"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."