by Christa Wick
"Your old warrants are gone. The Feds threatened to drop Ortiz in a holding cell filled with rival gang members once he's out of the hospital. He decided the better option was to cut a deal against Machado."
Understanding the implication, I nod. I won't have to testify. But it doesn't mean that Tommy and I are safe from any of the men on Solandro's crew or above him. More than one of them will want to make an example out of me.
I don't care about any of that right now. I want to know that I haven't broken whatever has been growing between Masters and me.
"Please, Luke…" They are the only words I can get out. My throat constricts too tightly to speak because, deep down, I know his feelings have changed and I'm afraid I can't fix them.
"Don't worry, Marie." Luke lightly taps his forehead once against mine. "I promised to keep you safe."
I glance down, losing faith for a second before I look back up. "How?"
"Don't ask how." He dips his head, his kiss a short, sweet benediction that lasts only as long as our lips touch. "Just complete your part of the deal. Thirty days, remember?"
21
Marie
From the living room, we move to the bedroom. Luke strips me, kisses and caresses me, but he take me. I fall asleep in his arms and wake to an empty bed. A stranger brings me breakfast, another takes Tommy and me shopping for anything we might require for the rest of my month with Luke.
Two bodyguards escort us on this trip. When we’re done, one stays with Tommy and the other takes up a spot in the entry room of the penthouse.
I feel something is wrong. Later, I know it in my bones when the day goes by without any direct word from Luke and I head to an empty bed for a long, sleepless night.
Three more days pass in similar fashion with just a short call each day from Luke. He tell me why he’s staying away. I don’t ask, even if the question is on permanent rotation inside my head. On the fifth day—I don't answer the phone the first time it rings. I don't answer it at all on the next call. After the second dropped call, the bodyguard sticks his head inside the penthouse and sees me staring out the window.
He leaves.
There is no third call.
I’m still staring out the window thirty minutes later when Nazarov appears. I acknowledge him—barely. His hostility remains fresh in my mind and the look on his face tells me his feelings haven't changed. For some reason, he thinks I’m a threat to Luke. I’m not. I want Luke safe and the Russian's appraisal of my ability to bring harm to his friend is ridiculous.
Laughable, really. A week hasn't passed since I needed rescued by commandos while stuck in a filthy stall with my panties down. I’m no Mata Hari, Salome or Delilah. I'm more like Lucille Ball in the Chocolate Factory desperately trying to hide the fact that I cannot keep up with the conveyor belt.
Nazarov moves to the window. "What's so funny?"
Realizing that I laughed at the memory of that old television episode, I laugh again then cut him a side look. "You are."
Not the best way to make friends with the man, but I’ve kept my head down for twenty-six years. Today, I'm not only spoiling for a fight—I'm ready to have it.
I turn, so he knows he has my full attention. "You came here to say something, so say it."
His mouth gives a little side twitch that would almost be a smile if his gaze didn't simultaneously narrow. "Nothing personal, Marie, but I want you to leave."
I don't respond immediately. He’s said "he wants"—not that Luke wants or the more forceful "get lost, bitch" that would indicate a solid decision has been reached between the two men. What Luke wants is what matters.
It’s impossible for me to care any less about whatever the hell it is that Mikhael wants.
Relaxing, I smile at him. "Hard not to take that personally—you must have your reasons."
He shifts, his mass briefly moving from left foot to right before it returns. It may or may not be a tell—but the blinks and the slight new tilt to his head are. The imposing Russian is not agitated or angry, he's nervous.
Standing, I move until I’m half an arm's length from him. He cuts an imposing figure. His height means I have to look up at him at this close proximity. The dynamics should make me feel like I'm in the weaker position, but I don't. So I look up, my smile closed-mouth and soft, and then I speak.
"Luke said before that you were growling at the wrong woman. Has another woman betrayed him?"
His body tightens. I can feel the heat of his anger as his skin flushes, but that is the only outward physical reaction I get.
"Ah," I say, softening slightly as I see the faint network of scars on his face and remember how Luke said that the Russian had been a monk for too damn long. "A woman hurt you."
Nazarov forces his muscles to relax then smiles.
"How much do you want to go away?"
A simple question for which I have a simple answer. I return to the window and sit down. My back to him, I watch his reflection in the glass.
"I want what's left of my thirty days."
Crossing half the distance to where I stand, he stops and folds his arms across his broad chest. "One hundred thousand dollars and whatever else Luke agreed to give you."
At this, I glance back, but only for effect. My gaze travels down his torso before I shake my head, my voice far more brave than I’m feeling. "Sorry, buddy, you're not my type."
This brings him directly to my chair.
I brace for violence.
He drops down to one knee. His hand curls around the top edge of my chair. He remains mute until I look at him. He’s solemn, the blue eyes melting and all the anger evaporated.
Suddenly I’m uncertain.
"I told you it was nothing personal, Marie. Hell, I even like you. You've got balls for a broad." His hand rubs at the chair's fabric and I sense that he wants to touch me, if only for the veracity the contact will give his words. "But there are people out there who want to kill you. Luke risked his life once to save you. He'll risk it again."
He chooses this moment to touch me, his hand brushing against my cheek. "Sorry, little girl, you're just not worth that—not to me at least."
I can feel the tears coming hard, but I won't let them erupt. Nazarov's valuation of my worth hasn't hurt my feelings. I agree with him—I would put Luke's safety above my own, just as I would put Tommy's. Just as I once put Rose's.
His hand cups my cheek. I lose the fight to contain my tears, but I don't agree to leave. Brushing his hand away, I turn my attention back to the window.
"Whoever she was, I'm sorry for what happened between you, sorry if she’s the reason for all those scars you bear, inside and out."
I risk one last glance to find his gaze focused far away from me. "But I'm not her—and I'm not going anywhere."
I sit and think for another two hours, wondering if I could really be the death of Luke Masters. As wealthy as he is, he will always be a target for violence. That is the nature of money and power. Everyone else wants what the rich have. Some are willing to kill for it. But revenge is a different beast. With my betrayal of Solandro and his crew, I may have a very big bull's eye on my back for decades.
Alone, I start to wonder if there’s a different deal to be made with Nazarov. He wants his friend safe. I want Tommy and Luke safe, and maybe that means I cannot be around either of them. If I promise to leave, will he look after Tommy with the same care he has for Luke?
The question brings me to my feet and carries me the distance to the front of the penthouse. I’m about to open the door to the entryway and ask the guard to summon Nazarov when the knob turns in my hand. I let go and step back.
Luke enters. Brushing by me with barely a glance, he gives me a terse order and I know my opportunity to bargain with the Russian is gone.
"Take a seat on the couch, Marie. I will join you in a moment."
I look through the open door at the guard, but the man is deep in his zone of professional indifference. Closing the door, I slowly make my w
ay back to the living room. With each dragging step, I tell myself to stay calm and not let Luke see how much he’s hurting me at the moment.
He saved my life—he doesn't deserve my recriminations over his rejection of me these last few days.
I sit, gaze on my knees, rolling my lips nervously as I wait for his return. When he comes, he doesn't sit by me. Instead he lights a fire and sits on the marble base. In his hand, he holds the picture frame from his office.
He picks at the frame's backing, bending the small, flat pieces of metal to remove the picture it holds inside. When it’s out, he grips the photograph and looks at me.
"Do you know how I got this?" He sweeps his head so that I know he’s talking about the casino and not the picture.
"No." I haven't had access to a computer in a week and my phone doesn't do internet browsing. Nor did Solandro give me time to research the casino. He just gave me the contacts and told me the name, expecting me to go straight to the tables from his warehouse.
"All I know is it's a couple of years old."
Luke nods briefly, his thumb smoothing one wrinkled corner of the photograph. He stands, crosses to the couch and hands me the picture. It’s of a young man, with blond hair that falls almost to his shoulders. He looks about Tommy's age, but there’s a certain vulnerability in his expression that makes him seem much younger.
"Who is he?"
"Carl Haberlin. He was twenty-four when the picture was taken."
I shake my head. The name is unfamiliar.
"He looks younger," I say.
"He was autistic." The words come out raw. He takes the photo from me and returns to the fireplace. "His father owned 40% of the Zurich Gaming Group."
This time, I nod, I know the company, but not its stakeholders.
"Long story short—I rescued Carl from a group holding him for ransom." Luke opens the fire's grate and slowly feeds the picture into the flames. "An earlier team botched the first attempt and the kidnappers took it out on the boy before I reached him."
I don't ask what the kidnappers did as retribution. Anyone going after a billionaire's family likely is both an expert and a sociopath—a criminal's criminal. Instead, I get up from the couch and sit next to Luke. I place my palm against his back, wordlessly asking him about Carl's fate and how it’s connected to mine.
"I gave the old man two more month's with his son before Carl committed suicide because of what they did to him." Another gesture at the walls surrounding us. "He was grateful for the time. He followed his son to the grave not long after, lasting just long enough to name me his heir."
I cannot hold back the small cry that escapes me. I’ve only spent a few days in Luke's presence, but I know his intensity and professionalism. The loss of this man and his damaged son would have affected Luke on a deeply personal level.
Turning, he embraces me and strokes my hair. "I didn't tell you the story to make you cry, baby."
"I know." I burrow closer, my hands snaking and pushing until my arms are around Luke's waist. "I'm sorry."
I truly am sorry—sorry for poor Carl and his father and that Luke has opened up this wound for some reason connected to me.
He kisses my forehead and my heart hurts even harder, if that is possible.
"Mikhael wants to think I'm just chasing ghosts, Marie." He pulls back and cups the sides of my face. "I'm not."
He kisses a spot on my cheek wet from the lone tear that has managed to escape me. He kisses lower, a thumb's width above the corner of my mouth. I tilt my head back before he can break contact with my skin.
His tongue teases my lips with a slow lick at their center. I open to him, heart galloping in my chest after the painful absence of his touch. Continuing to kiss me, Luke runs his hands down my arms. One hand captures my hip and the other a breast as the heat of the kiss burns hotter.
I lean into his touch, my breast filling his palm and my hip flexing against his other hand. Grabbing the lapels of his jacket, I hold on as if my life depends on not letting go.
The kiss ends and Luke pulls back to stare at me. The scrutiny, as gentle as it is, undoes me and I start to softly cry.
Between sobs, I ask him, "Do you want me to leave?"
He pulls me in for a longer, slower kiss that will take all night to finish, but not before he answers.
"No, baby, I want you to stay."
22
Marie
Stay doesn't mean forever.
For a brief second there, part of me thought it might, but three weeks have passed now and Luke hasn’t once discussed the possibility of a future for us beyond our thirty days.
And with every day that’s passed, the reality of that has weighed on me heavier.
Luke leads me into the bedroom and over to the chest of drawers with its large mirror. I had dressed that morning all in black to match my dark mood. Black bra and panties, black knit dress with a square cut bodice that artfully frames my cleavage. Nude thigh high stockings and black pumps.
I know that tonight is my last night with him. Tomorrow, I will be somewhere else, although I don't know where that will be.
Running his hands over my curves and the stretchy fabric that clings to every last contour, Luke exhales a long, satisfied sigh. Withdrawing one hand, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a slim rectangular case. He passes the case to me.
"Open it."
I recognize the shape as a necklace box, or maybe for a watch. My first guess is correct. A single strand of black pearls with a silver clasp rests inside.
Luke kisses my neck as his hands manipulate the flesh of my hips through the dress.
"All these days I've been away, love, I was working to make sure you wouldn't be facing any charges. Not for Ortiz's scheme or for taking Tommy and Rose when they were underage. Not for the false names you've used or the accounts you opened with those names. And I was working to give you your name back, too. No more Danielle Hilton or Shelly Malgrave. Same for Tommy."
Holding tears at bay over all he went through to safeguard my future, my voice is a trembling mess when I whisper, “Thank you.”
He kisses my shoulder once, the sensation fleeting.
Taking the pearl necklace from its case, he works to fasten it around my neck.
"I should have told you what I was doing. You still would have been anxious, but for reasons that didn't make you doubt me."
Looking down, I murmur my agreement.
"I thought you were distancing yourself from me," I say.
That makes him pause for a beat, an unreadable expression crossing his face.
The moment passes without any reply from him, however as he finishes fastening the necklace before shifting his attention to the zipper at the back of my dress.
He lowers the pull until he reaches the band of my lacy black bra.
Tracing a finger up my spine, he unhooks the bra then slips both hands beneath the fabric of the dress. His palms skim around front, reaching under the bra cups to fondle my breasts. Fastening his mouth against one shoulder, he begins to suck.
Within seconds, I’m panting and squirming.
Luke pulls away, orders me to turn around.
"Leave the panties, stockings and pumps on."
It's a good thing he’s already unzipped and unhooked me. My hands tremble wildly as I pull the dress down my body. I let the fabric pool at my feet as I slide my arms from the bra. I try to fold it, but my grip is jittery and uncoordinated.
Luke tosses it on the dresser and leads me over to the padded bench at the foot of the bed. I sit down, keeping my spine straight and my breasts lifted as my fingers curl around the bench's lip.
"Stay just like that," he orders before he takes a short circuit around the bedroom to light half a dozen candles. Finished lighting the last one, he stares at me with pursed lips and extinguishes the match with a soft puff.
"You know how I realized you were cheating?"
Squaring my shoulders, I shake my head.
"I can't eve
n imagine how many mistakes I made."
Clearly I made a lot, not only that first night at the table but most of the nights since then. Not trusting him, thinking I had to solve all my problems on my own. Hell, thinking I could solve the problems on my own.
Yeah, a lot of mistakes.
"This many." Luke raises his index finger and briefly touches it against his nose. "You were damn near perfect, Marie."
Emotionally exhausted, I take a random guess at what he means. "Was it my clothes?"
Luke walks along my line of sight until he stands directly in front of me. Placing a finger beneath my chin, he tilts my head back. He studies me for a second then his shoulders push forward in an almost shrug. "Sort of. Most cons come in camouflaged in mediocrity."
He strokes my cheek, my attention diverted from his explanation by the simple act.
"But you, baby..." He lightly squeezes and pinches the side of my face, a growl rumbling inside his broad chest. "You came in like a 1950s' screen goddess. You kept the dealer—and my security camera—focused entirely too much on these."
Reaching down, he cups my breasts. His fingers draw forward, finding and twisting my nipples until a needy whimper escapes me. "If I hadn't been watching you so intently, I never would have noticed your tells or realized you were cheating. You made me want you. That was your mistake, Marie."
My mistake and my salvation. Without Masters, Rose and Solandro would have pulled me deeper into their con. He saved me from that and he saved my life.
"Lucky me," I smile before Rule Number 3 slaps me in the face.
Luck never gives, it only lends.
Lips trembling, I look up at him.
"Did you really mean you want me to stay forever?"
He sucks his bottom lip in. It emerges wet. As I wait for an answer that is slow in coming, Luke drops to his knees.
The necklace is the only jewelry I’m getting tonight. A ring doesn't hide in his pocket. His hands aren't searching for one, either. Instead, they take control of my legs, parting my thighs until I’m spread wide.
