Unforgettable (7 page)

W
hile Marcel led Brandy out to the dog run, he couldn't stop the smile that stretched across his face. Damned if he understood why he found Diana's anger such a turn-on—but he did.

Sliding open the back door, he gave Brandy an affectionate scratch behind the ear before she trotted out.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?” Charlie asked, joining him in the living room.

Marcel glanced at his watch. It was nearly 1:00 a.m. “No, I'm good. You can head home.”

“Thank you, sir,” Charlie said, but didn't leave.

“Something else on your mind?”

Charlie smiled. “I was just wondering if Ms. Guy would be needing a lift or an escort home.”

Marcel's lazy smile diminished when he suddenly
remembered Charlie and Diana's curious friendship. “I believe I can see to it that she makes it home.”

Charlie raised an inquisitive brow, but he didn't question Marcel. “Yes, sir.”

Marcel's gaze narrowed in suspicion as he followed Charlie toward the front door. Surely if something was truly going on between the driver and his secretary the man would've protested more about her being left alone with him.

Charlie stopped a few feet from the front door and pivoted around to face Marcel. “If I may, sir?”

Marcel's heart sank. “What is it, Charlie?”

Charlie looked unsure of himself. “About Ms. Guy,” he began.

“What about her?” Marcel asked almost defensively.

Charlie hesitated. “She's not like the other women you tend to…date.”

Surprised, Marcel arched his brows. “Oh?”

Charlie swallowed. “Yes, she's, uh, special.”

With his good humor finally returning, Marcel laughed and crossed his arms. “I'm not sure I understand what you're getting at.”

“No disrespect, sir,” Charlie said with an awkward grin. “But I believe you do.”

Marcel's smile froze and the laugh he forced out cracked under pressure. “I guess maybe I do,” he finally said. “But, uh, there's just one problem, Charlie. I'm not dating Diana. She's my secretary. I have a rule about dating employees, remember?”

Charlie remained unmoved by his candor. “I know
you as Casanova Brown as well, sir. And for him, rules have been known to be broken.”

 

Diana settled back on the bed and picked up the bedside phone to call home. Her grandmother was undoubtedly out of her mind with worry.

After she'd dialed the number, she wasn't even sure the line rang once before Louisa's shaky voice answered.

“Hey, Nana. It's me. And yes, I'm fine.”

“Oh, thank God,” Louisa sighed, and then immediately tore a chunk out of Diana's hide. “Why didn't you call? Do you know how worried I've been?”

“I'm sorry,” Diana said and quickly informed her of what she'd been through that evening.

“Why on earth would you agree to feed the man's dog when you're—”

“I know, I know. I wasn't thinking right. And Lord knows I've learned my lesson.”

“Well, Caleb is out looking for you,” Louisa said. “I'll call him and tell him you're all right.”

“Thanks, Nana. I'll be home soon.”

“Well, you can take your time, dear. Now that I know where you are, I can get some sleep. Oh, tell Marcel I said hi.”

“You've got the wrong idea, Nana.”

“Don't take away my dreams, Diana.”

Sighing, Diana ended the call. She could already feel exhaustion seeping into her bones.

She looked around and for the first time took in the room's excessive extravagance: beautiful paintings,
expensive colored glass vases and a plasma television. “Must be nice.”

What was taking Marcel so long? she wondered. She stood up from the bed and walked over to the door. She reached for the knob, and then thought she should at least check to make sure he and Brandy weren't on the other side ready to pull some horrible joke on her.

She leaned over and pressed her ear against the door. In the next second, it flew open and smashed her back against the wall.

“Di—”

“Ooww!”

Marcel pulled the door and peeked around it. “Oh, I'm so sorry.” He closed the door and went to her. “Are you all right?”

She held up a hand to keep him back, but when her other hand touched her throbbing nose, she howled in pain.

“Di?”

“What are you trying to do, kill me?” She inched away from the wall and returned to the bed. “I don't know who's worse, you or the dog.”

Marcel followed her, trying to get a good look at what he'd done. “I'll go get you some ice.”

Before she could stop him, he rushed out. “I need to get out of here,” she said, pulling herself off the bed. “Enough is enough.”

Marching out of the room, Diana had no intention of waiting for ice.

At the stairs, she saw her purse and its contents
sprawled everywhere. “Just great.” She walked down and started picking up her things.

Marcel returned and raced up to her. “Hey, I'll get that for you.”

Diana crammed what she had into her purse and then sat on the stairs. If she wasn't so mad, she was sure she would start crying.

“Come here,” he said, sitting next to her.

She eyed him wearily.

“Trust me.”

“You're kidding, right?

Marcel exhaled. “Please.”

His soft puppy dog look was extremely effective, she realized as she inched closer.

“Thank you.” He rewarded her with a breathtaking smile. “Now tilt your head back.”

She did as he said and sighed in relief when he pressed a cool compress against the bridge of her nose.

“I take it you like that.” He chuckled.

“Ooh, that feels good.” She stretched back on the stairs. “I almost want to forgive you for nearly breaking it in the first place.”

“You're too gracious.”

She smiled and kept her eyes closed. Though she was enjoying the soothing feeling from the ice, Diana was quite aware of the heat generating from him, as well. Lying so close, she relished the way the faint scent of his cologne tickled her nose.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” he asked, his minty breath drifting across the shell of her ear.

She swallowed hard and slowly shook her head.
“Surely you don't want to lie on the stairs like this?”

“I'm fine. I'm leaving anyway.”

“I better move you back to the bed.”

“That won't be—”

His arms swooped beneath her body and lifted her.

Diana's eyes flew open as she finally removed the compress from her nose. Pretending that she didn't feel a bolt of electricity throughout her body while cradled in his arms was nearly impossible. “Mr. Taylor—”

“We're back to Mr. Taylor again?” he asked, carrying her into the spare bedroom.

Was that annoyance she heard in his tone? What the hell was he annoyed about? She was the one with the day from hell. “Marcel, if you could please put me down. I don't need to lie on the bed,” she finished just as he placed her on the cream-and-gold comforter. “Besides, I'm starting to feel much better,” she added.

Marcel's expression soured as he reached up and gently tweaked her nose.

“Ooww!”

“Yeah, much better.” He chuckled.

“Maybe it's broken,” she said with sudden concern.

“If you'd let me get a good look at it—”

“No!”

He stood up and folded his arms. “Now, Diana, I thought you were many things, but I never would've thought you were a coward.”

“Finding me at the bottom of a closet should have been your first hint.”

He stared at her. “Good point. Do you want to go to the emergency room?”

She placed the compress back against her nose and wondered if she really thought the thing was broken. “No. I guess not.” She eased back against the bed's pillows. “I'll just lie here until it stops throbbing.”

He rewarded her with another beautiful smile. “Good girl,” he said, ruffling her hair.

“Stop that. I'm not a dog, you know.”

He actually managed to look contrite. “Sorry.”

Diana smiled. “It's all right.” Then her eyes grew wide when he walked around to the other side and climbed onto the bed to lie next to her.

“Just in case I didn't say it earlier, thank you. It was very courageous of you to try to take care of Brandy with your phobia.”

She shrugged. “I wouldn't necessarily call it a phobia.”

He chuckled and caused the bed to vibrate gently beneath her. An image of him reaching over and unbuttoning her blouse flashed through her head. As a result a sweet tingle shot through her body and curled her toes.

“Diana?”

“Huh, what?”

He frowned. “I asked you what you would call your fear.”

She blinked and shook the R-rated thoughts from her head. “I don't know. Crazy, I suppose.”

Another chuckle, another jiggle of the mattress.

After a while the room grew loud with silence. Diana
kept her eyes closed and concentrated on trying not to think about just how close their bodies were at that moment.

“Mind if I ask you a personal question?” Marcel asked.

“Yes.”

“All right, I'll ask it anyway.”

“Surprise, surprise.”

“Is there anyone special in your life?”

Diana's eyes flew open as she lowered the compress. “I fail to see how that's any of your business.” She sat up.

Marcel followed suit. “I realize I'm prying.”

“But?”

“There's no but. I'm just curious. Seems to me any man would be happy to have you.”

“I'm leaving.”

Before she could pull away, Marcel's electrifying touch restrained her. “Look, I'm sorry. You're right. None of this is any of my business.”

It wasn't the words so much as the tone that kept her frozen on the bed. Frankly, she didn't think he was sorry at all, but his underlying and seductive baritone instantly caused her pulse to quicken and her head to fill with erotic images.

“It's okay,” she said in a shaky whisper. “But I really do need to get going.”

“You know you're more than welcome to stay.”

Her gaze jerked to him. “Stay?”

He shrugged. “It's late and with seventeen bedrooms, there's plenty of space.”

Again, the words were innocent, but the tone wasn't. Was this the way the infamous Casanova Brown worked his magic?

“It's a generous offer—”

“But?”

“But I think it's inappropriate.”

Marcel laughed and the bed bounced wonderfully beneath her.

“Don't tell me you're afraid to be alone with me in a twenty-five-thousand-square-foot house.”

“We're only three inches apart right now,” she said.

His gaze turned somber as it locked onto hers. “Don't you feel safe with me?”

That tone again. “With you, yes. From you is a different story.”

He blinked in surprise, turned and stood from the bed. “My reputation as Casanova Brown is more urban legend than fact,” he said defensively.

“So you haven't slept with a lot of women?”

He stalled as if he just realized he'd backed into a corner. “I've had a few relationships.”

Diana crossed her arms. “How many?”

He blinked again, and looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“Urban legend—right.”

“Okay, you're right. I've overindulged in the past. But I don't attack women in the middle of the night. I'm more than capable of being around a good-looking woman without having to jump her bones.”

Good-looking?
Diana's hand instantly flew up to her
mussed hair. She undoubtedly looked as if she'd been in a train wreck.

“And what about you?” he asked, going on the attack. “How many men have you had sex with?”

Diana jumped from the bed. “That is none of your business!”

“Ah, the good old double standard.” Marcel smirked. “Maybe I should be the one worried about being alone with you.”

“That's ridiculous,” she huffed, tossing the compress on the nightstand and then storming toward the door.

“Come on. Give me a hint. Ten, fifteen, twenty?”

“Give me a break,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Marcel blocked her exit. “Twenty-two? And I mean all forms of sex.”

She stabbed him with an angry glare. “It's none of your business!”

“Twenty-five?”

“You're crazy.”

“Thirty-five?”

“One,” she yelled, her face burning with indignation.

Marcel flashed her a wide victorious grin. “See, now, that wasn't so bad, was it?”

M
arcel's lazy gaze drifted down Diana's reddening face to that cute figure she kept trying to hide. “Just one, eh?”

Diana stormed around Marcel.

“Wait. Where are you going?” Marcel asked, chasing behind her.

“Home.” She stomped down the stairs.

“Oh, come on. Surely you're not mad because you told me how many men you've been with?”

She didn't respond.

“It's nothing to be ashamed of.”

Diana stopped in the middle of the staircase, causing Marcel to nearly collide into her.

“Who said anything about being ashamed?”

He blinked. “No one. By the way you're reacting, I thought—”

“Well, you thought wrong,” she declared. “I chose the right person to lose my virginity to. He was sweet, kind, giving.” Her gaze narrowed on him. “…And monogamous.”

Marcel lifted his chin after the verbal blow. “Yeah? So where did you meet this clown?”

Diana smiled. “Georgia State University. We were college sweethearts.”

“Is that right?” Marcel crossed his arms, disliking the image of Diana and some nameless guy flashing in his head. “Well, here's a news flash: no man is monogamous during college. I don't even think it's genetically possible.”

Diana rolled her eyes and continued to descend the stairs. “I'm sure that all the college jocks you hung out with got off on trying to see how many women they could score, but take my word for it, there's another breed of men who actually believe in the one man, one woman theory.”

“This might surprise you, Ms. Guy, but I also believe in the theory,” he said and enjoyed wiping the superior smirk off her face.

He took the lead down the staircase. “Now, I might have had my fun in the past, but that doesn't mean that I don't want to settle down and raise a family. On the contrary.”

A disbelieving Diana followed him to a spacious entertainment room, complete with pool table, old pinball machines, jukebox and stocked bar. “When did this miracle take place?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I've always believed it. Want a drink?”

“I don't believe you. No thanks to the drink.”

“Come on. After the day you had, you deserve one.” He waltzed behind the bar.

“Ain't that the truth?” She slumped onto a bar stool and caught her reflection in the mirror behind him. “Oh, my God. I look horrible.” She immediately tried to smooth down her hair.

Marcel smiled as he set two glasses down on the counter. “Actually, I like it. It has that fresh-out-of-bed look I love so much.”

She rolled her eyes. “You would say something like that.”

Marcel laughed. “You know, Di. I'm starting to believe you don't like me.”

She glanced away and shrugged. “I wouldn't say that…exactly.”

Marcel's brows rose with amusement. “Not exactly? You sure do know how to hurt a man.”

“I'm not trying to hurt you. It's just that after two years of ordering morning-after flowers, tons of Godiva chocolates and mailing little trinkets for just about everyone in your little black book, I'm sort of skeptical about all of this.”

Marcel shrugged. “I see your point.” He gave each glass a few cubes of ice. “How about rum and Coke?”

“Fine.”

“My whole point is that there comes a time in every man's life when he has to make a few decisions. And I think that time has finally come for me.”

Diana's dubious gaze remained glued on him.

He smiled and pushed her glass toward her. “You're worse than Solomon when I told him.”

“Well, if you're serious, then I applaud you.” She sipped her drink.

Marcel leaned across the bar with his own drink in hand. “If you don't mind my asking, whatever happened to your college lover boy?”

She studied him as if weighing whether she should answer. “Personality conflict.”

“That is just about as vague as irreconcilable differences. It doesn't tell me anything.”

She smiled. “Ian was what you might call a control freak. Not only in business but in our private lives, as well. My own sense of independence couldn't deal with that.”

Marcel frowned. “You dated someone named Ian?” He gulped down a third of his drink before adding, “That might have been your first mistake.”

“What's wrong with his name?”

Marcel shrugged. “It's not exactly a manly name, is it?”

“And Marcel is? Sounds like you should have your own fashion line or something. What about the women you date? Last year you actually dated a black woman named Buffy. Buffy!”

“Actually, it was her stage name,” he said.

“Oh? She was a singer?”

“Close. A stripper.”

Diana shook her head. “Should've known.”

Marcel's grin slid wider. “What did this
Ian
do for a living?”

“He's in politics. Last I heard he's a senator from Rhode Island.”

“A monogamous politician? Sounds like an oxymoron to me.”

“Everyone's a cynic.”

They laughed.

Diana didn't know whether it was the company or the much-needed drink that relaxed her, but she did know that she was beginning to enjoy this rather candid and intimate discussion with her boss.

“Now you tell me something about one of your relationships. Not a one-night stand, but an actual relationship. Why didn't it work out?”

Marcel sucked in a deep breath and rolled his eyes back as if he had to dust off a very old memory chip. “All right, my last real relationship was almost three years ago. Her name was Kelly. She was forty-two—”

“An older woman?”

“Yeah, but she had the body of a twenty-five-year-old.”

Why did I ask?
“Continue.”

“Well, we met at a ski resort in Aspen, had a ball for about a month and then it ended.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Turned out that she was still married to some big-shot banker. She decided she wanted to give her marriage another shot and left me in the cold.”

“She dumped you?” she asked, dumbfounded.

“What? I've had a broken heart before. A few times actually.”

Just like that, Marcel Taylor transformed from a business mogul with a wild and infamous reputation to a real human being with a history of pain and heartache.

“I guess I had you figured wrong,” Diana said, finishing her drink. “I thought you were just a ‘love 'em and leave 'em' kind of guy.”

He fixed them another drink. “I'm not completely innocent of those charges.”

Diana held up her hand. “I was just starting to like you. Don't ruin it.”

“You got it.” He held up his glass and clinked it against Diana's.

Their talk moved away from the bar and into the living room. To Diana's amazement and dismay, Marcel broke out photo albums of dogs. The way he carried on, one would have thought he was boasting about real children. Diana knew the alcohol was kicking in when she started thinking the dogs were actually cute.

“I'm probably overcompensating for the fact I was never allowed to have animals when I was growing up. My father's edict was if it couldn't make a sandwich or wipe its own butt, it couldn't live in his house.”

Diana laughed, having no trouble imagining Donald Taylor saying just that. “I owned a goldfish once,” she admitted, closing the photo album.

“Oh?” Marcel asked, sipping from his fourth drink.

“Yeah.” She thought back and laughed. “You should have seen me. I was eight years old and tickled pink that I had something of my very own to take care of. I named
him Henry. Every morning I'd wake up and feed him, when I came home from school I fed him, and again just before I went to sleep at night.”

“You fed him three times a day?”

Diana bobbed her head. “At least. On the weekends more than that.”

“I'm almost afraid to hear what happened.”

“I woke up the morning of show-and-tell at school and found him floating on his side.”

“Were you devastated?”

“No.” She lowered her gaze and chuckled again. “I was actually excited that after swimming for so long, Henry was finally taking a nap. Nana was cool. She went along with it and told me that I should take Henry to school on a day when he wasn't so tired. When I came home, Henry was up from his nap. And every three weeks Henry took another nap. I didn't know any better until I was ten.”

“You're kidding me.” Marcel laughed.

“Nope. Nana had to tell me the truth because after thirty-seven goldfish, the pet store owner refused to sell her another one.” Diana doubled over laughing.

“That's horrible. Why didn't she just tell you to stop feeding Henry so much? Or should I say Henries?”

Diana caught her breath. “She did, but I didn't want him starving to death. I ate three meals a day so I thought he should, too.”

As the early hours crept closer to dawn, Marcel and Diana continued to laugh and swap stories as though they were old friends at a high school reunion.

With the exception of his childhood friend Ophelia,
Marcel hadn't ever felt this comfortable around a woman. Several times he would stop and smile at Diana's fresh-out-of-bed look and could feel himself drawn to her quiet beauty—her cuteness.

The few times she'd caught him staring, he would quickly drop his gaze.

“What is it?” she finally asked. “Do I look that bad?”

“No, no. You look fine,” he assured her, but suddenly grew quite fascinated with her mouth. Her lips were still tinted with a fading shade of red and they tempted him with their provocative shape.

Though Diana shared plenty of stories of her childhood, Marcel was aware that there were quite a few gaps. Like, what did her mother pass away from? Why didn't her parents ever marry? And where was her father now?

Diana sighed and smiled at him. “Enough about me. Let's talk about you again.”

“Ah, my favorite subject.”

She shook her head. “Why do you say things like that? It makes you sound arrogant.”

He smiled. “Please, don't hold back. Tell me what you think.”

“Sorry,” she said, her eyes glossy from the alcohol. “But I think you're a big fake.”

“Is that right?”

She nodded and then frowned as if the act hurt her head. “One minute you pretend to be this insatiable playboy who has to be seen at every party in town, and then at work you're this driven workaholic who's a little
stingy when it comes to raises. And now I'm learning that you're also this strange homebody whose best girl is a four-year-old Doberman pinscher.”

“Stingy when it comes to raises?” Marcel laughed at the realization that his secretary was indeed drunk.

“I want to know,” she said, leaning toward him. “Which person is the real Marcel Taylor?”

“All of them,” he answered. “Just like you're more than my no-nonsense secretary. You're a woman who has loved and lost, and as a result you avoid the reckless emotion like the plague.”

Diana straightened.

“You take on too much and ask for very little. You're scared of dogs and should be arrested if you're ever within fifty feet of a goldfish.” He softened the mood by laughing again. “All in all, you're an intriguing woman.”

She gave an unladylike snort. “First time I ever heard that.”

His hand glided over hers. Its warmth was a welcome comfort.

“You've always intrigued me.”

Diana slid her hand from beneath his and frowned at the empty glass in her hand. “I've had too much to drink.”

“That's a possibility.”

“Is this how you snare women in your web?”

“I don't have to get a woman drunk to spend the night, if that's what you're referring to. Most find me charming. Don't you?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

She laughed. “Maybe.”

“You're still lying.”

Releasing a boisterous laugh, Diana eased back against the sofa. “Then I plead the Fifth.”

“Smart woman,” he said, his laughter blending with hers.

“Okay, I have a serious question,” she said.

“Shoot.”

“Now, I've read the official press release on how you and Solomon started T&B Entertainment by borrowing the funds from your father and all. But I want to know why. You two were jocks for the most part.”

“That's easy. For the women.”

“Be serious.”

“I am. Women like jocks and musicians. Since we're neither, we figured out a way to be the next best thing. Simple as that.”

Diana gave up and rolled her eyes. “Pig.”

“Sex is a wonderful thing, Di. Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise.” He just laughed as she slapped his arm.

They continued swapping stories and pouring drinks long after dawn's early light filled the house. Despite having seventeen bedrooms, both fell asleep on the large sofa, too drunk to really give a damn.

The wild dreams filtering in and out of Diana's head had her feeling good. Damn good in fact.

It had been a long time since her body tingled this way. She felt sexy, desirable and wanton all at the same time. Did she have Marcel Taylor to thank for that?

She sighed when an image of him flitted into her dreams. He was a beautiful man. Cocky—sure. Arrogant—definitely. But the man had a body for sex, eyes for seduction and a smile that could steal her soul.

“Mmm. You smell so good,” Marcel whispered before he pressed a kiss against the lobe of her ear.

She giggled and curled away from him.

“Where are you going?” He chuckled and pulled her back. He placed another kiss against the column of her neck and evoked a series of giggles.

His kisses grew persistent and a tidal wave of sensations wiped her out. By the time his hot mouth covered hers, she was writhing beneath him with aching abandonment.