by CC MacKenzie
The fact Marcus didn't appear to be attracted to her brought Anais feelings of both relief and dismay. He handled her like any other junior member of his crack legal team. He certainly didn't treat her as if she was an attractive woman, and that was just fine with Anais. She'd come to the realisation that her complicated feelings for him were her own responsibility, not his. And it was up to her to deal with them in as professional a manner as possible.
Which was fine on a normal day at work in the office in New York. If she spent an hour per day one-on-one in his company she was lucky. But when Marcus had first mentioned that she accompany him on the China trip, Anais hadn't been able to hide her shock, or her deep unease. No way would she be able to cope with being in too close a proximity with him twenty-four-seven.
No way.
However, her attraction to him was the least of her worries.
Taking great care to choose her words, she'd given Marcus her honest opinion that due to her heritage there was a distinct possibility her presence might be an issue for the Chinese.
Marcus's answer had been an endless look out of his blue eyes, followed by silence, the result of which had nerves doing a frantic dance in her belly.
In general, Anais did exactly what her charismatic boss asked of her. When Marcus said jump her usual response was how high. So the fact she'd opened her mouth in apparent disagreement had taken him by surprise.
Those blue eyes had given her a very long and very thorough study. A study that went right through her in a way that had made her cheeks go nuclear. It was okay for him, he came from a blue-chip family and background. Plus, he spoke Mandarin like a native.
Anais was mixed race, adopted by a wonderful American couple. She was also female, single, and since she hadn't been beaten with the ugly stick, there was a risk she might be regarded as Marcus's little bit of fluff on the side. She didn't have the personal flair, the polish of an inherited wealth, that cloaked Marcus. That wealth and status greatly impressed his Chinese counterparts.
After careful consideration of her opinion, Marcus had simply shrugged, reiterated he needed her, and that was that.
End of discussion.
Annoyed with herself, with the way her mind seemed to wander when she was in the vicinity of Marcus's incredible aura, Anais ordered herself to focus on the main goal. She was so close to that goal, having her dream job, that she could taste it. Tomorrow she'd be doing the happy dance of success. Because tomorrow she'd be a junior corporate law partner in Gillespie, Pattullo and Hindmarch. Yay! Now Anais took a deep breath, ordered herself firmly to keep her mind on the job, not to count her chickens, etc., etc.
She tuned back in to the discussion and listened to Marcus make a point to the Chinese trade minister. The man's command of the language was utterly flawless. Actually, Anais was no slouch herself. But Marcus's tone, his inflection, his body language, the way he held his dark head, the rhythm of his speech pattern, was a thing of beauty.
As the minister of trade began his counter debate, Anais was very careful to keep her eyes lowered on the thick file of notes that lay on the table before her. Four days ago the Chinese delegation had become aware she was sharing the vast penthouse suite with her boss and his brother James, and since then the delegation had become deaf, dumb and blind around Anais. The situation had been difficult enough in the beginning. After all she was a mere woman. She'd been certain she'd been winning the battle for a little respect from the Chinese delegation. Now that respect had disappeared into thin air.
The atmosphere that surrounded her these days was intense, intimidating and entirely unfair. And none of it was her fault.
An indignant irritation with Marcus, and the untenable situation he'd placed her in, bubbled and brewed quite nicely in her belly.
Hadn't she told him it wasn't wise for her to share a suite with the Gillespie brothers?
Hadn't she?
And had he listened?
Had he hell!
Anais knew it was so important, as guests in a foreign land, to be culturally aware.
Surely the great Marcus Gillespie, as skilled socially as he was in the language, must understand how easy it might be, even when things were perfectly innocent, to cause offense? To lose face? Plus, Anais was Eurasian. She was an exotic mix of Vietnamese, French and Irish. And she was a single woman. It didn't matter the reason she was sharing the huge four double bed roomed suite with Marcus and his brother was for business reasons. The Chinese now regarded her as a woman of loose morals, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Now a young man, an aide to the Chinese trade minister, and a man she'd twice turned down his very polite requests for a date, slid as smooth as a snake closer to Anais.
Without wishing to cause further offence, she carefully leaned her torso away.
Not far enough, because now his voice whispered in her ear, "Jianhuo," he hissed.
Whore.
Dismay was a nasty fist in the belly.
But it was the jerk of shock that had the heavy file slip from the table to land with a thud on the floor.
Knowing the aide had timed his remark to cause a distraction at a crucial point in the discussions didn't help. Mortified she'd fallen for the trick, Anais found herself red-faced and on her hands and knees on the floor under the table, eyeballing a pair of black shoes, handmade in Italy. She had a thing for shoes, and these were gorgeous. Marcus's long legs were spread apart. The fabric of his bespoke suit, a silk and wool mix in deepest charcoal, was fabulous, too. The well cut pants encased muscled thighs. Her eyes flicked to the impressive bulge between his legs. And a brutal arousal flared so fast she nearly gasped out loud. Dear God. Heat scorched her neck, her cheeks. She couldn't look away as her eyes lingered too long on the way the fabric tightened now on a place they had no right to linger.
"Everything okay down there, Anais?" asked Marcus, his voice deep and low.
Oh yeah, everything was more than okay.
Then she realised the whole room had gone quiet.
She cleared her throat.
"Everything is fine, sir."
Cursing her stupid behaviour under her breath, Anais found her legs weak as she rose and placed the file on the table. Ignoring the frantic beat of the pulse in her neck, she sank into the chair with her back straight, chin up.
Anais picked up her pen, and waited.
Out of the corner of her eye she was alarmed to find that Marcus had turned his head to study her carefully. The man never missed a trick. And something, call it intuition, told her he'd picked up on her mood. Tension contracted in her gut before crawling up her spine, over her shoulders, to settle horribly tight in the back of her neck.
Now her gaze dropped to stare at his hands resting on the table. They were beautiful hands with smooth skin. Strong. A sculpture's hands, with long fingers, short, clean nails. No scars or nicks. Hands that would feel wonderful against bare skin... her skin... if he...
Marcus cleared his throat, the sound making Anais blink.
Good God.
What on earth was she doing thinking about his hands?
This was not the time for daydreaming.
She needed to focus.
Now the Chinese minister began the lengthy process of wrapping up the meeting.
And Marcus hadn't got what he needed, namely signatures cementing the deal.
For the life of her Anais couldn't remember what had been said in the last ten minutes.
Anais understood how the power game was played. The Chinese regarded her as a weak link in the corporate armour of Gillespie, Pattullo and Hindmarch. She knew the aide was only obeying orders, to throw her concentration. And he'd succeeded. It shouldn't have upset her so much, but it did. She felt embarrassed. After all, she was only human. And after days of tense negotiations, of living in such close proximity with the Gillespie brothers, she was stressed.
She was tired. Plus, she couldn't do anything about the horrible nerves fluttering like bats in her belly.
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The Chinese diplomats rose.
And so did Marcus and his team.
Anais managed to swallow a sigh of relief that the seven-hour meeting was over.
It hadn’t gone well.
Oh God, the whole day had been a disaster.
She shouldn't have come.
As they took their leave, the Chinese delegation bowed to the tall man standing to her right and shook his hand. He was too much of a professional to show it, but Anais had worked with him long enough to recognise the infinitesimal signs of displeasure in that poker face. It wouldn't take a rocket scientist to work out that her boss was... irked. The body language said it all.
Taking a deep breath she chanced a look at the cement set of slashing cheekbones, the narrowing of those blue eyes that had gone almost black and the tight set of that wide and sensual mouth.
Yep.
He was angry.
Beyond angry.
With her.
The edgy nerves in her gut wound it even tighter.
She might not understand how she'd messed up, but she had.
Big time.
The contracts were still not signed, which meant they wouldn’t be returning to the headquarters of Gillespie, Pattullo and Hindmarch in New York anytime soon.
Why the hell had she slipped up today of all days?
In a few short hours she expected to hear confirmation she’d made junior partner to be announced. Now she had the horrible feeling, she'd blown it. Anais had known going in that the six months probation period was excessive but she'd been taught to only work for the best. For too many years she’d sacrificed family life, friendships, and even love, to get to the top to fail now.
He led the way out of the hotel conference room and stalked before her towards the elevator, like a big black panther.
In four-inch heels, Anais found her feet matching the beat of her frantic heart in an attempt to keep up with Marcus's ground-eating stride. She could just imagine the picture she was presenting to the Chinese delegation, running after her boss like a naughty little puppy. The picture in her mind annoyed her so much that she deliberately took her time and slowed her pace.
Marcus didn't look at her as he waited until she entered the elevator before pressing the button. The clear glass doors closed to whisk them to their penthouse suite. Never a man to indulge in small talk Marcus ignored her now as he scrolled through messages on his cell phone. The atmosphere between them was so thick with tension that Anais fought to keep her breathing steady. Close proximity to Marcus was something Anais struggled with and found difficult to handle. It was something she did her level best to avoid since there were times when he helplessly mesmerised and discomposed her. It was the sound of his deep voice, with the toe curling Scottish accent, which seemed to trigger something very strange in her blood. A sort of low and liquid longing deep in her belly that she'd recently found harder and harder to control. Anais regarded herself as an intelligent woman who understood the laws of attraction, that it was made up of chemistry, pheromones and what those secretions could do to the human body.
The trouble was that around Marcus her body appeared to have a mind of its own.
She'd no idea what cologne he wore. Whatever it was he always smelled mouth-wateringly divine. And in the confined space that scent seemed to deepen.
Her nostrils flared gently as she indulged herself for a moment and took a careful inhale.
The essence of a healthy male in his prime mingled with a seductively erotic scent that made her close her eyes. She opened them fast when she found her body swaying towards him. How many times had she wondered what he would taste like, what he would feel like buried deep...
Her nipples hardened too tight, too fast.
God, Anais, get a grip.
When her womb clenched, in her head she chanted the periodic table in a desperate effort to distract herself, but it was no use and the insistent liquid throb low in her belly made her tighten the muscles in her thighs.
When she'd first started working for him, Anais reckoned she’d drawn the short straw by being appointed as an assistant to the charismatic Marcus Gillespie. His arrogance and domineering nature were legendary. However, she'd learned so much in the time she’d worked with him and his team. Through sixteen hour days, seven days a week, Anais had come to realise she was in fact very lucky. Marcus tested her mind and her resolve and her values. He was deeply interested in her work and guided her with a firm hand through the minefield of corporate strategy and politics.
Everything would have been fine… except... for the edgy feeling that lived in her gut.
More than once she’d felt him staring at her with eyes that appeared darkly brooding at times. She'd never caught him, but the hair on the nape of her neck always rose when she just knew he was watching her. If her dreams were filled with all the wicked things he’d do to her body then, again, that was her problem and not his. But the trouble was that since they'd arrived in China those dreams had become darker, more erotic, in ways she couldn’t explain or understand. Just two nights ago she’d woken up in a cold sweat with her heart trying to burst through her ribcage. She’d slapped on the light, raced to the bathroom to check that her neck was truly in one piece and that he hadn’t bitten her. God, she'd been watching too many vampire movies. Even more shocking had been the brutal yearning beating a liquid heat low in her belly.
The aftermath of the nightmare had lasted through a cold shower and yet another sleepless night of the horrible ache deep in her womb; a need, a hunger that she couldn’t comprehend.
Anais blinked as the temperature in the elevator dropped by a good ten degrees.
Even though they didn’t speak, the strain between them was a living, choking entity.
A cold sweat broke out above her top lip as the doors opened and Marcus strode out ahead of her.
