Thirty Days: Part One Page 13

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Oh, but it is. I’m responsible for you now.” Leaning in too close, he whispers, “Your behaviour was appalling and such behaviour provides me with wild thoughts in regards to how you should be reprimanded. Miss McMillian, in brief, let’s just say you’re a handful, but you’re lucky that I enjoy challenges.” His voice oozes seduction, which causes my breath to hitch in my throat as I try to ward off my body’s response to his disclaimer.

  Clearing my throat forcefully, I manage to choke out, “Never going to happen. Not a handful. Not your problem.” I press my shaky hand into his chest as Marcus makes room for me to pass and says not another word.

  I scurry down the aisle as quickly as possible. Well, as fast as one can on an aircraft. Within seconds, I’m securely locked away in a confined space. A barrage of relief rushes over me, getting more intense when I realise that for one split second my curse provided a reprieve. The amenities were vacant and for the cursed this never happens. Every part of my body begs for me to slide onto the floor and curl up in the foetal position. If only, I huff while washing my hands and then hesitatingly turn the lock. As the door opens, I’m met dead-on by dark, alluring eyes, a scar no bigger than my fingernail, and one hell of a million-dollar smile.

  “Abigail.” His tongue caresses my name before his body pushes forward, this motion forcing me backwards.

  Click.

  Two bodies now press against each other in a small space, locked away from prying eyes.

  “What are you doing? This is very unprofessional,” I growl, yet softly, not wanting to be heard by anyone outside.

  “I think we need to talk in private. Don’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, but we do.” His eyes search mine and it’s as if he can see straight through me.

  Am I made of glass? My stomach knots instantly and my heart beats to a much faster tempo.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I thought you knew we’d be working together this week. I can see you’re still somewhat upset, but I’d really like it if we can just enjoy this time together and do what we’ve come here to do, and that is to resolve this very important case. Do you think we can do that?”

  I say nothing.

  Those dark orbs disappear behind a fan of lashes before mesmerising me once more. “If you’d like, I can arrange for someone else to fly out in the morning and you can go home. Abigail, I don’t want to force you to stay with me.”

  As these words expel from his plump lips, a sharp pain shoots through my chest. Without permission my hand grips his tensed bicep.

  “I’ll stay.”

  “Okay.” He grins before his fingers reach for a strand of hair that has fallen against my cheek. Carefully tucking it behind my ear, I instinctively press into his palm. “You’re so beautiful.”

  I pull away, hoping to hell he stops talking.

  “Even when you’re angry, you’re beautiful.”

  Finding my equilibrium, I’m silent, looking over every inch of this man’s face. “I’m so mad at you…like blood boiling mad. Like I hope you get explosive diarrhoea mad.”

  “Such a thing happening to me would make you happy?” He smirks.

  “Right now so happy. Please, Marcus, I’m begging you, stay away from me.”

  “Why?” He cocks his eyebrow.

  “I’m—”

  “Beautiful, funny, hot-tempered—”

  “Why am I here, Marcus?”

  “Because I wanted you to be,” he replies quickly.

  “Do you always get what you want?”

  “That I do.” Tilting his head to the side, his mouth edges closer to mine. He groans as his index finger skims across my lower lip, causing my legs to weaken. My previous stance on what I want diminishes at the look of lust projecting from dark eyes. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

  Bang…Bang…Bang!

  “Ma’am, are you okay in there?” bellows through the closed door.

  Immediately I startle, falling backwards, but I’m caught easily by quick hands.

  “Answer her, Abigail,” Marcus whispers into my ear.

  “I’m fine,” I say shakily.

  “Okay.” This one word, hesitant.

  Marcus moves our bodies with such grace that before I know it, I’m facing the door with him pressed firmly against my back.

  “What is it about aeroplanes?” he breathes, burying his head into my neck, leaving a small kiss behind my ear. “I’ll see you out there.” Reaching his arm around me, he turns the lock, and I clumsily slip through the gap.

  A short statured air hostess greets me with narrowed eyes. “Ma’am, are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I get you anything?” Her honey-coloured eyes flutter as she tilts her head.

  “Could I bother you for a bottle of water?” And a fresh pair of underwear. Granny grundies if you have them. I need a fucking force field to keep myself from faulting under Marcus’ touch.

  “I’ll bring you some water. Please take your seat.”

  Following her outstretched finger, the one pointing in the direction of my seat, I wonder how one can actually ward off a lusty magician.

  Shortly after my parched mouth is satisfied, Marcus returns. He’s smiling in a way that confirms we now have our own private joke.

  What are you doing to me, Marcus?

  We say very little for the remainder of our flight to Sydney. A glance here, a smile there, and a simple brush of his arm against mine at times. I try to busy myself any way I can and after purchasing a set of earphones on flight, I settle into my seat.

  “We’re about to descend. If you could please secure your seatbelts, we will be landing within ten minutes,” is heard through the speakers.

  Marcus’ eyes lock onto mine. “Did you hear that?” he mouths as I remove the earphones.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you need help this time?”

  “No.” I smile.

  His grin that follows makes me wonder if maybe this week won’t be so bad. Who am I kidding?

  Touchdown

  “I hope you enjoyed your flight,” the same air hostess who interrupted us in the restroom says on departure.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Have a good day,” she adds cheerfully.

  “I will.”

  We’re ushered rather quickly from the flight into the airport. Marcus keeps his distance this time, which is probably wise. A long hallway greets us as we move in a pack. Once the hallway ends, I’m instantly lost—the airport is huge. My gut tells me to turn right and take the travelator, but since it’s always wrong, I instead turn left down another hallway.

  “Abigail, where are you going?” Marcus calls out, stepping in front of me from out of nowhere.

  “I’ve no clue, actually.” I try to gauge some sort of indication of where I can collect my luggage by concentrating on the large signs in front of me, but they may as well be written in Japanese. Directions clearly are not my thing.

  “Come on, you’re coming with me. I can’t have you lost before we even leave the airport, now, can I?” His fingers entwine with mine, and before I know it, I’m being pulled along and not gracefully either.

  “Baggage collection area.” He chortles, slipping me to his side.

  “I see.”

  “See, that wasn’t hard, now, was it?”

  Okay, wise arse. “Hmmm.”

  Releasing my hand, Marcus bends down and plucks his black suitcase from the conveyor belt. “Yours shouldn’t be far behind mine.”

  I wait, watching impatiently for my leopard print case to make an appearance. It doesn’t. “Umm, so where’s my luggage?” I shrug after every last bag has been collected.

  His head throws back, and he laughs.

  “Umm…why are you laughing?”

  “I think your curse has been out to play, Miss McMillian.”

  “Wait. What? Shit. No. It’s missing?”

  He throws his head
back again and he laughs harder while trying to nod.

  Why is this so funny to him?

  “Frick.”

  “Come on.” He grins, leading me by hand to God knows where. “Nothing’s changed in all this time.”

  “Pardon.”

  “Never mind.” His smiling expression turns serious.

  After all what time?

  The man at the lost luggage and baggage section is a complete arse. Barry, the scrawny dweeb, is absolutely no help whatsoever. That man could not have displayed his boredom and distaste for his job any more if he’d tried.

  “What is your contact number? Fill out this form and sign here,” he says miserably.

  Once I’ve completed the formalities, I’m informed a call will be made to arrange delivery when the luggage has been located. Every part of me wants to tear him a new one, but I manage to stay calm long enough to exit the airport with only my carryon flung over my shoulder.

  “Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?” Marcus taunts.

  “Shut up.”

  “Looks like we need to go shopping before we check in.” Glancing at a gold watch secured around his wrist, he announces, “Plenty of time.”

  “It’s after eight p.m. Nothing will be open.”

  “We’re in Sydney…anything can be opened.”

  A black Porsche Cayenne SUV stops in front of us as we approach the curb. The only reason I know the type and model of this car is because all these words are on the badges attached to it. Even though my dad was a huge car nut, I’ve never taken to it. As long as it has four wheels, a running engine and can get you from point A to point B, then that’s good enough for me. Marcus, on the other hand, stares at this particular vehicle like he’s being shown his first born child for the very first time. I guess this is just another thing we don’t have in common. My dad, on the other hand, would have fallen head over heels in love with this gorgeous car.

  A single finger streaks its way over the black bonnet. His finger, and the smile he’s displaying says, ‘I’ve missed you.’

  “Good evening, Mr. Klein, Miss McMillian. Sorry for the delay.” A young and solid man stands in front of me dressed in a tailored black suit.

  “It’s okay, Grady,” Marcus replies, facing him before passing over his carryon. “We were delayed ourselves. Miss McMillian’s luggage has been misplaced in transit.” He smiles, and I wish to wipe that toothy grin from his face. “We will need to go to The Strand Arcade for some essentials. Please organise that immediately.”

  “Yes, sir. Right away.”

  Grady takes two large strides before opening the back door closest to the footpath, his golden eyes looking at me with kindness. “Miss McMillian,” he says before sliding the strap of my carryon from my shoulder and placing it over his. “May I assist you?”

  “Please.”

  “In you go, watch your head.”

  Glancing out the driver’s side window, I see the two of them talking. Why can’t I read lips? I’m unable to make out a single word they’re saying, but Marcus seems completely relaxed in this man’s presence. Are they friends?

  “You ready?” Marcus mutters as he enters the car, pulling the seatbelt over his chest.

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s shop.” The corners of his lips arch, pleased. He must love shopping.

  We stop in front of what appears to be an old heritage building—a rustic brown brick, maybe five stories high. It’s in darkness apart from a few window lights that highlight clothing displays.

  “It’s closed,” I say, irritated.

  “So it seems.”

  “No, it doesn’t seem…it is.”

  “We’ll see,” Marcus states smugly just before Grady opens the door.

  “Miss McMillian.” Grady’s light blond hair rustles with the breeze as he holds out his hand for me.

  “Thank you.”

  “Let’s go,” Marcus interrupts excitedly, wrapping his fingers around mine and leading me towards the building.

  What do you know that I don’t? The building is bloody lifeless. There are no people anywhere. Okay, Mr. Magician, why are we here?

  Stopping about a metre from what I assume is a closed, locked, and dead bolted door, Marcus turns to face me.

  “Before we go in, there’s a few things that must be discussed.”

  “Umm. In case you haven’t noticed, the centre is closed.”

  “Thank you for your observation, Miss McMillian, but if you could just stay quiet for a moment, I need to run through a few points with you.”

  “Okay. But just so you know, I’d like to point out you are insane.” This man is delusional and impossible.

  “Point noted.” He smiles as his beautiful whites sparkle under a single light. “The company will be paying for the items you will need. You’re not to look at price tags. You’re to get what will be required and respectable for work, and for evenings. I will help, if you’d like.”

  “My uniforms are in my suitcase, and I doubt that this closed”—I emphasise the word closed—“shopping outlet would stock them. I’m sure the office here has my size in uniforms so—”

  “They do not have your size or uniforms for you. We will get you some business attire.”

  I shake my head.

  “The second thing is, I’ve never done this for anyone, ever. I just want you to know that.”

  “Done what exactly?”

  “You’ll see.”

  We walk the last remaining steps, still hand in hand to the doorway and just as we reach the entry, the door magically opens. Who opened it?

  Marcus turns. His smile beams, and I’m instantly giddy.

  How did he do that?

  “Mr. Klein, Miss McMillian, welcome.” A lady in the nicest figure-hugging red dress I’ve ever seen waves her hand in invitation of entry.

  I hear the lock turn over as soon as we’re inside. How did she know my name?

  “Katherine.” Marcus extends his neck, pecking her lightly on the cheek.

  “Marcus. Lovely to see you as always. How can we help you this evening?”

  “We’ve had a lost luggage situation. Abigail needs a week’s worth of clothing, please, the works.”

  “Of course.” A single light is turned on above us. Katherine walks a circle around me, looking me up and down. “Beautiful figure,” she compliments.

  “I agree,” Marcus instantly replies.

  What the actual fuck?

  Katherine stops suddenly in front of me. I can’t help but admire her perfect rosy blushed cheeks, red stained lips, and long jet black hair that falls freely over her shoulders. She is beautiful and stylish. Everything I’m not.

  “This will be easy!” she exclaims. “Miss McMillian—”

  “Just Abi or Abigail.”

  “Abigail.” She continues, “Size six?”

  “Umm. I’m a size eight in most things.”

  “I see. Follow me.”

  “What?”

  “Close your mouth. You’re not a fly catcher. Follow, please.”

  I search for Marcus, who is standing a short distance with a look so puzzling, it causes my eyes to narrow in confusion.

  “Abigail, please follow Katherine.” He winks.

  Again, what the actual fuck?

  Hesitantly, my legs begin moving one foot in front of the other, following Katherine’s lead. She must be moving at a slow pace because even with the newborn calf walk I suddenly sport, I’m by her side quickly. Light upon light turns on and then there is music. A unique musical introduction has me listening intently. Coldplay, Hymn for the Weekend. A shiver courses down my spine because the selection of music seems almost deliberate. Eerie. My stomach begins fluttering with the wings of hundreds of butterflies as I continue on. How can I be this excited and yet filled with so much unease at the same time? The sound of footsteps behind me causes me to stop instantly. Turning slowly, I’m met with dark eyes looking on with an air of caution.

  “Are you coming, too?” I’m n
ervous.

  “Of course. I wouldn’t miss this.” His lip curls upwards. He’s delightfully happy. “Continue, Abigail.”

  Doors begin to part, and this once silent complex becomes alive with busy people. I feel like Julia Roberts in the movie Pretty Woman. Although I’m not a hooker. Or maybe I am. After all, I did sleep with Marcus and now he has opened a shopping outlet after hours for me. Oh crap. Am I expected to be his unpaid sex worker? I swallow heavily as we enter a boutique and, holy shit, it’s exquisite. The materials of the garments are soft against my touch. My fingers can’t help caressing each piece while passing.

  “Everything is beyond beautiful, sophisticated,” I comment, bewildered.

  Katherine doesn’t bat an eyelid as she ushers me to a large change room. “In here, please. Try the green dress first.”

  There are many outfits hanging in wait.

  This is too weird. “Green dress?”

  “Yes.”

  The dress she speaks of is knee-length and fitted with capped sleeves. Elegant. It hangs alone on a hook, not bunched with others.

  “Would you mind doing the zip up for me?” My eyes close slightly. I’m embarrassed. The door opens and warm hands make contact with my skin. Hands too big to be those belonging to Katherine. My heart leaps into my throat.

  “No problem,” his deep voice says, attentively lifting the zipper.

  My eyes flutter open to our reflection in the mirror.

  “Wow,” Marcus mouths before his head dips into my neck that tilts, allowing him access. I watch as his eyes close and his nose runs along my skin. “You look beautiful,” he says star-struck before stepping away. I can’t answer, and he leaves.

  Sudden pulsating between my legs becomes almost too intense to handle and, as I look back into the mirror, I can see how flushed I’ve become. This man does things to me that no man has ever done. It’s scary, yet exhilarating, and I don’t know how I’m going to survive this week with my underwear intact with him around. Thank God we’ll have separate rooms, hopefully on different floors. Different hotels would be even better.

  “Well, are you going to show us?” Katherine enquires.

  “Umm. Okay.”

  “Put the black heels on with it first.”