Marco's Redemption (7 page)

"No, I was on my way to a meeting across town, I'm late as it is."

Liar
. She didn't believe him for a second; she'd bet her last dollar he'd only left the bank to track her down. "Okay. I'll see you later." Natalie reached down and pulled the handle to release the door but it was locked. Still uneasy under his scrutiny, she shot him a questioning look. He held her eyes for the beat of five seconds and then he released the locking mechanism. The second it clicked open, she pulled the handle and jumped from the vehicle.

Chapter Four

Two hours later, Natalie had showered and fixed her make-up and hair. She'd slipped into her favorite pair of jeans and a loose t-shirt. She was absentmindedly running a dust cloth over the furniture, her mind on the very probable tracking device in her phone and wandering what else he might have been capable of. Had he screwed with the computer he'd lent her? Were there nanny cams around the apartment?

Just as she was looking around, trying to do it inconspicuously, in case she was being watched, the intercom buzzer rang.

She pressed the button. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry to intrude on your day Miss Lambert, but Miss Wallace has something she'd like to bring up. May I send her up?" the concierge asked.

Natalie had no clue who Miss Wallace was, but whoever she was, she didn't sound threatening. "Sure. And thank you."

"You're very welcome, Miss."

Twenty seconds later, the elevator doors opened and a tall, blonde female dressed to the nines strolled in as if she owned the place. She glanced once at Natalie, and then dropped a box on the entry table before turning her penetrating stare on her completely. "That's for Marco. Who the hell are you?"

"Natalie Lambert--Marco's housekeeper."

"Bullshit." High-pitched venom laced the word.

"I'm sorry?"

"Marco hasn't had a housekeeper since I've known him. He guards his privacy at all times and uses a cleaning service once a week, but that's it."

Natalie had no idea who this woman was, but she was getting the feeling that she was
'
the
one who took care of that aspect of his life for him
'
.
She steeled her nerves to answer. "I've worked for him for two weeks now."

"And you call him Marco? That seems terribly disrespectful."

Who the hell did this woman think she was? Natalie shrugged her shoulders at the question. "It's the way he wants it," she replied in an even tone.

"Are you here more than once a week?"

"Yep."

"How often?"

"I'm a live-in." As she said the words, Natalie knew the woman wouldn't like her answer.

And she was right. Arrows of pure evil radiated from the woman's eyes. "Are you fucking him?"

Natalie took a step back from the fury blasting out at her. "No. I just clean for him. And do the laundry."

That answer seemed to calm the other woman down but only marginally. "Why would he need a housekeeper all of a sudden?" She asked the question almost of herself.

Natalie felt bad about the white lie she was about to tell even though she didn't owe this woman anything. She and Marco had never discussed if they would or wouldn't tell anyone about their 'deal.' She didn't particularly want anyone to know she was his unpaid servant. "I don't really know. I just know he hired me, and I clean for him. He's rarely home."

The other woman preened like a cat that had gotten the cream. "Yes, I know. He's either at that stupid bank of his, or he's in my bed, getting his brains screwed out." Her face became shadowed and she frowned at Natalie as if something had just occurred to her. "How long did you say you've been working for him?"

"Two weeks."

The frown intensified. "Just so you know, he's mine. We've been dating for two years, and we're getting married soon."

Natalie felt a small stab of something she couldn't identify. "Congratulations."

"Yes, well, don't congratulate me yet. I haven't gotten him to commit completely. But he will."

"That's great."
Yes, just peachy
.

"Call me Tanya. And I'll call you Natalie?"

Natalie smiled and tried not to make it brittle. "Yes, of course."

"Good. We'll be seeing each other a lot because I'm here all the time. We'll get along fine, just as long as you don't try to take him. Not that you could. You're not at all his type. Marco likes tall, beautiful women. And you aren't that, are you?"

"Nope, no one could ever call me tall. Or beautiful, for that matter." As soon as the words shot from her mouth, Natalie remembered what Marco had said earlier in the day--and the way he said it. A small shred of guilt crawled up her throat, even though she hadn't done anything wrong. She didn't know if he really believed what he'd said, or if he was trying to make some kind of point, but he'd certainly sounded as if he believed it. But the fact was, Natalie had never thought of herself as beautiful. Her mother was beautiful; she wasn't.

"Well, you're not so bad, you know. Okay, see you later. You'll give him the box, right?"

"Yes, of course. It was nice to meet you."
Not.

"You too."

****

Natalie was in the kitchen when she heard Marco come home that night. So far, this had been the most eventful day since the day they had wrecked. First, getting lost and the GPS incident, and then meeting Tanya Wallace.

Marco had been displeased when he'd left earlier in the day, displeased
and scary,
and now her nerves were a bit stretched as she waited to see if he would fall into his usual routine. He hadn't requested a meal, and so she had prepared herself a salad earlier and was now straightening up before she slipped to her bedroom.

She heard his footsteps on the porcelain tile of the entry, and then the more subdued tread as he crossed the carpet. Within seconds she knew he stood in the doorway to the kitchen, even though her back was to him. She was aware of her heart beating loudly in her ears, and she closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath before turning to face him.

Gripping the counter behind her, she saw him studying her in silence. She knew she needed to speak, before the tension became even thicker. "Hi."

He looked her over, top to bottom, and took his time before asking, "Are you okay?"

"Yes, why?"

"I don't know. All alone--lost in Houston," he said, referring to the incident earlier in the day.

He made it sound as if she were a ten-year-old, but she smiled weakly and stuck to the script screaming through her brain--not the one banging through her bloodstream demanding to know why he was keeping such close tabs on her. "It was broad daylight and I'm not a child."

All softness left his expression and his eyes dropped to her chest. Flecks of red highlighted his cheekbones and his nostrils flared. An obdurate glimmer heated the eyes that lifted to hers.

If Natalie hadn't been hanging on to the countertop, the flash of lust on his face would have probably brought her to her knees. It was by no means the first time she'd caught a sexual look on his face, but it was the first time it had been so completely unguarded, so intense it made her heart skip a beat before taking up a cadence in her chest that made breathing in a normal rhythm an impossible feat.

She licked her dry lips and attempted to take the edge off the situation. "Tanya came by today. She left a box for you."

His eyes narrowed. "Tanya came here?" his voice was deep and hard, displeasure lacing his tone.

"Yes, she--"

Ropes of tension made deep lines around his mouth as he cut her off. "Did she say anything to upset you?"

She told me y
'
all were getting married
. "We talked a bit--introduced ourselves. She left a box for you," Natalie reiterated.

"You're sure? She didn't upset you?"

She asked me if I was fucking you.
"No, of course not. She had a hard time believing you had a housekeeper now. I didn't tell her anything about--about the wreck. I just told her that you'd hired me and that I'd been here for two weeks. I hope that was okay."

"That's fine."

Natalie turned her mouth up and hoped it resembled a smile as she pushed away from the counter and attempted to slip past him and put this uncomfortable encounter behind her. "Goodnight, then."

She thought she was home free as she walked by him. And then she felt her wrist lifted from behind and encapsulated in the hard heat of his grip.

"Natalie." His eyes were hot on hers, glittering down with both a beguiling question and scorching need that almost decimated her, making her bones melt where she stood.

His thumb caressed her pulse point as he slowly and firmly began to pull her toward him. His eyes fell to her lips and her brain began screaming at him in silent denial.
Don
'
t do it! Don
'
t touch me. Don
'
t be that guy. Don
'
t touch me when you have a girlfriend. You have a girlfriend--a girlfriend--

Her eyes closed tightly against him and her body stiffened into lines of stubborn refusal. She felt his grip lessen, but not release her altogether. She opened her eyes to find him staring down at her, lines of tension bracketing his mouth.

She twisted her wrist, attempting to pull it from his grasp. "Goodnight, Marco."

She managed to live through three of the longest seconds in her life until finally, he released her from his grip. "Goodnight."

She turned and fled to the sanctuary of her bedroom.

****

Marco sat in his office the next day fighting a vicious headache. He tried to concentrate on the file that Joy had just given him, but it was next to impossible.

"What's wrong with you?" his long-time assistant asked, a puzzled look on her face.

"Nothing--a headache." He abandoned the file momentarily and leaned his face into his hands.

"It doesn't look like nothing. You look pale. Are you sick?"

"Sick?" He sounded perplexed, as if the concept of being sick wasn't something he'd even remotely considered. Other people got sick; he didn't.

"Yes, Marco, sick." Joy, an older woman and a grandmother to boot, moved around the desk and slapped a hand to his forehead, and he felt--not himself enough to let her do it. "You're burning up. I bet your temperature is over a hundred. You need to go home."

"I'm not going home. That's insane," he answered, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes.

"It's three o'clock in the afternoon, you don't have anymore appointments today. Take the McMasters file with you if it will make you feel better and go home. Pop some meds and crawl in bed and get some rest."

"No, absolutely not."

"Marco, don't be so stubborn. Go home. Have that new housekeeper of yours make you some soup and tuck you in."

He lifted his hands away from his face and gave her a penetrating stare. "You really think I need to go home?"

"Yes. You don't want all of us catching it, do you?"

"All right, I'll go," he acquiesced quickly, not at all like his usual self.