THEN

Katia

Click, click, click.

My heels are only one sound on the bustling street as I make my way towards my best friend, Dusty’s, birthday bash. Voices chatter noisily around as people excitedly head to their Saturday night destinations. I can’t help but smile at the people I pass, excited to finally be out of work and into the world of relaxation.

I’m a personal assistant to an overbearing boss that runs a large shipping company. My days are hectic and the only down time I get is on the weekend. Even then, I’m not guaranteed complete peace. Take today for example, where I was called into work to help my boss with a presentation when all I wanted to do was stay in bed.

“Girl!”

I smile as I near the bar I’m meeting Dusty at. He’s already standing out the front, dressed all in black, looking suave and super handsome. He grins, rushing forward to throw his arms around my body. I laugh, letting him lift me and spin me in a big circle.

“Happy Birthday, Dust.” I giggle when he places me on my feet once more.

“Girl, you look fine!”

Dusty is the nicest, friendliest, sexiest gay man I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. We became friends a little more than five years ago, and have been tight ever since. I met Dusty in a bar, crying into his drink, so to speak, because he’d been dumped. We got chatting, we got drunk, and a friendship formed. He called me the next day and now here we are.

“I had to work all day.” I frown.

He scrunches his nose up and waves his hand around in disgust. I giggle as his dark blue eyes dance with amusement.

Dusty gathers an equal amount of male/female attention. Upon first glance you want to rip his clothes off and lick every inch of his body, he’s that good looking. He’s got black hair, black as the night, and this brings out his dark blue eyes. His skin is a cross between pale and light olive, not quite either. His body is tall, muscled and exceptional.

“Girl, you work too much. Want me to have a word to your boss?” He winks.

I grin and wrap my arms around him, pressing my cheek to his chest. “Nah.”

He hugs me close. “You’re overworkin’ yourself,” he murmurs into my ear, all playfulness gone.

“I have to. Mom needs the money and—”

“I know, honey, but you don’t deserve this kind of stress either.”

I pull back, smiling up at him. “I’m fine.”

“You work sixty hours a week, minimum.”

I wave a hand, rolling my eyes at his slight over-exaggeration. “I’m here now.”

He gives me a skeptical look and then puts a smile back on his face. “Tell me,” he says, hooking his arm through mine, and turning me towards the bar, “where the hell did you get those gorgeous shoes?”

~*~*~*~

“Katia, I swear, you get prettier every time I see you!”

I’m wrapped in the embrace of Candy, my best female friend, though I don’t get to see her a whole lot because she lives two hours away. She’s bright, bubbly and sweet. Her personality is addictive. She’s smart as hell, too. Working for a massive company that apparently hires out bulk amounts of machinery.

“I could say the same,” I yell over the music, pulling back.

She smiles at me, flashing a row of perfect white teeth. One of them even has its very own little piece of bling. I don’t know what those things are called, but they’re kind of cool.

Candy is beautiful in the girl-next-door kind of way. She’s got mousy-brown hair, hazel eyes, flawless skin and a great body. She’s not a bombshell blonde, or an exotic beauty, but she’s so damned lovable and pretty I want to spend my days squeezing her cheeks.

She scoffs. “You and me are like the dog and the poop.”

I snort and begin laughing. “What?”

“You’re the dog, all pretty and cute, I’m the poop. Alone, the dog doesn’t think it’s that good, but really, he makes everyone else look like his poop.”

I stare at her, blinking. “Are you joking?”

She giggles. “No! Girl, you make us all look like poop.”

I roll my eyes.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, and ohhh, where did you get those shoes?”

I grin and hook my arm through hers, telling her about the shoes and how it was just my luck they were in this color.

“Ah!” she sighs. “Lifestyles of the rich and famous.”

I snort. “I had to save for five months, and I found them in a second-hand shop! Anyway you’ve got an amazing job. How is it going, by the way?”

She smiles, tucking a lock of hair behind her ears. “I love it, really I do. I mean, it’s only been a week, sure, but so far it’s going super. The boss though—oh my God, you should see him, Kat. He’s gorgeous.”

“Oh, do share. I need some mind candy for my spank bank.”

She gives me a horrified look. “What’s a girl like you, who looks like you, doing with a spank bank?”

“I don’t have time to get a boyfriend.”

“But you could get laid . . .” She points out.

I shake my head from side to side, backing up. Candy enjoys match-making. No, I mean she really enjoys it. She thinks she has a knack for creating these perfect relationships. She doesn’t. The last guy she set me up with farted during dinner. Farted. Then he laughed like he didn’t just fart in an expensive Italian restaurant. It was a truly beautiful moment. No really, there’s nothing wrong with a giant fart in a restaurant.

“No set-ups!”

She pouts prettily. “Okay, maybe not, but we could get you a fine piece of ass to take home and shag.”

Shag. Who uses that word?

“I’m not shagging anyone,” I protest.

Though it’s not a bad idea. Jack and Teddy, my vibrators, have well and truly deserved a break. And God, have I missed male company. It’s been two years since I’ve been on a date, and at least twelve months since I’ve been fucked. I’d kill to be fucked, just against a dirty wall, maybe over a car hood, something to take the edge off all these sexual fantasies building inside me.

I certainly have nothing at work to fantasize about. My boss is obese, smelly and a complete asshole. Why can’t I have a super sexy boss who looks like he’s jumped straight out of heaven? One who takes me on helicopter rides and ties me to beds?

Why? Because this is the real world, people. No boss is ever that awesome. Damn you, Christian Grey, for ruining all my future bosses. They’ll never compare.

“Helllooooo!” Candy says, clicking a finger in front of my face.

I blink at her. Shit. “Sorry, I was daydreaming about Christian Grey.”

She stares at me, mortified. “You do know he’s not a real person, right?”

“Take that back,” I hiss. “He’s real to me, and to Jack, and to Teddy.”

“Your vibrators aren’t real either, honey.”

I gasp. “Insulting them, too. How could you?”

She laughs. “We need to get you laid. Pronto.”

I think she’s right.

“Fine, but there are conditions,” I say, sipping my drink. “He can’t be smelly, farty, bald or . . . missing teeth.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off.

“Or limbs!” I cry. “He needs to have fingers and . . . toes . . . you know?”

She stares at me. “My God, you definitely need to get laid.”

It’s probably true.

“Come on,” she says. “Let’s go to the bathroom, get you all fancy and then you can sit at the bar like the sexy biatch you are and get yourself a cock for the night.”

We head to the bathroom and shove past the drunk, squealing ladies to get mirror space. I stare at myself in the mirror, impressed that I managed to pull off a gorgeous outfit in such a small amount of time. I dug out my sexiest red dress, backless, low-cut front, short and tight. Then I dug through my mass amount of shoes to find a pair of sexy black pumps. My blonde hair was easily styled; being that I curled the waist length locks this morning and left it down for work.

Make up was fairly easy, though my eyes are looking a little bloodshot. The usually piercing green depths are dull and tired. That’s what happens when you spend all your time in front of a computer. I pull my mascara from my purse and top it up, then finish up my red lipstick. My skin doesn’t require much make up, being that my father was Italian and I inherited his flawless olive skin. I’ve only ever seen a photo of the Italian stallion when he was younger, but he was a great looking man.

My mother is a beautiful woman, and it doesn’t surprise me that at one point in her life, she gathered a lot of male attention. She has blonde hair, too, only her skin is fair and her eyes are as green as mine. She’s a tiny, petite woman and I also inherited her build. I’m not leggy, hence the abundance of shoes. I’ve been called a pixie all my life.

There are times I’d have liked to meet my father, but my mother refused to ever tell me much about it. I don’t know the story. I don’t know what happened. I don’t even know if he knows about me. All I know is his name. Pierre. That’s it.

My mother doesn’t say a lot now, not after her brain tumor. She was diagnosed five years ago and quickly had it operated on. During the operation, essential nerves were damaged and she became mostly paralyzed. She has no control of her legs, and is in a wheelchair, but she’s got control of the rest of her body, and after a lot of re-training, can speak with a slight shake to her voice. I’ve been taking care of her since; I’m the only person she has and I can’t afford to put her in full-time care.

I can only afford a carer who watches her while I’m at work.

It’s draining, but I wouldn’t stop doing it. Not ever.

“God, how does your hair stay so shiny, thick and with that sexy, loose curl?” Candy asks, shoving her fingers through her hair and tugging angrily.

“A whole lot of effort,” I say, removing her hands and going to work fixing her hair. She has gorgeous, straight hair. I don’t know what she’s complaining about.

“Damn your awesome Italian hair, damn it all to hell!”

I laugh softly and pat her back. “There, you look gorgeous.”

She checks herself out, checks me out, and then announces, “Time to get you laid.”

We get some foul looks as we pass the other girls primping and prettying themselves. Candy mutters something along the lines of “take a picture” and we swiftly exit the bathroom. We shove down the halls, me in front, and just as I round the corner to the main floor I slam into a hard, tall body. I oomph loudly, and two hands gasp the tops of my arms to steady me as I trip on my pumps.

I right myself and step back. All I can see is a white shirt, crisp and plain with a dark red tie. The shirt, I note, is stretched across an extremely muscled chest. I slowly lift my eyes and gasp as they fix on one of the most handsome men I’ve ever laid eyes on, even better than Dusty—hell, even better than Brad Pitt and Christian Grey. Okay, Christian could be pushing it . . . I shake my head and stare into the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen.

They’re basically black.

His jaw, which is tipped down to me because he too is taking me in, is covered in stubble that gives him a professional yet dangerous edge. His hair is thick, black, and sits around the base of his neck, curling just slightly near his collar. He’s got a strong, solid jaw and full, pouty lips. Don’t even get me started on his height and the muscles that I catch a glimpse of when he moves his arm. His white shirt is rolled up to the elbow, and wow, ropes of muscle travel up and disappear under the shirt. Yum.

I can see a tattoo poking out behind his hair, curling just slightly around his neck, and there’s also a shadow of darkness beneath his shirt that tells me he’s got more where that one on his neck came from. Oh boy. I watch as his eyes travel over me, taking me in the same way I just took him in. His eyes flash with appreciation but he doesn’t smile; his lips remain in a firm, hard line.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice breathy.

He can’t even hear me; the music is so loud.

“Marcus?”

This comes from Candy, who is behind me.

She knows this sex god?

“Candice,” Marcus says, and oh my God, his voice is like melted honey . . . maybe mixed with a few pieces of gravel, because honey alone is not enough to describe this man’s voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I, ah . . .” she stammers.

“She’s with me,” I say, staring up at him. “Birthday party.”

“Your birthday?” he murmurs, staring at my lips.

Jesus.

“No.” I swallow. “Our friend’s.”

He turns his gaze back to Candy. “You left your keys at work. I gave them to Jemimah.”

This is her boss? The sexy boss she’s told me about?

Damn. I need her job.

“Sorry, sir.”

Sir?

Yeesh.

“What’s your name?”

It takes me a minute to realize he’s turned his attention back to me.

“Katia,” I say, licking my lips.

His eyes go to the action, and they grow hot and lusty. Oh, man. Him! I pick him! He can break the drought—shit, I already think he has, judging by my panties. I’d lie down in front of a bus to get a taste of Marcus. Oh yes, yes I would.

“Katia,” he practically purrs. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Candy squeaks beside me. I turn to her and her eyes are wide. I lean in close, curling my arm around hers. “Tell me I can fuck your boss and it’ll totally be okay?”

It takes her a moment to respond, and when she does it’s in a squeak. “I don’t, ah, I don’t . . .”

“God, please tell me I can. I need a piece of Marcus.”

“He’s a whore,” she whispers.

“I’m not asking him to marry me,” I scoff. “Just a bit of wham, bam—”

“Katia,” Marcus says, cutting me off.

I turn to him, giving him my big, innocent eyes. “Yes, you can buy me a drink.”

Candy whispers something holy to no one in particular as Marcus curls an arm around my waist and leads me to the bar. We pass Dusty as we go and his eyes widen, then a wicked grin replaces that and he gives me the thumbs up followed by a few thrusting motions that Marcus catches. This causes his lips to twitch, and holy fuck, it makes him sexier.

Marcus orders drinks without asking what I want. The man is controlling; it’s written all over him. When our drinks arrive, he leads me out to a quiet garden and we sit. Damn, the sexual tension in the air is out of this world. I turn to him, crossing my legs and watching as his eyes run over me again. He makes no secret what he wants; it’s all in his eyes. I’m not offended in the least; I’ll take whatever this man wants to give. He can tie me up and spank me if he pleases.

“Katia,” he says—well, purrs. “Tell me what you do?”

“I work at a large shipping company, as a PA.”

His eyes are studying me as I speak, as if he’s weighing me up for a position himself.

“You’re smart.”

It’s not a question, but I pretend it is.

I snort. “I wouldn’t go ahead and say I’m smart. I do my job well, but smart . . .”

He watches me closely, as if he’s trying to figure me out.

“Tell me something else.”

Okay. Awkward.

I tell him about myself in a basic outline, and once again I feel as if I’m on a job interview. He listens intently as I go, and the moment I mention my mother and how I work to keep her home, something changes in his eyes. I’m not entirely sure what it is, but there’s definitely a change.

“You sound like you’re busy.”

“I don’t get much chance to chill out, that’s for sure. If I stop working, my mother doesn’t have the back-up she needs.”

He nods, studying me. “Another drink?”

I nod.

This is strange. Sexy . . . but strange.

He waves a hand and a waiter stops what he’s doing and comes by. Marcus orders us another drink, not once taking his dark gaze off me.

“You’re a beautiful girl, Katia,” he murmurs. “So I’m going to come out and just say it. You want to come home with me tonight?”

There it is.

Bam.

My body begins to heat and my legs quiver. Do I want to go home with Marcus? Well, I can safely rule out he’s not a serial killer, considering Candy works with him. I’m not after a relationship and he’s über hot. So, the answer is simple.

Um, hell yes.

“Yeah,” I say, licking my bottom lip.

His eyes follow my tongue. “Fuck,” he murmurs.

It just got a whole lot hotter in here.

He stretches his arm out, and the backs of his fingers skim along my jaw. That one movement has my world standing still. My skin prickles and my senses spark to life. His fingers move until he reaches my lips, and once there, he runs the tip of one along them. “You’re a beautiful woman, Katia.”

I swallow. He already said that and I’m thinking that I like it. Very much.

“There are so many things I’ll do to you.”

Oh, boy.

“Starting with tasting those lips.”

Swoon.

Our drinks come and I turn to take mine, grateful. I swallow it down, the alcohol warming my body. I’ve not been with a great deal of men in my life, but I’ve been with enough to know that most of them don’t have the confidence Marcus does. He sweeps in, gets what he wants and has no problem doing it. He’s smooth, he’s sexy and he knows what to say. He’s the true meaning of the word player.

And this right here is how Marcus Tandem entered my world.