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  Marcus felt his back tense, and he lazily looked at her. “You are full of questions today, aren’t you, Missy?” Melissa swallowed nervously, and his eyes bored into hers until she shifted her eyes away.

  “Never mind,” she muttered, and Marcus chuckled, the door opening beside him.

  Oh, give her something, he chided himself. She looks a little bit like a lost puppy right now with those big brown eyes. Impulsively, he darted to cover the space between them, placing a sweet kiss on her cheek, his fingers sliding up her skirt once more.

  She jumped at the unexpectedness of the gesture, a hot red staining her cheeks.

  “Marcus!” she gasped, realizing that Georges had seen the entire exchange.

  Marcus laughed and slid gracefully out of the car, spinning to cast her another wink.

  “Keep your phone nearby,” he told her as the car door slammed in the wake of his words. He turned to Georges again, reaching into his pockets for a set of keys. “Take her back to the office and come back immediately. I won’t be long here,” he said.

  “Of course, Mr. Williams.”

  A doorman allowed him entry, and the concierge happily smiled when he saw Marcus enter.

  “Mr. Williams!” he exclaimed, rising from his chair. “How long has it been, sir?”

  “Too long, Gene,” Marcus replied coldly, striding toward the elevator.

  “I was growing concerned, but Miss Ellerson said you were well.”

  Marcus did not reply, using his fob to call the elevator to open. He knew it was the concierge’s way of questioning the comings and goings of the penthouse, but Marcus was far too skilled in the art of avoidance to entertain the man.

  It’s more fun to keep them guessing, anyway, he mused, watching as the fob activated. Instantly, the state-of-the-art machine opened, and he stepped in, ignoring the overeager guard as he pressed the button to the penthouse.

  He turned to examine his reflection in the spotless glass at his back. No one would have known he had just been on a plane for seven and a half hours: his dark blond hair was brushed back away from his face, cut close to the skull in a professional business style. Blue eyes and high cheekbones pierced through the glass, like rays of light bouncing back onto his chiseled face—the trademark Williams face that superseded time and defied age.

  Like his brothers, his body was sturdily built. A custom-made Dolce and Gabbana suit barely hid the muscular definition of his massive arms and toned chest from beneath a black button down.

  His skin was a flawless golden brown, a combination of sun and genetics blessing his complexion.

  We are an anomaly, he thought, not for even the hundredth time in years. Ageless and cursed.

  There was a time when he had believed Opal’s curse had made them an abomination, but those days were long over. Science and experience had taught him that he and his brothers were miracles, not hexes.

  On the thirty-second floor, the door chimed, silently sliding open, and Marcus stepped onto the marble floor, keys in hand. Outside penthouse one, he heard the soft flow of classical music emanating, and he wondered what Cosima was doing inside. He paused for a moment, laying his head against the doorframe, listening for other sounds within. However, he could not hear her moving about.

  Perhaps she is upstairs, he thought, putting his key in the lock and allowing himself inside.

  “Hello?” he called out, but only Chopin flittered to meet his ears, the tones piping from the library off the main rotunda. “Cosima?”

  Marcus made his way through the open space and paused at the entrance to the two-tiered library. Inside, he saw his lover asleep on the leather settee, a book against her full chest. A wave of affection washed through him as he gently approached her, staring down at her face.

  She is so beautiful, even at her age, he thought, leaning down to brush a strand of white-blonde hair from her slumbering face. Cosima stirred slightly, and her eyes fluttered.

  “Marcus?” she murmured, blinking sleepily. Reality began to settle in, and her blue eye lit up happily. “It’s you! You’re back!” she gasped, sitting up and throwing her arms around Marcus as the book on her chest fell to the Persian rug below.

  Marcus returned her embrace and sat her back, running his fingertips over her mouth.

  “I wish I had known you were coming,” Cosima continued, smoothing out her dress as she sat. “I would have made something to eat and dressed for the occasion.” She nervously ran her hands through her hair, carefully studying his face. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, shyly lowering her eyes.

  “I think you know why,” Marcus replied quietly. Cosima smiled coyly and reached for him, but he grabbed her wrist, shaking his head. “No,” he murmured. “That is not why.”

  Her head jerked back up and she gaped at him, her pupils dilating in fear. “No!” she cried. “Marcus, no!”

  He nodded slowly, rising to his feet. “No need to make a scene, Cosima. I have given you fair notice, and I have already put enough money in your account to ensure you live out your days comfortably.”

  “Marcus, please! I have nowhere else to go!”

  Marcus sighed, shaking his head.

  “And whose fault is that?” he asked. “How many times have I tried to tell you that you must plan for the future, Cosima? Well, guess what, darling. That future is here.”

  “Marcus!” Cosima begged, reaching for his hand in desperation. “Who else loves you as much as I do? We have had so much fun together! You can’t cast me out now!”

  “I must,” he replied evenly, turning away. “Our agreement is no longer working out for me.”

  A strangled sob escaped Cosima’s lips, and she pleaded with him again. “Marcus, just a little bit longer, a few more months so I can find somewhere to go—”

  “No!” His voice was like a thousand ice shards, penetrating her with fury. His response was absolute. “You have plenty of money. Get a hotel until you can find somewhere else to go.”

  Cosima’s face turned pale, and she gaped at him.

  “How long?” she whispered. “How long do I have?”

  “The new girl moves in tomorrow at five p.m.,” Marcus answered. “Please be out by noon. Take whatever you want. I have new furniture arriving early in the afternoon.”

  He turned away, rolling his eyes at the dramatic sobbing that followed him out of the condo. He wondered why they always made it so difficult when it was time to go.

  2

  Addison flung the dishtowel onto the counter, flopping onto a swiveling barstool, and let out a loud, expressive groan.

  “That was the longest goddamn shift of my life!” she moaned, turning toward Ramon. “Tomorrow, you’re serving and I’m cooking.”

  The line cook snorted and shook his gleaming head, tossing the rag back at her.

  “You could not pay me enough money to do what you do,” he told her, his dark eyes turning toward the door, where a bunch of teenagers tried to enter the finally closed diner. He waved them away and they yelled out in protest, but their words were muffled through the glass. They tried the doors again, as if they would suddenly be magically unlocked.

  “Can they not read?” Addison asked. “Can they not see the ‘closed’ sign and the lights off?”

  “I don’t think they care,” Ramon replied, chuckling. He turned back to the kitchen, and Addison reluctantly rose to her feet, another grunt escaping her soft vermeil mouth.

  She wished she hadn’t sat down. She knew better; sitting after a long day only made it worse.

  “Stop your pissing and moaning,” Ramon chortled. “You sound like an old woman. If you keep it up, you’re gonna get wrinkles.”

  “Bite your tongue! I’m twenty-five!” Addison growled, but she laughed as her co-worker disappeared back into the kitchen.

  The teenagers were still standing outside, almost like they expected her to change her mind and allow them in to further ruin her night. Addison skillfully ignored them, keeping her back to the wind
ow as she gathered the sugar, salt, and pepper shakers from the table to refill them at the counter. The rowdy teenagers would eventually get the picture and go away.

  Every night, there was always a group of stragglers who managed to slip in just at closing and stay until after midnight. That night, though, Ramon had managed to lock the door at eleven o’clock on the nose by the grace of some god that never seemed to venture to their area of East Toronto.

  Not that I can blame whatever god it was, Addison thought. He knows a shitty neighborhood when he sees one. This is not where God’s children live—it’s where his outcasts have been banished.

  “What are you gonna do tonight?” the jesting cook asked. “Big plans with a big dick?”

  “Ramon!” Addison cried, red flooding her face. Inadvertently, she turned her head to look at the kids outside, even though she knew they couldn’t have possibly heard Ramon’s crude comment.

  “What? I forget his name, but I heard you tell Olivia that he rocks your world.”

  If possible, Addison’s face turned more crimson.

  “You shouldn’t eavesdrop on private conversations, Ramon,” she chided, but the mention of her lover made her tremble with excitement.

  She had been dating Marcus Williams for a year now, and while she knew they were not exclusive and never would be, the mere thought of him sent shivers through her body. He had awakened something inside her that she had never known—a feral, deep passion fraught with everlasting anticipation.

  “Your face matches the fire extinguisher,” Ramon pointed out, and Addison whipped her head around so her red hair hid her exploding cheeks. She cast her green eyes down toward the salt and pepper shakers as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

  “So, I assume that is a ‘yes,’” Ramon continued, banging away in the kitchen as he cleaned up the mess the evening crowd had brought along with it. “You are seeing the billionaire tonight.”

  “Ramon, stop talking about him like that!” Addison pleaded. “He is more than just a rich guy—”

  “With a big dick?” he interjected, and Addison wished he was within arm’s reach so that she could strangle him.

  I must remember to punch him when he gets closer, she thought grimly.

  “He is a wonderful, generous man who happens to care about me,” she told him flatly. “Not a walking bag of money.”

  “If he cares about you so much, why hasn’t he put a ring on your finger?”

  “Oh, my god!” Addison exclaimed. “Ramon, not everyone wants to get married, you know!” The exasperation in her voice was almost palpable, and Ramon poked his head through the serving window to stare at her. She thought about how many hours she had spent listening to the cook complaining about his own wife and mundane sex life. That wasn’t what Addison wanted for herself.

  “Is that his choice or yours?” Ramon asked, his voice growing serious. “Because I don’t know a lot of women who are happy being a side chick.”

  “Both,” Addison replied firmly, meeting his eyes. “And I am not a side chick. Now drop the subject, please. You’re making me uncomfortable.” Ramon shrugged and retreated to do his work in silence.

  For a moment, Addison felt guilty. She knew he was only joking around, but she didn’t want to discuss her personal life with her co-worker. It wasn’t because she didn’t feel comfortable with Ramon. On the contrary, he was one of the most easy-going men she had ever met. He never made weird sexual comments to her like some of the other staff or patrons did, and he always had a friendly ear.

  The problem was that no one really understood the arrangement Addison had with Marcus, and she didn’t want to open a can of worms explaining it. Some would call it a booty call or a hookup, but others immediately jumped the gun and accused Marcus of being a selfish playboy who wanted to have his cake and eat it, too.

  No matter how many times Addison tried to justify their relationship to other people, they didn’t get that she was fine with how things were. Besides, she didn’t have to justify herself.

  We have an open relationship, she often thought to herself, but that wasn’t entirely true, either. When they had first met, it could have been described as such.

  Marcus’ driver had almost run her over at a crosswalk on her way home from work one night, and the incident had shaken Addison emotionally far worse than she had been hurt physically. Marcus had leaped from the car, ushering her inside the stretch limousine, insisting that she return to his home on the Bridle Path, where his personal physician would be to check her out and make sure that she was okay.

  His “home” was a thirty-four thousand square foot estate with its own tennis courts, two pools (one inside and one in the bowels of the house), and an English garden.

  True to his word, the doctor was waiting at the entrance, between a set of marble pillars, concern etched in his surprisingly young face.

  “How did he get here so fast?” Addison had asked in awe.

  “He lives here,” Marcus had explained as he lifted her out of the car and brought her into the house for Dr. Murdock to examine the almost invisible scrapes on her knees.

  Of course, she’d had no permanent damage. She had only fallen over in an attempt to escape being hit, but Marcus had been so caring, so tender with her, that Addison couldn’t help exaggerating a little just to keep his attention slightly longer. Marcus had been happy to provide that attention well into the night, his concerned words becoming gentle caresses that had eventually turned into heated kisses. They had made love until the wee hours of the morning when Marcus had packed her back into the limo and had his driver return her to Scarborough.

  The next day, Addison almost couldn’t believe it had actually happened, but when six dozen long stem blue roses appeared on the doorstep of the apartment she shared at Eglington and Danforth, she knew it hadn’t been a dream.

  After a while, Addison found herself eyeing her phone, hoping for a text or call from Marcus, and when they came through, her heart would shudder with glee. He took her to the theater, bought her beautiful dresses, and he ravaged her in such a way, she was beginning to believe whatever she had done with men in the past was not sex at all, but Neanderthal-esque fumbling.

  On their third date, Marcus took her to a five-star French restaurant on Queen Street. The nearness of his body alone had almost set her on fire, and she gazed around the swanky spot, wondering if anyone would notice her foot rubbing alluringly against his calf.

  “Addison, I want to talk to you about something,” he told her, and she nodded, a small smile toying on her lips.

  “I am listening,” she purred, slipping her foot out of the Jimmy Choo pumps he had given her just an hour earlier. She placed her naked toes against his crotch, her jade eyes locked on his.

  Never had she acted so brazen with any man, but it was as if Marcus had her under some devastating spell, one where all her inhibitions disappeared, and she was free to express her sexual prowess.

  “You are very special to me,” he said, and her foot suddenly froze in its place. Very slowly, she inched it down, but Marcus reached under the table and grasped her ankle, holding her in place. The motion felt tawdry. He wanted to talk about stepping up to the next level, and Addison was jerking him off with her foot.

  Still, Marcus didn’t seem to want her to stop, so she moved the ball of her foot back onto his shaft, making small circles as he rubbed her naked calf with his smooth hands.

  “I don’t want to share you with anyone else,” he continued, and a flash of heat flooded through Addison. Licking her mouth, she nodded, unsure if her voice would work. “Do you understand what I’m saying to you?” Marcus asked.

  “Yes,” she exhaled. “You want to be exclusive.” His eyes bored into hers and he shook his head.

  “No,” he replied. “It means I don’t want you to be with another man while we’re together.”

  The realization of what he was saying hit Addison at once, and she almost started to laugh.

  �
��You want me to be faithful to you, but you want to screw other women?” she demanded in disbelief. Her tone was much louder than she had intended, and she was immediately contrite as Marcus’ impious blue eyes flashed with annoyance, though she knew she shouldn’t be. He did not answer, nor did he say anything else as he waited for her to process what she had been told.

  How can he even ask me that? she thought indignantly. Why does he get to sleep with anyone he wants but I don’t?

  But as she thought it, Addison knew that there was no one else in the world she wanted to touch her again.

  “You do not have to agree,” Marcus told her. “You can even walk out of here right now if you want to. I realize it’s not fair of me to ask you for this, and I won’t force you to stop seeing anyone else, in case you are. I simply want to lay the cards out on the table. If you want us to keep seeing each other, you must understand that there will be no marriage, no moving in together. I have never even had a woman in my own personal home before you.”

  Addison’s face contorted in pain, a foreign pang of jealousy stabbing through her. As if Marcus could see it on her, his hand tightened along her calf. He smiled hazily.

  “You must always remember, though,” he continued, “that, if I have chosen you, there is something you possess that the others do not. You fill something in me that no other woman can. Do you understand?”

  So many emotions had flooded Addison that night, yet here she was a year later, unenvious of the other women and smitten with her lover. But who would be able to understand all that?

  “Your phone is going crazy back here!” Ramon called, holding her phone. “It’s your big—” He stopped before finishing his sentence. “It’s Marcus.”

  Addison jumped up to grab the device through the serving window, where Ramon left it. “Hi, babe!” she chirped. “I just finished work.”

  “And I just got back into town,” Marcus said. “I have a surprise for you. Can you meet me tomorrow evening?”

  Addison grunted. “I’m working,” she sighed. “I’m sorry. After work?”

  “No,” he replied. “That won’t do. I’ll talk to your boss. I don’t need you for very long.”