Hostile Takeover
Page 7

Not too long after that, the letters and calls stopped coming so regularly. Cass had said she didn’t have a steady boyfriend, so Bill hadn’t lasted. However, dinner tonight clearly suggested she’d figured a lot of things out, and not just about sex.
Was the brat smart enough to realize the importance of that break in contact with him, setting a clear demarcation line between the relationship that had existed between man and teenager then, and man and woman now? Plotting it out so she could show up in his life as a sexy, grown-up young woman, homing in on him like a sleek barracuda? That kind of calculation was a bit scary, but she’d always been precocious.
She had self-confidence, determination, and the Dom in him who recognized it, recognized what she was, hungered for it. He wanted to hurt her, give her pain, and she acted like she’d welcome it. She was off limits, but a big portion of him—entendre intended—was just not giving a rat’s ass. The combination of innocence and sexual drive made her damn near irresistible.
So if that was all there was to it, why wasn’t he going to a club to blow off steam? Or calling up his preferred reputable escort service to take care of his more functional and dangerous cravings?
Because she was in his head. Hell, her scent was still on his clothes, where she’d rubbed up against him during the dancing. He’d smiled at her during the Cajun two-step, and kept smiling. It was hard not to appreciate her, especially when she was utterly serious and yet had that dancing light in her eyes.
It had reminded him of something he couldn’t deny. While he may have helped the teenage Marcie let loose and laugh again, her dry wit and self-deprecation, unexpected for her years, coupled with the occasional dose of teenage omniscience on every subject, had kept him grinning and impressed back then. Plus, as the others had found their “one” and gotten married, affecting him in ways he hadn’t expected, she’d seemed to understand when it was getting to him. She’d loosened up things inside him about that.
That was the problem, wasn’t it? His relationships with women were about the physical, and the pure psychology of D/s. Marcie had an emotional connection to him he couldn’t deny, something no other woman—other than the K&A wives who had more clear boundaries—had with him.
He imagined her eating that dessert at home, alone, the chocolate melting in her mouth. The tines of the fork imprinting on her lips, her moist tongue coming out to catch a bit of sweet. He could see her brown eyes, thinking over the evening, analyzing, planning her next attack. Hell, Marcie had started studying for her SATs when she was eleven. Superhuman focus and drive was a family trait. Except in her older brother Jeremy, unless you counted a superhuman determination to self-destruct.
He drew on the cigarette again, a shadow passing through his mind at the thought. It had been awhile since he’d asked Lucas how that was going. For the past few years, Cass went to Thailand monthly to visit Jeremy. She took one of the kids with her each time. Sometimes Lucas went. Through him, Ben knew Marcie had made the trip a few times as well. But the last report Lucas had given the group said Jeremy’s time was running out.
Of course, if Jon hadn’t found that clinic trying an alternative treatment, and mixed it up with some Eastern hocus pocus by having Jeremy stay in a Buddhist temple near the clinic, the kid would have been dead over six years ago. With full-blown AIDS, he’d been living every day on borrowed time, a fucking miracle. Of course, all of them were living on borrowed time, weren’t they?
Lately it felt like he wasn’t doing shit with his.
Jesus, he wasn’t even fit company for himself. He was beating himself up for sending her off in that cab. He thought of the way she’d sneaked in those little brushes of her body, her wandering hands during their dance. He’d had her turned against him once, her backside soft against his groin. It would have been so easy to cup her breasts, hold her tighter against him, bury his nose in her hair.
He was going to go home, stand naked under a cold shower, wrap his fingers around his dick and jack off until his legs buckled. He already knew he’d be imagining her on her knees, working him in her mouth, that blonde hair slick on her skull. He’d probably have to spurt three or four times tonight. When he was finally drained, he’d lie in bed, stare at the blinking light of a mute television, make his way through a bottle of whiskey, and try not to think about the fact he was starting to backslide into a person he’d vowed he’d never be again. But the monsters were always waiting, weren’t they?
Some shit was best not stirred up, and she was like a great big wooden spoon, ready to attack that cauldron with a double-fisted grip. She’d get scalded, and he couldn’t allow that.
Marcie: I can’t believe you couriered French bread and capellini to me in a warmer. It was so fresh, it was as if I was sitting in the kitchen at home watching you pull it out of the oven. The only thing more perfect would have been if you brought it yourself, though maybe that wouldn’t be a good idea, since half the girls on the floor are now in love with you.
Ben: Hmm… Not really interested in the “in love” part, but a floor of co-eds in lust with me? I’ll be right there. That Mercedes you’re always mocking can do well over a hundred on interstate. Prepare the Jell-O tub and wet T-shirts.
Marcie: Pig. Yes, your car is fast, but you have to stop for gas every hour. Of course, it was pretty thrilling, taking it from 0 to 60 in four seconds. But I’ll deny it if you tell any of my green friends.
Ben: That’s green with envy, brat, not eco-conscious. And you better not tell Cassandra I let you do that. She’ll want to do it too. I only let you do it because you nagged incessantly.
Phone call between Ben and Marcie, freshman year
Chapter Three
“You know, all the greats—Lou Gehrig, Babe Ruth—they could pick up any old bat and hit it out of the park. You only need a caveman’s club if you can’t hit the side of a barn without one.”
“Just keep telling yourself that, Luc. Whatever you need to feel good about that inferior equipment of yours.”
Jon snorted, coming into Ben’s office. “Glad to see you two are getting some real work done this morning.”
Ben braced his foot against the side of his desk as he drank his morning coffee. He eyed Lucas, who had his ass planted on the arm of his couch. “You know Lucas can’t resist talking about my dick. It fascinates him.”
Lucas raised an unimpressed brow. “You brought up the distasteful subject of your dick. I was just asking how your new intern is doing.”
“I hope he’s doing her.” This from Peter, coming into the door with a box of donuts. “I saw her winging her way down the hall yesterday. Only got a profile shot when she turned to say something to Janet, but what a gorgeous pair of—”
“It’s Marcie,” Ben snapped, bringing his feet down to the floor with a resounding thud. “Jesus, Peter.”
Peter shot a glance at Lucas. “Oh shit. Sorry about that, bro.”
Lucas smiled wryly. “She’s grown into a beautiful woman, like her sister. And just as strong-willed, God help the man who falls for her. But her assertiveness will stand her well. She wants to be a corporate investigator.”
Assertive, hell. There was an understatement. Ben snorted into his coffee.
“She did exceptionally well at the intern level in Europe,” Lucas continued. “She’s had a few lucrative entry-level offers from firms in Milan and Stuttgart. Cass hopes she won’t go that far away from home though.”
“At least that puts one family member closer to Jeremy,” Peter offered.
Ben remembered his thoughts of last night. “What’s the latest on that, Luc?”
“Not so good.” Lucas’ expression became more somber. “We talked about bringing him home, letting it end here, like a few years back when we thought it was going to happen then, but he seems truly at peace at the monastery. It’s a good place. Cass wants to be with him, though, so she’s talking with Pickard about a leave of absence in the next couple weeks. She’ll go spend his final days with him there, and I’ll fly back and forth as needed. I intended to talk to Matt about it today.”
Shit, Ben hadn’t realized Jeremy’s time was that close. Because he’d been tuning out a lot of the domestic discussion crap of late, he wasn’t staying connected to each of their lives on the things that mattered. Maybe he wasn’t the balloon who’d been cut loose, but the one who’d untied himself from the rail.
The men were quiet for a few minutes. “I’m so sorry, Lucas,” Jon said. Their philosophical boy-genius leaned forward in the guest chair, his blue eyes sad. “I knew it was a long shot, but I hoped that treatment would help turn the tide.”
“It did.” Lucas shook his head. “We thought he was going to die years ago, Jon. You gave him every moment since then. Nearly seven years not to be a junkie on the street, seven years for his life to be something better. It meant the world to Cass, to the whole family. You gave him back to them.”
Ben cleared his throat, rose. Coming around his desk, he put his hand on Lucas’ shoulder. “Whatever you need, you’ve got it, from all of us. If Cass needs you with her full time, we’ll cover here, no problem.”
Lucas studied Ben with shrewd gray eyes. “You know same goes, right? Whatever you’re fighting, Ben, we’re here. You don’t have to marinate your liver and walk the streets looking for a fight. You dumb Cajun-Irish brawler.”
“Don’t forget his sporadic New England accent from that fancy education. Or the midwest drawl to put our more country clients at ease.” Peter grinned, defusing the sudden tension in Ben’s chest. This was about Jeremy, not him, damn it. “You know you can call me and Dana any night,” Peter added. “We’ll go out or, if it’s a guys-only thing, she’ll cut me loose without a second thought. Especially if it’s you.”
“Yeah, she’s got a thing for me. Good for you to be a man and accept it.”