Darkside Love Affair Read online

  If she had stuck by her own choice and lived life according to her own judgment, she would have been in constant war with her family. If James Burton resembled my father even a tiny bit, I did not see his daughter facing his wrath daily. I didn’t want her to. Yet, I hated that she had complied with a choice that had been forced on her.

  “Is your aversion directed only toward law school or lawyers altogether?” she asked, taking me aback.

  “Toward my father,” I explained honestly but hurried to change the subject. Any discussion involving my father wasn’t going to finish well. “But tell me, what would you have liked to do, if you weren’t a lawyer?”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Charlotte trailed off, meditating. She brought her hand to her shoulder, slightly grimacing as she dug her fingers too harshly into the flesh. Her eyes caught the light and turned into the warmest shade of brown. “I had always known I would never really do anything else.”

  Her eyes lowered to her wristwatch, and immediately, her brows puckered. I didn’t need a degree to understand that she had to leave. Although I hated her profession, I didn’t want to keep her from her duties. Charlotte hesitated, but eventually, she looked up. I could swear she blushed.

  “It’s okay if you have to go,” I told her. “I will just resume stalking you.”

  “Very funny.”

  She rolled her eyes but couldn’t muffle the chuckle or the light that shone in her eyes. Then she stunned me. It was only fair if I enjoyed disconcerting her, that she liked doing the same thing to me.

  “I did want to ask you one question. Why are you pursuing me?”

  “I don’t know, Charlotte,” I sighed. I wished I knew the answer myself. “I really don’t know.”

  The way she searched me for any trace of a lie was comical, but it also showed that she was used to always finding the truth. And that particularity about her should have bugged me since it reminded me so much of my father.

  Then I realized that my father was not in a continual search for the truth but a quest to achieve his goals, no matter the costs. Charlotte was nothing like my father. She was nothing like the lawyers I knew.

  “I could ask you the reverse. Why are you letting me pursue you?”

  “I don’t know, Marcus,” she answered, almost mimicking me. The way my name had sounded on her lips brought all my innermost instincts to life. I just wanted her to say it one more time.

  Charlotte stood then, offering me the satisfaction of seeing a shade of regret imprinted on her features. In the beginning, she had tried pushing me away, but did she still want that?

  I couldn’t stick to the promise I had made myself in that movie theater. I didn’t want to remove her from my life. On the contrary.

  “Charlotte,” I called, just after she smiled apologetically and turned to leave. “If you want to get another taste of that something else, I’d like to show you something this Saturday. If you are available, of course.”

  “Maybe I am available, but I am not willing.”

  “Then Saturday it is.”

  Chapter 9

  Charlotte

  “How is your shoulder doing?” Marcus asked matter-of-factly.

  He stood behind me and leaned close enough that his lips almost brushed my ear. His warm breath made the nape of my neck tingle, and his scent invaded my senses. He was huge, powerful, and utterly male. The combination made me groan, aware of how small and defenseless I was.

  My fingers automatically curled around my shoulder. I hadn’t realized he had noticed my discomfort, but most importantly, I hadn’t imagined he would care enough to ask.

  Some women might have been flattered when they received flowers or expensive gifts, while others when they were the cause of constant compliments or reckless deeds. I, on the other hand, was flattered by these small gestures that showed when a person cared. My cheeks heated, and I had to clench my hands by my sides to keep from covering my face.

  “How did you know?”

  “You almost knocked me over, remember?”

  “No, I didn’t,” I protested, spinning around. Yes, I had bumped into him—roughly—but he had hardly been affected by the collision, whereas I had fully felt the merciless impact of his stone chest. It had been exactly like hitting a wall. “And the shoulder is much better, thank you.”

  “Good,’ he said firmly, with a nod of his head.

  He took the helmet and placed it on my head. He was too close, and those sky-blue eyes of his were inspecting me relentlessly. I looked away, but judging from the low, almost inaudible growl rumbling in his chest, I suspected he didn’t approve of my inability to confront his inquisitive stare. If he disliked my self-consciousness, he said nothing.

  “Why do I have to wear a helmet and you don’t?”

  “Because I promised to keep you safe.”

  His eyes, his voice, his whole demeanor didn’t brook any argument.

  “Now, we already played by your rules,” he continued, his voice exquisitely husky, rendering me aware in ways that panicked me—that made me throb with new life. “Are you ready to play by my rules?”

  “Not exactly.”

  His wicked smile held no form of comfort. I had no idea what Marcus wanted to show me. I had no idea why I had accepted his invitation. And I definitely had no idea why I was so eager to set off, but when he straddled the motorcycle and held his hand for me, I swung my leg over the bike without any objections.

  We were in motion before I even sat properly behind him. My hands settled on his chest, a little higher than where he had placed them the last time we drove together. The recollection of his warm, calloused fingers around mine was as real as his heartbeats currently reverberating under the palms of my hands. His heart beat strong and steady—a man’s untamed heart.

  A lump rose in my throat, and my blood went cold, so how could I, at the same time, feel lighter and burn hotter? It must have been the adrenaline rush, the same thing Marcus certainly sought each time he climbed on that speeding bullet.

  I rested my head against his shoulder because it shielded me from the wind blowing past us with an almost suffocating speed, but mostly because the closeness calmed me.

  When he finally exited the city, he increased speed little by little. I suspected he did that only because he wanted to spare me a panic attack. Then, we were floating over the roadway, and pure energy invaded my bloodstream like a virus.

  What I had considered earlier an adrenaline rush had hardly been tiny, little nerves compared to what I was feeling now.

  Marcus straightened slightly to absorb the wind embracing us, and my arms flexed involuntarily around him. He was so large that it was nearly difficult to encircle his muscle-packed torso with my arms.

  The motorcycle bowed under Marcus’s steadfast control. He rode with confidence, with unleashed enthusiasm, and an unperturbed smile on his lips merged with a concentrated look in his eyes. He infused me with his addiction.

  “How does it feel back there?” he chuckled.

  As he spoke, he settled his left hand on my own, the touch electrifying, then he promptly placed it back on the handlebar.

  All the tension I had accumulated in my system throughout the week seemed to simply disappear. I had never imagined that speed would grant me freedom and strength in equal measure. The faster the motorcycle moved, the more invincible I felt, like no force was stronger than me, like nothing could make me crumble.

  Then there was also a shadow of dread nagging at the back of my head that only heightened the experience. I could almost taste the air blowing in my face. In spite of the frightening speed, I was still able to see with stunning clarity everything we left behind. And, when my fingers touched Marcus’s chest, I could feel everything from the softness of his shirt to the hard planes of his muscles, to the cadenced beating of his heart. So instead of answering, I thought I should show him how I felt.

  I loosened my hold on him slowly. The gesture was sluggish, teasing, and probably not something I woul
d have done with anybody else, perhaps not even with him if I hadn’t been infected by this burst of energy.

  My legs tightened against his thighs, then I gingerly stretched my arms open like I wanted to clinch the wind and become as weightless as it was. I moved my arms slowly in the air, watching my own motions, watching my fingers as they tried to seize the un-seizeable. I wanted this sensation to never end.

  “What are you doing?” I heard Marcus hiss.

  But the question was: what had he done to me? He had made me do things I never imagined I would do. A little more than a week ago, I hadn’t believed that I would entertain a relationship with a stranger or trust him enough to ride his motorcycle.

  He had snapped me out of my tight cage of rules and responsibilities. He had made me want to be reckless like I had never wanted to. So I never expected his harsh, nearly aggressive reaction.

  “Put your arms back around me, Charlotte,” Marcus snapped. “Now.”

  There was something in his commanding tone that left no room for argument. In my haste to obey, I lost my balance just a little. The noise coming from the engine couldn’t muffle the growl that exploded from Marcus’s chest. I wrapped my hands once more around his body, but the previous carefree Marcus was just a memory. He was hard as stone and tense as a spring.

  He said nothing more, but I knew he was mad, and I felt responsible and embarrassed, just like I used to when I was little and did something wrong. I held on tight and buried my head once more in his shoulder. Soon, I noticed that the tighter I squeezed him, the more relaxed he became. I had worried him.

  “You didn’t tell me where we’re going,” I said out loud after a while. Rather than making small talk, I wanted to make sure that he wasn’t upset anymore.

  “We’re going to deliver a pack of cocaine,” Marcus answered loud enough so I could hear him.

  His voice sounded business-like, but he was trying hard not to laugh at me. After all, wouldn’t it have been downright ironic that a lawyer transported illegal substances? Apparently, he wasn’t upset anymore but in the mood for making awful jokes.

  “Don’t mock me,” I hissed and slapped his chest hard but not so hard as to make him lose concentration. He laughed loudly, maybe releasing the earlier tension I had caused. Luckily, he didn’t hold grudges either. “You’re not a criminal.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I can see it in your eyes.”

  Using his own words against him, something I did often and well, but generally with the purpose of incriminating the person in the stand, made me smile broadly against his leather jacket. To make use of such a tactic under different circumstances was refreshing.

  “I see you like quoting me. Isn’t there a law for copyright?”

  “Yes, there is. Sue me.”

  “I don’t think it’s wise. You’ll just sue me for—what was it? Assault?”

  The ease which he drove the motorcycle with and still talked, the posture of his body—animal-like in appearance, but wildly sensual in essence—the deep hoarse voice that reached me despite the whistling of the wind or the roar of the engine proved distracting.

  When his words finally penetrated my consciousness, I had to restrain myself from slapping his chest again. Maybe he didn’t hold grudges, but he certainly knew how to tease a person with old mistakes.

  “Argh. You already forgave me for that,” I complained.

  “I did.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Marcus had crept beyond defenses that I hadn’t been aware I had erected. More disturbingly, he seemed to have an influence over me that few people had had over the course of time. With that power, he had managed to snake into my life and slowly reveal a Charlotte I was hardly acquainted with.

  Sometime before we arrived at our destination, I figured we were headed toward the Hamptons. When I came of age, my father bought an impressive estate in a small but exclusive village, where we generally went on weekends or for a few weeks during the summer if we were lucky.

  Although the property was in my name, I had never felt it was my own. There must have been another half an hour ride to my holiday house, but I decided against mentioning it. Whatever Marcus had planned on showing me, it sounded definitely more appealing.

  “Crescent Moon Ranch,” I read the big sign hanging over the entrance.

  Marcus drove past the gate with the certainty and confidence of a man who knew his way. He parked the motorcycle next to a black Land Rover then helped me climb down. When my eyes met his, he was smiling broadly, if not a little uneasily like he was nervous about something.

  I looked around curiously, knowing that all the while his blue gaze was searching me. A concoction of smells greeted us, and it was difficult to single out just one. The smell of seaweed and salt water blended with the specific scent of horses. Freshly cut grass merged with the earthy notes of dust and splintered wood. It even smelled a little like rain. I took a deep breath and smiled too. This was nature unhindered.

  “The owner’s son was my roommate during college,” Marcus explained. He put a hand on the small of my back and directed me away from the improvised parking lot. “He has been tormenting me ever since, so the least he can do is offer me preferential treatment on his family’s ranch.”

  “That’s highly unethical.”

  Marcus smirked, utterly undeterred by my remark. With a simple grin, the dangerous man from a few minutes ago had turned into a cheerful boy.

  “I like to visit during the summers. They provide a special indulgence of an interest of mine.”

  Before long, the special indulgence he referred to became clear as we stopped in front of a wooden stable. The scent of horses wafted from inside, and Marcus filled his lungs with it.

  Against my better judgment, I admired the confident stance of his body and his stealthy allure that entangled a woman’s senses. His eyes paused on my face, catching emotions I would rather have kept to myself. He flustered me, and he enjoyed it. I feared that to some extent I did too.

  “Mr. King,” someone called, and we both turned to see a workman jog to us.

  “Hi, Marina. Is Weston home?”

  My mouth all but hung open. The workman with dusty clothes and riding gloves was, in fact, a woman. Marcus threw me an amused glance, probably reading my mind, while Marina didn’t even acknowledge my presence.

  I feared my poorly hidden surprise at her gender had offended her, but then I noticed how her eyes sparkled and her body softened near Marcus. If I had offended her with anything, it was being Marcus’s companion.

  On closer inspection, it was truly absurd that I had mistaken her for a man. Behind the short-cropped hair, the manly clothes, and the rough edges of her attitude, she was all woman.

  “No. He left this morning for London, but he said that he can’t wait to catch up.”

  “Sure. Maybe we can spend a quiet evening together sometime if Charlotte agrees.”

  Two sets of eyes, one mischievous, the other bored, turned in my direction, causing my cheeks to redden and my lips to pull up into a self-conscious smile. While the woman still refused to acknowledge me, Marcus’s gaze seared through my armor, demanding entrance where barriers did not separate us.

  “So can I help you with anything?”

  “Actually, I can manage. I will take 5 and 7.”

  “Just call if you need anything.”

  The woman turned around and disappeared just as fast as she had arrived. I hadn’t understood much from her conversation with Marcus, except that they were on very familiar terms. When Marcus faced me, I felt the need to look away, like I had just witnessed something I shouldn’t have.

  “Marina does not have an interest in me.”

  Marcus’s blunt and unexpected statement made me gasp and stagger back a step. His fingers instantly wrapped around my elbow to steady me and his formerly laughing eyes turned severe.

  “You are not required to clarify your sentimental affairs,” I replied detachedly, whic
h only made him remove the little space between us. Ducking his head so we were almost of the same height, he whispered.

  “I do not like when you assume this defensive attitude, Charlotte. Especially when you have no reason to. The one Marina is having an affair with is Weston, not me.”

  “Oh...” was all I managed to say.

  “Oh, indeed. Are you calmer now?” he teased but stepped back, allowing me to breathe.

  “I was calm before.”

  “Good. Let me show you something now.”

  He took my hand in his, and for a short instant, I froze. There was an intimacy in simple actions such as holding hands or kissing, sometimes even more significant than the actual act of lovemaking.

  A man could sleep with a woman without any feelings or emotions attached to the act whatsoever beyond the fleeting pleasure. But the warmth and closeness of holding hands or the tenderness of feeling soft lips pressing against yours until they molded perfectly could only spring from caring, from craving the other’s touch, from wanting, at all moments and all costs, to feel the person you cared for.

  I struggled to regain my former disposition, but my cheeks were flaming. Why had I even started entertaining such ideas? They definitely did not apply in Marcus’s case. We hardly knew each other, and certainly, his gesture had been merely instinctive and lacking in importance, but instead of letting my hand go, he squeezed it tighter as if willing me to wrap my fingers around his hand too.

  When I looked up at him, he was watching me with that pungent intensity that made me shiver. He brought to life sides of me that had been dormant for far too long.

  “Crescent Moon Ranch,” I read again the inscription written on each stall gate, impatient to steer his attention away from my person. “Why did they choose this name?”

  “Elizabeth, Weston’s mother, is the one who practically founded the ranch, or rather her passion was. Crescent Moon was her first pony when she was seven years old. Unfortunately, she died within 3 years.”