It wasn’t just her physical beauty. It was everything about her, right down to the flowery-fruity scent of her flesh.
She brought him warmth the entire night like a winter’s coat and there wasn’t anything he wasn’t willing to sacrifice in order to keep her. He’d lay down his life for her, as she nearly gave hers to save his. For her, he’d do anything.
“I love you, Hannah,” he whispered, framing her face and brushing his lips over hers just to have Hannah pull back. “What’s wrong?”
“I, uh…I forgot to brush my teeth,” she said.
Chuckling, he rolled off to his side, bringing her with him and he placed another luscious kiss on her lips. “You taste delicious to me.”
9:30 a.m.
“Come, Daddy! Santa left gifts!” Victoria exclaimed, jumping up and down in the bedroom doorway. Then she grabbed Markus’s hand and pulled him to the first floor, calling, “Hurry, Mommy.”
Hannah had always imagined families—bigger families than her and her mother—having warm, joyous Christmas dinner, filled with laughter and intimacy. Her first Christmas Eve with Markus was the first step to that. She hoped things would get even better today. Crossing her fingers behind her back, she climbed down the steps after Victoria. “I am hurrying.”
“Gifts!” The little girl pivoted on her heels and ran to the big ornamented tree in the furthest corner of living room. “Look, Daddy. Look!”
“Breakfast first, little lady,” said Elijah.
Victoria pouted but followed her grandfather to the kitchen where Judith was laying plates of fresh French toast and steamy Portuguese nuts on the table, which was already laden with dried fruits, cheeses, cold ham, and a fluffy panettone.
But the food didn’t interested the child much and soon she was pulling Hannah and Markus to the living room where she distributed the gifts with Judith’s and Hannah’s help.
Judith and Elijah gifted a white gold Patek Philip watch to Markus and a smaller matching one for Hannah, both engraved with M and H entwined, and a doll to Victoria.
In turn, Hannah and Markus had bought a box of a limited edition Cuban cigars for Elijah; an antique Russian icon for Judith’s collection, and a bicycle for Victoria, which immediately had the girl asking Elijah to teach her how to ride.
Markus and Hannah sat on the sofa and he handed her a rectangular box. After much thought, he had finally decided on a breathtaking white-gold necklace featuring an exquisite lock with a crystal dome sparkling with tiny diamonds.
“That’s beautiful…” Hannah’s voice waned when she opened the lock and it revealed a hand-painted portrait of her mother. She threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you.”
“I’m glad you liked it.” He smiled, happy for the whole month he had sweated over what to give to her. “Now, let’s see what you got me.”
“Not much.” She blushed, embarrassed. With her recovery and all the medical appointments she had to go, she didn’t have much time—or energy—to go shopping for a special gift. A special edition by Taschen of a contemporary art book was what she got him. “It’s just something I thought you would like.”
“Anything you give me—” But Victoria’s happy squeal interrupted him and he raised his head to look at her. To his surprise, Victoria was not riding her bicycle but sitting on the floor beside his mother looking with shining eyes at what seemed to be big, old, leather-covered books, until he focused his eyes and saw the books were albums, many albums scattered on the floor around his daughter and his mother.
Curious, he stood up and approached them.
Bewildered, Markus stared at Victoria and Judith leafing through his life.
At this moment, he was about five years old on the inside and thirty-five on the outside and thus, beside himself. As if from far away, from a place in the past, he saw his mother pointing to a photo and school report card and heard her explaining to his daughter how he had always been the best student of his class and how proud she was to be his mother. Another turn of a page showed a photo of him in the first football match—one he recalled Judith had not been present for—and glued beside it, the medal his team had won.
The flash of love in his mother’s eyes should have glanced harmlessly off him. Instead it penetrated fast and deep and it made his stomach turn. He put a hand over it. Something I ate at breakfast.
“Your father was the most sought after football player in high-school,” Judith said to Victoria. “The best linebacker.”
Most. Best. A dark frown marred his brow. “Where did all that come from?”
His question came out in a very quiet way, but Hannah could hear the hesitation and the awkwardness. And a crossness in his deep voice which shouldn’t be there. “Markus…it was my idea—”
“The photos and mementos? Or the affection?” Judith interrupted, looking up at him from her place on the floor. He was so quiet and still, she half expected him to explode at any second. Part of her wanted to just grab her son and hug him. Part of her wanted to run. She took a silent deep breath and continued, “The photos, well. Your nannies took them under my orders. Your cards and medals…the schools’ principals sent me everything. As for the love they represent…it has always been here. Even if I never told you about it before.”
A quick, stabbing sensation in his diagram robbed him of air. When he looked up from his mother’s face, his gaze collided with Hannah’s.
She saw the turmoil in the black depths of his eyes. Her heart leaped into her chest and she stood up. I shouldn’t have done this.
“Left to her own devices,” Senator Blackthorn said in an odd voice, “your mother could have hugged you to her bosom and held you there until you were eighteen years old.”
Jesus! Raising a black eyebrow, he said to Elijah, “I suppose I’m glad you helped her resist the urge.”
Elijah cleared his throat. “Well…I suppose you are, since you have become such a strong and successful man.”
Judith stood up and touched one of her cool, papery hands to Markus’s face. “I hope it’s not too late to say I love you.”
Markus turned his face and kissed her palm, shaking his head. Because there was not much he could say to that. Even if he could, his throat felt suddenly too tight.
“I am happy.” Judith tenderly patted his face and sat back near her grand-daughter, putting the child on her lap, opening another album.
So am I. Suddenly, his chest tightened too. Ached. And Markus found himself wanting to weep. Feeling uncomfortably overwarm and short of breath, he walked away to one of the windows, and stood there, looking at the snowflakes falling adrift and aimlessly in the air, feeling very much like one of them.
Where has my notorious detachment gone? If he lost his restraint, here, now, everything would slip, everything he worked so hard to manage would come crumbling down.
For so many years they had never admitted how much they needed and loved each other for the fear of acknowledging how much they could lose. And now he had no idea what to do with it all.
He looked around his own home.
Christmas decorations always seemed the same to Markus. The red berries were abundant on the holly arrangement on the center table; the windows and the mantle-piece were tastefully dressed with mistletoe boughs and intricate garlands of black-berry ivy, fresh asparagus ferns, and evergreen shrubs; the Christmas tree had tiny blinking lights and the same annoying Christmas songs played on a loop. Outside, the world was immersed in a white, peaceful quiet.
And then his gaze landed on Hannah, who was right by his side.
In that moment a sense of peace descended on him.
Yet, this Christmas was not as it had always been before. And all was different because of a woman who had entered his life—their lives—in the strangest of ways. In a way that shouldn’t have worked—at all. Yet, it had.
“You’re the most beautiful and sexy woman and the loveliest and most giving person I’ve ever known. And even that is an understatement.” He put both of her h
ands on his and pulled them to his lips, tenderly kissing the back of her fingers. “Thank you.”
She smiled up at him and let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She laughed then, and flung her arms about his neck. Her soft body went along. He wrapped his arms about her and pulled her close.
It all came to Hannah in heart-swelling memory of the magic and pleasure she felt with her mother each Christmas when the world seemed cast in a cold blanket but life was always warm and wonderful inside her home.
Markus could actually feel his heart melting. Whenever she looked at him with those soft, emotion-filled green eyes, he wanted to tell everyone he had found the most special woman in this world.
He gave her an idiot-ish teary-ish laugh in return. Love has a deleterious effect on a man’s dignity. His big hands moved unsteadily over her back and his trembling fingers shaped her dainty waist. She was warm and so soft and her flowery-fruity scent swirled like a net about him, keeping him safe. Fuck dignity!
And then he was holding on to her as though his life depended upon it and kissing her as though the world would come to an end if he stopped, and there was no ‘unless’ or ‘until’ about it.
She couldn’t keep herself from answering the fierce wildness of his kiss anymore than she couldn’t keep her hands from wandering over his cashmere sweater until she found the place where his heart beat fast and hard.
Like her own.
EPILOGUE
Venice, Belmond Hotel Cipriani
Monday, October 27, 2015
10:00 a.m.
Hannah stirred, feeling as if she were being blasted by a furnace. Who knew that one single man could create such heat? Granted, he was a very large and big man. And she was cradled in his arms as they spooned in the center of the massive bed.
They had postponed their wedding for almost a year and decided to hold it in the gardens of the Belmond Hotel Cipriani in Venice—a more romantic venue Hannah could have never imagined. Guests and family had all flown there and, after their farewell lunch today, Judith and Elijah were taking Victoria back to New York so Hannah and Markus could enjoy their due honeymoon.
She sighed happily. “Morning.”
“Good morning,” he answered, nuzzling her neck.
“Oh, it’s ten already,” she said, looking at the clock on the bedside table, and tried to squirm away from his embrace.
His arm instinctively hauled her closer until she was pressed tight against his chest. “We have time, Mrs. Blackthorn.”
“Do we?”
“All the time in the world,” he rasped. “That I promise.”
Arrogant man. Her lips twisted in a wry smile. “You can’t promise, Muffin.”
He nipped the lobe of her ear. “Cupcake, I just did.”
“So certain of your own powers, Your Majesty,” she muttered.
“No, I’m certain of you.” His hand lifted to brush the hair from her cheek, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of her neck. “My love.”
His fingers traced designs on her arm dancing over her skin. She watched as one formed a decisive pattern over and over again and then she looked up. “What are you doing?”
His lips curved into a smile. “Writing my name on you.”
His male beauty was enough to steal her breath. There was a compelling strength and unrelenting pride etched into those features. “If you’re claiming me, then I deserve fair turnabout.”
He couldn’t resist her. She was his weakness. The woman could bring him to his knees with one look. “Silly woman. I belong to you already.”
She smiled at him. “I love you, you know?”
“I know,” he answered smugly. “But I love you more.”
She smiled and kissed him, gently, softly. And her voice was ridiculously husky when she whispered on his lips, “Happy birthday, Markus.”
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
Thank you for reading So Much More! I hope you enjoyed Markus & Hannah’s love story. If you feel so inclined, please recommend this book to a friend and/or post an honest review. They help other readers find new books to enjoy and I’ll be grateful.
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I live in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, with my husband, two teenage daughters, and Loki, my Shetland sheepdog.
I’ve graduated at Law School, with a Master’s in Business Law, and I also have a BA in Fine Arts, all from PUC-RJ. I have studied in England, Switzerland, Italy, and France, and, of course, Brazil.
In 2011, after twenty-two years of practicing law, I decided to give writing a go. And—amazingly!—it was just the piece that was missing from the puzzle of my life. Now that I’m hooked, I can’t free myself—and don’t want to be freed.
If not typing away stories, I am reading my favorite authors and pampering my family. Meeting interesting people—in person or on line—gives me the inspiration for my characters. Also, there’s a little bit of me in them as well—including the bad ones, of course.
Visit me on www.CrisSerruya.com and discover my other romances.
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Now, continue reading to sneak a peek at Love Painted in Red!
LOVE PAINTED IN RED
a 2016 KindleScout winner
A sizzling contemporary romance made of loss, lust, and love!
After being a prisoner of war, Tavish forsook his military career to run his renowned art gallery in London. Despite being surrounded by wealth and beauty, Tavish’s days are bleak, his nights, living nightmares, and his heart, an empty shell. Yet, when he meets Laetitia, a powerful and sizzling attraction ignites between them. Laetitia, who fled hell on earth now works as a housekeeper in a country manor and sells her paintings in an obscure gallery.
Laetitia becomes Tavish’s obsession; Tavish, Laetitia’s unattainable dream.
Meanwhile, a man with a grudge plots his long-awaited revenge that can destroy both of them.
Tavish and Laetitia will discover that falling in love is life’s greatest risk!
PROLOGUE
Ireland
“We’ve been doing everything we can,” the private investigator said, in defense of himself. He looked pointedly at Geoffrey Callaghan, hoping for some support.
“I’ll double the reward if you find her in the next three months,” said a husky male voice. “Put more men on her. Do whatever is necessary. I’ll pay the extra cost.”
The PI nodded once and quickly made his exit, not wanting to hear the or else, which was implicit in the order. He had never been inside that monastery, much less inside that room. It was the first time in years that he had to deal with a person other than Geoffrey, who was scary enough.
“They will find her,” Geoffrey said.
“If I were a suspicious man, I would wonder why you didn’t have more men searching for her.” Bluish-white smoke rose from the corner, which would have been completely dark if not for an orange glow. “Or why you weren’t more careful that night.”
“You were the one who chose her.” A faint smile touched Geoffrey’s wrinkled, thin lips. “I told you she was a freak.”
He had no answer to that. “Go! Leave me alone.”
“That’s exactly what you asked of me years ago. Look what happened.” Geoffrey smirked.
“Leave me alone.” He grabbed the nearest object—a heavy ashtray—and flung it at Geoffrey’s head. Despite his old age, Geoffrey ducked, avoiding being hit by the object but not by being showered with butts and ashes from the homemade cigar.
“Don’t do that again, my son.” He shook his bald head at the once handsome man sitting in the dark. “Don’t forget who gives the orders here
.”
“Do I ever?” A fury raced through the man’s blood. There had been a time when he met his unruly desires in his own ways. Not anymore. He had become dependent on the old man in front of him to fulfill them.
“I will go.” Geoffrey smirked. “But you need to relax. I’ll send a cup of yagé and a devotee for you to fuck.”
The man stayed silent for a moment. “Send the yagé and the devotee.”
“A wise decision. Be at peace,” Geoffrey said, before he closed the door behind him.
The orange light glowed brighter as he dragged deeper. He imagined he could see her face and body take shape in the smoke as he exhaled.
She had become the reason he arose every day, breathed, and endured pain. She had become his obsession.
He would find her. Touch her as she had touched him. Make her scream as he had.
Until he tired.
Until she begged.
Then, only then, he would kill her.
CHAPTER 1
England, London
Sapphire Club
Friday, August 29, 2014
5:45 p.m.
Some had wondered if after the war Tavish Uilleam Davenport MacCraig had become asexual. He would say he had, in a certain way. His calm, easy behavior churned to intense and controlling; his unsmiling face kept others away. He had tried to date, but failed miserably, and he had not even managed to form as much as a friend with benefits. Therefore, he usually abstained from sex or masturbated. But giving pleasure was one thing he couldn’t go without: it was one thing he rejoiced in, and he couldn’t well do it alone.
Tonight, he was there to give. Anything—from oral to anal, from missionary to kink—would do, minus violence. He’d experienced enough violence to last the rest of his life.