by Angel Payne
She parted her lips a little, letting him see her locked teeth. “Accepting dangerous plans isn’t what I do anymore, Senator.”
“Then for the first time, I am worried about your fate on this project, Ms. Fabian.”
Forget the emotional sunburn. He’d gone ahead and pulled out her spirit and fried it to a crisp.
As Rose blinked from the blow, Kai obliged the class by filling the air with a low whistle. “Oooh! Senator Moore throws down!”
“Shut up, Mr. Thomas.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mark gave her one last look, nearly dismissive in how icy it was, before looking out across the room once more. “All right, I want everyone at page fifty in your study manuals. We’ll start in on daily rituals and project work habits until first break in a couple of hours.”
Chapter Seven
If she checked her watch one more time, Mark was certain she’d bust the thing from overuse.
Under other circumstances, he would’ve chuckled at the way he’d clearly pushed some of her buttons. Correction: had nearly short-circuited the control panel she’d worn here this morning. And yes, he would have laughed at his handiwork—if that had been his intention. After secretly shadowing her back to her room last night to make sure she got there in one piece, he’d taken a walk on the beach, hoping to clear his head about the way things had gone in the fitness room. If he could dissect why he’d responded to her like that, going straight for discipline and domination, maybe he could purge the whole thing—and write it off as the aberration she kept insisting.
Instead, while replaying every second of the episode, all he’d done was enjoy it. Savor the rightness of it. The perfection of her submission. The beautiful notes of her climax and every gorgeous tear of her breakdown in his arms afterward. And yes, the glory of what she’d become and the triumph of what he’d discovered in himself again.
All of it. All over again.
Including the moment she’d bolted.
Damn it, he needed to talk to her again. He had to get back into her head, to figure out where her disconnect had occurred. He couldn’t let her go on thinking there was something wrong with who she instinctively was created to be…all the joy she was meant to have…
Suddenly, the suit, the tie, and the room itself weren’t the only things feeling too tight and hot. Even in her ire, maybe especially in it, she was a delicious mix of movement and attitude, arousing him with visceral force. He observed the feisty little stabs of her hands as she grabbed water and a tea bag from the catering table in their break patio and then bypassed the platter of doughnuts to press against a wall, brooding like she wanted her orange pekoe to turn into a murder dagger. Her nostrils flared. Her mouth was a twist of stewing-in-my-own-juices conflict.
She needed some time. His instinct bellowed it at him. A little time. A lot of patience.
He growled low. There was his damn rub. He had plenty of the latter and none of the first.
“None” didn’t sit well in his vocabulary.
With renewed purpose, he strode across the patio as if needing to go check on something at the hotel’s front desk, making sure his path took him past Rose. As he expected, she emitted a little snort. As he hoped, she tossed her tea and followed him.
“Senator!”
Her shout stopped him in front of the hotel’s bar. The place was dark now, cleaned from last night’s revelries, despite the air still hinting of spilled booze, sweaty bodies, and salty snacks. He paused, leaning on the empty hostess podium with a pretense of mild surprise.
“Miss Fabian. Hello. What’s on your mind?”
On the other hand, no pretense in her. What thin veneer she had on her ire came off as she approached and then dug her nails into his arm with the force of a pissed-off sand crab.
She dragged him deeper into the murky room, glancing to make sure they were alone. “I think you already know what’s on my mind.”
He tilted his head. “I’m many things, Ms. Fabian, but mind reader isn’t one of them. And even if you’re right and I do know, what makes you think I’d presume how you’ve processed your thoughts or would let you get away with not talking to me about it?” He savored the startled flare of her lashes and took advantage of tumbling her more off-center. With a deliberate step, he got close enough to make her head fall back. “Speak up. Let’s hear it, pet.”
“S-Stop calling me that.”
He dipped his head a little more. “Have dinner with me tonight, and I’ll consider it.”
“That’s extortion.”
“That’s negotiation.” He couldn’t help it. Her neck called to his fingers, so creamy and elegant. It felt like silk as he caressed from her ear to her collarbone. “And I’m very good at it.”
Her breath hitched. She jerked back. Well, tried to. He was ready for the move and counteracted it by catching her nape and locking her in place. She countered with a harsh huff. “Okay, fine. You want me to talk? Here’s me talking. What the hell were you trying to pull in there? Is that some kind of specialty test for the students you want to drive the craziest? Is that the reason for the special suit today?”
He willed everything south of his eyes into complete composure—forcing her to meet his gaze again. “I merely bridged off the answer you gave, Ms. Fabian. Extemporization is another handy skill for this project. I’m damn good at that, as well.”
She folded her arms. “Extemporization is one thing. Taking the conversation totally off subject and then toting it across the line you did is another.”
“You’re right.” He curled his other arm around her, pressing his hand into the dip just above her delectable backside. “But I achieved my target goal, right?”
“Which would be…?”
“I’m standing here, holding you.”
“Hmmph. So now am I supposed to congratulate you?”
Mark practically felt the furious thrum of her blood in every pulse through his veins. He looked at the copper tints in her eyes, betraying the awakening in her senses. He savored it all like getting to an oasis after four years of the desert. A rumble prowled up his throat. He pulled her closer. God, he loved the way she bent for him, innately soft and compliant beneath his strength.
“You’re supposed to do whatever you want with me. Because, sooner or later, I’m going to do whatever I want with you.”
He lowered his nose to her neck in time to feel her heavy swallow. Still she stammered, “Y-You’re extemporizing into the realm of fantasy now, Senator.”
“I’m very good at making fantasies come true, Ms. Fabian.”
“Is there anything you’re not good at?”
“Yes. Waiting.” He joined his mouth to his cause, pressing a small kiss into her skin. “Have dinner with me tonight.”
Her chest rose and fell. He felt her struggle to steady her pulse. “How about, ‘have dinner with me tonight, please’ ?”
“How about, ‘have dinner with me tonight, and I’ll spare you an afternoon of further extemporization’?”
She laughed. At first. He savored how the vibration coursed along her neck, flowing into his beard and then his skin. Every second of it. Because all too soon…
She’d yank back like she did now.
“You’re not kidding, are you?”
He closed back in on her. “Try me.” There was nothing light in his words now. If she wouldn’t give him credence in Romeo mode, he’d go straight to being Tybalt.
She was utterly still for a long moment. Only the depths of her eyes moved, exploring his face.
“Why?” she finally blurted. “What good is it going to do?”
“Because we need to talk. Just talk, Rose. You can’t deny this. You can’t ignore the way our bodies, our souls, shout to each other. We owe it to fate, to ourselves, to give it a fair conversation with no distractions. No double meanings. No noise. No waterfalls. No intrusions.”
“No jump ropes?”
He brushed a strand of her mahogany hair from where it fell acr
oss her gaze. “You liked the jump ropes.” Her hair was thick and warm against his fingers. He gathered more of it in his hold. “I think your word was wonderful.” Her throat tightened from his touch, a sight he watched in fascination. She was all over the place in her message now, and he savored the little victory.
“I also think red velvet ice cream is wonderful. That doesn’t mean it’s good for me.”
With more calculated intent, he pulled back. She blinked, taken aback, further fulfilling his objective. “Suit yourself,” he drawled. “I look forward to this afternoon’s session, then.”
She jerked her chin up, again a mesmerizing sight. “Maybe I’ll just be sick this afternoon.”
“And tomorrow morning too? And every day for the next six days?”
He could practically hear her teeth grinding. “Why are you being so—”
“What?” He pulled off his suit jacket, tossed it on the bar, and then did the same with his tie—all the while barely holding back a smile. Her torment, battling her honor of him as a teacher against her desire for him as a man, was a beguiling sight. “I’m not Senator Moore right now. I’m not your trainer or your superior. What am I, Rose?”
The curves of her face ignited with eager fire. “Obstinate,” she declared. “You’re being an obstinate, importunate, relentless—”
“Extemporizing.” He finally gave in to the grin. “Don’t forget that.”
“Ass.” she countered. “Yes. An ass. A man possessing one of the most brilliant and stimulating minds I’ve ever encountered, which can’t seem to think its way past the fact that this”—she toggled a finger between both of them—“does not make sense! At all.”
It was surprisingly easy to keep the grin going. “Thank you for your honesty. Now you’re forbidden from saying that again until after dinner.”
“Forbidden? Huh. Really? Says you and what? Your jump ropes again? Unless you conveniently packed your floggers for a just-in-case scenario…”
He let the smile fade. Took a step toward her. Just one. “You really want to push me on this, pet?”
“‘Pet.’” She muttered it like referring to dog crap. “We’re going to talk about that at dinner too.”
“Perhaps we will.”
His quiet tone coincided with Rose’s heavy sigh. She’d just realized what she’d agreed to.
“Fine,” she spat. “Where? What time?”
“I’ll come for you. Eight o’clock.” He couldn’t help brushing her cheek one more time with his knuckles. “Thank you, sweet Rose.”
“You’re welcome, extemporizing ass.”
Chapter Eight
The knock on her room door came at the stroke of eight. Rose expected he’d be on time but jumped anyway, swallowing back the nerves stampeding from her stomach to her throat.
“It’s only dinner,” she muttered. “And you’re only going to talk. You’re going to set him straight about why none of this makes sense, no matter how much his thunder sets off your lightning. You’re going to tell him you’re off-limits, and there’s going to be no more tying up, pinning down, or senses getting stolen again.”
Which was why she’d thought of nothing else all afternoon.
“Get. Over. it.” She dropped her head in a sharp nod. “Don’t beat yourself up. Just focus on what you need to say now.”
Deep breath. Then another as she checked herself in the mirror. For the fifteenth time, she questioned her wisdom in choosing the outfit. It’d been a last-minute toss into her suitcase, as she was sure she’d never need something like the white wraparound skirt and matching one-shouldered blouse. The ensemble felt too revealing, but her only other choices were casual business sets, workout clothes, pool sarongs, and a couple of bathing suits. Since she had no idea where they were going for dinner, the Beyoncé-meets-Margaritaville look was the winner by default.
Skimpy clothes aside, she was resolved about throwing aside the obsessions of the afternoon and keeping her head snapped on straight tonight.
And her body? Officially cut out of the equation.
Stamping a professional smile on her face, she opened the door.
The smile dropped. An impeccable dark suit filled her doorway, but Mark Moore wasn’t in it. The square-jawed guy with the military hair and the security radio in his hand gave her a deferential nod before speaking in a warm Texas drawl.
“Evenin’, Ms. Fabian. I’m Brandt Howell, GRI security team. The senator got a bit hung up and asked me to come escort you to him.”
She blinked. “Hung up? Is he okay?” And why did he have company security come get her instead of just calling and saying he’d be late? Dealing with this man was like navigating a very twisted road.
“Oh, yeah!” Brandt’s grin took up half his face. “Totally fine. He just got to flapping lips with the big man, the way they always do, and lost track of the time. You ready?”
“Uh, yeah.” She didn’t have the guts to ask what he meant by “big man.” Brandt seemed to think she already knew.
Her curiosity spiked with every step they took toward the part of the hotel where the larger suites and VIP villas were located. When they arrived at an arched, ornate doorway, she went ahead and let nervous back in to the party of her emotions.
The next second, nervous stepped aside for staggered. And to her horror, a case of utter speechlessness.
Brandt’s “big man” was the big man. Dante Tieri, CEO of Global Restoration. She tried to imagine her eyes were a movie camera and she could just pull focus and change the sight, but the man’s distinct, tall form was still parked on a couch opposite Mark, a tumbler of Scotch balanced between his hands, apparently enraptured by every word from Mark’s lips. Mark took a sip from his own drink before cracking some quiet joke, making Mr. Tieri throw back his head with its famous thick and tumbling hair.
Rose scowled. Blinked. Gulped. Scowled harder. Was Mr. Arrogance really sitting there trading one-liners with Dante freaking Tieri?
“Ms. Fabian.”
Mark’s voice claimed the word, making it caress and command at once. Her blood went hot, and her nerves turned to icicles.
Somehow, she plastered the professional smile back on. “Good evening, Senator. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I didn’t realize you still were…uh…”
What? In a meeting? Flapping lips, as Brandt put it? Holding court, as she saw it? Sure explained the suit now. Damn, it had to be his thirteenth hour in the thing, and he still looked cool, impeccable, and chiseled as a Dolce & Gabbana ad too.
“You’re not interrupting. Inferno Boy and I are just finishing up.” His entire face warmed as he took her in, eyes crinkling and lips parting, before he pressed a hand to the small of her back and led her over to—
Inferno Boy?
There was an impression impossible to shake for a long time. Like forever.
“Mr. Tieri,” she murmured. “Hello. I’m—”
“Rose Fabian.” The head of her company had already gotten up and extended his hand. In the center of his face was the signature smile with which, according to the tabloids, he’d shattered supermodels’ hearts across the globe. Now facing the full wattage of the look, Rose understood why. “I already know all about you,” he said. “Mark’s been singing your praises for the last hour.”
“Dante.” It was a reprimand. “My daughter does the singing, not me.”
Tieri snorted. “Yeah. How could I forget?” He flashed the grin at her again. “Scratch the singing. You’re still his star student.” A wink followed, really more a kiss of the man’s upper cheek to the corner of his eye. “And I’d like to thank you for it. Good work, Ms. Fabian. It’s an honor to have you on the Baghdad team.” After releasing her hand, he drawled, “Later, Marker Man. Thanks for the update. You’re right. It was worth touching down from Venezuela. So let’s go take that dive after you get back, yes?”
“As long as it’s your turn to pick up the beer tab after.”
“Right!”
Tieri drew out the vowel
on that parting shot. He let himself out, taking Brandt with him.
Rose shifted from foot to foot. She was suddenly very much alone with Mark Moore. In a very large suite that felt very small.
He pulled off his jacket, his gaze never leaving her.
She followed every inch of the graceful action, feeling fifteen, infatuated, and ridiculous. Again.
All right, dinner would have to be skipped. It was time to just cut to the chase, get this whole skirmish over with, and then march her backside out the door. She couldn’t stay, not when he already had her heart forgetting beats just because he’d shucked his jacket.
She needed some air. The slider to the patio and the garden was open. With careful steps, she made her way there. Cicadas sang in the trees, which waved in a breeze smelling of approaching rain. She glanced up to find Mark’s stare still on her, silent and assessing. He barely moved—until she dashed her tongue over her lips. A small hiss erupted from his. She swallowed, tearing through her brain for something to fill the tightrope walk of a moment.
“Why did he call you Marker Man?” She said it with true curiosity, grateful she hadn’t had to fall back on some inane comment about the weather. He shrugged, actually looking a little uncomfortable about the answer. Hmm. She’d knocked him off-kilter for once. The feat wasn’t as satisfying as she thought it would be. His reply, however, earned an uptick of attention.
“Dante and I don’t screw around with each other. Sometimes that makes us a couple of bulls in a china shop, especially when we’re together. But it’s also formed the base for a great friendship. One day we tossed some beers and indulged in some semidrunk emotional guy shit about it. He told me I was in his book in ‘permanent marker.’ We laughed like a pair of idiots about it, but it’s stuck.”
The story was pretty endearing. She told him so by tilting a smile at him as she stepped outside. Marker Man Moore and Inferno Boy Tieri, a bromance for all time.”
