Marco's Redemption (16 page)

A week later, Natalie sat across from Marco in an upscale, though subdued, restaurant in an old brownstone building on the west end of town. Her finger made a circular motion over the rim of her wineglass as she looked around the room and tried to take her mind off the heat radiating directly at her from across the table. "It's beautiful in here." She cleared her throat softly and bit her bottom lip, turning back to face him. "Really beautiful."

He watched her from across the table as if they were the only two people in the world. She had his sole attention and it was unnerving. "What do you like so much about it?" he questioned as he glanced around the room and then back to her.

"Oh--everything. I love the aged wood--the stone hearth," her eyes slid around the room and she continued, "the textures--the brocade of these chairs, the bronze fixtures--just the whole warmth of the room. It's so--so peaceful." Her eyes landed back on him and her lips curved into a tiny smile. "Yes. Peaceful."

Marco watched Natalie from across the table and the thought that
she
was peaceful came to his mind. He'd never really thought of her as such--other descriptive words came to mind when he was with her--and when he was not. Sexy, beautiful--totally fuckable. But peaceful? But that's what she was. When he was with her, or when he thought about her waiting for him in his penthouse, he admitted to himself that he usually felt only a few things. Extreme horniness, extreme satisfaction, or extreme peace.

He lifted her fingers from her wineglass before her fidgeting caused a mess. He entwined them with his and looked around the room again before coming back to study her as realization hit him. "You don't like the penthouse." It was a statement--not a question.

A blush stole over cheeks and she averted her eyes from his. "It's fine," she said softly.

"Holy shit. You actually hate it. Why didn't you say anything?"

"It's your home, Marco, not mine. And I don't like to be rude--or hurt your feelings."

His mouth flattened. "It's
your
home, Natalie. And why would it hurt my feelings? I didn't have anything to do with the--" He paused as if searching for an unknown term and she broke in.

"Decor?"

"Right. Decor. All I did was ask Joy to call a company. The penthouse is just some place I sleep--" He frowned and then continued, "or it used to be."

"It's fine, Marco," she soothed.

His teeth gritted and he was about to begin arguing when he looked over her head and saw Mathew Kennedy approaching the table. Mathew
fucking
Kennedy. The only place where his business world crossed his debauched past, goddamn Mathew Kennedy and his slut of a wife. His evening was about to go to shit.

Natalie saw the expression that came across Marco's face and almost felt sorry for whoever or whatever had put that look in his eyes. She watched as his gaze became pointed, his jaw clenched, and ropes of tension bracketed his mouth.

His reaction fled her mind when she felt a firm hand on her shoulder and a large body loomed up next to hers. She jerked her head around to face the newcomer just as she saw Marco rise from his seat and throw his napkin on the table.

Mathew Kennedy stood beside her, squeezing her shoulder. Panic assailed her--not from the hand on her shoulder, but from Marco--standing to his feet and looking as if he was preparing to go in for the kill.

Whatever Marco was about to do or say was abbreviated when a middle-aged woman, dressed to kill, strolled past Mathew Kennedy and rested her hand on Marco's lapel.

"Marco, sweetie--why the glum look? Aren't you glad to see us?"

Natalie felt bile rise up in her throat, both from the sickening caressing touch still on her shoulder and from the familiarity of the woman's hand on Marco. Confusion and nausea filled her senses and she sat in her chair, unable to move as paralysis seemed to take over her body.

"Nora." Marco's tone was short--totally pissed as he reached down and took the woman's hand from his person and let it drop. "Since you're here with your husband and because I like to think I'm a reasonable man, I'm going to give you the opportunity for this encounter to end--verbally, if you will. You've got three seconds to convince him to release her or you'll be taking him out of here in an ambulance--or a hearse."

Natalie sucked in a breath and stiffened even more when a waiter appeared at their side just as the woman, who she now knew to be Nora Kennedy, put a restraining arm on her husband. "Mathew, darling, let go, sweetheart, we won't be playing tonight."

"Is there a problem?" The waiter, approximately six feet tall and athletically built, interjected.

Natalie held herself completely still and waited to see how this would play out. She was feeling physically sick. And about to faint, when finally, the hand was lifted from her shoulder.

Mathew Kennedy's voice boomed out. "No problem, no problem. We were just about to get a table, weren't we, hon? Good to see you, Marco." Natalie felt his chilling eyes turn to her. "Natalie."

They both turned to go, Marco pulled a bill off a wad of cash and handed it the waiter. "That should cover it. Not your fault."

With that, he turned and pulled her from her seat, locked his arm around her waist and led her from the restaurant.

He pulled her into the dark of the night, opened the passenger door of his car, and pushed her down into the seat. She swung her legs in, as if her body were on automatic, and lifted her eyes to his.

Marco looked down into Natalie's wounded blue eyes and a river of guilt and shame hit him in the guts so hard he bit down on his lip until he tasted blood. She was beautiful, sweet, and as near to innocent as anything or anyone he'd ever met. And he was tainting her. Exposing her to deviant people and fucked-up, sick things that she should never even know about, let alone get close to. He hated himself in that moment. She was beyond good and kind--and he was fucked-up--totally beyond redemption--totally unfit for someone like her.

He thought about the day the doorman and the concierge had thanked him for the cookies his housekeeper had baked for them. His mind supplied him with the accolades that Joy had reaped over Natalie. Was that only because his assistant had hated having to deal with Tanya and her pure bitchiness? He didn't think so. At the time it had seemed more of a warning to him; she had told him how nice and innocent Natalie seemed. She didn't dare try to warn him off her; she had only casually praised the girl while giving him a pointed look.

And Joy was right. Natalie was nice and innocent.

He should let her go.

There was no fucking way. He wouldn't let her go. He would try his damndest to keep her away from the people who colored his past--but he couldn't let her go.

She was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

He clicked her door closed, his mind on getting her back to his penthouse and locking her inside the bedroom with him as he walked around and sat down behind the wheel of the car.

Her cell phone was ringing and she answered it as he started the car and pulled away from the curb.

He unabashedly listened in on her side of the conversation.

"Hey." Her voice was shaky but became steadier as she went on. "Really? That's great, Justin!"--"Yes, I'll tell him."--"I'm fine. When do you think you'll be home?" Marco glanced over at her and saw that her face had fallen. "Oh. Okay. Be safe."--"Yeah, I've talked to her. She's fine but she's still got him freeloading off her." Another pause. "No, trust me, I won't go back as long as he's still living there."--Yes, I promise."--"I love you, too. Bye."

She ended the call and slipped the phone back in her purse just as they were coming to a red light. Marco turned and looked over at her. "The cousin?"

"Yes. He said to tell you he's putting in an extra rotation and is getting a huge bonus for it. He'll have the money to pay you back soon."

"It's not his debt, Natalie. I don't want his money. I won't take it."

"If it's not his debt--then you mean it's my debt."

"Yes."

"But you said the debt was cleared--I knew you didn't mean it."

"It is cleared--" he gritted his teeth. "It's never been about the goddamn money anyway. You know that."

Her face lost color and the light changed.

They drove in silence the rest of the way home.

****

When they arrived at the penthouse, Marco tossed his keys on the coffee table and grabbed her hand and pulled her down on the sofa with him. "Tell me the rest of it."

"Rest of what?" She shifted to face him.

"You told your cousin you've been talking to someone. Who've you been talking to?"

She studied him, feeling the need for some small measure of preservation. "I have friends, Marco."

"I know that." He put his hand to his mouth and stared her down. "Who?"

She rolled her eyes at him and said simply, "My mother."

"Your mother?" he asked sharply, surprise coloring his tone. "Your mother has a freeloader living with her who makes you so uneasy you won't go see her?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Wow. You really listened in on that conversation, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I sure the fuck did, Natalie," he stated firmly.

She drummed her fingers against her biceps and remained silent.

"Answer me," he demanded.

"No."

He growled low in his throat and began to reach for her. "Natalie--"

She jerked away from him and interrupted, purposely trying to throw him for a loop, "What kind of game were the Kennedys disappointed they wouldn't be playing tonight?"

He ignored the change of subject without a flinch and continued with his interrogation. "It doesn't take a goddamn rocket scientist to know what the fuck's going on. Your mother has a low-life son-of-a-bitch living with her who wants you. Does she know?"

"Are you clean? Have you been tested?" She said that to piss him off as well, but she also really needed to know.

"Yes to both."

"Promise, Marco."

"Swear to God, Natalie." He continued to look at her. "Does your mother know?" he asked again.

Natalie eyed him thoughtfully and refused to answer with a challenge of her own, "So--have you slept with Nora Kennedy?"

He drew in a deep breath and released it. "No--I haven't slept with her. Not from a lack of her trying."

Natalie studied him, inordinately relieved to hear his denial. She didn't think to doubt him. "I'm impressed. An actual answer. I didn't really expect one," she said only half sarcastically.

"Because you won't answer my questions? You deserved that one, baby." He reached out to touch her again, more gently than before, and this time she let him. His hand took hers and entwined it with his, his thumb rubbing over the backs of her fingers.

She watched his thumb making circles over her flesh and felt it all the way down to her toes. "I don't deserve all of them?"

"Probably. But then there would be more questions--and more--and you'd find out what a depraved mother-fucker I am and you'd try to leave me."

"
Try
, Marco? If I wanted to leave you--I'd pick up and leave you."

"It wouldn't be that easy."

"No?" she questioned softly.

"No."