As Marco walked downstairs, he wasn't unaware of the nerves that were making Natalie tremble softly as she walked beside him. He clutched her elbow, offering her both the support she needed and the close proximity he was beginning to require. Proximity that would be essential to calm the fires of rage he knew would only be stronger the second the other man came into view.
Maybe they could escape without anymore contact with the other couple.
But it wasn't to be.
Matthew Kennedy was waiting for them, hovering as closely as he could near the stairway. His glass of bourbon was almost gone, and his wife was nowhere to be seen. He began trying to smooth things over at once. "Marco, my man, let's get you another drink and--"
Marco wasn't in the mood to listen to his shit and cut him off as he pulled Natalie to the door. "No."
"There's no need to leave so soon--"
"There's every need. I've warned you before about keeping your distance. I never thought you'd be so stupid as to touch her." His words were harsh and when he felt Natalie stiffen beside him, his grasp on her became tighter.
The other man took a deep breath, no doubt finally realizing how pissed off Marco was. As Matthew Kennedy's eyes left Marco's and landed on Natalie, Marco hissed out another warning. "Don't look at her."
The older man's eyes quickly left Natalie and connected with Marco's stare. Marco wasted no time. He opened the door and left the man with a parting shot. "This is your last warning. I don't need your fucking business. The next time you touch her, the next time you try to speak to her, the next time you so much as look in her direction, I'm calling in your loans. You think your goddamn wife is hard to satisfy now? Try it with no money and living in the gutter."
Marco turned toward the black Audi SUV idling in the circular driveway, pulling Natalie behind him, and left Mathew Kennedy floundering for air like a fish on a hook.
****
Marco didn't drink often, but when they entered the penthouse, he went straight to the sideboard and poured himself a bourbon, neat. He downed it in one shot, and poured another. He walked to the couch and sank down into, watching Natalie hovering by the door.
"I'm burning that goddamn dress."
"No, you're not," she replied as she stood in the entryway.
No, he wasn't. She looked too damn good in it. Maybe he'd let her keep it and wear it around the apartment, just for him.
"Sit down." He gestured with the hand holding the highball glass, indicating the chair across from him where he could see her and not be tempted to strip her clothes from her body as he so often was.
She sat, smoothing the lines of the dress. He watched the nervous movements of her fingers, the deep breaths she was taking. Everything about her--he wanted. He felt a burning need to keep her here, to have her just for himself. He wondered if there was anything on the face of the earth that could calm him down when it came to her.
He could only think of one thing.
And he didn't know if even that would be enough.
He began slowly. He'd lived with her for almost a year now, and they'd finally begun having long talks some months ago. "I know you have issues with your father abandoning you and your mother."
She looked him steadily in the eye but he could tell she didn't know where this was going. "Yes."
"Not all men are like that, Natalie. Some men are steady and can be trusted." Surely to God, she knew by now that he could be trusted? That he was one of the good guys and would never hurt her?
"Maybe," she conceded.
"Look at your mother's new boyfriend. When she lost the loser, Brad scooped her up quick enough. He treats her right."
"Yes, that's true."
"What happened tonight," he paused, "I didn't like it." He let her digest that while he took a sip of the bourbon.
"I didn't much care for it either, Marco," she returned lightly, obviously knowing exactly what he was referring to.
"We've got to do something about it." His gaze was steady as he studied her, trying to get a glimmer of what she was thinking.
"Like what? Put a hit out on the Kennedys?" she asked, tongue-in-cheek.
"It's not just the Kennedys--"
She cut in immediately. "It damn sure is! They're the only ones I've met, out of all the people you've introduced me to, who were involved in the fuck-fest you were part of."
Piercing shame, along with shock, ran through him. She knew it had been that bad? "Fuck-fest?" he asked her tightly.
"I don't know what you call it. Trading partners--screwing everyone--whatever."
"Okay. We'll call it a fuck-fest." He looked away from her and then slowly back again. "Let it stand at that. But that's not what I'm talking about."
"What, then?" she asked, more quietly now.
"I'm referring to every fucking guy out there who wants to get his hands on you!"
"Nobody's getting their hands on me."
"But they want to. They want to get in your goddamn pants!" He couldn't contain the jealousy that burned through his veins.
"So? You don't think every single woman out there wants to get her claws into you? Christ, Marco. Have you looked in a damned mirror? You're hotter than hot, richer than sin--"
He interrupted her. "I don't want anyone else. All those other women? They can get fucked. All I want is you." His tone was hard and unequivocal.
Marco's impassioned admission wasn't exactly a declaration of love, but she'd already known he cared for her, cared deeply. But she didn't know where he was going with this. She believed him earlier when he told her he hadn't been paying attention to Nora Kennedy. She could see it now. What had sent her running to the powder room earlier had been a misunderstanding on her part. Now that she was thinking clearly, she knew his sole focus would have been on her. If there were other men in the room, especially Mathew Kennedy, Marco watched her like a hawk.
She didn't mind. It was his way. Why he thought every man was interested in her was another question entirely. Marco wanted her, so he figured every man must as well. It was just one of his jealous quirks. She'd learned to live with it; it didn't really bother her. In fact, since he'd never uttered the love word, his jealousy gave her some form of comfort.
She answered him now. "And all I want is you, so please stop worrying over this."
"I can't." His gaze was piercing.
She met his stare. "What do you want, then?"
He spread his legs wide and leaned down with his elbows on his upper thighs, his hands in a steeple. "Hear me out before you say anything." He took a deep breath. "I think if we got married I might not be as stressed about this shit."