CHAPTER 11: The invitation

The grand foyer stretched before me, a masterpiece of timeless elegance and quiet opulence. The floors were polished marble, smooth and gleaming beneath my feet, reflecting the soft glow of the golden chandelier hanging above. High ceilings made the space feel impossibly vast, and intricate crown moldings framed the room with refined detail.

A sweeping staircase curved to the second floor, its railing carved from dark mahogany, polished to perfection. The scent of leather, wood, and something distinctly Marco—masculine and expensive—filled the air.

I took a slow breath, trying not to seem too affected by the sheer grandeur surrounding me. This wasn’t just wealth. It was power, woven into every inch of the space.

Marco shut the door behind me, the quiet click echoing in the vast room. I felt his presence at my back, close but not touching.

“Come on,” he said smoothly, walking ahead. “Let’s go somewhere more comfortable.”

I followed him through the open archway that led into a sitting room, where plush armchairs and a leather sofa were arranged around a sleek fireplace. A decanter of amber liquid sat on a glass table, catching the light from the enormous windows that overlooked the estate grounds.

But Marco didn’t stop there. He glanced at me over his shoulder, his expression unreadable as he continued toward a set of dark double doors at the end of the hall.

My breath caught slightly.

His bedroom.

The realization sent a rush of heat through me, but I forced myself to remain composed. This was business, nothing more.

Still, my pulse thrummed as Marco pushed open the doors and gestured for me to step inside.

The room was just as luxurious as I’d expected—massive, with a California king bed draped in charcoal-gray sheets, a floor-to-ceiling window that bathed the space in soft, natural light, and dark, modern furniture that exuded quiet sophistication.

I swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how intimate this felt.

Marco leaned against the doorframe, watching me with something unreadable in his gaze.

“Relax, Mia,” he murmured, a smirk playing on his lips. “It’s just a room.”

Just a room.

And yet, standing here, alone with him, I wasn’t so sure.

I swallowed, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag as I forced myself to focus.

It was just a room.

Just a meeting.

But with Marco standing there, watching me with that unreadable expression, the air felt… charged. Like something unspoken simmered just beneath the surface, waiting.

I cleared my throat, determined to keep this professional. “I—I brought the samples,” I said, pulling the bag from my shoulder and setting it down on the sleek, dark dresser.

My hands weren’t exactly steady as I unzipped it and pulled out the catalogs and a few carefully chosen books. But as I flipped through the pages, pointing out titles and educational materials, I realized something unsettling.

I couldn’t concentrate.

Not with Marco still so close.

His presence was impossible to ignore—solid, warm, undeniably male. And every time I turned a page, I was acutely aware of him standing beside me, his scent lingering in the air, his quiet scrutiny making my skin prickle.

I shifted, trying to put a little more space between us, but it didn’t help.

“Something wrong?” he asked smoothly, his voice a low, velvet tease.

I snapped my gaze up to his, finding amusement flickering in those piercing blue eyes. He knew.

Of course he knew.

Damn it.

I straightened my shoulders, refusing to let him see how much he affected me. “Nothing’s wrong,” I said, forcing a casual tone as I gestured to the open catalog. “These are some of the best options for the kids. I thought you might want to—”

Marco reached out, turning a page himself, and my words faltered.

Because suddenly, he was even closer.

Too close.

The warmth of his body, the way his arm brushed mine—it was subtle, but enough to make my breath hitch.

I swallowed hard, forcing my gaze back to the book. I just needed to get through this. Focus. Keep it professional.

But with every passing second, that was becoming increasingly difficult.

My pulse kicked up.

“That’s enough for now,” he murmured, his voice impossibly smooth.

I blinked. “But we haven’t—”

He turned, leaning against the dresser, his gaze steady on mine. “I trust your judgment, Mia. If you think these books are good for the kids, I’ll take them.”

I swallowed, hyper-aware of how close he was, how the rich scent of his cologne wrapped around me.

“You brought them all the way here,” he continued, tilting his head slightly. “I should at least make the trip worth your while.”

Something about the way he said it made my stomach flip.

“I—it’s fine,” I said quickly, ignoring the warmth creeping up my neck. “This is business, remember?”

A slow, knowing smirk curled on his lips. “Business.”

The way he said it made the word sound almost… filthy.

His fingers lifted, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear, lingering just a second too long. My breath caught.

“Relax, sweetheart.” His voice was a low murmur, his thumb barely grazing my jaw before he pulled back, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. “You’re tense.”

Of course I was tense. How could I not be when he was looking at me like that—like he was enjoying this game, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me?

“I’m fine,” I said, stepping back, needing space before I did something reckless.

Marco chuckled, the sound deep and amused. “If you say so.”

But the gleam in his eyes told me he wasn’t convinced.

And worse? Neither was I.

The air between us was thick, charged with something I wasn’t sure I had the strength to resist.

Marco didn’t move right away—he just watched me, his blue eyes darkening, like he was savoring the moment. Like he knew he had me exactly where he wanted me.

“Why so nervous, Mia?” he asked, his voice smooth, teasing.

“I’m not,” I lied, my voice barely above a whisper.

His smirk deepened. “Liar.”

His fingers brushed along my arm, the touch so light it sent a shiver down my spine. Slowly, he reached for the book I still held in my hands—the one I’d completely forgotten about—and took it from me, setting it aside without breaking eye contact.

I swallowed hard, my heartbeat drumming in my ears.

He was too close.

His scent—warm spice, leather, something undeniably masculine—wrapped around me, making it impossible to think straight.

Marco tilted his head slightly, his fingers trailing up my arm to my shoulder, his touch lazy, deliberate. “You know,” he mused, his voice deep, almost a purr, “I think you like being nervous around me.”

I exhaled sharply. “I don’t.”

Another lie.

His smirk was pure sin. “Then why haven’t you moved?”

I had no answer for that.

Marco’s gaze flicked down to my lips, his fingers tracing a slow, burning path up my neck until they rested just beneath my jaw.

I stopped breathing.

He leaned in, his mouth a whisper away from mine, his breath warm, teasing. I could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his presence filled every inch of the space between us.

My lips parted instinctively, waiting, anticipating—

And then he pulled back.

I blinked, dazed.

Marco smirked, his thumb grazing the corner of my mouth, as if he knew exactly how much I wanted him to kiss me.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmured, stepping back just enough to put distance between us.

I exhaled shakily, my body still thrumming with the expectation of something that never came.

My eyes narrowed. “You’re teasing me.”

Marco’s smirk deepened, his gaze locked onto mine. “Am I?”

Before I could respond, he moved again—quick, precise—his hand curling around my waist, pulling me flush against him.

And then, without hesitation, he kissed me.

Deep. Slow. Devastating.

The kind of kiss that stole the breath from my lungs and left my legs weak.

Marco’s grip on my waist tightened as his lips moved against mine, slow at first—teasing, controlled. But then something shifted.

His kiss turned urgent, hungry.

A deep sound rumbled in his chest, and when I opened my eyes for a split second, I saw the change in his expression. His smirk was gone. His usual control had cracked.

Now, his gaze burned with something raw. Dark.

Like he wanted to devour me whole.

His fingers slid up my back, threading into my hair as he angled my head, deepening the kiss. His tongue swept against mine, demanding, consuming. I barely had time to react before he pressed forward, guiding me backward.

I barely registered the sensation of soft sheets against my fingertips before I realized—

The bed.

My breath hitched as the back of my knees met the edge.

Marco didn’t stop.

He pressed closer, his body heat wrapping around me, his hands moving—one gripping my waist possessively, the other tracing fire along my skin.

I gasped against his lips, my heart hammering against my ribs.

He growled low in his throat, like he was barely restraining himself.

I felt dizzy. Weak. Completely at his mercy.

And yet, when his lips left mine, trailing down my jaw to the hollow of my throat, a single, breathless thought pushed through the haze in my mind.

This man was dangerous.

And I was completely, utterly trapped.