by Lenise Lee
A man with beefy shoulders and a refrigerator-sized waistline, and who filled up most of the doorframe, stared at her with seething anger leaking from his tiny eyes. Marissa watched several beads of sweat roll down the edges of Schaeffer’s forehead and gather at the thickest layer of his first chin. Her eyes scanned the rest of the disheveled man standing before her. A head full of overly oiled hair, a dress shirt that was at least a half size too small, no tie, wrinkled slacks, and a pair of worn dress shoes were the exact description of the man who was the manager at one of Manhattan’s most luxurious havens. With great effort, the repulsed woman clenched her stomach and fought off a churning wave of nausea.
How had such a man earned this coveted position? The answer was ironically simple – He had not earned anything at all. His father-in-law was the CEO of the corporation that owned and operated La Grande Roi and dozens of other premiere properties throughout the area. While fate may have dealt Schaeffer the upper hand in wealth and social status, only a passing glance was necessary to see him as the glutton and tyrant that he truly was.
“What?!” He spit the question out like a poisonous dart.
A sickening hack spilled from his blubbery belly, forcing Schaeffer to grab his round gut to control the nasty cough. Once the man cleared his lungs, Marissa offered him a smooth reply, never raising her voice above a polite octave.
“I need you to bring your access card to the vault.”
Schaeffer wrinkled his sweaty forehead.
“For what? I’m busy.”
“One of the guests would like to deposit a suitcase.”
“How come you can’t handle it? It’s a simple task, very little thought required.” His volume approached hostile as he continued to sneer at her. “Isn’t that what you get paid to do?”
Schaeffer narrowed his beady eyes; a hard scowl formed on his pudgy face. The malicious expressions were supposed to cause fear and intimidation; nevertheless, Marissa held a blank and unflinching stare. She would never allow this despicable man to believe that his words had any sting in them.
“Believe me, Dennis, I never enjoy coming here to drag you away from your private island.” Barely controlled anger heated the inside of her throat. “I am much, much happier when I can handle as many simple tasks as possible without you. Unfortunately, this isn’t one of those times.”
“Watch your tone, girl.” His reply was meant as a silent threat to her job. This was not the first time he had done so, and it probably would not be the last.
To rein in her fuming nerves, Marissa released a low exhale. She stretched her lips into a thin smile, refusing to give this wretched man the satisfaction he was seeking. Being dragged into the grip of a violent argument would only elevate his inflated pride and leave her with harsh regrets.
“Julian has left for the day and I need a second card to unlock the safe. I’m only requesting five minutes of your valuable time.”
Schaeffer blinked, caught off guard by her sudden calmness. Once his confusion passed, he rushed out his next sentences.
“I don’t have all day,” he said impatiently, obviously trying to hurry back to his phone call. “Who is it?”
“The Italian businessman standing in the lobby is dressed in a designer linen suit. He has a beautiful model clinging to his arm. He’s holding a leather case that probably costs more than even you would earn in a month. So,” Marissa raised a sculpted eyebrow, “if you’re asking me if the guest looks rich enough for you to waste a minute of your time talking to him, then yes, he most certainly does.”
Schaeffer’s eyes rolled from side to side while he tried to choose which was more important, the call or the wealthy client.
“Fine,” he finally said flatly. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Before shutting the door in her face, he made one final irksome comment. “Make sure you give him the special treatment until I get there.”
Marissa dismissed his vulgar suggestion. She had already wasted too many precious seconds of her life dealing with Schaeffer’s stupidity.
On her way to retrieving Mr. Rossi and his pretty companion from the lobby, a flash of Marco’s magnetic gaze raced through her mind, quickening her pulse. The feel of his palm holding her fingers with a delicate touch and the sensation of his rosebud-shaded lips pressed to her skin sent an electrifying shiver rushing into Marissa’s moist nether region. With abundant effort, she fought off the tantalizing heat flowing between her breasts and ignored the tingle of her nipples caused by the memory of his magnificent face and suave old-world Italian charm.
In spite of her instant attraction to the wealthy and charismatic man, the cautious woman wanted nothing more to do with him. When she was done helping Marco to secure his case, Marissa planned to maintain a very wide distance between herself and Mr. Rossi, at all times and for the duration of his stay at La Grande. The foreign cravings Marcello Rossi was drawing from her body’s intimate places were almost too powerful for Marissa’s chaste resistance. Her last remaining defense was remembering that devastatingly handsome men usually left a trail of trouble and tears behind them. Gushing over his seductive baby blue eyes and allowing herself to fall under Marcello’s enthralling spell would only invite a mountain of mischief into Marissa’s life.
Marco slipped the cell phone into his pants pocket. He had informed his superiors that the operation was progressing as planned. Although the members of the bureau were pleased with the status of the case, Marco was disappointed with his behavior thus far. Matters of the heart were continuing to pull his focus away from important concerns and impairing his judgment.
The agent looked down to double check that the case was still next to his feet. This was the only task he could trust himself to complete without becoming distracted. Never before had any woman sidetracked his mind from his appointed duties, yet Marissa Stiles effortlessly seized his exclusive attention. Every man loved to admire a beautiful woman, but his sudden fascination with Ms. Stiles was alarmingly intense. Whenever he was in Marissa’s presence, Marco’s vigilant concentration immediately became fractured. Even now, in place of scanning the busy lobby for signs of activity from his invisible foes, Marcello’s thoughts slipped back to visualizing her angelic face. Faceless conspirators lurked in the shadows all around him, but one glance into sparkling hazel-tinted irises was enough to sweep all his worries and responsibilities to the wayside.
An unnerving thought, with all the dreadful powerful of a pulsing lightning strike, touched his mind. Was the exquisitely attractive female purposefully misdirecting his attention toward her? Were her enticing glances only a ploy to draw his eyes away from their guard over la valigetta? Could it be possible that Marissa was in league with his enemies and was using his obvious attraction to her to compromise his mission? Impossibile. Every flash of her lovely eyes, every quiver of her lips in response to him, was sincere. Some emotions could never be imitated. The sizzling passion that had flowed from her fingers into the palm of his hand was genuine. However, until the spy could definitely determine whose side – if any – the woman was playing for, he would have to keep his resistance to her charm set to its maximum at all times.
On every side, the air surrounding Marco became electric with anticipation. He shifted his gaze and spotted the face of his lady floating toward him. Instantly, his rose-stained mouth tilted upward to form a pleased smile. The curvy outline of the dark skirt and blouse, coupled with the confident stride of silky caramel-coated legs gliding across the room, stirred up a mischievous arousal within the beguiled man. Il mio amore bellissima. As soon as the thought entered his mind, Marco was desperate to keep the confession from escaping his tongue.
When Marissa stopped in front of him, his grin widened then Marco bowed politely at her return. After he straightened his posture, he searched the woman’s eyes for a flicker of excitement in response to his affection, but was greeted with an empty stare. The coldness he received from Marissa sank into Marco’s heart, and his smile dropped away.
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��You are ready?” Marco’s voice was monotone. He was struggling to return his focus to the business at hand.
“Yes, Mr. Rossi,” Marissa replied. Her words were flat and emotionless. She had also returned to using his surname and Marco did not attempt to correct her. “If you will please follow me, we can have your item secured in a safety deposit box.”
The agent lifted the attaché from the floor then nodded to signal that he was ready to follow her lead. His eyes watched the sleek strands of Marissa’s dark hair gently sweep against her shoulders while she glanced around.
“Your…companion…Ms. Corvino, will she be joining us?”
“Something very sparkly in your jewelry shop has captured Katerina’s attention. It will not be necessary to await her return.” Marcello took three steps closer to Marissa and held out his folded arm to her. Even though he could not pursue his attraction to the elegant woman, he would not abandon all of his humble manners. “Shall we?”
Marissa hesitated and studied him, silently contemplating whether to accept his offer. He saw the indecision running across her smooth cinnamon brow. Seconds later, to his relief, she slowly threaded her slim arm through his. Her hold on him was loose and uneasy; nevertheless, he smiled at her gently. Marcello forced himself to accept that the detachment he sensed from Marissa was for the best. This gloomy conclusion suddenly moved his mind to wish that his covert mission in the States was finished, so he could return to his homeland. Perhaps, when a vast ocean permanently separated them, his heart would finally be free from the grasp of Marissa’s powerful allure.
The attractive couple floated arm-in-arm through the crowd, past a second set of armed security guards, and toward a long hallway behind the concierge area. From the corner of his eyes, despite the blank expression Marissa was desperately trying to cling to, Marco could see a dusting of crimson covering his woman’s toasty cheeks. If destiny were to somehow allow him one opportunity to court her and draw the enticing female into falling madly in love with him, would he be a fool to accept the offer? Marco halted the runaway thought; his mind was spiraling off course again. Uno…due…tre…he counted his steps as they walked; it was a simple and effective method to smother his wayward distractions.
“Here we are.” The woman paused in front of a pair of brown oak doors. Once they stopped, Marissa swiftly pulled her arm from his embrace. Without looking in his direction, she kept her tone very formal, adding another sting to Marco’s wounded pride. “This is our private conference room. We’ll go through the contract and disclaimers. After you review and sign them, we’ll place your property into the vault.”
When Marissa reached for the gold-plated handle, Marco moved twice as fast. He pulled open one of the doors then waved his arm to signal her passage into the room.
“After you, mia signora.”
Her hazel eyes twinkled up at him, sending his heart into a rapid pounding behind his hard chest. The strong connection was broken only when Marissa fluttered her lashes and turned her gaze away.
She glided four steps into the room then stopped abruptly; her entire body stiffened. Marissa’s motion was so sudden that Marco almost collided with her from behind. Not long after he stepped into the room, Marco realized the reason for her sudden distress.
“Come in and take a seat.” An untidy man with a wobbling face jumped from one of the chairs at the conference table and rushed toward Marco. His belly bounced slightly with each step. “Thanks for visiting The Grand Roy,” he said, terribly mispronouncing the hotel’s name. “I’m the manager, Dennis Schaeffer.” The man named Schaeffer grabbed Marco’s right hand and shook it wildly. The unmistakable feel of a greasy oil sheen was left lingering on Marco’s fingers. “Sit down and get comfortable. Have your bags been taken care of?”
Without bothering to acknowledge Marissa’s presence, the stubby man with slick black hair and wrinkled clothing waddled over to his chair.
“Are you going to offer Ms. Stiles a seat first?”
“Ms. Stiles?” Schaeffer blinked his eyes; a puzzled expression hung on his round face. His bottom lip dropped open slightly.
“Sì…Marissa,” Marco responded with aggression rising in his voice. “She is a lady and should be treated as such.”
Marco quickly concluded that the sloppy man sitting before him was even more boorish in person than when he was under surveillance. After a tense and silent moment, a stab of understanding lit up the manager’s tiny black eyes.
“Her?” Schaeffer narrowed his glare at Marissa. “A lady,” he huffed, “If you say so.”
The rude words instantly clipped Marco’s thin patience. He charged forward and leaned in menacingly close to Schaeffer. In response to the threatening motion, the other man instinctively shrank back and hunched his beefy shoulders in fear.
“Marco…don’t.” Marissa stepped forward and touched his forearm. “It’s fine.” Her eyes dashed to the side as she motioned toward Schaeffer. “He’s the least of my concerns.”
Calmare…calm. Marco relaxed his flexed muscles. For the time being, he reined in his fit of rage. Next time, however, the man cowering in the chair might not be so lucky.
“Watch your words in her presence.” Marco’s deep voice did not attempt to hide the hostility in his warning.
His eyes were filled with fury when he spoke to Schaeffer, who managed to nod weakly but kept his lips clamped shut. When he was certain that the other man understood the strength of the threat, Marco pulled out a chair from the table and motioned to Marissa to be seated. Too much anger still burned in his chest, and he did not want her to witness him behaving viciously any longer, so he chose to remain silent for the next few minutes.
For the remainder of the meeting, Schaeffer was eerily polite. While explaining the disclaimer and registration forms, he never glanced in Marissa’s direction and looked up at Marco only when it was absolutely necessary.
The paperwork process and deposit were relatively brief and simple. On the registration form, Marco decided to log the briefcase as containing classified documents from an international monetary board. Once this stage was completed, Marissa and Schaeffer escorted him up the corridor. They walked about twenty paces farther up the hall then stopped at another set of doors. Marissa punched a code into a keypad for a pair of sealed metal doors that resembled elevator flaps. Once the outer entryway was unbolted, the trio stepped inside of a small square room. The double doors automatically closed and locked behind them. In front of the group, a massive circular chrome gate stretched from floor to ceiling. Marissa and Schaeffer each pulled out a keycard similar to the type that hotels now opted for in place of brass keys. Both of them slid their individual access cards into thin digital slots at the center of the entrance to the colossal safe. The computerized display on the front of the vault flashed a series of numbers before bold black letters reading ACCESS GRANTED scrolled across the rectangular screen. As Marco quietly observed this action, the events of the previous evening suddenly made sense.
The inside of the actual safe was cavernous. Dozens of rows of safety deposit boxes, in various sizes and shapes, lined the full length and width of the room. Marissa opened the container that would house Marco’s attaché then stepped outside of the vault to allow him privacy. Once she was gone, before placing it inside of the deposit box, the agent opened the case and surveyed its contents. Now that the bait was ready and secured, he would be able to pull his nemesis out of hiding.
To secure the vault and the outer doors, the hotel’s supervisor and manager repeated their procedure in reverse. In the outside corridor, Marissa remained behind while Schaeffer mumbled a farewell and slinked away. The round man coughed a few times as he trudged up the extended hallway. Once he reached the entrance to his cluttered nest, the manager disappeared from view. When Schaeffer was out of sight, Marco turned his attention to his charming lady. Her bright eyes were alive with renewed fascination for him, which she frantically tried to conceal behind a placid smile.
“Enj
oy your stay at our hotel, Mr. Rossi. Please feel free to let any of the other staff know if you require additional services.”
“I will see you again, Marissa…very soon.”
When she turned away to make a silent exit, Marco succumbed to a sharp impulse to reach for her. He stopped Marissa’s rushing motions by lightly touching the back of her hand. Her breasts rose and fell with every heavy breath she released. Her steamy eyes watched his every motion. Slowly, Marcello brought the woman’s trembling fingers toward his warm lips once more. He opened her palm and placed a small kiss at its soft center.
“Until then…Addio, amore,” Marco whispered.
Marissa sucked in her lips; her face was flushed with passion. In one swift tug, she pulled her hand free from his hold and raced away, never once looking back. Marco watched the fleeing woman until she disappeared into the throng of people up ahead. The teasing thought of tasting her full raspberry lips lingered in his mind long after she was gone.
“Molto presto,” his low voice repeated the promise. Very soon.
Chapter Six
An Invitation
An amused expression lifted Marissa’s face. She watched with glee while the woman beside her wobbled forward at a slow and labored pace. As the duo continued their sunset stroll along the Manhattan sidewalk, a strong gust of frigid November wind blew past them causing Nichole Edwards Raven to tilt off balance. The pregnant woman immediately began a frantic balancing act, as she fought to regain control of her swollen legs and the heavy belly poking up from beneath her thick pea coat. At the sight of her friend’s struggle to tame her round tummy, a burst of giggles, which Marissa had been trying to fight off, finally escaped in one loud stomach-clenching laugh.
