Hostile Takeover (41 page)

“Yes, topping from the bottom can be dangerous, because it mixes up who is holding the physical and emotional control, and it’s important that the Dom keep a calm hand on those reins at all times, because of how intense a session can become. However, what I just said about our code…for Peter, Jon, Lucas and myself, it is an ideal, however vital we consider it. For Ben, it’s an imperative. If you love him, you hold him to it, always. With the exception of Peter, within the confines of military action, none of us have lived lives governed completely by violence. Ben has.”

She swallowed. He was waiting on her answer, and while he wasn’t her Master, she knew exactly how to respond. “Yes sir.”

Matt nodded. “Ben has another side of that same coin, which is why he will be harder on himself about what happened tonight than anyone. He has no tolerance for an attack on an innocent. If he had been part of your life the night Jeremy’s friend attacked you, that friend would be dead. His body would be lost in the bayou, never to be found, and Ben wouldn’t lose a night of sleep over cutting his throat.”

Marcie blinked. “Are you trying to scare me away from him?”

“No. You asked me a question, and I’m giving you an answer. You’re very young.”

She scowled, automatic resentment rising in her breast. Here it went. The “you’re so young” speech.

“Marcie.” He had that authoritative gaze fixed on her again. “Drop the attitude. It’s a simple fact. You don’t have a lot of life experience to bring to a situation like this, the things I’ve described. Correct?”

She gave a grudging nod.

“Right. So you need to consider it carefully. Are you ready to handle that type of man, something entirely separate from your feelings for him? You may want to negotiate a million-dollar contract, but do you step into the room before you have the resources to handle it?”

She watched him pour more hot water, then patiently take up a spoon and stir a mug of chocolate for his wife. He had large hands, but they moved capably over the task. Savannah might be impatient with Matt’s coddling, but the Tennyson CEO understood it. They all did. Savannah’s mother had died as a result of her pregnancy. Though it was because of a virulent cancer that she’d refused to have treated to protect her unborn child, there was a lingering legacy there. Under Matt’s collar, Savannah often wore the locket left to her by her mother. The past was important.

But it didn’t dictate choices. Cass had taught her that.

“I don’t know if I can handle him, but it’s not that kind of decision.” There was no going back now. Not for her. “From the moment we met, I knew I was his. That’s who I want to be. So I have to figure it out, you know? Jon said it could only happen if I was myself, so that’s got to be enough.” She drew herself up. “I think it is.”

Matt pursed his lips, nodded. “Considering how long you have pursued him, I think your argument is credible. It’s also fueled by the passion of youth which, in this case, is not a bad thing.”

When he pushed her mug closer to her, reminding her the chocolate was starting to cool, she saw the ceramic had a picture of a cat on it, one with a comically disagreeable face, a fly sitting on its whisker. It made her lips twitch.

She looked up at him then. He was still stirring, so she had the pleasure of studying the aristocratic bone structure of his face, the set of his mouth. Though none of the Knights shared their women outside their own circle, Savannah stayed pretty exclusive to Matt and him to her, except for indulging some soft pleasures within the group—like the women had done tonight. She wanted to ask about that, and about a million other questions, but she figured she’d wait until another time. Or seek other sources for the information. Best not to poke the lead wolf with a stick.

“I used to go crazy, reading the society pages,” she admitted. “Whenever they hooked him up with someone for a charity event, or reported seeing him ‘with’ Miss So-n-So, I’d think—what will I do if someone gets him first? If one day I open up the paper and see his engagement notice?”

Matt arched a brow. “Did you have a plan to handle that eventuality?”

“Yes. It involved a shovel and a remote location.”

Matt chuckled, heaping marshmallows in the top of Savannah’s mug. “You and Ben may be a useful combination, if I ever need to be permanently rid of a competitor.”

It made her grin at him. Lifting the hot chocolate, he gave her a wink, moved into the other room. When she followed him, she saw his timing was as uncanny as usual. Savannah was sitting up, restless from the discomfort of being on one side too long. She gave him a cranky look.

“I am exactly where I was when you checked on me thirty minutes ago. Oh except I had the baby. She slid right out, and now she’s off somewhere playing with electrical sockets and curtain cords.”

“That’s a shame. I’ll lose my deposit on that birthing suite at the hospital. Maybe we can just go there for a vacation stay and cancel that private island resort we’ve reserved for the fall.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t reserved the entire wing so I’ll have the undivided attention of every obstetrician in New Orleans.”

“Who said I didn’t?” He gave her a lingering look, so full of warmth and gentle devotion that Savannah shook her head, a soft smile crossing her face. She glanced at Marcie.

“He’s hopeless.”

Hopelessly in love with his wife. It made Marcie ache and yearn…and hope.

* * * * *

Ben made sure he came into the office a bare few minutes before the nine o’clock staff meeting. He didn’t want to chat over coffee or any other bullshit. He’d given Peter the slip about thirty minutes after their heart-to-heart in the alley. Yeah, it had been a crappy thing to do, but Peter needed to get home to Dana, and Ben didn’t need a nursemaid. While the mushy moment hadn’t been faked, it had made it easier to fool Peter into thinking Ben accepted being followed. One of the few times he’d been able to outwit the shrewd former captain.

His head was pounding from whatever toxic brew he’d poured down his throat in some of New Orleans’ seedier dives throughout the weekend. He vaguely remembered getting into it in a pool hall with a trio of guys wearing a lot of biker leather. His ribs still hurt from being knocked down and kicked, but he didn’t really remember much other than that. Except the guys being pretty affable about it, propping him up in the alley and watching over him until he regained consciousness. The biggest guy had even spotted him another beer, making the laconic comment, “She fucked you up, pal. Women’ll do that. Go on home before you get yourself killed.”

Since he didn’t remember talking to anyone about Marcie, he supposed it was just an educated guess. Bikers could be pretty astute that way.

He barely nodded to Janet, went to his office, found the file he needed on his desk. Which either meant Janet had taken over Marcie’s duties, or Marcie herself had come in and set it out. He’d had her reassigned, but she could be in the building. The very thought of it made his head hurt worse.

When he was sitting in the alley with the biker, deciding whether he’d sleep there and let someone steal his wallet, or struggle to his feet and find his way to the nearest hotel to hide out for the weekend, his thoughts had gone back to earlier in the night. Before the limo. She’d embraced the CNC treatment, but ultimately what she’d been seeking was that intense connection, the emotional input that promised a soul had a match in this world. It was the way she’d been from the very beginning, the first time he’d met her, when she was sixteen and not even on his sphere as a lover.

Friday night he’d felt that desire from her, overriding everything else, even the physical. The problem was, he’d felt it right back, and the more he’d felt it, the more he’d felt like a tiger trapped in a cage he didn’t want opened. She just kept pushing and pushing. If he’d seen it through the way he should have, he would have sent her spinning through subspace, fucked her brains out.

He wouldn’t have left her aftercare to the staff though. He’d have wrapped a blanket around her, held her as her teeth chattered and she shook, the effect of getting so deep in that zone, a place he could have gone with her, totally into topspace. Instead he’d been unable to leave his own fucking headspace, his anger, his frustration, his lack of balance. He’d had no business even touching her that night.

He wasn’t a chickenshit, though. He’d do his penance today, get past it. Get back to what he knew how to be. Marcie would finish her internship and head to Milan, because that’s where she belonged. It should be clear to her after last night. Everything fucking the way it fucking should be.

As he came into the conference room ten minutes later, he bit back an oath. He was hoping Janet would be set up to transcribe, a buffer to anything too personal, but it was just Peter all by his lonesome. He was in his usual relaxed sprawl, but with an expression that said he was going to give him shit about ditching his tail. Hell, Ben needed coffee before he did this.

He dropped the folder on the table, gave Peter an even, don’t-fuck-with-me look, and turned right into Lucas’ fist.

For all that he razzed Lucas about being a pussy-cyclist, the guy had a hammer of a right punch. It practically lifted him off his feet, knocked him back onto the conference table. He deserved it, but he wasn’t going down defenseless. As he rolled and came back to his feet, ready to counter, Peter was already there, dragging him back while Jon and Matt did the honors with Lucas.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Lucas snarled. “I swear to God, I’m going to put my foot so far up your ass you choke on it.”

“She wasn’t supposed to come to the club. She was supposed to be bluffing.” Where the hell had that knee-jerk, dumbass response come from? Damn, he needed coffee.

When Lucas’ blue eyes turned into ice frost from the Antarctic, Matt and Jon let him go. “For that, you get a free one,” Matt decided.

Peter had let him go as well, but Ben was still seeing stars. Lucas got in another face punch and a gut shot before Matt and Jon pulled him back again. Ben was fervently glad he’d already puked up most of last night’s intake in the hotel room. If he threw up on the boardroom carpet, Janet would make him clean every fiber with a toothbrush.

“You’re pinning the blame on her for what you dished out? A twenty-three-year-old inexperienced sub who showed up where you didn’t expect her to be? Let me go,” Lucas told Matt and Jon. “I’m going to fucking rip his head off.”

“He’s our lawyer,” Jon reminded him. “He can’t get you off a murder rap if he’s the victim.”

“She may be inexperienced, but she’s a sub, deep as they come,” Ben said, surging against Peter’s iron grip. “Friday, it was going to be me, or whoever she grabbed at the club. They were ten deep for that feeding trough. No one outside this fucking room is going to touch her, goddamn it. Not while I’m breathing.”

He came to a full stop with that shouted declaration, feeling the shock of it reverberate off the walls and through his bones, settling into his gut. All heads turned toward him, four sets of eyes assessing, measuring. No. He wasn’t that kind of Master. He wasn’t possessive. He fucked women, let them go. Until last night. When he couldn’t bear to see another Master’s hands on what every blood cell in his body roared was his. Noah had been different, a sub under his command, a different tool, like the cane or rawhide.

He’d told Peter he needed to work it out, but he hadn’t. He’d chosen alcohol and fists instead. Now he’d just blurted it out, bald as a naked newborn.

He struggled to be reasonable, calm. Sort of. “I told her I was mentoring her,” he said. “Just her mentor.”

The words sounded hollow, absurd. Weak. With a sudden weary sigh, he folded into a chair, nursing his aching temples and now his busted jaw. Lucas might have broken it. That’d be great, a lawyer with his mouth wired shut. The world would celebrate.

“What the hell is this?” Lucas demanded. “Spill it, Ben. Give me a reason to hit you again.”

“Lucas.” Matt put a quelling hand on the man’s shoulder. “Ben. Tell us what’s going on.”

“I want her,” Ben mumbled, so quietly that he didn’t think they’d heard. Until he raised his gaze to Lucas’ frozen features. “I want her,” he repeated more strongly. “I didn’t want to, but she wouldn’t give up, and she got to me. It’s all fucked up.”

“Don’t put this on her.”

“I’m not.” Ben leaped back to his feet, but Peter was there, steadying him. “Damn it, she’s been nothing but what she should be. Beautiful, generous, full of life. It crept up on me. I thought if I scared her off…she’d be okay. I…It went too far. I just wanted her to find someone better for her.”

“The problem is, she wants you just as much, Ben,” Jon observed. “It was a damn fool thing to do.”

“She woke up screaming Friday night,” Lucas said. He was quieter now, but the harshness was still around his mouth, anger in his eyes. “A nightmare about when Jeremy’s friend attacked her. She hasn’t had one of those in years. Cass slept in her room.”

Goddamn it.
Yeah, they should let Lucas go. In fact, they should all beat him to a bloody pulp and then toss him out the window to hit the asphalt below. A hundred broken bones wouldn’t hit him as hard as those few words.

“Fuck.” Ben sat back down in the chair, wouldn’t let himself look down, no matter how hard it was to meet Lucas’ eyes. “I’m sorry, Lucas. You’re right. It was unforgivable.”