Caught in the Billionaire’s Embrace(40)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

For some reason, the word forever made her think about Marcus. But then, nearly everything made her think about Marcus. Every time someone brought her a cup of coffee, she thought about him pouring one for her in the hotel. Whenever room service showed up with her dinner at the hotel where she was staying in New York, she thought of how Marcus had ordered such a breakfast feast for her. When she looked out over all the power suits in the courtroom, she thought of him. When she saw men in long overcoats on the streets of New York, she thought of him.

But worst of all, Friday evening, as she left the federal courthouse in New York City, dressed for the weather in a camel-hair coat and red scarf, mittens and hat, with an equally bundled-up marshal on each side of her, it started to snow. Maybe not as furiously as it had the night she met Marcus in Chicago, but seeing the sparkling white snowflakes tumbling out of the inky sky, Della was overwhelmed by memories of what had happened on the terrace of the Windsor Club, when she’d had the most incredible sexual experience of her life with a mysterious lover named Marcus.

Though he hadn’t been a mystery for long. Della had gotten to know him pretty well during their time together, even better than she had realized. Over the time that had passed since their weekend together—and even more since they’d parted ways in Chicago—she had come to understand exactly how very well she did know Marcus, and how very deeply she’d come to feel for him. She couldn’t pinpoint the moment when it had happened during their weekend together—maybe when he was wiping away her tears or pouring her a cup of coffee or tracing a finger lovingly over her na**d shoulder—but she had fallen in love with Marcus. What had started as a sexual response had grown in mere hours to an emotional bond. She only wished she had admitted that to herself when she still had the chance to tell him.

She loved Marcus. Maybe she hadn’t admitted it to herself at the time because the feeling was so new and unfamiliar to her. But it was that newness and unfamiliarity that finally made her realize she was in love. Being with Marcus had made her feel complete for the first time in her life. When she was with him, she’d felt as if she could handle anything. Everything that had been wrong in her life had suddenly seemed less likely to overtake her. She’d been less fearful when she was with Marcus. Less anxious. Less troubled. But most of all, with Marcus, she’d been happy. Since leaving him…

Since leaving him, nothing felt right. Even the snow falling down around her now didn’t have the magic for her it would have had—that it did have—only a few weeks ago.

“Stop,” she said to the two marshals as she paused halfway down the courthouse steps.

The man on her right, whose name was Willoughby, halted in his tracks, but the woman on her left, Carson, continued down two more steps, glancing right, then left, before turning to face Della.

“What’s wrong?” Carson asked.

“Nothing. I just… It’s snowing,” she finally said, as if that should explain everything.

“So?”

“So I want to stand here for a minute and enjoy it.” Or at least try to.

She heard Willoughby expel an irritated sigh, saw Carson roll her eyes. Della didn’t care. She’d done a lot for her country this week. She’d sacrificed the past year of her life. The least her country could do was let her enjoy a minute in the snow.

She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, letting the icy flakes collect on her bare cheeks, nose and mouth. She sighed as she felt them melt one by one, only to be replaced by others. She heard the sound of a honking taxi, felt the bustle of people around her, inhaled the aroma of a passing bus. And she smiled. She loved the city. She didn’t care what anyone said about noise and crowds and traffic. All those things only proved how alive the city was. She had grown up in this place. It was a part of her. No matter how badly it had treated her—as a child or as an adult—she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. She hoped, wherever her new life was, she would live in a big city again. Because maybe, just maybe, being surrounded by people—even if they were strangers—would help keep the loneliness at bay.

“Della.”

Her eyes flew open at the sound of the familiar voice. The first thing she saw was Carson’s back, because the woman had stepped in front of her. The second thing she saw was how Willoughby was reaching inside his open overcoat for what she knew would be a weapon. The third thing she saw was Marcus.

At first, she thought she was imagining him, because he looked so much as he had that night at the Windsor Club, dark and handsome and mysterious, surrounded by swirls of snow. The only difference was that he’d exchanged the tuxedo for a dark suit. That and the fact that he looked so very lost and alone.

“Marcus,” she said softly. She covered Carson’s shoulder with one hand as she curled the fingers of the other over Willoughby’s arm. “It’s okay,” she told them both. “He’s…a friend.”

Carson didn’t even turn around as she said, “Our orders, Ms. Hannan, are to—”

“I’ll take full responsibility for anything that happens,” Della said.

“That’s not the problem,” Carson told her. “The problem is—”

But Della didn’t wait for her to finish. She strode away from the two marshals, down the steps of the courthouse, until she stood on the one above Marcus, facing him. It was only then that she realized he was holding a suitcase. He must have come here straight from the airport. He must have been following the court proceedings and knew that by today, they’d come to an end.

“Hi,” she said softly.

“Hi,” he replied just as quietly.

Neither of them said anything more for a moment. Marcus set his suitcase on the ground beside him and shoved his hands deep into his overcoat pockets. So Della took the initiative, raised her mittened hands to his shoulders, leaned forward and covered his mouth with hers. She told herself it was because she hadn’t had a chance to kiss him goodbye. Not at the hotel, and not at the safe house. So this was what that would be. A chance to tell him goodbye properly.

Funny, though, how the moment her lips met his, it didn’t feel like goodbye at all. Because the next thing she knew, Marcus was roping his arms around her waist and crushing her body against his, pulling her completely off the concrete. What had been frigid air surrounding her suddenly turned blistering, and heat exploded at her center, igniting every extremity. The memories of him that had tortured her all week evaporated, replaced by the impressions of his reality. She felt his arms around her waist again, the scruff of his beard against her cheek again, the solid strength of his shoulders beneath her hands again. She couldn’t believe he was actually here.