you’d settle for ‘It’s complicated,’ would you?”
He shook his head. “The directions for assembling a nuclear warhead are complicated,” he told her. “Life? Not so much.”
She managed a smile. “Trust me, Marcus. My life is currently very complicated.”
“In what way?”
She couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t even hint. Maybe if he didn’t have the job he had. Maybe if he wasn’t a rich guy who didn’t keep his finger on the pulse of the financial world. Maybe if he was just some average guy with an average job who didn’t for a minute understand the workings of Wall Street …
She still couldn’t tell him, she knew. So she stalled. “The place where I come from on the East Coast I had to leave a while back, because I—I got into some trouble there.”
His expression wavered not at all. “You did something illegal? ”
“No,” she was quick to assure him. “Nothing like that. But I—I got caught up in something … not good … without intending to. So Geoffrey found me a place to live until things blow over. And I call him every day so he knows I’m okay.”
“That doesn’t sound complicated,” Marcus said. “That sounds dangerous.”
Della opened her mouth to contradict him, then realized she couldn’t do that without lying. The chances of her being in danger were very small. The main reason the feds wanted to keep her under wraps was so no one at Whitworth and Stone would catch on to the fact that they were being investigated. And, too, to make sure Della didn’t skip out on them after promising to give testimony.
“Not dangerous,” she said. “They just want to be sure.”
“And by they, you would mean … who?” Marcus asked. “The police?”
She shook her head, but didn’t elaborate. It wasn’t the police keeping an eye on her. Not technically. She was much further up the law enforcement ladder than that.
“Then who?”
“I can’t tell you any more than that,” she said. “I only said that much because I wanted you to know the truth about Geoffrey. I’m not … tied to him. Not that way.”
Marcus hesitated a moment. “Are you … tied to anyone … that way? ”
She should tell him yes. Make him think she was involved with someone who meant a great deal to her. Maybe that would make it easier when the time came for them to part. If Marcus thought she was going home to another man, and if he thought she was shallow enough to have sex with him when she was involved with someone else, then it would be easier for him to put her in his past and keep her there.
If only she could do the same with him.
But instead of lying, her damnable honesty surfaced again. “There’s no one,” she said. “There hasn’t been for a long time.”
That, she supposed, was why she capitulated to Marcus so quickly and easily the night before. Because he was the first person she’d had face-to-face contact with for months. The first person who’d conversed with her. Who’d smiled at her. Who’d laughed with her. Who’d touched her. She’d gone too long without the most basic human need—the need to bond with someone else. Even if it was only over an article in a tabloid while waiting in line at the supermarket or sharing a few words while making change for another person at the Laundromat. People needed to be with other people in order to feel whole. Della hadn’t had that for too long.
Marcus eyed her thoughtfully for another moment, then said, “So if it wasn’t legal trouble, then what kind of trouble was it? ”
“I can’t tell you any more than I have, Marcus.”
“Why not?”
“Because … it’s complicated.”
He dragged his chair around the table until it was directly facing hers, then sat close enough that their knees were touching. He took both of her hands in his.
“Look, there’s a good chance I can help you out. I know a lot of people on the East Coast. Good friends. People I trust and who can pull strings. Some owe me favors. Others I know things about they’d rather not see made public so they’d be happy to grant me favors.”
“I’m not sure those sound like friends to me.”
“Maybe not. But I can still trust them to do what I tell them to. A lot of them are people with clout. They know people who know people who know people who can get things done.”
And it was precisely that network of people who knew other people that was what Della was afraid of. Marcus might inadvertently tip her hand to the very people who were under investigation. His friends might be their friends, too. They were people like him—rich, powerful, enjoying an elevated social standing they didn’t want to have compromised. They worked in the same industry. They were of the same tribe. Hell, he might not even want to help her if he found out what was at stake.
“You can’t help,” she said. “I appreciate the offer, Marcus, but you can’t.” “How do you know?” “I just do.”
He studied her for another moment. “It’s because you don’t trust me. Because you just met me and don’t know anything about me. But that doesn’t have to be the case, Della. I—”
“It isn’t that.” And she was surprised to realize that was the truth. She did trust Marcus. In spite of having just met him. And she knew more about him after one night than she did about a lot of people she’d known in New York for years. But money made people do funny things. Lots of money made people do bad things. And billions of dollars … That made people do desperate things.
“There must be something I can do, Della,” he insisted, his voice laced with something akin to pleading. “The thought of you being in trouble somehow … it isn’t right.”
Unable to help herself, she leaned forward and cupped his strong jaw in her hand. “You’re a good guy, Marcus. And it’s nice of you, wanting to help. But this is on me. Eventually, things will be better, but for now …”
She didn’t finish. Mostly because, for now, she wanted to forget. She had another day and night to spend with Marcus, here in this hotel room where nothing from the outside could get to them. For now, she only wanted to think about that.
He covered her hand with his, then turned his face to place a soft kiss at the center of her palm. Warmth ebbed through her at the gesture. It was so sweet. So tender. So unlike their couplings of the night before.
“There must be something I can do to help,” he said again. “Please, Della. Just tell me what to do.”
She reached out with her other hand and threaded it through his hair, letting the silky tresses sift through her fingers before moving them to his forehead, his jaw, his mouth. “You can make love to me, again,” she said softly. “You can hold me and touch me and say meaningless things that both of us know aren’t true anywhere but here in this room. You can make me feel safe and warm and cherished. You can make me forget that there’s anything in the world except the two of us. Do that for me and I’ll—”
She
