Take Me

by Anna Zaires, Pepper Winters, Skye Warren, Lynda Chance, Pam Godwin, Amber Lin

  * * *

  Natalie was in the kitchen when she heard Marco come home that night. So far, this had been the most eventful day since the day they had wrecked. First, getting lost and the GPS incident, and then meeting Tanya Wallace.

  Marco had been displeased when he’d left earlier in the day, displeased and scary, and now her nerves were a bit stretched as she waited to see if he would fall into his usual routine. He hadn’t requested a meal, and so she had prepared herself a salad earlier and was now straightening up before she slipped to her bedroom.

  She heard his footsteps on the porcelain tile of the entry, and then the more subdued tread as he crossed the carpet. Within seconds she knew he stood in the doorway to the kitchen, even though her back was to him. She was aware of her heart beating loudly in her ears, and she closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath before turning to face him.

  Gripping the counter behind her, she saw him studying her in silence. She knew she needed to speak, before the tension became even thicker. “Hi.”

  He looked her over, top to bottom, and took his time before asking, “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “I don’t know. All alone—lost in Houston,” he said, referring to the incident earlier in the day.

  He made it sound as if she were a ten-year-old, but she smiled weakly and stuck to the script screaming through her brain—not the one banging through her bloodstream demanding to know why he was keeping such close tabs on her. “It was broad daylight and I’m not a child.”

  All softness left his expression and his eyes dropped to her chest. Flecks of red highlighted his cheekbones and his nostrils flared. An obdurate glimmer heated the eyes that lifted to hers.

  If Natalie hadn’t been hanging on to the countertop, the flash of lust on his face would have probably brought her to her knees. It was by no means the first time she’d caught a sexual look on his face, but it was the first time it had been so completely unguarded, so intense it made her heart skip a beat before taking up a cadence in her chest that made breathing in a normal rhythm an impossible feat.

  She licked her dry lips and attempted to take the edge off the situation. “Tanya came by today. She left a box for you.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Tanya came here?” His voice was deep and hard, displeasure lacing his tone.

  “Yes, she—”

  Ropes of tension made deep lines around his mouth as he cut her off. “Did she say anything to upset you?”

  She told me y’all were getting married. “We talked a bit—introduced ourselves. She left a box for you,” Natalie reiterated.

  “You’re sure? She didn’t upset you?”

  She asked me if I was fucking you. “No, of course not. She had a hard time believing you had a housekeeper now. I didn’t tell her anything about—about the wreck. I just told her that you’d hired me and that I’d been here for two weeks. I hope that was okay.”

  “That’s fine.”

  Natalie turned her mouth up and hoped it resembled a smile as she pushed away from the counter and attempted to slip past him and put this uncomfortable encounter behind her. “Goodnight, then.”

  She thought she was home free as she walked by him. And then she felt her wrist lifted from behind and encapsulated in the hard heat of his grip.

  “Natalie.” His eyes were hot on hers, glittering down with both a beguiling question and scorching need that almost decimated her, making her bones melt where she stood.

  His thumb caressed her pulse point as he slowly and firmly began to pull her toward him. His eyes fell to her lips and her brain began screaming at him in silent denial. Don’t do it! Don’t touch me. Don’t be that guy. Don’t touch me when you have a girlfriend. You have a girlfriend—a girlfriend—

  Her eyes closed tightly against him and her body stiffened into lines of stubborn refusal. She felt his grip lessen, but not release her altogether. She opened her eyes to find him staring down at her, lines of tension bracketing his mouth.

  She twisted her wrist, attempting to pull it from his grasp. “Goodnight, Marco.”

  She managed to live through three of the longest seconds in her life until finally, he released her from his grip. “Goodnight.”

  She turned and fled to the sanctuary of her bedroom.

  * * *

  Marco sat in his office the next day fighting a vicious headache. He tried to concentrate on the file that Joy had just given him, but it was next to impossible.

  “What’s wrong with you?” his long-time assistant asked, a puzzled look on her face.

  “Nothing—a headache.” He abandoned the file momentarily and leaned his face into his hands.

  “It doesn’t look like nothing. You look pale. Are you sick?”

  “Sick?” He sounded perplexed, as if the concept of being sick wasn’t something he’d even remotely considered. Other people got sick; he didn’t.

  “Yes, Marco, sick.” Joy, an older woman and a grandmother to boot, moved around the desk and slapped a hand to his forehead, and he felt—not himself enough to let her do it. “You’re burning up. I bet your temperature is over a hundred. You need to go home.”

  “I’m not going home. That’s insane,” he answered, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes.

  “It’s three o’clock in the afternoon, you don’t have anymore appointments today. Take the McMasters file with you if it will make you feel better and go home. Pop some meds and crawl in bed and get some rest.”

  “No, absolutely not.”

  “Marco, don’t be so stubborn. Go home. Have that new housekeeper of yours make you some soup and tuck you in.”

  He lifted his hands away from his face and gave her a penetrating stare. “You really think I need to go home?”

  “Yes. You don’t want all of us catching it, do you?”

  “All right, I’ll go,” he acquiesced quickly, not at all like his usual self.

  * * *

  Natalie walked into the penthouse after a particularly grueling workout. She was sweaty from head to foot, and needed a shower desperately.

  “Where’ve you been?”

  The last thing she expected was for Marco to be home already, and she flinched from the accusation in his tone as her eyes went unerringly to the couch where he was sitting, facing the door, waiting for her to get home.

  “Down in the gym,” she answered as mildly as she could.

  “I needed you. You should have been here. I called your damn phone and heard it ringing over there.” He threw out his arm and motioned in the direction of the kitchen where it was charging.

  She looked in the direction of the phone and then back again. She’d only been down there for forty-five minutes and truly hadn’t considered taking the phone. “You said it was okay for me to go down there.” She lifted her ponytail away from her neck, the sweat trickling down her spine. “Why are you home so early?”

  “I’m sick,” he said in a tone that suggested it was all her fault.

  “What’s wrong?” Natalie asked him, walking farther into the room.

  “I have a headache and fever. Joy said you should make me soup.”

  “How high is your fever?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. How can you tell?” Again, his tone implied everything that was wrong was her fault.

  “With a thermometer. Or otherwise, how bad you feel.” She would not get drawn into a fight by his bad attitude.

  “I feel bad. It must be high,” he stated like a petulant child.

  “Maybe you should go see a doctor.”

  “Why would I do that? Won’t soup fix it?”

  “Marco—never mind. I can’t just whip up soup instantaneously. Unless you want it out of a can?”

  “What other kind is there?”

  Natalie studied him to see if he was bullshitting her, but he didn’t seem to be. “Okay. I’ll fix you some soup. Do you want crackers or grilled cheese sandwiches?”

  “You know how to make grilled cheese
sandwiches?”

  “I think I can probably manage some.”

  “That sounds okay. Should I get in bed now?”

  “If you’d like. There are trays under the cabinet. I can bring you one in bed if that’s what you’re used to.”

  “I’m not used to anything. I’m never sick.”

  He didn’t look or sound sick to her now, either, but she refrained from saying as much. “Okay. Can it wait fifteen minutes while I have a shower? I’m pretty disgusting.”

  “Come over here and see how hot I am. Joy put her hand on my forehead; see what you think.”

  Natalie bit the inside of her cheek and took a hesitant step toward him. He looked good enough to eat, even though his attitude sucked, and it was taking everything she had to remember he had a girlfriend. He might not refer to Tanya as such, but that’s the way Natalie saw it. She came to a halt in front of the couch where he lounged back. Bending at the waist, she reached out and put her hand softly to his forehead.

  His arm snaked out and landed on her back, down low, his hand spread wide and his fingers splayed over the top swells of her buttocks. Her hand trembled over his forehead. “You feel okay to me. Maybe just a tad warm.” She really didn’t have much of a clue; she wasn’t a mother and she had no siblings, younger or otherwise. She didn’t think he had a fever at all—certainly nothing like the wave of heat his touch was instigating in her now.

  She dropped her hand and tried to move away from him. His grip clenched tight over her flesh, holding her in place. “You smell so good, Natalie.”

  A hot trickle of awareness began to spread like molten lava through her insides. Her tongue shot out and licked over her dry lips. “You must have a fever.” Her words were caustic. “You’re delirious. I’m disgusting, Marco. I’m covered in sweat.”

  “You could never be disgusting—you’re beautiful.” Oh God, there was that word again. His hand slid up and down her spine, coming closer and closer with each swipe to the hollow between her cheeks.

  She pulled away from him and put the distance of the room between them. “Why don’t you get in bed now? I’ll be there in twenty minutes with your soup.”

  She turned away and headed to her room, not waiting to see if he did as she requested.

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, Natalie took a deep breath and knocked on Marco’s opened door, balancing the tray in one hand.

  “You’re late.” He sat up in the bed, pillows propped behind him, and Natalie had the vague thought he looked like a sultan ready to be served by his concubine. Shit. That made her the concubine.

  She walked in and put the tray over his lap, saying the first thing that came to mind in an effort to sidetrack her brain from the picture he made sitting in the bed without a shirt on. “Remember, don’t judge the soup. I didn’t make it, I only opened the can.”

  “It smells fantastic. I had no idea I was so hungry,” he said as he picked up the spoon.

  She backed away toward the door as quickly as she could manage. She so needed to get away from him. The way he looked in that bed—“Okay, then. I’ll check on you after while.”

  She was almost to the door when he stopped her. “Natalie?”

  “Yes?” Was he actually going to thank her for the soup? She turned back around to face him, a mildly expectant look on her face.

  “Can you hand me the remote?”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, Marco rang her cell phone. She was just leaving her bedroom after finishing up the job of blow-drying her hair after her shower. Instead of answering it, she walked in his room. “What do you need?”

  “Take the tray.”

  She gritted her teeth as his abrupt tone, but walked over and picked the tray up from his lap. “Anything else?”

  “No, just the tray.” He sat flipping through television channels and didn’t once glance her way.

  She turned toward the kitchen.

  Five minutes later her cell phone rang again, and again she didn’t answer it—she just walked to his room. “Yes?” This was getting old. Very quickly.

  “I need more pillows.” The television was off, the remote sitting on the bedside table.

  She gave him a fulminating look and turned away again, and walked to the hall closet.

  A minute later, she was helping him with the extra pillows, pushing them behind his naked back. His shoulders were wide, and the hair on his chest was perfect—not too much but enough that running her hands down his pectorals would be amazing. Oh my God. And that wicked bunny trail that led south below the sheet. She needed to get away, and quickly. “Will that be all, sir?” she asked sarcastically.

  He frowned at her. “Go then, if you’re in such a damn hurry.”

  “I’m not in a hurry—”

  “You’re not a normal woman. You’re not domesticated at all. You’re supposed to be fussing over me,” he lashed out.

  “I’m sorry, did you not like the grilled cheese sandwiches?” she asked as her voice rose at the end.

  “They were okay.”

  “You certainly ate them all.”

  “I’m burning up. Can you bring me a damp washcloth for my head?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and paused just long enough to let him know she wasn’t buying his ‘poor me’ act. Turning toward his bathroom, she retrieved a wet cloth and came back only moments later.

  She lifted it toward him. “Here,” she said, when he made no move to take it.

  “Goddamnit, Natalie. I’m sick. Can you just act as if you give a shit for a minute?”

  She rolled her eyes heavenward and carefully sat on the edge of his mattress, at an angle facing him, her feet dangling from the bed and only one foot finding purchase on the floor. She carefully folded the cloth into a rectangle and with a show of reluctance, put it to his brow.

  He sighed in what sounded like ecstasy and his arm came around her legs to land on the side of her hip, holding her in place. A wave of reaction hit her, and she briefly considered what it would be like if he were hers, and hers alone. Would he lose the gruffness? Would he lose the attitude and the chip on his shoulder?

  She watched his eyes slip closed on a sigh and eventually hers did the same, as she moved the cloth over his forehead in small gentle circles, trying to soothe not only him but herself as well.

  They sat like that for several minutes, with him seemingly content against the pillows, obviously enjoying her ministrations.

  The buzzer screamed loudly from the other room, interrupting the quiet moment. His eyes flew open and she jumped off the bed, taking the damp cloth with her, and went to the living room.

  She pressed the button. “Yes?”

  “Miss Wallace would like to come up, Miss. May I send her up?”

  Natalie bit her lip in vexation. Dealing with Tanya right now wasn’t something she was eager to do. Did the other woman know Marco was home? “Yes, that’s fine.”

  The elevators opened and Tanya walked into the penthouse with a flourish. “Where is my poor baby?”

  Well, that answered Natalie’s question. “He’s in his bedroom.”

  The other woman began walking down the hall that led to the bedrooms. “Which one?”

  Didn’t she know? That came as a shock to Natalie. After all, she was here, all the time. “Second door on the left,” she answered.

  Tanya pushed her way into Marco’s room and Natalie hung back at the bedroom door to see if she could make her escape. She didn’t really want to observe the other woman hovering over Marco.

  When Marco opened his eyes, Natalie had a clear view of the emotion that glimmered from his eyes before he hooded them, shutting all expression out. His gaze landed on the other woman first, irritation, pure and simple glistening from his brown eyes before they skated past her and focused on Natalie.

  Natalie lost her breath with a whoosh at what she saw there—only briefly, before he closed down his expression. With a feeling of dismay, she realized at once that he
wasn’t happy to see Tanya.

  He wanted her with him—Natalie, not Tanya. And the look he’d given Tanya almost made her feel sorry for the other woman; in fact, it did make her feel sorry for her.

  “Marco, poor baby.”

  Natalie put her back against the door and watched Tanya plop her ass on the mattress beside Marco. She hadn’t noticed the first time she’d met her that her ass was a tad big. It was big, wasn’t it?

  “I’m here to take care of you now. It’s so lucky I tried you at your office! Joy told me you’re sick!” Marco crossed his arms over his chest. “I need rest, Tanya, not company.”

  “I’m not company, silly.” She ran her blood red nails through his hair and Natalie felt as if she were getting ill herself.

  She held the oxygen in her lungs as she walked over to the bed on stiff legs and handed the cloth to Tanya. “He likes the cool compress on his forehead.” Was that evil of her, considering the look she’d spied on his face earlier?

  Tanya took the cloth and laid it against Marco’s forehead. “Like this?”

  “Yes,” Natalie whispered softly, a slightly ugly emotion clouding her throat as she watched Tanya touching Marco. Natalie looked from Marco’s hair, where Tanya’s fingers were running through it, and dropped to his eyes. The sudden, unexpected impact of seeing him watching her in return almost knocked the breath from her.

  His eyes were focused on her exclusively, expressive and possessive, as if he were only biding him time, and her heart began beating wildly. She began turning away, but Marco’s hand reached out and wrapped around her wrist, detaining her. She stalled in her tracks and turned around to face him again, aware that Tanya watched with a dangerous glint in her eye.

  “Bring me a glass of water and a—heating pad,” he ordered her quietly.

  She jerked herself back to awareness and tried to concentrate on what he was asking of her. “A heating pad? With a fever?”

  His eyes narrowed on her and he said slowly and firmly, “I want a heating pad.”

  “All right. Where is it?”

  “Try the hall closet, the one with the pillows. That’s where it will be if we have one.” Natalie stood in bemusement, hearing the word, ‘we,’ as if it were her home as well, and felt his thumb rubbing circles repeatedly on the inside of her wrist while he placed his request.