Caught in the Billionaire's Embrace (15 page)

Until she remembered that being alone would mean, well, being alone. If only she could take Marcus with her…

But she couldn't do that. What made things more difficult was that, even after the grand jury hearing concluded, she still wouldn't be left alone—not yet. At some point, she would have to return to New York to repeat everything she'd said. Because the grand jury had been given an overwhelming amount of evidence against Whitworth and Stone and a number of its highest-placed executives. They would, without question, rule that the case go to trial. A trial that would involve the same star witness—her. Only then would she be able to slip back into her new anonymity. Only that time, it
would
be forever.

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 naked 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.

Wait a minute.
What was he doing here?

The thought made her pull away from him, but Marcus followed and captured her mouth with his again. Although he set her down on the step, he curved his hands over her hips to keep her there and kissed
her more deeply still. She allowed herself to get lost in blissful sensations for another long moment. But when she heard the sound of not one, but two throats clearing not so indiscreetly behind her, she found the wherewithal to pull away from him again.

Marcus must have heard the marshals' reactions, too, because he didn't try to reclaim Della this time. He did, however, move to the same step she was on and loop an arm around her shoulders, then he pulled her close, as if he were afraid her guardians would try to take her from him again.

But neither marshal seemed eager to come between them. In fact, they were both smiling.

“He looks like more than…a friend,” Carson said.

“Yeah, I don't have any…friends…like that,” Willoughby agreed. “I don't think my wife would like it too much if I did.”

Della felt Marcus relax beside her. But he still didn't loosen his hold on her. Not that she cared.

“Do you mind?” Della said to the two marshals. “Can I have a few minutes to talk to my…friend?”

Carson and Willoughby exchanged a wary look, then turned back to Della.

“I'm sorry, Ms. Hannan,” Carson said, “but privacy is one thing a federal witness doesn't get much of. And you're not out of protective custody yet. If you want to talk to your…friend…it's going to have to be in front of me and Willoughby.”

“It's okay, Della,” Marcus said.

With one more pleading look aimed at her escorts—who both regretfully shook their heads in response—she turned to Marcus. He lifted a hand to her face to trace the line of her cheekbone, her nose, her jaw and her mouth. He didn't seem to be bothered by their
audience. Then again, Della was so happy to see him, she didn't really care who saw them, either.

“I'm going to have to get used to this witness security thing sooner or later, anyway,” Marcus said. “It might as well be now.”

The remark puzzled her. “Why do you have to get used to it?”

He inhaled a deep breath and released it slowly, then dropped his hand from her face so that he could take her hand in his. When her mittens hindered his efforts, he gently tugged one off. Then he wove their fingers together and squeezed tight.

“I have to get used to it,” he said, “because I'm going with you.”

Her mouth fell open a bit at that. “What are you talking about?”

“I'm going with you.”

She shook her head. “Marcus, that's crazy talk. You don't know what you're saying.”

“I know exactly what I'm saying.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a small kiss in the center of her palm. Then he said a third time, “I'm going with you.”

“But you can't,” she insisted. “You have a life in Chicago. A big life. A larger-than-life life. There are lots of people who will miss you if you disappear.”

“None that matters as much as you,” he told her.

“But your friends—”

“—are not particularly close ones,” he finished for her. “They don't matter as much as you.”

“Your family—”

“—is more of a corporate entity than a family,” he assured her. “I've spent ninety percent of my life rebelling against them and the other ten percent taking
advantage of them. We're not that close, either. They definitely don't matter as much as you.”

“But your business. Your job is—”

“—mostly as a figurehead,” he told her. “It especially doesn't matter as much as you.” He gave her hand another gentle squeeze. “I don't do that much for Fallon Brothers as it is now, Della. Once I'm in charge, I'll do even less. I'll just make a lot more money for that lack of performance. Corporate America is kind of funny that way.”

She latched on to the money thing. “Your money. You can't walk away from all that. It's—”

“—money,” he concluded easily. “That's all. Just money. It doesn't even come close to mattering as much as you.”

“That's all?” she echoed incredulously. “Marcus, that's a lot of money you're talking about. Millions of dollars.”

He only smiled, tugged off her other mitten and took that hand in his, too, giving it a kiss identical to the other one. “Billions, actually,” he said matter-of-factly.

All Della could manage in response to that was a soft squeak.

That only made Marcus laugh. “Della. I would think you, of all people, would understand how that much money can bring
a lot
of trouble into a person's life. It's not that hard to walk away from it.”

“Oh, right,” she sputtered. “Spoken like someone who's never had to go without money in his life.”

“Della, there's more to life than money,” he stated unequivocally. “The best things in life are free. Simple pleasures are the best. Money is the root of all evil.”

She shook her head at him, but couldn't help smiling.
Probably because of the warm, gooey sensations meandering through her. “When did you open an unlimited account at Platitudes 'R' Us?” she asked.

“Actually,” he said lightly, “the account is at words-to-live-by-dot-com. But you're right—it is an unlimited one.” He leaned in close, moving his mouth to her ear. Very quietly, he whispered, “Besides, the woman I intend to spend the rest of my life with is adamant about rebuilding her career. She can take care of me. She loves me to distraction, after all.”

The warm gooeyness inside her swirled into a river of sweet, sticky goodness. Unable to help herself, Della leaned forward to press her forehead against Marcus's shoulder. He looped his arms around her waist and settled his chin on the crown of her head.

“See there?” he said softly. “You do love me, don't you?”

She was amazed to hear an unmistakable uncertainty in his voice. “Yes,” she whispered against the fabric of his coat.

Now he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “Good. Because I love you, too.”

He loved her, too, Della thought. He loved her, too. He loved her, too. It was like a magic incantation in her brain, breaking all the evil spells of her old life and bestowing new ones in their wake. He loved her, too. He loved her, too.

“But, Marcus,” she said softly, “there's so much more you should consider besides—”