Make Me, Sir

Well, he might have won a battle, but obviously the war was not yet won.

* * *

The time with Marcus’s grandparents had been wonderful, Gabi thought, as Marcus opened the door to his hotel room. Damn, they were fun.

His grandmother volunteered at various Tampa wildlife rescue groups, had tried to draft Gabi into helping, and been disappointed to hear she lived in Miami.

In contrast, his opinionated, pushy grandfather had deliberately prodded Gabi with idiotic statements, rather like poking a stick at a caged monkey. Finally when he’d complained about the money going to health insurance for children, she’d lost her temper and ripped his logic to shreds. He had a roaring laugh almost as wonderful as Marcus’s. After he caught his breath, he’d told Marcus, “She’ll do.”

They liked me. Yes, most people did, but she’d never expected approval from Marcus’s family.

And Marcus hadn’t acted stuffy at all. He’d held his own with his grandfather, bantered with his grandmother, and every time he laughed, heat streaked down her spine.

“C’mon in, sugar,” Marcus said, holding the door open for her.

“I can’t believe you took a room in a Disney resort.” The African decor continued in the room, with warmly golden tones, wood carvings, and bright patterns on the bed-the very big bed. She looked away.

“Since you like the panthers at that cat rescue place so much, I thought you’d enjoy this.”

He’d remembered. Warm fuzzies edged aside some of her nerves.

After pouring two glasses of wine, he walked onto the balcony. “Come here, darlin’. Let’s talk.”

Just like that, she felt as if someone had wrapped a big hand around her throat, cutting off her voice. Her feet wouldn’t move until he curled his finger up in a “come here” motion.

Fine. They really did need to get this over with. She joined him on the balcony, sipped the smooth pinot noir, and pretended to watch the animals on the grassland. Talk. How could she make him understand? Even if he thought he wanted her, he didn’t. He wouldn’t. She mustn’t let him push her into something he’d regret.

“What are we talking about?” she asked lightly. The low murmur of conversation came from other balconies, a little boy yelled in frustration, someone had their music turned to a loud rock station.

Marcus frowned and shook his head. “This isn’t going to work.”

Her hopes that should never have arisen drained away when he pushed her back into the room and closed the balcony door. “Okay.” Her voice didn’t shake. Much. “I didn’t think it would.” She set her glass on the small table in the sitting area.

He tilted his head in puzzlement and then smiled, grabbing her hand as she headed for the door. “No, darlin’, I mean we can’t talk on the balcony. There’s too many people around. And you don’t appear capable of rational discussion at this point.”

“What?”

“We’ll try irrational first.” He grasped the bottom of her blouse and pulled it over her head. Before she got past “Marcus!” her bra followed the top onto the floor. “What are you doing?”

He chuckled, ignoring her attempts to keep him from yanking down her jeans zipper. “What do you think?”

“This…this isn’t talking.”

“Sure it is. Now just stand right there, sugar.”

When she stepped back instead, his frown and the stern set of his jaw stopped her cold. She’d learned to obey the trainer far too well. Before she collected her resolve, he’d removed her jeans and thong.

“Marcus…” She forced the words out. How had she let this go so far? “This isn’t a good idea.”

He stepped closer, touching her cheek lightly with his fingertips. “I missed you, Gabi.”

The open emotion in his low voice shook her, the pull toward him as hard to fight as a riptide. “No,” she whispered.

“You are appallingly stubborn,” he said under his breath. He tugged her hair and stepped back.

She hauled in a breath.

“So let’s have a look at you.” His gaze ran down her body, leaving a wake of heat in its path; then his eyes darkened. He brushed a finger over the black bruise on her left breast. “How did this happen?”

Her throat constricted, and she swallowed against the nausea accompanying the memory. “Jang got rough.”

His mouth tightened, but he only nodded and examined the bruises on her back and hips and shoulders. “How did you get these?”

“Falls.” She found a smile for him. “Being dropped into a big box. Knocked onto a dock.” She touched the abrasion on her forehead. “This was the dock too.”

He traced around the ugly bruise on her right side, and she winced. He frowned. “Are your ribs cracked or broken?”

“Bruised.” She sighed when he lifted his eyebrows. “Only a crack or two from when Jang kicked me. Then again, I did kick him in the balls.”

A dimple appeared beside his mouth when he smiled. “Good for you, darlin’.” With firm hands, he sat her on the edge of the bed. Cupping her cheek, he examined the bruise there and the others along her jawline. “From the dock?”

“Jang.”

“I owe Z a drink for taking care of him for me.” His words were mild, but she saw the fury in his eyes and the tension in his muscles. Oddly enough, his anger on her behalf drained some pain from her own memories.

She rubbed her cheek against his palm. “Vance said Z did a thorough job. Jang’s ribs were definitely broken.”

“Knowing every breath he takes will hurt for a long time does help.” He tipped her chin up and scrutinized her face. “He put his hands on you… How badly is that still bothering you? I would think it might bring back some ugly memories.”

“A few.” She closed her eyes, unable to tolerate the piercing gaze. “I was…scared.” Trapped, hurt, no way out. She shivered.

He sat down beside her and enclosed her hands in his warm ones. “Go on.”

She tried to shrug. “I’ve had a few panic attacks. It’s getting better, maybe because I managed to fight back a little this time. And I chose to play decoy, so everything didn’t happen out of the blue, for no reason. I’m more upset about…” She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “My friend. K-Kim. There’s not much hope now.”

“Ah, darlin’, I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Come here now.” His hard arms closed around her and pulled her against his chest. Her eyes pooled with tears because she had someone to lean on, even if for only a short time. The comfort… No one had held her since the hospital, and God, she’d needed that. As if he could tell, he simply cuddled her for a while, rocking slightly. His chin rested on the top of her head, and she felt enclosed in warmth and safety.

“You know, you scared me spitless, li’l subbie. First when I heard you’d been kidnapped, and then…even worse, seeing your box tip toward the water.”

She smiled against his shirt. Other people besides her could be frightened. “Thank you for not letting me drown. Vance said you got hit by a pipe when you swung me back onto the dock.” She pulled back and touched the bruised, abraded spot on the edge of his forehead, half covered by hair. He had a bruise on his jaw too. He’d taken a fist in the face. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

“My pleasure.”

She unbuttoned his shirt. The white gauze bandage on his left shoulder seemed horribly wrong on his golden tan skin. A yellowing, round bruise bloomed over his left ribs, and she gave him the same inquisitive gaze he’d used on her.

“Took a punch.”

God, look at him. Bandages, bruises, cuts. All from knowing her. She’d almost gotten him killed. Her eyes filled with tears.

“Now don’t you start watering up over a few marks, sugar.” He pulled her back against his side. “I get worse in