The Vampyre Legal Chronicles - Marcus (10 page)

Now she frowned
as a soft voice, a woman's voice, laughed deep in her mind and
whispered,
'A closet romantic, who knew?'

Still trapped
in that lovely moment between deep sleep and awake Anais
murmured,

"So sue me,
bitch."

The soft voice
just laughed.

Then her eyes
popped wide open as the memory of what happened between her and
Marcus, before the earthquake struck, flew into her brain. She'd
been emotionally wrecked after The Kiss and not herself. Perhaps
that was why she'd over-reacted to the strange woman in the rest
rooms? Perhaps the woman had been in fancy dress at a party? Maybe
she'd worn strange contact lenses, dentures over her teeth? The
woman had been an awesome actress because she'd scared the hell out
of her.

It was the only
explanation.

Wasn't it?

But then the
soft voice inside her mind, sly and filled with cunning, whispered
the word,

'Vampyre.'

Anais frowned
as she thought about the single word in the statement.

Rubbish,
vampyres do not exist.

In the cold
light of day, Anais had her lawyer head firmly screwed on and
refused to consider the ridiculous possibility that otherworldly
creatures existed outside of the realms of an over-active
imagination, which was more than likely the result of adrenaline
overload caused by too much stress.

She'd been
working too hard for too long, she admitted now. Add in her
attraction to her boss, correction her ex-boss, and The Kiss, and
no wonder she'd been imagining things.

And hot on the
heels of that thought came the emotions that had overpowered her
during The Kiss and her whole system went on a heightened state of
alert as her breasts went too tight. The ache of liquid need
burning deep in her belly was a terrible thing.

What on earth
was the matter with her?

All he'd done
was kiss her.

She'd been
kissed plenty of times before.

But never like
this, she admitted now. Marcus had kissed her as if he craved her,
couldn't get enough of her, as if she was his life, his heart and
his soul. The vivid memory of his taste, how he'd held her close,
made her squeeze her eyes shut.

Then he'd
stepped back and rejected her, in public.

She took a
shaky breath.

Just as
well.

Remembering her
wanton response to the way he'd touched her, kissed her, Anais
groaned, cheeks burning as she rolled on her tummy to bury her face
in the pillow as her system took her on another roller-coaster
ride.

Then she
flipped to lie on her back.

Mind spinning,
she stared hard at the ceiling as logic at last rode to the rescue
and overwhelmed too many stupid emotions.

Maybe she
had
been working too hard?

Well, going
forward that wouldn't be an issue since she'd lost her career.

Rolling to sit
on the edge of the bed, she realised she was wearing a huge pale
grey T-shirt. It was freshly laundered but still held the scent of
him. Marcus. So he'd dressed her in one of his T-shirts?

Oh God, he'd
seen her naked?

She wore tiny
panties, but still, Anais let the heat of utter humiliation roll
through her.

Then she felt
the heavy weight of the necklace around her neck.

Lifting arms
that felt like leaden, she tried to find the clasp to unlock the
chain, but her hand throbbed. The effort was too much, so she gave
up.

On the bedside
table her cell vibrated and her alarm sounded.

Her head
throbbed so bad she couldn't think.

Her throat felt
scratchy.

Her muscles
sang.

Maybe she'd
picked up a virus?

Flu?

As she stripped
in the luxurious bathroom and turned on the shower, Anais let the
powerful jets of hot water batter a body that felt weary right down
to the bone. And told herself losing her job wasn't the end of the
world. There were other law firms out there. She was sought-after
and head-hunted on a daily basis. So what if she had to start from
the bottom again?

She could do
it.

She was a
fighter.

She was a
strong woman.

But the strong
woman couldn't stop the hot tears that mingled with the water on
her face.

Hot water
powered over her head and she winced as it stung the cuts on her
hand.

Through bleary
eyes she stared at the weeping sore, the swollen, hot inflammation
that had spread up her wrist. For the first time alarm bells rung
loud in her mind.

Had she dreamed
the words of the terrifying woman who'd dug her nails into her
hand?

"Not yet bound
to him. Fascinating."

What on earth
did that mean?

Maybe the crazy
woman had been on drugs?

Then Anais
shivered, remembering the way Marcus had licked her wound.

Had she dreamed
that, too?

But why on
earth would he have done such a thing?

Her fingertips
pressed into her aching skull.

It appeared her
brain wasn't firing on all cylinders this morning.

She couldn't
string two cohesive thoughts together to make a whole.

All she knew
was that she needed to go home.

Get away from
Shanghai.

Get away from
Marcus Gillespie.

Anais knew she
was being a coward, but she didn't want to face him.

Not today.

She needed to
pack and book the first flight back to the United States.

He wouldn't
want an ex-employee hanging around.

Marcus didn't
work like that.

Knowing him,
even now, he'd be doing everything possible to rescue the contract
with the Chinese.

After packing her
suitcases, Anais dressed with care.

She may have
lost her dream job but that didn't mean leaving Shanghai, and
Marcus, without looking one hundred per cent professional. The
white silk shirt was collarless sleeveless and buttoned up to the
neck. Her skirt suit was a wool/silk mix and beautifully cut. The
color suited her mood, black. Sliding her stockinged feet into
black leather pumps, the jumpy nerves in her belly tightened. And
all the while a sickly perspiration beaded on her top lip, slid
down her spine.

Before she left
her room she checked the smooth chignon of her hair in the mirror
and refused to look into her eyes in case she read vulnerability
and dismay. She was a grown-up and it was about time she started
acting like one.

With a tilt of
her chin and what felt like a dagger in her heart, Anais opened the
door.

The scent of fresh
coffee and a hot breakfast made her stomach churn but she kept her
eyes on the buffet set out on a black lacquer side-table and poured
herself a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

Their suite of
rooms were stunningly beautiful and decorated with a cream wool
carpet. Carpet so deep your feet sank into them. Since she'd been
working her butt off Anais hadn't had a lot of time to appreciate
the heavy silk drapes in a rich burgundy edged with gold and held
back from the windows by huge brass globes the size of a football.
Three huge couches, each one could comfortably sit six, were
covered in crushed velvet the color of a bleeding sunset. They
groaned under the weight of velvet cushions in the same fabric as
the curtains. And, unusually for a hotel room, there was a
spectacular fireplace at least six foot high and built of black
marble. The gas fired logs flickering lazily. And above it hung a
huge mirror, which reflected the rest of the room. Two over-stuffed
chairs covered in burgundy and gold stripe with a footstool sat
either side of the fireplace. It was all quite lovely, and Anais
realised she was going to miss living like this. She turned to the
dining table, set for two with solid silver cutlery and stiff
napkins of pristine cotton carefully folded in place. An enormous
shallow bowl of clear glass filled with green moss held a dazzling
display of creamy orchids.

Marcus strolled
into the room.

Anais struggled
to hide her surprise to see him wearing jeans.

Jeans?

Marcus
Gillespie was wearing black jeans that fitted him like a glove with
a soft white cotton button downed shirt opened at the neck. He was
rolling up his sleeves and Anais couldn't take her eyes from the
muscles of his strong arms covered in fine black hair. Her eyes
scanned his lean, taut body and she blinked when she realised his
feet were bare. Heat flooded her cheeks as she wondered what the
hell was wrong with her that she found his strong narrow feet...
sexy.

Looking
terribly relaxed and chilled he leaned his hip on the edge of a
couch and folded his arms.

Blue eyes
narrowed now as he studied her from head to toe.

A muscle worked
in his strong jaw.

She recognised
the signs of stress.

Maybe he wasn't
so chilled after all.

"Anais," he
said, in a deep drawl of the wicked. A slight curve of his lips.
"How are you feeling this morning?"

Headache from
hell.

Nauseous.

Upset.

Hurt.

She cleared her
throat.

"Fine." The art
of casual conversation had apparently deserted her in her hour of
need.

"And ready for
work, I see. It appears I didn't make your position clear to you
last night." The lilt of Scotland in that dark smooth voice stirred
every single womanly part of her and she crossed her arms to nurse
aching nipples.

And what did
that mean precisely?

Of course her
position was clear.

She didn't have
a position.

Taking a
careful breath in and out, her eyes met his.

"I'm packed and
ready to leave. I want to thank you, Marcus. Working for you has
been a..."

Her eyes locked
with his as he crossed to her.

Confused, she
tipped her head to look up into his face.

The next breath
she took was lovely and long and filled with the heady scents of
citrus and a clean and spicy Marcus. His gaze took in her hair and
the line of her neck, pausing for a heart-beat on her mouth, before
lifting to collide, hard, with her eyes.

He didn't look
angry.

On the contrary
his eyes seemed to gleam with something like affection into
hers.

Maybe she had a
fever.

Maybe she was
hallucinating.

The pulse in
her throat kicked because she knew what was going to happen next.
And the world as she knew it contracted until all she heard was the
sound of her breath, her racing heart and the clutch of arousal low
in her belly.

His hand rose
to cup her chin, the pad of his thumb whispered across her naked
bottom lip and Anais held her breath.

"So beautiful,"
he said in a deep voice laced with need.

Oh God.

"Marcus, I
don't think this is a good..." she said, sounding like she'd just
run up ten flights of stairs.

Again, his
thumb slid across her bottom lip as his head lowered and all the
while those dark eyes burned into hers.

"Hush," he
breathed into her mouth. "Just let me do this."

Then his mouth
was on hers.

A hot, white
light exploded behind her eyes, lava flowed under her skin to
settle deep in her belly. Then her hands were in his hair. God,
yes, yes, yes, she wanted this. She
needed
this. Her
fingernails were digging into his skull as her body arched into the
hard length of his. She felt the shape of his smile on her mouth as
strong arms pulled her closer. It was a smile and a move of
complete domination.

So she bit his
bottom lip.

Tasted
blood.

And he went
absolutely still.

The immense
strength of him, the muscles flexing, his heart thundering against
hers as she waited for a retribution that never came, thrilled
her.

Now she had the
power and she rubbed her body against his like a kitten all soft
and slow and needy. Deliberately she pressed herself against the
hard length of his erection as her hand slipped from his hair to
his neck. Then her tongue slid across his poor lip, licking and
tasting the spot she'd seized with her teeth.

'More,'
the soft voice whispered desperately in her ear. The taste of him
went thick and spicy as it coated the taste buds of her tongue, the
back of her throat. If she was going to go down for making a tiny
mistake then she was going to go down with her wits about her and
only go down after having had the joy of sex with Marcus
Gillespie.

Who needed
promises?

Who needed a
happy ever after?

Not her.

Not now.

Marcus rumbled
low in his throat as he closed his big strong arms around her,
holding her so tight she could barely breathe. He kissed her slow
and deep, his tongue and hers tangling in a dance of lust and she
was floating in a burning river of sensation that ran hot and
liquid through her system. The taste of him, the scent of him wound
around her and she couldn't get enough.

'More,'
the voice whispered in her head again.

Then his mouth
found the vulnerable spot thundering in her throat and he sucked
her flesh right into his mouth until her mind was nothing but dazed
desire as her whole body trembled.

When he pulled
back to rest his forehead on hers, Anais moaned in utter
frustration.

His breath was
coming faster and so was hers as his gaze settled, suspended, on
her trembling mouth.

Her nipples
went even harder under her jacket.

Anais tugged
for him to release her but his grip tightened.

"You're over
dressed for what I have planned for you today."

A tiny sound of
desperation escaped from her throat.

"Plan?"