He exhaled heavily, then brought the cup of espresso to his mouth and swallowed the last of the bitter liquid.
He knew the answer.
It was Emily. A rain-soaked waif who had turned out to be tough and determined was in his head.
His lips curved in a smile.
Not many people had the balls to take him on. The fact was, Charles was the only one who ever did and Charles did it with so much tact, it was hard to know he was doing it.
But Emily had stood up to him without hesitation and even though she’d eventually accepted his help, she had been about as impressed by him and his car and the indications of his obvious wealth as these trees were impressed by the city sprawled at their feet.
And that kiss…
He imagined he could still taste the sweetness of her lips, feel the softness of her against him.
What would she have been like in bed?
Like her kiss. Sweet. Tender. But with fire blazing underneath.
His body hardened at the thought.
Dio, was that what was keeping him awake? Sexual frustration? It didn’t seem possible. Besides, he’d done the right thing, walking away, not taking things further.
Hadn’t he?
Of course. A woman like Emily had no place in his world. In his life… and what in hell did that mean? He didn’t even know her last name; he hadn’t asked for her phone number and here he was deciding she wouldn’t fit into his life.
He was a crazy man.
He was a man in desperate need of sleep.
Or activity.
Marco strode back into the penthouse, dumped the cup into the sink, went to his workout room and spent an hour lifting weights. The sky had lightened to a pale gray by the time he was done but he fell into bed, and sleep took pity on him and swallowed him up for one mindless, restful hour.
******
The alarm went off at seven. Marco rose, shaved, showered, dressed in a dark navy suit, white shirt, burgundy tie.
His housekeeper was already in the kitchen and she knew his routine. Orange juice. Half a toasted bagel. A double espresso. Charles was at the table, drinking his usual mug of Earl Grey.
“Ready, sir?”
Marco would have preferred his Ferrari. No point in thinking about that.
“Si. I am ready.”
Traffic was mercifully swift-moving. Charles pulled the Mercedes to the curb in front of the MS Enterprises building. He knew better than to open the door for his employer.
“See you at six, sir.”
Marco nodded, stepped from the car and walked briskly toward the building entrance.
A watery sun was in the sky. The air was crisp. He felt surprisingly good for a man who’d had one hour of sleep.
Perhaps it was because he’d made peace with the Emily incident.
She was attractive and he admired her spirit, but his attraction to her hadn’t been real. It had been the natural follow-through to the entire situation. Woman in need, man riding to the rescue, a modern-day version of playing Sir Galahad when he was far more accustomed to being viewed as a heartless marauder.