Darkside Love Affair

by Michelle Rosigliani

  The image of that syringe kept returning to my mind, taunting me, frightening me. Then my suspicion that Cole had attacked me was like a punch to the gut. It left me dazed and breathless. But if that was true, who was the man the police had found unconscious next to me?

  I remembered hands finally leaving my battered body as if I were stealing glimpses from behind a veil. Foggy eyes that had succumbed to the quietness of oblivion had caught a peculiar sight—somebody assaulting my assailant. What if somebody had saved me?

  The hotel room, my empty Marcus-scented room, was irksomely quiet when I arrived. I felt fresh tears stinging my eyes, but thankfully, I managed to hold them back.

  Soundlessly making my way to the bathroom, I changed into Marcus’s black shirt. I leaned against the vanity and hugged myself, shivering for once without tears. I hated loneliness and right now, it was my only companion.

  “Charlotte?”

  It hurt to make the effort to run, but I bolted as soon as the familiar voice of rough velvet reached my ears. By the time the door slammed shut I was already halfway across the room, the liberation I felt filling me with joy to the bursting point. Marcus closed the distance stiffly, snatching me to his chest with one arm even as my chest collided with his body.

  I buried my face in his neck and wrapped my arms tightly around his broad shoulders, unmindful of the pain the effort triggered. A sob of his own tore from his chest as his hands gently caressed my calves then linked my legs around his waist, holding me like I was a child. I felt weightless, sheltered, and finally safe.

  “I love you,” he breathed roughly, brushing his lips incessantly against the side of my face. He fisted his hands in my hair, managing to melt down a rough gesture into a gentle caress. “I love you so much that I feel like I’m going crazy. I feel murderous, Charlotte.”

  Choked by emotions, I remained speechless, and Marcus was content just to hold me. I experienced a harsh sense of panic when he attempted to pull away, and I clung even harder to him, begging him through my gestures when my words failed me to never let me go.

  “Easy, sweet Charlotte, I am not going anywhere, and neither are you.”

  He slid me down his body and cupped my face between his warm hands. They were trembling.

  “I’m fine now. I truly am.”

  His eyes narrowed infinitesimally, just enough to let me know that he didn’t believe a word I was saying. But I was telling the truth. Finally, my emotions were settled and the apprehension in my heart appeased.

  I rested my head against his chest and closed my eyes, relishing the comfort he gave me even as it frightened me. He had conquered my defenses and invaded my existence so completely that his mere presence was an invaluable comfort, a beacon of light in the darkness of the unknown.

  “Let me see,” he asked, pushing me two steps backward despite my groan of protest.

  “I am fine now, Marcus.” I tried to dodge and hide from his reaching hands, but the harsh intake of breath and the threatening way his nostrils flared canceled every intention I might have had of stopping him. He was going to see the damage eventually anyway.

  Marcus assessed me carefully. His deft fingers unfastened the buttons of his black shirt that I had developed a fondness for and was wearing in his absence. He parted the sides without baring me completely. His eyes drifted to every bruise without hesitation as if they already knew where my flesh had been abused the most.

  “That bastard,” he growled under his breath, the glint in his eyes completely, uncontrollably wrathful.

  I started trembling, almost convulsing as if I couldn’t get enough of his warmth and comfort, but this time it was not with fear. The relief I felt was so intense that my whole body shook.

  “Go to bed,” he whispered, stroking my cheek with the back of his hand.

  “I don’t think I can sleep right now.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about sleeping. Discard the shirt, please.”

  I gasped and knew by the abrupt heat in my cheeks that I was blushing. I didn’t think I could do more than sleep, either, but I chose not to comment on it. I felt stiff all over, and the pain in my spine was shooting daggers through my whole body. Yet, that wasn’t reason enough to refuse the solace and elation I would draw from the slow glide of Marcus’s body against mine, from his mouth sketching patterns on my skin, or from his nimble hands worshipping me even when I was at my worst.

  He disappeared into the bathroom and returned a minute later wearing only a pair of black boxers. Every step he took brought him closer to me, eliciting a thrill that deepened the flush on my face and ignited a heated rosiness all over my body.

  “The shirt. Off.”

  He pointed to me then to the ground, and I finally obeyed his instruction, unable to take my eyes off him. When he stopped in front of me, he touched me reverently from the balls of my shoulders to the curves of my hips then bent low enough to softly kiss my lips.

  “You scared me today.”

  “You don’t like that,” I breathed, my throat unexpectedly barren.

  “No, I don’t. And it won’t happen again.”

  I placed my hands on his shoulders, feeling the controlled rage in the slight tremor of his muscles. He was tense and furious although he masked those emotions well. It was when he touched my spine with the tip of his fingers, and I quivered at the teasing contact, that the frown on his face slowly dissipated.

  “Lie on your stomach.”

  When I gave him a puzzled look, he smiled encouragingly and guided me into the requested position with firm but gentle hands. A soft whimper escaped my lips, and a low growl of his own was his only response.

  He straddled my hips, and I almost yelped in surprise, but he never pressed his weight on my body and never inflicted an ounce of pain on my already pained limbs.

  The mattress dipped under our combined weight, and Marcus was suddenly crouched over me, breathing roughly against my ear. I felt the renewed urge to cry when he pressed his cheek against mine and rubbed his one-day worth of stubble against my face, sighing.

  “I want you to relax, sugar. Can you do that?”

  His voice washed over me, and slowly, the knots in my muscles loosened. I nodded, mumbling my agreement, and he kissed my cheek, letting his lips wander until they found my earlobe. He bit gently into the flesh, and I moaned, the only encouragement he needed. He licked his way to my nape and kissed me there until I couldn’t stay still.

  “Is there a problem?” he asked against my skin, not deigning to stop.

  “You are not helping me relax.”

  “Am I arousing you, sweet Charlotte?”

  I wanted to convince myself that his cheekiness was the only thing that caused me to gasp, but I knew better, and so did he. That shameless tongue of his continued its journey down my spine until he reached my lower back, and he covered the bruises with healing kisses. I moaned again, but this time in contentment at having him cherish me so carefully.

  Then he straightened, and a gust of cold air covered my back before his caring hands splayed again on my skin and stroked me from my shoulders to my abused lower back. The sensation was so soothing and delightful that initially I entirely missed the sleek quality of his gliding fingers and the citrus perfume of what I later recognized as my body oil.

  “Are you giving me a massage?” I chuckled, feeling inexplicably shy.

  “Indeed I am. Does that disappoint you?”

  I could hear the laughter in his tone, and I smiled against the cool sheets. We both needed to relax, and perhaps this was not only a way to help me feel better but also his method of letting go of his own anxiety.

  “No. Thank you.”

  Right then, I wanted to kiss him so badly that when he bent and took my mouth, I thought he might have heard my desire. He sucked gently on my lower lip, creating an ache that had nothing to do with my split lip or my bruised form. My body understood his distraction tactic, and it reacted of its own accord.

  “Do your joints hurt?” Ma
rcus asked so matter-of-factly like he hadn’t just made love to my mouth. “The bad weather makes you particularly achy.”

  “You noticed—”

  “I notice everything, sugar,” he whispered proudly.

  “My back hurts too much to be able to focus on any other pain,” I admitted on a moan. The feel of his fingers kneading my flesh was divine.

  Marcus growled under his breath but never stopped his soothing ministrations. His hands stroked gently yet applied the exact amount of pressure to turn my whole body to mush. I moaned in pleasure when his fingers absently touched the undersides of my breasts or when they performed a particularly delightful kneading of my tired flesh and whimpered when he reached my bruises.

  Unspeaking, he bowed to scatter countless kisses, covering the hurting spots with the heat of his mouth. It didn’t surprise me how wonderful he made me feel.

  Before long, I found it difficult to keep my eyes open. I was well on my way to falling asleep when the shrill sound of my new phone made me jolt so hard that I bumped against Marcus’s bent body.

  My fingers closed around the disturbing device, and Marcus growled in warning when I answered. It was Christina, and I had a feeling she was not calling at this hour to wish me pleasant dreams.

  “Why do I have to find out from James that you have been attacked and hospitalized?”

  I shut my eyes and sighed tiredly, not even caring how my father had gotten hold of that information. But I did care that he had known all along and hadn’t even bothered to get in touch with his daughter. My eyes stung again, but this time it was easier to control myself.

  “I’m sorry, Chris. There was no time to call anyone, but I am fine now. I promise.”

  “You are not fine, Charlotte. You were attacked, for Christ’s sake. You could have—God.”

  Her voice thinned and finally broke. I knew my sister well. She was crying. She neither sobbed nor sniffled, but she was crying, that silent, tormented type of crying that broke my heart and didn’t help me one bit to rein in my own emotions.

  “Please, Chris, don’t cry. Marcus is here now. Nothing else will happen to me.”

  “How do you feel?” she asked after a while. She sounded calm now, but she wasn’t fooling me. She was still crying.

  And Marcus was still massaging me, the sensation so unbearably perfect that I could hardly keep quiet. One hand rolled over my skin, never losing its rhythm while the other was clenched in a fist and pressing deftly where it hurt the most, bursting each bubble of tension until all I felt was bliss.

  “A little bruised up, but a lot taken care of—aah—”

  I sank my face into the mattress, stifling my gasp a little too late, and batted entirely too ineffectively at the obnoxious man crouching over me. Marcus licked my nape then bit playfully, chuckling even as he groaned in protest. His hand curled over my phone, then he straightened, and the phone was gone.

  “What on earth are you doing?” was the last thing I heard Christina say.

  “Hello, Christina. It’s so nice to hear from you again. I am currently giving your sister a massage, and you just ruined my work by making her tense up again. We will be back in New York tomorrow. I’ll make sure Charlotte pays a visit if that is okay with you.”

  I tried to roll over, but as soon as I moved, Marcus placed his hand on my back, a gentle but steady pressure that prevented any other movement. He paused and listened to whatever Christina was saying, and so did I, but in the end, I failed to hear anything. It wasn’t difficult though to imagine the lecture she was giving him.

  “Not when it happened,” he said then paused. “I’m not trying to excuse myself.” Another pause, another line he stroked down my back. “Yes, I did, and I will,” he finally added, almost angrily.

  The sound of his voice propelled me to look over my shoulder, but once more, his free hand prevented me from moving. When he slowly pushed my head back down against the mattress, I did not fight him. I was so tired that I hadn’t even realized when the conversation between Marcus and my sister ended.

  “We can’t go back to New York,” I murmured sleepily although being home and leaving Jack Stewart’s entire mess behind was all I wanted. But I couldn’t, and Marcus had to know that.

  “We can, and that is not up for discussion.” He sounded harsh and infinitely determined. I sighed, knowing an argument was inevitable. “If you are under the impression that I will leave you on your own in this damn city for even an hour, you are either sorely mistaken or you have no idea who you are up against.”

  “I don’t want to fight, please.”

  “We aren’t.”

  He rolled me over and covered my body with his, like a shield that wouldn’t let anything get past it, then he took my mouth in earnest. His gentleness and thoughtful gestures could not conceal the fire in his eyes or the heat in his touch.

  Marcus kissed me, and soon, I felt so dizzy that my mind failed to produce any coherent thoughts. He kissed me with no intention of stopping, but this endless kiss was for him. He had appeased my fears, and now he was appeasing his.

  “You are safe now,” he sighed and snuggled me close to his chest.

  I believed him.

  Chapter 32

  Marcus

  My hand reached to find the warm softness of Charlotte’s body, but instead, it only fondled cold, empty sheets. The realization of her absence jolted me awake and sent my heart on a rollercoaster. Gone. She couldn’t be gone.

  I was almost sitting by the time I realized that she was leaning against the headboard, her knees to her chest and her arms locked around her bent legs. Her chocolate eyes looked upon me affectionately, yet they were markedly sad. I knew instantly that something was wrong, and though my heart had settled at the sight of her, it started beating erratically once more.

  “Charlotte, what’s wrong?” I asked, cupping her cheek with an uncertain hand.

  Charlotte leaned into my touch, warming my heart even as my worry grew. She shook her head, a soft movement that spoke of hopelessness, and her lips flattened into a thin line. She was holding back tears.

  I pulled her into my lap, securing her head between my shoulder and my chin. It was then that she finally sobbed, a solitary sound that tore my heart out. She must have still been afraid, and that threw me once again in a rage that I could hardly subdue.

  “Did you only say it because you were scared? Because I had been in danger?”

  She pulled away as far as my arms allowed, which wasn’t farther than a few inches, but the distance felt as endless as a desert. I pulled her back to my chest, and when she wouldn’t meet my eyes, I gripped her chin and forced her head out of its hiding.

  I had believed she was afraid for her safety, whereas she doubted my feelings. That triggered a whole other type of anger.

  My dread might have been the cause of finally accepting my feelings for Charlotte, but it certainly hadn’t been the reason for their existence.

  Seeing her vulnerable and in danger, every drop of blood in my body had been contaminated by the fear of losing her. Because I loved her, and that love had been cemented each hour and each day since I met her. That love was the purest feeling in my heart, and having it questioned precisely by the woman it had been born for, enraged me as much as it hurt me.

  “Listen to me and listen carefully,” I growled. Clasping her shoulders, I kept her immobile and completely focused on me. There were millions of things she could doubt about me, but she could not doubt my heart. “Yes, I was scared. I still am, now that it’s painfully clear the danger you are in. But why would I be scared in the first place if I didn’t love you? I meant every word I said last night, but let me repeat it, so there are no misunderstandings. I love you, Charlotte Burton. Doubt that again, and you will make me really mad.”

  She was surprised by my outburst, but skepticism remained. Although I knew that Charlotte was not a woman to be convinced by mere words, it infuriated me that she could doubt something that ran so deep and uncontroll
able inside me, something so pure and beautiful that words could never do it justice, something that I showed her each time I had her in my arms.

  “Charlotte,” I warned even as I tossed her onto her back and crafted a tight snare for her that had her back flat against the mattress and her heaving breasts pushed against my chest. “You are not leaving this bed until you understand. I never speak words I don’t mean.”

  “I really want to believe you, but what if you change your mind?”

  “You are so wrong. You have trapped me. Completely. I’m past the point of being able to change my mind.”

  She locked her arms around my neck and sifted her hands through my hair as if she was exploring me, as if she was storing my image in her memories for a future without me in it, without us.

  The thought made me desperate, brutal even. I pressed my body against her until we were perfectly aligned, and she felt the heaviness of my weight.

  I swallowed her gasp with a punishing kiss, relishing her submission. Despite her fear of trusting, of hoping, she understood my need for her on a primal level and never even attempted to push me away. If anything, her arms tightened around my shoulders, and her lips met my fierce plunder with a hunger of her own.

  By the time neither of us had any air left in our lungs, her new phone blared from the nightstand. I stood, enjoying her moans of complaint as much as I had enjoyed her soft body underneath me.

  Charlotte answered with an impatient tone she rarely used, all the while keeping her eyes focused on me. And I couldn’t help myself. I rubbed my lower lip with the pad of my thumb then licked my lips slowly, teasing her shamelessly. She blushed and stammered, momentarily forgetting about whoever she was talking to.

  I touched my neck, where she loved to kiss me, and rubbed my chest, where my heart beat hungrily for her, then, ever so slowly, I let my hands follow the trail that led to the drawstrings of my pajama bottoms.

  Those huge almond eyes of hers followed my every move, and as soon as she understood my intention, they grew wide and delectable then turned panicked and censorious.