favor at some point, I’m here for them, just as I’m here for you. I know you don’t want my money or my connections, but you’ve got them.” I pause, then add gently, “Everything I have is now yours.”
36
Emma
By the time I get home from work that day, the movers have already brought all of my things, and Geoffrey has unpacked them. My clothes, all washed, ironed, and de-haired, are hanging in Marcus’s closet; my books, including the first editions he gifted me, are arranged on the bookshelves in the library; and my cat maze is standing next to the glass wall of the pool room, strategically hidden behind the lush green plants that shield it from view. My cats, never ones to miss an opportunity to climb, are already all over the maze—and the tall plants surrounding it. In fact, Queen Elizabeth is sitting on top of one especially sturdy fiddle-leaf fig as if it were an oak tree.
Hopefully, she won’t try to eat the leaves. My pets don’t usually attack plants, but there’s always a first time.
Marcus is still at work—he texted me that a meeting is running late—so I walk around the apartment, taking in my new residence. A part of me still can’t believe this is happening, that we’ve come so far so soon. Last Wednesday, exactly a week ago, I’d been on my way to Florida, my heart in pieces, and now I’m in Marcus’s penthouse, having just agreed to live here on a trial basis.
If that’s not embracing change, I don’t know what is.
There are still a million and one things that could go wrong, a hundred ways we could turn out to be incompatible, but the flame of hope he lit in my heart that night in Florida is growing stronger, brighter. Maybe, against all odds, this will work out.
Maybe someday, he’ll even return my love.
The woman I love. He said it so casually yesterday, as if it’s not my wildest dream to be that woman. Not because of the luxuries he’s so eager to provide, but because of him.
The more I get to know my Wall Street titan, the tighter his grip is on my heart.
He spoke to my grandparents this morning. I know because they called me during lunch. He wanted to thank my grandmother for a wonderful weekend and to see how my grandfather was doing with the trading software Marcus had installed for him. He also offered my grandparents free use of his plane, so they can visit us in New York anytime they want, and he promised to bring me to Florida to see them soon.
That he took the time out of his busy day is impressive enough, but what other man would’ve even thought of calling my family? Or offered to do favors for my friends?
Marcus Carelli is one in a billion, and it’s not because of the billions he’s made.
If there was any doubt in my mind that I did the right thing by agreeing to this trial run, it’s dissipating quickly.
I want to do whatever it takes to make this work.
I want to be the kind of woman Marcus could love.
37
Marcus
When I get home from work, the dining table is set with candles, and a bottle of champagne is chilling in ice.
“I asked Geoffrey to do this,” Emma says, coming down the stairs toward me. “I hope you don’t mind. Since it’s our first official day of living together, I wanted tonight’s dinner to be extra special.”
“Of course I don’t mind.” In fact, my chest fills with a warm, soft glow, the tiredness from the long workday fading as she comes up to me, rises on tiptoes, and plants the sweetest, most sensual kiss onto my lips.
My cock hardens immediately, but I resist the urge to drag her off to bed. It’s nearly eight, and if my kitten waited for me, she must be as starved as I am. Besides, I want to have this “extra special” dinner with her, to see her dimpled smile as we talk about our day.
When we sit down, Geoffrey appears out of the kitchen and makes a production out of uncorking the champagne and pouring us each a glass.
“Thank you. You’re amazing,” she tells him, her gray eyes sparkling and her dimples out in full force, and I watch in amusement as my always-composed butler flushes with pleasure before mumbling his thanks and backing away.
Like my investors, he can’t help responding to Emma’s unconscious charm, to that genuine, seductive warmth that’s lured me to her from the start.
“To you, kitten,” I say, lifting my glass when he disappears back into the kitchen. “And to a successful trial run.”
“Yes, to a successful trial run,” Emma says, clinking her glass against mine. “And to new beginnings.”
“To new beginnings,” I echo, and take a sip of the perfectly crisp, fizzy drink.
A minute later, Geoffrey brings out red-wine-braised short ribs, and we eagerly dive in. At first, we’re too busy eating to talk about anything except how good the food is, but after a few minutes, the first fullness signals reach my brain, and I ask Emma if she decided whether she wants to see her friend and her banker boyfriend.
It’ll be tough to find the time, with my schedule jam-packed until the weekend, but for Emma, I’ll clear one evening.
“Actually, I told Janie this week is no good,” Emma says. “With the move and everything, it’s just too crazy. Plus, I haven’t seen Kendall in a while, and I’m hoping we can do something over the weekend with her. But maybe we’ll see Janie next week, if that’s okay with you? Wednesday, perhaps?”
“That works. As long as it’s not right before the Alpha Zone conference, I’m good,” I say and pull out my phone to make a note in my calendar.
When I put the device away, Emma asks me about the conference and what Alpha Zone means, and I explain that “alpha” is the excess investment return compared to a benchmark—the true measure of a fund’s performance.
“Nowadays, it’s cheap and easy to invest in something like an S&P 500 index fund and get the same returns as the market,” I tell her. “The challenge is consistently outperforming, and that’s where investing acumen comes in. The Alpha Zone is an association of all of us who hunt for alpha, whether in the traditional sense of outperforming a given benchmark or simply getting the best possible returns. Most of the members are hedge funders like myself, but there are also venture capitalists, currency traders, private equity guys, traditional asset managers, real estate investors, and anyone else who’s in some way in the alpha generation business—and is successful at it.”
“So what is the conference for?” Emma asks. “Just to rub shoulders with other big-shot alpha hunters?”
I flash her a grin. “Pretty much. We also pitch an investment idea for the coming year, and at the following year’s event, we see whose idea performed the best.”
“Ah, I see. So your reputation is on the line.”
“Exactly.”
I ask about her day next, and Emma tells me about a new client who pinged her for developmental edits—those are apparently the hardest—and how the holidays are bringing more customers to the bookstore. Then she asks about the meeting that delayed me tonight, and I explain about the IPO we’re investing in this week. The meeting was with the company’s CFO, and it ran late because he’s based on the West Coast. Since she seems interested, I go over the merits of the investment, and she listens attentively, occasionally interrupting with astute questions. Though my kitten has no finance background, she appears to have an intuitive grasp of the risk-reward calculation that goes into investing decisions, as well as a knack for cutting through the fl
uff and succinctly summarizing the issues at hand.
“You know, you would’ve made a great equity research analyst,” I tell her as Geoffrey brings out our dessert—a fruit salad drizzled with chocolate syrup. “Those are the guys who publish many of the reports I read. With your way with words, you’d have quite a following—especially if your stock recommendations were more right than wrong.”
She grins, spearing a plump strawberry. “Are they often wrong?”
“On average? About fifty percent of the time.”
“Really? Then why does anyone read those reports?”
“For the information.” I bite into a juicy piece of pear. “These analysts do quite a bit of research on the companies they cover, and their reports often give a good overview of the business model, the competitive landscape, and such. That’s their real value add, not their opinion on whether the stock is a buy or sell. Professional investors like myself make those decisions on their own.”
“Ah, I see. So are all published stock recommendations useless?”
I smile at her. “Pretty much. Don’t tell your grandfather, though. I gave him access to our equity research database today, and he’s in seventh heaven.”
Emma laughs, shaking her head, and forks a chocolate-drizzled raspberry into her mouth. Right away, her eyes close, and a blissful expression appears on her face. “Mmm,” she moans through a mouthful. “This is so, so good…”
My heart rate jacks up, my mind flooding with images of how she looks when I’m inside her. That expression is very similar to the one she’s wearing, and my hands itch to reach across the table and pull her to me, so I can kiss the lips she’s licking at this very moment.
If it weren’t for Geoffrey in the kitchen, that’s exactly what I’d do.
She must know the effect she’s having on me because when she opens her eyes, her mouth curves in a sweetly seductive smile and she reaches across the table to lay her small, soft palm on my hand.