by Anna Zaires
“You’re mine, Emma.” His voice is low and rough, filled with unshakeable certainty. “And this—you and me—it’s happening. You can fight it all you want, but in the end, you’ll give in. Because you feel it too, this pull between us… this compulsion. It doesn’t matter how different you think we are, or how much it scares you. The fact of it remains, and resisting it will only make it stronger.” His lips twist. “Believe me, I know.”
I swallow, my heart hammering painfully. “And what if I give in? What then?”
Will you break my heart again… walk away and leave me in pieces?
The words dance on the tip of my tongue, but I hold them back. I can’t let Marcus know how much he’s already hurt me—because then he’d know the truth.
He’d realize I’m helplessly, head-over-heels in love with him.
His blue eyes darken, and I wonder if I betrayed myself anyway, if he understood my pathetic “what then?” for the desperate, lovesick plea it was.
Don’t hurt me. Don’t abandon me. Love me.
Slowly, with exquisite care, he presses his lips to mine, the kiss so tender it makes me want to cry. “Then, kitten,” he murmurs, pulling back to gaze at me, “I will give you the world… everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”
And as my heart clenches with agonizing hope, he kisses me again and begins stripping off my clothes.
13
Emma
“Your billionaire better be an alien who carried you off on his spaceship,” Kendall says in lieu of a greeting as she accepts my video call the next morning. “Seriously, Ems, what the fuck? I’ve called you like fifty times since Sunday.”
“Three times,” I correct, wincing internally. “And I’m really, really sorry. I was going to call you back, but it’s been… Well, a lot’s been going on.”
She rakes her fingers through her hair—magically avoiding frizzing up the sleek dark locks. “Yeah, no kidding, Captain Obvious. You and Mr. Billions making out on Page Seven? I better hear all the juicy details.”
“Right, so…” I prop the phone against a flower pot on my grandparents’ lanai table and look around, making sure I’m still alone on the screened porch. The coast seems to be clear. My grandparents are at their morning salsa class, and Marcus must still be asleep. For once, I woke up before him and snuck out to make this call. Taking a breath, I turn back to the phone camera. “It’s kind of a long story.”
Kendall rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Get on with it already. I don’t have all morning. Well, I do, since we’re off this Friday, but you know what I mean.”
“Right.” Without further ado, I launch into my story, filling her in on everything that’s happened since I spoke to her last—from the amazing weekend Marcus and I shared, to his disappearance on Sunday, to the way he chased me down at the airport with his proposal to move in.
“Wait, what?” Kendall looks just as stunned as I felt at the time. “He asked you to move in? So soon? And after ghosting you since Sunday?”
“I know!” My blood pressure spikes anew. “That’s totally insane, right? And when I refused and told him it was over, he came after me to Florida.”
Kendall’s jaw is hanging so loose I’m afraid it might fall off. “And he’s there with you now?”
“Yep.” I glance around again, but the lanai is still empty, so I fill her in on the rest of it: how Marcus pretty much forced me to pretend that he’s my boyfriend, the single guestroom, our beach outing yesterday, his outrageous claim about the timing of my moving in, and so on.
The only thing I keep quiet about is the promise he made to me last night… and the fragile flame of hope it’s lit in my needy heart.
Even so, by the time I finish, Kendall’s hazel eyes are wide enough for a truck to drive through. “Holy fuck, Emma,” she breathes. “Holy fucking fuck. I was just joking about the wedding stuff before, but it’s happening, isn’t it? You’re moving in with him, and before we know it, you’re going to be Mrs. Wall Street Billionaire.”
“What? No! Are you crazy? I’m not moving in with him. And I’m definitely not—”
“Yeah, right.” Her perfectly shaped nose grows as she leans into the camera. “Let’s face the facts here, shall we? Fact one: You told him to take a hike, but when he followed you to Florida, you folded. Immediately.”
“Only because I didn’t want to disappoint my grandparents,” I protest, but Kendall is not listening.
“Fact two: You let him stay with you on the condition that he leave after Thanksgiving dinner, but he’s still there, isn’t he?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Fact three: The man built a fucking empire from scratch, so he clearly knows how to get what he wants. And he wants you. Very much.”
“Oh, please—”
“No, listen to me, Ems. What do you get when you take a determined billionaire and a girl who’s putty in his hands?” At my purposefully blank stare, she clicks her tongue in pretend disappointment. “You may not be a finance whizz, but even you should be able to do that math. A couple living together and getting married, that’s what!”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Yeah, okay, whatever. I’m not moving in with Marcus. And I’m certainly not marrying him—not that he would ask. I told you about Emmeline and the matchmaker and all of his requirements, right?”
“So what? He’s there with you, not her, right? On Thanksgiving. At your grandparents’ house. If that’s not a declaration of intent, I don’t know what is.”
“An intent to fuck me, maybe,” I mutter—only to flush when Kendall lifts her eyebrows, intrigued.
“Do tell. Is he—”
“Not going there,” I say firmly. “And I’m not moving in with him. It’s way too soon. Besides, there are all sorts of problems with that idea.”
Kendall frowns. “Like what?”
I sigh. “Like the fact that I would never, in a million years, be able to cover anything close to my fair share of living expenses at his place. Even if he owns his penthouse outright, the property taxes alone must be astronomical. And there’s also his chef and his plant people and—” I stop because Kendall is looking at me like I have been carried off by aliens—and returned with green scales and tentacles.
“Ems,” she begins, only to fall silent, her eyes widening as she stares at something behind me.
Pulse jumping, I turn and see Marcus.
A barefoot, shirtless Marcus, who’s approaching me with the smooth stride of a panther.
He must not have taken a shower or shaved yet, as his thick brown hair is rumpled and his jaw dark with morning stubble. His jeans are riding low on his narrow hips, exposing that mouthwatering V guys with washboard abs tend to have, and his hair-dusted, powerfully muscled chest looks like it belongs on the cover of a men’s fitness magazine.
The Wall-Street-king-turned-hot-pirate edition.
“Morning, kitten,” he says in a deep, sleep-roughened voice, his blue eyes hooded as they rake over me with heated possessiveness.
My throat goes dry even as my mouth floods with saliva.
If Marcus in a suit is sexy as fuck, this version of him—all potent, primal masculinity—is the stuff of women’s fantasies. The dark, politically incorrect ones we’re not supposed to admit to having.
Swallowing thickly, I stutter out, “M-morning”—only to remember we’re not alone. Tearing my eyes away from all that dangerously hot muscle, I turn back to the phone screen, where Kendall looks like she’s about to choke on her own drool.
“That’s Marcus,” I say unnecessarily, and she blinks, looking so dazzled that I want to reach through the camera and shake her. Maybe after pulling out some of her sleek, shiny hair.
Best friend or not, she better keep her hands—and drooling eyes—off my man.
“Hi, Marcus,” she says breathlessly, pulling herself together with effort. “I’m Kendall, Emma’s friend. You, um… spoke to me on the phone the other day.”
He smiles, showing off white teeth an
d those sexy grooves in his cheeks. Totally unconcerned with the fact that he’s flashing his perfectly sculpted pecs at the camera, he sits down next to me, draping one muscular arm over the back of my chair. “Yes, of course, I remember. How are you, Kendall?”
“I’m great, thank you,” she chirps, putting on her upbeat, flirty mask—the one that fools all the guys into thinking she’s the brunette equivalent of a ditzy blonde instead of the smart, pragmatic shark she is. “How about you? Are you two having a great time in Florida?”
“I certainly am.” Marcus looks over at me, his heavy-lidded gaze speaking volumes, and I curse my blush-prone skin as my cheeks heat in response.
Kendall looks like she’s ready to swoon. “Oh, how romantic. Emma told me how you met, with the whole name mix-up—and here you are today. What are the odds, right?”
“Indeed,” Marcus says huskily, not taking his eyes off me. “A total black swan event.”
My cheeks burn hotter. I must be so red by now. Trying to pretend Marcus isn’t devouring me with his gaze, I paste on a bright smile and say in a voice that’s only a pitch too high, “So how are things over in the Big Apple? Did the snow from the storm melt?” It’s a total cliché, but the weather feels like the safest topic.
Kendall grimaces. “Partially. It’s mostly dirty slush right now. So jealous of you guys. That sunshine looks amazing.”
“Yep. It’ll be eighty degrees today,” I boast, not even trying to downplay the awesomeness of wearing shorts in late November. “We’ll probably go to the beach after breakfast again. Right?” I glance at Marcus—and flush again as I see that he’s still looking at me like a kid at an ice cream cone… the salted caramel kind you savor with every lick.
Does the man have no shame? Kendall is bound to think we fuck like rabbits on Viagra—which, come to think of it, isn’t far from the truth.
“I was actually thinking we might visit St. Augustine,” Marcus says, blinking slowly. “But if you prefer the beach—”
“No, no, St. Augustine is great. Oldest city in the United States and all that. It’s very pretty, really, all historical and stuff. There’s a fort and an alligator farm and museums—” I stop, realizing I’m babbling and totally ignoring Kendall. Turning back to the camera, I give my friend an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. We’ll figure out our day later. Tell me how your Thanksgiving went. Did you end up visiting your parents?”
Kendall grins and launches into the always-entertaining tale of her family’s dinnertime shenanigans. Marcus listens attentively, laughing in all the appropriate places, but as soon as she’s done, he excuses himself to go shower and shave. “I didn’t mean to intrude on your chat—just came out here to make sure Emma didn’t disappear on me,” he explains to my friend with a rueful grin. “It was nice chatting with you. I hope to see you in person soon.”
With a wave at the camera, he presses a blush-inducing kiss to my lips and heads back inside.
Kendall waits exactly five seconds after the sliding door closes behind his muscled back before hissing, “Oh. My. God. Emma, oh my fucking God.”
I blink at her. “What?”
“That man is legit crazy about you, that’s what!”
“What? No, it’s just—”
“Nuh-uh. Don’t even start. I have eyes, you know.”
“I know, but…” I look around to make sure my grandparents didn’t come back and Marcus isn’t within hearing distance. No one is around, but I still lean closer to the camera as I say in a low voice, “It’s just sexual, okay? The attraction is there, for sure, but that doesn’t change anything. I’m not what he needs, and he’s not my type either.”
“Bullshit.”
I pull back, irrationally offended. “No, it’s not. The man is a billionaire—a billionaire, Kendall—and I can barely pay my rent. And even if that weren’t the case, he’s like the ultimate Type A: ambitious, athletic, career-driven—everything I’m not. I mean, you should’ve heard him talking to my grandfather about stocks. He personally knows all the Fortune 500 CEOs.”
“So what?” Kendall says. “You’ll get to know them too if you keep dating him. They’re just people, you know. Rich and powerful, sure, but still people. As to being ambitious and career-obsessed, when was the last time you played hooky from work? Or didn’t meet an editing deadline?”
“Well, never, obviously,” I say with a frown. “But that doesn’t mean—”
“No? Then how about the fact that you’re basically running two careers in parallel—your editing and your full-time bookstore job?”
“Where I’m a cashier,” I say pointedly, but Kendall is undeterred.
“On paper, maybe. From what you’ve told me, your boss relies on you to pretty much run the place. Haven’t you been deciding which books to order lately? Accepting the deliveries? Opening and closing the store when Mr. Smithson is on vacation?”
I sigh. “Kendall, please. Marcus runs a hundred-billion-dollar hedge fund. There’s no comparison here, okay?”
She blows out a breath. “Okay, fine. So he’s more ambitious than you. That doesn’t mean you can’t be together. Who says he needs another Type A person? Maybe his own Type-A-ness is plenty for him. In fact, maybe he—”
“Emma? Emma, sweetheart?”
Grandma’s voice carries faintly toward me, and I glance over my shoulder to see her approaching the sliding doors from the kitchen. She and Gramps must be back from their salsa class, which means it’s time for breakfast.
“Sorry, I have to run,” I tell Kendall, and she nods, gathering her sleek hair into a stylish ponytail.
“Fine, but don’t disappear on me again, okay? Unless Marcus steals you to a private island, I want a daily report on what’s going on with you and Mr. Type A. Got it?”
“Got it,” I promise with a grin, and hanging up, I turn to face my grandmother.
14
Marcus
We eat breakfast with Emma’s grandparents, then head out to explore the historical parts of St. Augustine. As Emma promised, the place is very pretty, with Spanish colonial architecture and an old fort serving as a scenic backdrop to hundreds of cute souvenir shops and restaurants. We wander around the cobblestone streets for a while, then buy a couple of slices of pizza and eat them while standing next to a shack that claims to be “The Oldest Jail in the United States.” Naturally, Emma insists on paying for her slice, and I let her, though it goes against every instinct I possess.
If I had my way, she’d never pay for anything again. I’d take care of her, provide her with everything she needs. But she’s still hung up on not being a people-user like her mother, so I hold back and let her carefully count out the change for her portion.
Afterward, we walk on the boardwalk and take some pictures next to the fort and the Bridge of Lions. The weather is perfect—high seventies and sunny, with a light breeze—and I suggest we rent a boat from a nearby marina, the way I see some tourists doing.
“Oh, um… you can rent it for yourself if you want. I’m afraid of getting seasick,” Emma says, averting her gaze. “I’ll wait for you here. I don’t mind.”
Seasick? On the Intracoastal? I’m about to point out how calm the water is when it dawns on me that something other than fear of an unsettled stomach may be at work here.
“How about we rent a jet ski instead?” I ask, testing out my theory. “You won’t get seasick on that.”
Emma looks even more uncomfortable. “No, thanks. I’m good here. But you should go ahead; I hear it’s a lot of fun. And I can wait for you. It’s not a problem, really.”
Okay, then. She’s either afraid of the water—unlikely, given our swimming adventures yesterday—or it’s the money thing again. She probably thinks that if we’re participating in an activity together, we have to split the cost of that, same as with the pizza—and both the boat and the jet ski rental are on the pricey side.
It’s ridiculous, but I’m about to let it slide, just as I did with the pizza—it’s not like I
’ve never been on a boat or ridden a jet ski before—except it occurs to me that this is going to be an ongoing issue. I’ve been dirt poor, and now that I’m not, I like to enjoy all the things and experiences my money can buy: like flying private, staying in luxury hotels, and renting boats on a whim. And I want Emma at my side while I’m doing that.
“Are you sure you don’t mind waiting here?” I ask. “Because it’s a really nice day, and I’d love to be on the water for a bit.”
Emma blinks. I guess she didn’t expect me to be enough of an asshole to take her up on her offer. She recovers swiftly, though, and nods. “Yes, of course, go right ahead. I’ll hang out here, enjoy the view.” And to illustrate how she intends to do that, she plops down on a bench facing the water.
“Okay, then.”
Leaving her there, I stride over to the marina and rent the nicest boat they have. There’s no way in hell I’m getting on it without Emma, but I need her to believe that I am—that this boat is for me only. It’s a gamble, but I don’t see any other way.
I have to disabuse Emma of this misguided notion that we need to split everything fifty-fifty, and I’m starting on that project today.
She’s still sitting on the bench when I come out of the marina, boat key dangling in my hand.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” I ask, approaching her. I keep my tone casual, as if I don’t care either way. “I don’t think you’ll get seasick, and it won’t be nearly as fun without you.”
She hesitates, her gaze jumping from me to the blue water sparkling in the sun. “Well—”
“Come on. Just try it for me, please. If you feel the slightest bit nauseated, I’ll bring you back here right away.”
She nibbles on her lower lip, the very picture of uncertainty, and I go in for the kill. “Please. I really need the company. You’d be doing me a huge favor.”
And as I hoped, she caves.
Heaving a sigh, she gets up, and we walk together to the boat.
