Innocence (Tales of Olympus #1)(26)

She went. As she crossed behind his desk and stopped in front of him, she saw how tired he actually looked.

“Long day?” she asked, and he didn’t reply, simply put his hands on her hips and pushed her back so that she was leaning on the desk. He gripped her hips and squeezed them, digging his thumbs in and massaging her flesh. The touch was so presumptuous and possessive, all the air fled Cora’s lungs in one great gasp.

Marcus looked up at her and she couldn’t read what she saw in his storm grey eyes. “Sweet Cora, so innocent,” he whispered. He bowed his forehead against her middle. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him, his face still flush with her stomach.

Her hands dropped to his hair. He hugged her with the desperation of a little boy holding onto a blanket for comfort.

Was that what she was for him—a place he could finally relax and find comfort? The thought sent an elated zing down her spine. How she would love to be this complicated man’s safe place. She stroked his hair, down to his neck, massaging his shoulders, before her fingers drifted back to his hair, and he clutched her tighter.

The New Olympian Times stuck out from underneath the papers he’d been looking at. Had he been upset by the newspaper? Because maybe they’d gotten it all wrong and it was slander and—

“All right, we need to get going.” Marcus pulled back and if she’d expected to see his features soft or tender, she was disappointed. He looked as calm and cool as ever.

Cora frowned but he was already standing and taking her arm to lead her out to the car.

Marcus never liked to talk much when they were in the car. He always had Sharo put on classical music and Cora got the feeling it was the one time in his busy day where he got to just sit peacefully and relax. He rarely pulled out his phone to check emails or take calls. He simply sat, sometimes with his eyes closed, most of the time just watching the city streets going by, often taking her hand like he did today. He rubbed circles back and forth with his thumb and she couldn’t deny that the rhythmic motion along with the music was relaxing, to the point of being hypnotic.

Cora was tempted to let the relaxation of the moment and Marcus’s touch soothe her fears. But she kept hearing Maeve’s voice in the back of her head: How well do you really know him?

And it erupted out of her: “I saw the paper today. It scared me, Marcus.”

He immediately went tense and pulled his hand back from hers.

“Please, Marcus. Will you tell me what’s going on? Is it…is it true?”

“You don’t want to know,” he said. She took a deep breath and turned to look at him, forcing herself to wait for an answer even though she could see a glint of anger in his eyes. After a moment, something like a smile quirked his lips, though the coldness didn’t leave his face.

“But you’re my girl, so I’ll tell you.”

She waited through a long pause for him to continue.

“Couple of weeks back, two friends of mine decided to go in on a club. They bought the old theater, renamed it, set it up real nice. Big project like that, they needed some help. I helped them.”

He paused again as if wondering how much he should share with her.

“But rumors were circling—you know, people talk. Someone thinks something’s up, and the press hooks on it like it’s the only story in town. There were stories going around even before the place opened. Then last night,” a large sigh, “the press showed up.”

She waited a moment after he stopped. “And?”

“They took pictures and jumped to conclusions. They slandered my friends and tried to shut them down. And, because they can print whatever trash they want,” his jaw went hard, “it got smeared on the front page. All my friends wanted to do was open a club. Whose business is it how they run it? And the stuff they said—drugs and dirty money—none of that’s been proven. Those accusations belong in court. To slap it on a front page to sell papers—that’s what’s illegal.”

From where she sat, Cora could feel him getting angrier, though his voice never rose. She could feel it through the small distance between them, waves of cold fury, kept tightly clenched under his suit and silken tie.

“It’s one thing to come after me directly. It’s another to use my friends.” He stared forward at the rearview mirror; he and Sharo’s eyes met there.

The car glided through the streets. The windows were thick, keeping out sound, so it seemed silent, apart from the brooding classical music. Cora studied Marcus’s face, afraid of what she saw there. He was distant, cold.

Without thinking, she shivered, and with a murmur—“You okay, babe?”—he put his arm around her, and they rode on with the heavy weight across her shoulders.

And, though the questions screamed inside her—who are you? Is that really all there is to it? What do you mean, you ‘helped’ your friends?—she found she couldn’t say any more.

So deep was the silence, it took them both a moment to realize the car had stopped.

Sharo opened the door and she found herself looking up at a tall building, with many stairs leading up to its large doors.

“Go on.” Marcus pushed her gently, and she dutifully climbed out.

“Is this the restaurant?” she asked, teeth chattering with a sudden cold wind. Marcus, having stopped to speak with Sharo, came and took her under his arm and coat jacket, ushering her forward.