Marco's Redemption (4 page)

She'd flirted her ass off and flaunted herself at every man at the charity event tonight, and he knew she'd done it in a bid for his attention. It had gotten his attention; that was for damn sure. Why hadn't he ever noticed that side of her character before tonight? And just as quickly realized he had noticed--he knew exactly the kind of person she was, but overlooked it because he flat didn't give a shit. He'd
never
given a shit. She was a convenient sexual outlet to him; that was all. And lately, she wasn't even that.

Everything in the penthouse smelled clean and fresh, and even though the lights were on, it was as quiet as a tomb. He walked through to the kitchen, and found everything in perfect order. He looked around a moment, a new, soft scent lingering in the air that caught his attention and struck a chord in the pit of his stomach. There was a note in front of the coffee maker and he picked it up.
Timer is set. Coffee will be ready in the morning
. He fingered the piece of paper a moment, taking in the neat, feminine handwriting before setting it back down.

He left the kitchen and walked through to his bedroom. Again in this room, all was immaculate.

But where the hell was she? Had she just upped and left?

He returned to the living room, only to find her purse on the floor next to the coffee table. He took a deep breath, the inexplicable agitation he was feeling somewhat mitigated by the sight. He narrowed his eyes and let his gaze roam across the room, looking for any other signs of her occupation. His eyes shot past the chaise longue, and then came back again just as quickly.

Ahh, there she was. He'd almost missed her at first, her small body dressed in a black t-shirt and dark jeans blended in with the dark fabric of the furniture. She was curled in a fetal position and her cheek rested on hands that were steepled as if in prayer.

She was sound asleep.

He prowled over on silent feet and stared down at her, fisting his hands to keep them from reaching out to touch. Her eyelashes made dark crescents across the pallor of her complexion. She looked pale to him, almost unusually so. And there were dark shadows under her eyes, as if she were exhausted. Had he worked her too hard? He knew from the detailed billing that the housekeeping service he used sent two women to do the work, and by the looks of it, they didn't perform the same job as this one young woman had done.

Although they hadn't discussed it, he obviously knew she was without a vehicle, and he had hoped he would still find her here tonight.

He sank down to his haunches, and lifted his hand to touch her face. He steeled his guts and imposed strict control as he allowed himself to touch her with only one finger. "Natalie."

He said her name softly, maybe too softly, because he received no reaction. He ran his finger down the silkiness of her cheekbone and tried again. "Natalie."

"Hmm."

The libido that had been quiet all night, no matter how hard Tanya had tried to tease him, suddenly came screaming to life when Natalie let out that single puff of air, lifted her arm over her head and turned to her back to seek a more comfortable position.

His eyes shot down to the small mounds of her breasts accentuated by the position of her arm. She was slight and almost fragile, exactly what he was most attracted to, and she was asleep in his house. The connotations of that were too much to fight against and his erection became painful very quickly. His stomach muscles clenched as he attempted to gain control.

Deciding not to wake her but knowing she'd be more comfortable in a bed, he bent and lifted her in his arms. He carried her down to the bedrooms, and without thinking about why, he chose the room closest to his.

As carefully as he could manage, he laid her on the bed. Forcefully restraining himself from taking another look, he went and got her purse and put it on the bedside table next to her. He snapped out the light and was about to close the door, but then thought better of it and imagined her waking up in the middle of the night not remembering where she was, so he turned the light on in the connecting bathroom and left it ajar just enough to give her some light.

Then he turned and made his escape, refusing to think about the satisfaction coursing through his bloodstream.

****

Natalie slept the entire night but woke with the urgent need to pee. She sat up on the bed and took a look around. The day before came flooding back to her at once. Not taking the time to think about who had carried her to the bedroom, because it would screw with her mind beyond all reason, and knowing the answer anyway, she got out of bed and went to the bathroom.

As she looked in the mirror, she realized she had nothing. No toothbrush, no toothpaste, no shampoo, no conditioner. She didn't even have a set of clean clothes to change into. All she had were the contents of her purse. Luckily, she carried basic make-up. Grimacing with distaste, she walked from the room with the intention of finding Marco.

The penthouse was empty. The clock read ten-thirty and she double-checked to make sure she'd read it correctly. She'd slept thirteen and a half hours. She hadn't done that in years. Granted, she hadn't had the opportunity in years. It had taken hard work, both her's and her mother's, to make a living. And it was the truth that Justin's couch was old and lumpy and she'd had no privacy in the last three days. She'd gotten very little sleep there; his girlfriend came in and out and helped herself to Natalie's things when she wasn't looking and Justin, Natalie knew, had no clue the other woman was doing it. Natalie had started keeping her suitcase in the car he'd lent her. A suitcase she'd left in the car because she hadn't known whether or not to bring it with her.

Marco wasn't around but she found a note in the same place she'd left one for him the night before, next to the coffeemaker.
Help yourself to whatever you need. We
'
ll talk tonight.

That didn't sound too terribly ominous, did it?

She immediately went in search of a shower and any toiletries she might find.

****

Later that night, Marco walked into the penthouse to the smell of something delicious coming from the kitchen. He didn't usually eat this early in the evening, but the smells immediately began doing a number on his appetite. He walked through to the kitchen and found Natalie turning from the sink to face him.

He felt his heartbeat speed up, and when he realized she looked even more beautiful than yesterday, he focused on her until the reason for it hit him.

She looked fresh and rested and her face was made-up--and there was no obvious fear in sight.

The difference was subtle, yet at the same time, it made a dramatic change. She had high cheekbones, long lashes and full lips. The cosmetics she wore enhanced those features and all at once he realized she was more than really pretty, she was agonizingly beautiful. He'd already figured out she was damn sexy. His cock had been telling him that since the collision yesterday, but now, in the light of a different day, and without the stress and panic from the collision stressing her features, he was finding an added dimension to her face.

He placed his palms on the doorframe and leaned into them, and tried to control the strong and immediate sexual need he felt every time he saw her. Even though her tension wasn't as pronounced as it had been the day before, she pushed her hair behind her ear with fingers that trembled until finally, she quit fidgeting and dropped her hands in front of her. She was watching him hesitantly, and the tension he was feeling churning through his guts and sliding insidiously down to his groin didn't permit him to offer her a smile. But he tried to lighten the atmosphere with humor to put her at ease. "Honey, I'm home." The words came out flat and from the tiny jerk she gave, he knew his effort to soothe her had failed.

She gripped the counter with hands that had gone white and her mouth curved upwards in an attempt at a smile that lacked conviction. "Hi."

He pushed away from the doorframe and walked to the range. "Something smells good. You really can cook?"

"Some. Not everything." She came to stand beside him and lifted the lid from the pot. Inside was a pot roast and green beans that looked and smelled remarkably appetizing.

What was it about her apparent domestic abilities that was sending pleasure coursing through him? He'd damn sure never cared if Tanya had been able to cook or not. In fact, it had irritated him beyond belief whenever she would prepare a meal and expect him to sit at her table and compliment her on it. It had always reeked of a masquerade, a deception she was hoping would induce a reaction much as he was having now, with Natalie in his kitchen.

As he looked at the meal she had prepared, the question of where she'd gotten the food in the first place puzzled him. "Did you go shopping?"

"No. The roast was in the freezer and I found the can of beans in the pantry. But that's about all there was."

"Damn. Smells good. Let me grab a quick shower and we'll eat." He turned away and walked from the room, suddenly anxious to have a home cooked meal and knowing the exact reason why.

****

After Marco turned to go, Natalie began setting the table. He was gone less than ten minutes, and he came back barefoot, in jeans and a t-shirt. She swallowed hard and served the meal as she surreptitiously observed him for the first time in casual clothes. The impact he made was no less intense than the suits she'd seen him in.

They ate in silence, broken only by him complimenting the food a couple of times. She was nervous, and he kept watching her between bites. It wasn't something she was used to, and she was worried about the talk that his note had said they were going to have.

And the talk came too soon.

Natalie had already straightened the kitchen as she cooked, so the clean-up was minimal. When she was finished, she followed him to his study at his request.

He didn't sit at his desk, but sank down in one of two armchairs that faced each other over a small table and indicated she take the other. "Sit down."

She did, and put her hands in her lap and waited as calmly as she could.

"I got the estimate on my car." Marco gave her a moment to absorb that information. She began fidgeting again, her fingers plucking at a small tear in the knee of her jeans, only making it worse. Her clothes looked clean and wrinkle-free, and he wondered if she'd washed them--and what the hell she'd worn while they'd been in the wash. He pushed the thought from his mind with effort.

He unfolded a piece of paper and laid it on the low table between them. Her eyes shot down but she didn't reach for it right away. She looked back at him slowly, as if the paper were poisoned or contaminated. "Look at it, Natalie."

Slowly, she reached out and picked up the estimate. Her eyes scanned it quickly and landed at the figure in bold print at the bottom of the page. Her face lost all color and she licked her lips. "I don't understand. This is over twenty thousand dollars. That's as much as a new car would cost."

"Not an Audi, sweetheart. And my car in particular cost five times as much." Marco attempted to keep his voice gentle, something he'd never bothered doing with anyone else he could remember, and for now, didn't try to analyze why.

She lifted a hand to her brow and pushed against it as she expelled a pained breath. "That's more--more than I can contemplate." Her eyes were liquid-filled as they lifted to his. "Truthfully, I was expecting fifteen-hundred or so."

"I can have another estimate done--but the numbers will be close and I don't think it's necessary."

"I don't know what to say. It'll take me a lifetime to pay back that kind of money." Her agitation was palpable as her fingers pushed and pulled at the hole in her jeans, worrying the material and widening the opening. His eyes dropped to the skin of her leg, where her fingers continued to rip at the material, and at his silence, she asked, "Are you going to sue me?"

Marco pulled his eyes away from the pale skin of her thigh and lifted them to her face with effort. "I don't want to sue you." Bringing a lawsuit against her didn't play into his plans for her at all. He didn't quite know exactly what he wanted from her yet, except for the obvious, and that was an admission that was inducing a river of guilt to run through his veins and combine with the arousal beating uncomfortably in his blood. Arousal and guilt--the two emotions didn't mix well.