For the first time, Markus had seen naked emotions on her somewhat controlled face. Her eyes sparkled and lit.
“It was quiet and warm. It was safe and happy. It was...” She let out a small chuckle. “It was ish, say…homeish, bookish, kind of boring, in a good way.”
He laughed. A deep, rich laugh that made her peek at him from her under her lashes.
“I guess that is too concise, Hannah.”
“You said three sentences.” She shrugged with a small smile. “Now, you.”
“It was…” Alarm clanged in his mind when he searched his past and couldn’t find in it anything that reminded him of the adjectives she had used. He couldn’t name his feelings now any better than he could when he’d been five years old. He’d never bothered to name them, simply shoved and beaten them out of his way, repeatedly, until they’d stopped tormenting him. Having never been allowed to mature, those feelings remained at the primitive childlike level.
“Yes?” She held his gaze, curious and interested.
Markus felt for a minute like he couldn’t breathe. Like the light in her smiling emerald eyes was the only thing rooting him to that moment. He looked down at his empty glass and poured himself more wine, as much to distract himself from her stare as to shake the weird feeling in his chest. “It was made of bests and mosts: best toy, most expensive; best student, most intelligent; best linebacker, most handsome; best party, most coveted; best beach house, most exclusive.”
Behind the careless way he said it, Hannah heard a wealth of bitterness and that made her sad that she had touched a too-sensitive nerve. For a moment she didn’t know what to say as she suddenly realized that the arrogant, superior, devil-may-care attitude of Markus Blackthorn was nothing more than a façade. A false image he had cultivated and projected. And everyone believed it. “That is not a three-sentence definition, Markus.”
“No, it’s the one-sentence superlative definition of everything everyone would love to possibly utter.” She had thrown him off balance by just being interested and being herself. Ridiculous and stupid. Not to mention dangerous. Very, very dangerous. He pinned her with those dark eyes of his and smirked. “What more does one need?”
“Nothing. I guess.” She glanced at her wine glass. Her second glass was still half-full, but obviously her tolerance was low because she wanted to cross the space between them, take his face in her hands, and kiss away all the glossy varnished coating to discover his inner world. And she couldn’t explain the feeling.
She stood, anxious to end the conversation, which had suddenly taken a silent turn to the too intimate, and took her plate and silverware to the sink. “We can continue this tomorrow. It’s late.”
His eyes followed her gracious yet nervous movements. She had dismantled him. And she had done it by silently pointing out to him that all his bests and mosts were nothing compared to her ishes. No one dared question him about his life, much less suggest it was not perfect. He felt the unexpectedness of it like a cold splash of water to the face. But once the initial affront wore off, he was left feeling relieved and oddly afraid. He was never afraid. He couldn’t let her guess the effect it had on him.
“Yes, it’s late,” he whispered from behind her. He wanted her to feel him—his shape, size, and strength. He wanted her awed—and why not—a bit afraid.
She jumped when he pressed the full length of his body to hers.
Markus felt a tremble run through her when his body caged her. Don’t. Pull back.
He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and searched within himself for focus. Success, in everything, was about the narrowing of concentration, dulling the senses, ignoring emotions. Pull back. Now.
His arms snaked around her and he took her plate off her hand and put it along with his in the sink, placing the faucet over it. He bent his head, brushing his mouth over her cheek. “We should go to bed.” Together.
He wants nothing from you, but your body. She froze, refusing to move, afraid to do anything that would allow her to feel him more fully than his broad chest against her back, his strong thighs molding hers, and his beard tickling her skin. “Markus.”
Tearing away from her was like so many things he had done in his life: cold, ruthless, with a necessary focus.
Before she could decide on whether to splash him with water or jab her elbow into his hard stomach, he stepped back with a chuckle. “Good-night, Hannah.”
She was still shaking when his footsteps faded away.
Not because of what happened, but because of what didn’t. And what she wanted.
CHAPTER 12
Saturday, October 4, 2014
2:10 p.m.
“If this gets any better, I’ll be enrolling you to play with the New York Philharmonic,” said Hannah as she climbed down the stairs.
“Practice is never enough.” Markus stood up from the piano and moved his arms and hands in a couple of stretching exercises. The motion concealed a smile of self-derision. His frustrated body had instantly lurched to attention as his gaze slid down her tall, slender form perfectly revealed by her casual jeans and royal-purple sweater. And his mouth would have to get intimate with an intriguing birthmark on the upper curve of her right breast soon, lest he go crazy. “You look beautiful.”
So do you. He looked like he had stepped right out of a page from GQ with a green sweater stretched over his broad shoulders, and his low-hip dark-blue jeans. He was the epitome of perfection. But Hannah knew now that his flaws lay hidden deep inside, masked by that handsome face, gorgeous body, and obnoxiously sexy behavior. And strangely, that notion made her a bit sad. “Are you sure I need a car?”
“Yup.”
When Mrs. Quinn’s steps echoed nearby, his gaze met hers, pinning her in place, and his lips curled up. “Hannah?”
“Yes?” Go away Mrs. Quinn, just go.
“Come closer,” he murmured.
She obeyed his command, slowly, hoping Mrs. Quinn would quit his employment and he wouldn’t find a new housekeeper for a whole year. She would rather clean the whole apartment alone than be in Markus’s arms, because she had no will to fight the attraction between them. And she didn’t want to be his paid whore.
When they were only inches apart, close enough for his warm breath to feather her cheek, he dipped his head low. With the very tip of his tongue, he traced her bottom lip, skimming over the surface before delving further. Her lips were soft and tasted ripe like apples. And her scent was an intoxicating blend of fruits and flowers and Hannah. He felt her softening in his arms and lifted a hand to cradle her neck and deepen the kiss, fitting his body to hers, letting her know how ready for her he was. His erection nestled against her soft stomach and he groaned.
He’d always loved this: a woman’s elemental effect on him, as a man. He lived for these moments of raw, instinctual passion.
But there was something more.
And then he was kissing her like he was a drowning man in need of air, and she was the air, she was the one who could save him. From what, he didn’t know. He only knew he needed this woman and he needed her now.
Her nipples tightened beneath her sweater and sexual tension took charge of her body. She suddenly felt energized. And angry. She knew she shouldn’t have agreed with him about kissing for the sake of making their relationship appear real to the employees. She pulled back. Stop.
Even when the kiss ended, the steamy and sweet sensations it generated reverberated in his body. Primal urges echoed back, demanding more, now, her.
The pulse in her neck pounded like a jackhammer and she was breathless—almost panting—but she willed herself to say coolly, “We have to stop doing this.”
“We certainly do not,” he said with a chuckle.
“No, I mean it’s not something you need to do for our sakes.” She lifted her shoulder in a self-conscious shrug. “And Mrs. Quinn is already gone.”
Remarkable how she can slash at a man’s pride. He shook his head. “You’re spoiling it.”
&n
bsp; “But—”
“Humor me,” he whispered on her lips, tempted to continue what he had stopped. Instead, he covered the pulse in her neck with his fingers, each fluttering sending an erotic throb to his groin. “You enjoyed it as much as I did.”
“But—”
“You’re not humoring me, Hannah.”
On the piano fallboard, his cell phone vibrated, but he ignored it, all his attention on her. “A man deserves a bit of fantasy, too.”
You? At last, she smiled, amused.
“Good,” he said. “That’s more like it.”
She dragged in a couple deep breaths as Markus turned to answer his phone.
“It’s my lawyer. I must get this.”
Sitting on the piano bench, Hannah watched as he paced the hall, talking on the phone.
The apartment’s high-tech landline bleeped and Markus waved at her to pick it up for him.
She wondered for a moment if she should answer the call in the same way she had seen Mrs. Quinn and Donovan doing: Mr. Blackthorn’s residence. But when it bleeped again, she just picked up the receiver and said, “Yes?”
A woman’s voice asked, “May I speak with Markus, please?”
No amount of warning would have prepared Hannah for that moment. “Mrs. Blackthorn?”
“Yes, and to whom am I speaking?”
Hannah, the daughter of your ex-housekeeper you so carelessly dismissed and your future daughter-in-law. “Markus is on the phone. Should I tell him to call you?”
There was a brief silence on the other side of the line, followed by, “Please let him know we’ll be up in a few minutes,” and a click.
Darn! She knew she would have to face his parents eventually but she had no idea what she should do now.
“Jones and the notary will be here at seven with the pre-nup,” Markus said, sitting on the bench beside her. “Who was it?”
Hannah released a pent-up breath and looked up at him. “Your parents are coming up.”
CHAPTER 13
Markus pasted his best I-missed-you-mother smile on his face as the elevator doors opened and his petite mother burst from it in a flurry of Chanel and Hermès and unruly short blonde hair. Not that he didn’t actually miss her. He had just learned not to.
His mother was all warmth and levity whereas his father was power and strategy. But she was just as meddlesome as her husband when they remembered he existed; stifling and overbearing.
“Markus, there you are.” Judith stood on the tiptoes of her high-heels to kiss his cheeks and then she stepped back, demanding, “Where have you been hiding her?”
“Who, Mother?” he asked.
She put her hands on her hips and huffed as elegantly as a lady could huff. “Your new, almost wife. When were you planning to introduce her? On the wedding day?”
Markus looked at Elijah standing behind her with a complacent smile on his face. “Senator.”
“Now, Son.” Elijah approached and kissed him. “Your mother has reason. Where is that bride-to-be of yours?”
Markus sighed. There was no way of fighting both of them at the same time. He gestured to the living room and said, “Why don’t we sit? She’ll be down in a minute.”
“I’m going up. I can’t wait to meet her,” Judith said.
“There’s no need, Mrs. Blackthorn. I am already here.”
They all turned to watch Hannah come down the last few steps.
Hannah felt she was under such scrutiny she didn’t know what to do with her hands—or the rest of her body, for that matter—so she just halted at the bottom of the red copper stairs with a hand poised on the handrail, waiting for Markus to say or do something.
Dressed in a navy Chanel suit with a gossamer ruffled white gauze-and-lace shirt, with her hair swept up in a styled careless bun, and with make-up enough to hide her bruises, Markus couldn’t look away from the sight Hannah presented. A lazy grin spread across his face and one word floated in his enflamed mind: Perfect.
The sun chose that moment to cast a ray over her, making her hair burst in flames of light—the same flames which were consuming Markus’s body.
His father was going to have a heart attack, he knew. He might have one too, but for different reasons.
Before Markus could say anything, Elijah pivoted on his heels to face his son and sputtered in a hiss, “What is she doing here, Markus?”
And here comes the heart attack. “Mother, Senator, you certainly remember Hannah Kristensen, don’t you?”
The elder Blackthorn’s reaction propelled Hannah forward. She had earned her mother’s Irish stubbornness, fighting hard for everything in her life at every turn. On the other side of this fake marriage lay the prospect of freedom and an independent life. And not even a Senator of the United States of America would sway her from that goal. She would earn that half million dollars.
Striding to Markus’s side with a confidence she didn’t feel, she said in a purr, “Why, Muffin. Haven’t you told your parents how ecstatic we are from reconnecting after such a long time?” I have the upper hand here, Senator.
Elijah recomposed himself and cast a cool stare at Hannah, not forfeiting it. “Ah, yes. The housekeeper’s daughter.”
Markus had a sudden urge to expel his father from his home. Elijah knew damn well that Hannah was fulfilling a role. His insult was completely unnecessary. Even for his father, that was low, and it made him feel like a first-rate ass for submitting Hannah to that humiliation. He passed an arm over her shoulders. “A marvelous coincidence put her in my path again, Senator.”
If Hannah was to endure this farce, she would enjoy every minute of it, and that included baiting Elijah Blackthorn as much as she could. She ensconced herself in Markus’s embrace and said, “More like fate, right, Muffin?”
I might have to expel Hannah too if she doesn’t stop Muffin-ing me. Drawing some patience and control from his last reserves, he said, “Mother, you do remember Hannah.”
Judith was studying the three of them with pursed lips and sharp eyes. Despite all her irreverence and haughtiness, she had learned a thing or two after forty-eight years of marriage to a shrewd politician. “Mariah’s delightful daughter. Of course I remember you. How are you, dear girl?”
“Fine, thanks.” With a dry smile, Hannah said, “We were just heading out. We must buy my wedding dress.”
If Hannah had known how much she would regret those words, she would have said something else, or nothing at all.
Judith took her by the hands, tsk-tsking and informing her that no future daughter-in-law of Judith Blackthorn would ever marry wearing a ready-made dress, and for sure her son would not be seeing any wedding dress before his bride walked down the aisle. In less than ten minutes she had the whole Maison Valentino on Fifth Avenue in an uproar.
Judith informed Markus and Elijah they would be back at six-thirty, sharp, before towing a stunned Hannah away from the apartment.
The manager had been waiting for them at the door when they arrived and ushered them into a private room for a Skype meeting with its creative designers in Rome.
Hannah couldn’t deny herself a sigh of relief when the petite woman announced her intention to discuss a design for her own dress. But there was only a half-hour of relief before Judith made her the center of her attentions once more, asking about the wedding plans and threatening to help with everything.
It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate Judith’s efforts. For all the strangeness of her welcoming, there was something quite comforting in having a woman’s support in the middle of all the madness. But it made her feel like an imposter, more so than she already did.
As the older woman chatted away about Victoria, she took Hannah from shop to shop, ordering items Hannah hadn’t known she needed and was sure she would have no time to use.
And as Judith’s black American Express card was accepted with huge smiles—and had all the saleswomen promising to deliver everything to Markus’s penthouse later that same day, or Sunday at
the latest, with all necessary alterations completed—Hannah began to consider the reality that she was getting married to a billionaire, with billionaire parents and billionaire friends, who lived in a world she had only glimpsed from afar and had no idea how she was going to fool them all.
When Judith was satisfied with the results of their shopping for the day, she dragged Hannah to the Armani Ristoranti. Choosing a secluded table in the bar, and without asking what Hannah would like to drink, Judith ordered two Gin tonics and sparkling water.
After the waiter served them, Judith pushed the water in front of Hannah and said, “My dear girl, I am going to do something I never do. And I want your promise you won’t tell Markus or my husband about this.”
Oh, Lord. What now? “Of course, Mrs. Blackthorn…” Hannah’s voice waned and she watched open-mouthed as Judith drank the whole Gin tonic in one gulp, grimaced, and put the glass down on the table with a thud.
“Now, I am going to talk to you about my son.”
“Mrs. Blackthorn—” Before she had even decided what to say, the older woman raised a finger forbidding Hannah to say anything.
“Markus has been driving me crazy. I don’t know what to do and I have no one else to ask for help.” She grasped Hannah’s hand in hers. “My son was a happy boy and a happy teenager, although a bit too serious and focused for my tastes. His father’s fault. You surely know that, having lived with us for a time.” Judith sighed and passed her fingers through her hair, messing it even more. “And mine too, I won’t deny. I left him alone too much while supporting the Senator and all his campaign events and dinners…and also…also…”
She tried not to betray her heightened interest. “Yes?”