Hostile Takeover (35 page)

Despite his best effort, his lips almost twitched. Jesus, she had spirit. Her eyes were actually flashing, even as she swiped at her tears with an impatient hand. “No ma’am. You’re as adult as they get. Hey, no. You stay here.”

She’d been about to push away from the car door, and from the direction of her look, he knew she was going to retrieve her shoes. Stilling her with a gentle hand and a firm look, he strode over to them. Picking them up, he marveled as he always did that women could walk in those things, but he bet Marcie had worked them to the nth degree.

She had a made-for-sex body, but one with a lot of strength to it. He’d seen that punch, was surprised Ben hadn’t spurted blood. She’d had the balance, aim and force that said she knew what she was doing. Which meant she shouldn’t have done it, but it was obvious there was a lot of emotional shit happening on both sides. Besides which, Max knew Ben was a way more lethal fighter than Marcie, even if she had ten black belts.

Since Ben had shown that side of himself in a way he shouldn’t have either, it made Marcie’s response now even more impressive. Max knew men who would have crapped themselves from that deadly backwash that Ben had dished out. They wouldn’t be standing on their own bare feet, trying to hold it together and talk their driver into all sorts of foolishness.

He set his jaw, reminding himself of the dangerous influence of tears and a determined woman. As he came back toward the limo, he could see her gearing up for another try. But Max had his own code. “No,” he repeated, before she could say anything. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Matt needs to know about this.”

“Because I’m a woman.”

“Yes. And you’re one of theirs.” He nodded into the night, after Ben. “There’s nothing they take more serious than your well-being. He knows that.” Which opened a whole other set of interesting questions.

“Can you at least give me twenty-four hours before you tell Matt?”

He suppressed a curse at that look, part plea, part demand. Jesus, what the hell was the matter with Ben? He was half tempted to go kick his ass himself. Except Max knew Ben. When she’d landed that punch, something had welled up in the guy, something Max had sensed before from him, but had never seen unleashed like that. He had comrades with PTSD, when the dark shit came up and took over, spilled out like pus running from an old wound. What he’d just seen had felt a lot like that.

Unless he was gravely mistaken about Ben’s character, Max had a feeling that when the man’s head got back on straight and he thought about what he’d just done to her… Hell, he was probably going to figure out a way to kick his own ass, even before Matt Kensington could do it. Which was coming, Max was pretty sure of that. Unfortunately, Ben had probably intended that with this stunt tonight. It was as if he was burning his bridges deliberately. Fucking bastard was all over the map. This wasn’t good.

“I’ll think about it. No promises. Let me get you home.”

“Okay.” She seemed to accept that was the best she was going to get. “Let me go in and clean up my face first. I’m not going back to my sister’s looking like this.” She unlaced the mask, scratching her snarled hair. “Damn, I’m a mess.”

“Fucking hell. Did he do that?” When she raised a surprised face to him, showing the black eye even more clearly, Max was ready to discard any sympathy for Ben and lead the lynch mob himself.

Her brow furrowed, then cleared. “Oh no. That was work. An investigative case I was doing for Pickard. Security guy got the jump on me in an alley over at Pfeiffer. I was going through their Dumpster.”

“Of course. Jesus, girl. You’re a magnet for trouble.”

“Magnet for everything but Ben, apparently.” She stared off into the night again, and Max touched her arm.

“Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s get you home.”

“Max, I have to go back in. Ben didn’t let me get my clothes and purse out of the locker room. Asshole.”

Max pressed his lips hard against a smile, though it was balanced with something far more grim, looking at her strained face. No way she was going back into Surreal. Not in this kind of mood. “I’ll go get them. Tell me the number and the code you used.”

When she gave him an obstinate look, he chose a different tack. “Do you really want to go back in there?” he asked quietly.

“No.”

“Then let me go get your stuff. You can clean up in the limo. You’ll find mirror, wet towels, all that girl stuff in the storage compartments.”

“They’re always prepared, aren’t they?” She gave a bitter chuckle.

Not always
, Max thought. When she slid into the limo, she gracefully accepted his steadying touch so she managed it without her knees buckling, but then she leveled a glare on him.

“If you engage the child locks while you’re gone, I’ll hotwire the limo and leave you here.”

His lips pursed. “Deal. Just promise me you’ll lock the doors until I get back.”

“Yeah, because stealing a stretch limo is so inconspicuous.”

It wasn’t the limo that concerned him. The passenger was the real treasure. Shutting the door, he pointedly waited until she used the sharp painted nail of one forefinger and jabbed the door locks, engaging them. The exaggerated gesture, the fact she crossed her eyes at him, almost made him smile. The same way the streaked tracks of her tears squeezed his heart in a vise. She was a piece of work.

He was pretty sure Ben was out there watching, probably within hearing distance. He’d wait until he was sure Max was taking her safely home, Max knew it. None of this made sense. He didn’t want to make Marcie unhappier, but he knew his responsibility. To her, to Matt Kensington…and to Ben.

* * * * *

Marcie held it together. She could deal with this. She’d get a good bath, a good night’s sleep, then figure out what to do next. But when Max turned into the driveway, a variety of emotions rose up, nearly choking her. She’d forgotten what night it was. While Cass and the other K&A women had that monthly afternoon tea, they also had the occasional girls’ night as well, which involved cocktails and lots of laughter. Unlike the tea parties, Marcie had never been home for one of those, because Cass made sure all the kids were at sleepovers or other activities on the night in question, probably so discussions could be far more adult.

There was another limo in the drive, and she saw Wade give Max a companionable wave. He was Savannah’s regular driver, and Dana had probably carpooled with her, freeing Max up for the evening to chauffeur Ben.

She felt that surge of resentment again, pushed it away. Marcie had called her car service on the way back, letting them know she’d found another ride. It would save her some money, the only consolation so far for this terrible night.

“You going to be all right?”

She looked at Max, who’d come around to open the door for her. She’d washed her face, combed her hair, dabbed some makeup on the black eye, though Cass already knew about that. She was fine. As fine as porcelain. Giving him a nod, she took his hand to get out. “I’m sorry I changed your schedule this evening.”

“Not by much. All I was doing was waiting on Ben, picking up some extra cash with the overtime. He was planning on watching tonight, not playing. He’d only been inside an hour when he came out with you, so I assume he never got past his first drink.”

“Oh.” Of course. She should have figured that one out herself. You couldn’t actively play
and
drink at Surreal. It was a club rule and why she’d had the tequila before she came. It didn’t matter. Ben could have taken the blonde outside the club to fuck her in the limo. Probably would have.

Max was a family friend, and normally she’d give him a hug, but at the moment he was too male, too virile, and her clothes were too scanty, even though she’d donned the thin tunic top. Before then, he’d made a superhuman effort not to be caught staring at her overflowing breasts. She didn’t really mind that, but if those strong male arms surrounded her in a hug, she was either going to cry all over his shirt or take a swing at him.

She opted for a cordial nod. She was going to make it all the way to her bedroom with quiet dignity.

When she slipped in the door, she stood in the darkened foyer, staring down the hallway toward the light of the kitchen and sitting room areas. She listened to the women’s laughter, women who were submissives of varying degrees to strong Masters. Masters who were bonded to Ben in an exceptional pack relationship that included these women. But not her.

She needed to go upstairs, go to her room, take a hot shower. At least get out of these clothes, which now felt cheap, tawdry, ridiculous. No, they weren’t. She wouldn’t let him make her feel like that. The outfit was damn sexy, intended to get the big-ass cock of one stubborn, asshole lawyer rock-hard. It had done that, or her behavior had done that, because what he’d pressed against her had definitely qualified as a raging hard-on.

She leaned against the wall, taking a breath.
Go upstairs. Go upstairs.

Instead, she found herself moving past the staircase. They were in the sunroom, and she could hear their warm voices, drawing her to them.

It had been surprising to see Savannah here, but her bed rest was taking it easy around the house, not actual confinement to a mattress. She’d probably wanted to get out for a little while and insisted on the event not being relocated to her home.

All of the women were with strong Doms, but part of that was because they were such strong personalities themselves. She could just imagine the sparks flying between the two CEOs, but Savannah was here. With a limo driver to ensure her safety. Matt had likely already called him three times. Rachel having a medical background probably helped ease his mind some, and no doubt Savannah had used that fact for leverage.

“Look at this catalog. A twenty-four-carat diamond bracelet for a baby? Are they out of their minds?” Savannah’s voice.

“The scary thing is I’m sure some idiot buys them,” Dana responded.

“Yes, so your baby can be mugged in her stroller. For the love of God, let’s stop looking at catalogs. I’m already addicted to the shopping networks.”

“You sound cranky. I think you need to play a relaxing game of Twister. Rachel can post the video feed on Facebook.”

“Give me her cane so I can beat her with it.”

Cass’ chuckle was dry. “You know that’s just foreplay to Dana.”

“Not if I beat her to death.”

How many years had she dreamed of being part of that inner circle? Laughing, listening, knowing she was part of something incredibly special. Knowing she was
meant
to be part of it.

Maybe in the end, she was just a dumb fucking kid who had no clue. Maybe Ben O’Callahan didn’t want her, and she’d made it all up in her head. The crush of a lonely teenager abandoned by her parents had evolved into the dysfunctional cliché of a delusional grown woman. That burning drive, the absolute certainty that she was meant to be with him, it had all been a dream.
A little girl’s bullshit fantasy
. The reason she refused to face the truth was it knocked the bottom out of her world, destroyed everything she thought she was, because so much of it had to do with her feelings for him.

The seeds of doubt she refused to let grow, but which had lurked in her subconscious from the first moment she’d believed she was meant to belong to Ben, now grew into a monster beanstalk that covered everything else. If it was truth, if she had to face it once and for all, she needed her big sister, the only real mother she’d ever known.

She paused in the doorway. She needed to turn around, retreat, because there was no way she could do this and not completely embarrass herself. The women were curled up in a variety of positions on the wicker furniture. Dana had her head on Rachel’s shoulder, grinning at something Cass was saying with expressive hands and a half-full glass of red wine. Savannah was on her side on the lounger, a pillow propped between her knees to support her belly as she listened. She was always the perfect ice princess, even in that position, her blonde hair in a smooth tail over her silk-clad shoulder, but her expression was relaxed in a way usually only seen in this company.

Early on, Marcie had figured out what piece of jewelry served as a “collar” to each woman, primarily because they always wore it to the tea parties, and each woman wore it for any gathering where work demands or other fashion etiquette didn’t make it inappropriate.

Savannah wore the delicate silver choker with rose quartz Matt had given her on their first anniversary. Cass had a pair of beaten silver cuff bracelets, etched with Japanese characters. She’d worn them at her marriage ceremony. Dana and Rachel’s collars could be mistaken for nothing else. Dana’s was a wide strap with a waterfall of decorative chains to soften it. The St. Christopher’s medallion that belonged to Peter was on the D-ring. Though it was her main collar, she sometimes alternated it with the more subtle jasper necklace with Peter’s dog tags that served the same purpose. Rachel’s reflected Jon’s exceptional design skills, made of sterling silver wire, bound at intervals by vertical supports made of gold, and embellished with a wire-wrapped sapphire pendant.

That, as well as the whole scenario, told Marcie the harsh truth. She didn’t belong here. Marcie took a step backward, but Rachel was the one facing the doorway. Her gaze lifted at the movement, and apparently she got a good look at her face.