by Ann Macela
She made no comment, only nodded. Neither said a word as they walked to the elevator. He saw people in the lobby pointing them out, but no one tried to approach them. When the elevator doors shut, he took the key cards out of his pocket and swiped one in the special slot for the penthouse level. He handed the other to her.
“They put us on the top floor. There are only a few suites up there and access is limited. The locks have also been reprogrammed. The floor’s halls are under constant surveillance, and Housekeeping staff will go in pairs. If unauthorized people do get up there, they’ll be trapped.” He scrutinized her while he talked. From the tightness of her mouth and eyes, he could see the stress of the situation beginning to take its toll. “Are you all right?”
She sighed and leaned against the elevator wall. “When I came in, I was feeling pretty good. I’d had a nice walk and seen some of the city. I was looking forward to a leisurely dinner and a good night’s sleep. I come back to find out my clothes and hotel room are trashed. All my plans for a quiet evening are out the window. How ‘all right’ I am is open to question. I’d really like to get my hands on these jokers—or better still, toss them to a flesh-eating plant, if there was one big enough.” She smiled grimly. “Did they destroy your computer?”
“No, I had my laptop with me.” He held up the case to show her. “I’ll pick up a shirt and suit tomorrow.”
The elevator stopped and they exited into a small lobby with a short hall and only a few doors. He led the way to one of them, but hesitated and faced her before putting the card in the slot. “Uh, there’s one thing …”
She only raised her eyebrows in question.
“The hotel is booked solid. Looks like the debate is popular. They had to put us together in the same suite.” Her eyes squinted and her lips thinned with suspicion, so he rapidly said, “It’s a one-bedroom suite, and the couch is large enough to hold me …”
“But? I know there’s a ‘but’ coming.”
He cleared his throat. “From a protection standpoint, it’s probably a good idea to have both of us in one place, but … it’s the Soul-mate Suite.”
“The Soul-Mate Suite? Like the Bridal Suite?” Her voice rose with each word. Then she muttered something about the SMI playing a joke. She ran her card in the slot, pushed open the door, and walked quickly into the opulent set of rooms.
He knew what to expect, and thank God, it wasn’t a frilly, frou-frou kind of place with all the lace and idiotic “romantic” stuff you might expect. Instead, the Soul-Mate Suite was tastefully decorated in what he considered a “traditional” style of comfortable furniture and rich colors.
He followed as she went from the living room with its view that stretched from the Golden Gate Bridge around to the financial district into the bedroom with its enormous, gold and light blue, velvet-covered bed. She stuck her head into the bathroom, cocked her head at the whirlpool tub built for two, and rolled her eyes when she came past him back into the living room.
On the dining table were boxes and bags with the names of clothing stores. Gloriana rummaged around in a couple of the bags, although she didn’t pull out any of the contents. “My goodness, they certainly went all-out. My clothes were not this nice.”
“Glori, we need to talk,” Marcus said.
She froze with her hand in one of the bags and looked up at him with a big green, slightly suspicious gaze. “Do we have something to talk about?”
“Yes. Why don’t we sit down? This is probably going to take a while.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
Gloriana slowly took her hand from the bag but didn’t move otherwise.
It was clearly up to Marcus to begin. He smiled, hoping it came across as a friendly one and not a grimace, raised his eyebrows, and held out his hand in the direction of the grouping of sofa, easy chairs, and low table. “Shall we sit?”
She nodded, went to one of the chairs, and sat, her hands primly in her lap.
He sat in the other chair. He’d been hoping she’d go to the couch where he could sit close enough to touch her. Under the circumstances he’d take what he could get—he had to. He was damned tired, however, of being on the opposite side of a coffee table from her.
“My …” He had to stop to clear his throat. The enormity and risk of what he was about to say almost overwhelmed him. It was as if he stood on a precipice overlooking a vast ocean of uncertainty and insecurity that reminded him all too much of his teenaged years.
Go for it, Marcus. He breathed deeply and jumped off the edge. “My parents came to visit me on Thursday.”
She blinked. “They came to your house? All the way from Europe?”
“Yes. They said you had called them and told them we’re soul mates.”
“Yes, I did. It seemed the only way to get you to address our problem in a realistic manner and not like a …”
“Jackass?”
“That word will do.” She said the words without inflection—no anger, no teasing.
He paused, but she said nothing, only waited with a neutral expression for him to continue. She wasn’t going to help him one iota, and he couldn’t blame her. She’d been correct—he had to speak. “I’m glad you called them. We had the most important and illuminating discussion we’ve ever had.”
Again, not a word. Not a flicker of what was going on in her brain showed on her face or in her eyes. The woman would be a killer poker player.
He took heart from the fact that she hadn’t refused to talk. He was still in the air after his leap and hadn’t hit bottom yet.
Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees, looked at his hands, then back at her. “I learned that I’ve had a number of misconceptions about myself and them. These ideas started when I became a teenager, and for a variety of reasons on both my part and theirs, the errors grew and compounded themselves into a stalemate. I was pretty insufferable as an adolescent, and my father has certain … habits of speech. Let’s just say he’s the typical know-it-all professor, and I took his suggestions as orders. Anyway, between the demands of their careers and my absence in school, we didn’t talk much, even when we were together. The result? We grew apart, far apart.”
He stood, came around the damned coffee table to stand before her a couple of arms’ lengths away from her chair. If he crashed, it would be on his own two feet. Or something to that effect.
“Between the two of them, they effectively showed me the errors in my thinking and in my judgment. What they said dovetailed with your views and reinforced my research findings—that the process of the whole soul-mate experience is what’s important and needs to be trusted.”
Although she still didn’t speak at his statement, her lips played with a slight smile. He glanced at her hands—ah, there was her reaction. Her fingers were so tightly entwined that her knuckles were pale. She was as nervous as he was.
Emboldened, he pressed on. “So, I’ve come to thank you and to ask your forgiveness and your help. First, thank you from the bottom of my heart. You gave me back my parents. If you hadn’t forced the issue, I don’t think that we’d ever understand each other or have been able to reforge our family bond.”
“You’re welcome.” Her small smile grew a little wider, yet her hands didn’t relax. He was still in the air, still with an uncertain landing.
“I ask your forgiveness for my being thickheaded and for putting you through misery. I ask your help because … because …” As he came to the crux of the matter, he seemed to be falling faster, not floating at all, but plummeting downward. All his rehearsed words flew out of his head, and in utter panic of crashing, all he could say was, “Oh, damn, Glori, I still don’t know how to be a mate or part of a big family like yours or even part of my small one. I’m not sure how we get to know each other. Will you help me learn? Will you be my soul mate?” He held out both hands to her in hope and supplication.
Her smile vanished when she broke eye contact. She still didn’t say a word, she simply sat, star
ing in an unfocused way to the side, and he almost died in those seconds of silence. Finally, she stood up and looked him in the eye. Her hands were still tightly clenched, and he braced himself for whatever was to come.
“What do you want, Marcus? What do you truly want out of life?” she asked softly.
Oh, good. He had the answer to this particular question nailed. “I want you, I want love, I want children, I want a family. Most of all and first of all, because everything else comes from it, I want you—in my heart, by my side, in my bed, in my life. I want It All.”
Her big green eyes shining like darkened emeralds, she stared at him, and a bolt of pure fear hit his stomach. Was she going to say no? The hands he was still stretching out to her quivered; he held them steady by sheer force of will.
“Fun …” She cleared her throat, began again. “Funniest thing. When I asked myself that question, I came to the same answer.” And the sweetest smile lit up her face.
She put her hands into his, and he pulled her into his arms and hugged her fiercely. Relief washed over him, followed by sheer exhilaration. He was doing better than floating. He was flying.
As their bodies met, their centers aligned. The hum was a deep, satisfied, all-encompassing purring he felt in his bones. He drew back, intent on a kiss, but stopped when she raised her eyes. Tears glistened in the green, and one slid down her cheek.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” He wiped the tear with his thumb and licked the salty drop from it.
“I can’t help it,” she answered, her voice wobbling slightly. “I was so afraid you were going to reject me, reject us again.”
“No, I may have been slow to accept reality, although with you and my parents working on me, I’ve become a very fast learner.”
She frowned, and the tease was back in her tone when she said, “It certainly took you long enough.”
He had to hear the exact words. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes, Marcus, I’ll be your soul mate. Will you be mine?” Her voice didn’t tremble even one little vibration.
“Oh, yes, Glori, definitely.”
He wasn’t sure who moved first, but suddenly they were kissing, their centers were humming, and their hands were holding on tight. Heat began to build, his heartbeat increased, and his breathing did, too.
His mind began to fog. No, the damned imperative was not going to take him over again. He beat back the attempt with an effort. Determined to control his own lovemaking, he separated himself from Gloriana.
“Wait,” he panted.
“What for?” Her hands were in his hair. She tugged, but he resisted.
In a swoop, he picked her up in his arms and started walking to the bedroom. “This time, we’re going to make love in a bed.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
Gloriana was glad he was carrying her. She was so weak from relief and his kiss that she doubted she could stand. She could, however, take advantage of the situation. Being carried gave her access to a part of him she usually couldn’t reach, and she kissed his neck and nibbled on his earlobe while he walked into the bedroom. He tasted and smelled wonderful—a combination of chemicals, she knew in her mind, but a potent, arousing mix to her nonintellectual body.
“Stop that,” he growled and squirmed, but she ignored him and gave his neck a smacking kiss.
By the side of the bed, he lowered her quickly to her feet. Her legs seemed strong enough to hold her, and she pulled his head down for another of those kisses. He seemed happy to oblige, and within seconds their centers were humming again. While their tongues tangled, she began unbuttoning his shirt. She’d been delayed long enough. He was her mate, and she wanted him now.
“Wait.” He broke the kiss as he captured her hands and held them to his chest. “We’re also going to take it slow. We’re going to realize all those fantasies plaguing my dreams.”
She stared up into his light blue eyes. Where had she ever gotten the idea they were icy and disapproving? His gaze was so hot and deep, he could be seeing into her soul. She wet her lips. His eyes dropped to follow her tongue and rose again when she asked, “What fantasies?”
“We’ll start with me undressing you.” His smile promised untold pleasures, and his low raspy voice sent prickles of excitement racing through her blood.
“What do I do?”
“Enjoy.” He pushed her jacket off her shoulders and down her arms to fall at her feet. After a small kiss that left her wanting more, he pulled her Morgan Farms shirt out of her jeans and up over her head.
“Nice,” he murmured, running his fingers down her straps, over the swell of her breasts to meet in the middle of her chest at the bottom of the deep V of her lacy bra. As his fingers neared her magic center, the hum, which had receded to a low presence in the background, increased in volume and intensity.
She felt her eyelids grow heavy and lethargy creep through her body, but she forced her eyes to remain open, her mind to work. She needed to see his reactions to her. She was determined to be conscious of every single moment. Although she wished he would go faster, she’d humor him for the moment. Fantasies sounded interesting.
He reached behind her, unhooked her bra, and slid it down her arms. Staring at her bared breasts, he licked his lips and murmured, “Oh, Glori, you are beyond beautiful.”
She shivered when he cupped, weighed, and kneaded her in his hands. Her breasts seemed to grow heavier, fuller. Her nipples tightened into dark red buds when he ran his thumbs over them. Once, twice. On the third, little zings of energy ran down her nerves straight to her womb, and she grasped his hands to hold them in place.
As he fondled her, he smiled again, looking like he’d discovered treasure. When he lifted his hands away, she tried to press them back, but he captured hers instead and brought them up to his shoulders.
“Hold on,” he said and knelt, put his hands on her breasts again, and continued playing. With his tongue, he gave each nipple a flick, a light caress that almost brought her up on her toes as the zings increased in power, and she had to grab tight to his shirt for an anchor. The hum grew louder.
“Let’s get the rest of your clothes off.”
He removed her shoes and socks, unbuckled her belt, unzipped her jeans, and helped her step out of them and her panties. Leaning back on his heels, he surveyed her body with a look combining desire, need—and total possessiveness. Mine! his expression proclaimed.
She found it impossible to be embarrassed or shy about her nudity in front of him. On the contrary, his gaze was so hot, so exciting, so adoring that she almost wanted to strike a “come get me, big boy” pose.
In fact, she was determined to return the favor. Neither had had the chance to see, really appreciate, the other during their last two oh-so-fast encounters. She wanted to see him, also. And touch, and explore, and more.
She gave an exasperated sigh. Going slow was incredibly frustrating. Her whole body was tingling, demanding to be skin-to-skin with his.
He reached for her, but she seized his hands. “My turn for a few of my fantasies. Stand up.”
He looked startled, but he complied. She finished unbuttoning his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders.
Oh, nice. She ran her hands up his muscled chest, through the curly blond hair, over his flat nipples, down his breastbone. The hum, which had lessened, resumed and increased. She kissed his chest right above his center, and he gasped and she jumped when energy flashed between them.
She glanced up, and his head was back, his jaw clenched, his hands in fists at his sides.
“Are you all right?” she asked, her voice as raspy as his had been. “I felt a jolt, too.”
“Don’t stop,” he grated.
She helped him out of his shoes and socks before she focused her attention to his belt buckle, then his pants where his erection was straining against its confinement. Slowly she lowered the zipper. His pants dropped to the floor, revealing his briefs, tented with the strength of his arousal. She placed her hands on
his waist and slid her fingers under the elastic waistband.
He sucked in his stomach and put his hands over hers. He whispered hoarsely, “No.”
She froze and raised her head to look at his face. He wasn’t smiling. Instead, every muscle was taut, strained, like he was holding on to something as tightly as he could.
He grimaced. “Let me.”
She nodded and stepped back, and he stretched out the elastic and took off the underwear. When he straightened up, she ran her gaze up and down him. His body was that of a runner, lean, rangy, not an ounce of fat, and his sex rose powerfully from its blond nest of curls. The man really was perfect, and in sheer admiration she said, “Oh, Marcus, you are too gorgeous.”
He laughed, a strangled sort of chuckle, turned quickly, and stripped back the covers on the big bed.
His backside was gorgeous, too. She couldn’t resist putting her hands on him.
“Hey!” He jumped about half a foot, whirled around, and swooped again, picking her up and tossing her into the middle of the big bed.
She laughed, bounced, and struggled to sit up, but he was hovering over her in a flash, braced on his arms and knees, one leg between hers.
“Slowly,” he whispered, and, coming down on his left elbow, he lowered his body slightly to the side of hers, anchoring her to the bed with his thigh between her legs.
The man radiated heat, and, hot though she was, she needed warming. As she reached for him, this time he caught her hands, manacled them together in his left one, and stretched her arms above her head.
“Patience,” he murmured and kissed her.
More than a little disgruntled at being restrained when she wanted badly to touch, she resisted and kept her lips together—for a moment. When he ran his tongue along their seam and simultaneously slid his free hand down her side to her hip, then upward to settle over her breast and play with its nipple, she gasped as her body stiffened of its own accord.
