Chapter 23

TWENTY-THREE

N atalie paced Marcus’s ridiculously luxurious penthouse bathroom, her reflection multiplied infinitely in the triple mirrors. The first aid kit lay open on the marble counter, its contents spread out like evidence of her internal chaos.

“Marcus?” She rapped on the adjoining bedroom door. “Stop being stubborn and let me look at those wounds.”

A muffled growl answered her. “They’ll heal.”

“Yes, and they’ll heal faster if they’re clean.” She rolled her eyes at the door. “Don’t make me use my doctor voice. I have one, you know. Comes with the PhD.”

The door opened, revealing Marcus in black sweatpants and nothing else. Her breath caught at the sight of his bare chest, despite the angry red gashes marring his skin. Or maybe because of them. Each wound represented his willingness to protect her, to put himself between her and danger.

“Doctor voice?” His eyebrow quirked up, though she noticed he couldn’t quite hide his wince as he moved.

“Absolutely. Very stern, very authoritative.” She patted the counter. “Sit.”

The first aid supplies scattered across Marcus’s marble counter looked clinical and cold compared to the heat radiating from his bare skin. Natalie tried to focus on the antiseptic and gauze rather than the way his muscles flexed under her touch, or how his scent—pine and something wild and distinctly Marcus—made her head spin.

“These need cleaning,” she managed, proud that her voice stayed steady despite the electric current that seemed to spark between them every time she touched him. “Though I’m starting to think your stubborn alpha male routine is just an excuse to sit here shirtless.”

His laugh rumbled through his chest, vibrating against her fingers. “If I wanted an excuse to be shirtless around you, Dr. Grant, I’d find a better one than getting stabbed.”

Heat bloomed in her cheeks. “Is that so?”

“Mh-mmm.” His eyes met hers in the mirror, dark with something that made her pulse race. “I have several ideas, actually.”

“Care to share with the class?” The words slipped out before she could stop them, and she quickly focused on a particularly nasty gash across his ribs, hoping he couldn’t hear her thundering heartbeat.

His hand caught hers, pressing it flat against his chest. The steady thump beneath her palm matched her own racing pulse. “I think you know exactly what I mean, sweetheart.”

The endearment, spoken in that low, intimate tone, sent shivers down her spine. She looked up, finding his face much closer than she’d expected. Time seemed to suspend as his other hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing her bottom lip.

“Marcus,” she breathed, swaying toward him unconsciously.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his eyes dropping to her mouth.

She shook her head slightly. “I don’t want you to stop.”

The confession hung between them for one heartbeat, two, before he closed the distance. The first brush of his lips against hers was gentle, questioning. A test. When she sighed and pressed closer, his control snapped.

The kiss deepened, igniting every nerve ending in her body. His hand slid into her hair as she stepped fully between his legs, pressing against him like she could crawl inside his skin. He tasted like danger and desire and something she’d been craving without knowing it.

When they finally broke apart, Natalie’s world had tilted on its axis. No kiss had ever felt like that—like coming home and stepping off a cliff all at once.

“That was...” she started, then laughed shakily. “I don’t even know what that was.”

“Inevitable,” he supplied, his voice rough. His hands hadn’t left her, one still tangled in her hair while the other traced patterns on her lower back. “Been wanting to do that since the night we met.”

“Even when I was blown up and covered in chemical residue?”

“Even then.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

She was about to ask him to elaborate when her laptop chimed from the kitchen. Reality crashed back like a bucket of ice water.

“The security logs,” she remembered, reluctantly stepping back. “We should check those.”

His hands fell away, but his eyes promised this conversation wasn’t over. “After you, Dr. Grant.”

In the kitchen, she tried to focus on the computer screen instead of the lingering heat of his kiss. Her lips still tingled, and every cell in her body seemed attuned to his presence as he leaned over her shoulder.

Then she saw the logs, and all thoughts of kisses fled.

“No,” she whispered, double-checking the data.

The evidence glared back at her. Someone on Marcus’s security team had accessed the decoy files she set up for just this reason, sending the data to an encrypted external address. The timing matched perfectly with each attack.

“Marcus!” She spun in her chair, almost colliding with his chest. “You have a mole.”

His expression darkened as she explained the access logs. “These hacks have all occurred when we were attacked.”

“Why only then?” he asked.

She thought for a moment. “Maybe because the mole knows you won’t be accessing a computer during that time. Thus not able to trace them.”

“Well, then I’ll give them that chance.” He spun around as if to leave.

“Wait,” she said, “where are you going?” she stood. “I’m coming with you.”

“You stay here. I’ll handle this.”

“Like hell.” She poked his chest. “This involves my research, my life. I’m not sitting on the sidelines while you play lone wolf hero.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“News flash, Alpha—I’m already in danger.” She stepped closer, tilting her head back to meet his glare. The height difference should have intimidated her, but something about this impossible man made her feel both safe and reckless. “I can help. I know my research better than anyone, and I’m pretty good at pattern recognition. Plus, they might not expect you to bring me along.”

His hands flexed at his sides, and she watched the internal battle play across his features. Finally, he cupped her face, his touch surprisingly gentle given his fierce expression.

“If anything happened to you...”

She covered his hands with hers. “Then we’ll be careful. Let me help, Marcus. Please.”

The kiss he pressed to her forehead felt like surrender. “Fine. But we do this my way.”

“And what way is that?”

His smile turned predatory. “How do you feel about going undercover to draw out the enemy?”

“As what?” Though from the heat in his gaze, she already knew the answer.

“My girlfriend.” His thumb traced her cheekbone. “Though maybe not entirely pretend.”

Her heart skipped. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he drew her closer, his voice dropping to that intimate register that made her knees weak, “that maybe we stop fighting whatever this is between us. At least for tonight.”

“And what exactly is this between us?” She needed to hear him say it.

Instead of answering, he kissed her again. This time there was nothing gentle about it. His mouth claimed hers with passionate intensity like he could pour every unspoken word into the kiss. She melted against him, her hands fisting in his shirt as he backed her against the counter.

When they came up for air, she could barely remember her own name, let alone her question.

“That,” he said roughly, “is what’s between us. And I’m done pretending it isn’t.”

Thirty minutes later, Natalie stood in her bedroom, her skin still tingling from Marcus’s kisses. The black cocktail dress she’d chosen hugged every curve, the fabric soft against her heated skin. She touched her lips, remembering the press of his mouth, the way his hands had?—