Full Circle (27 page)

“What are you thinking about?”

She broke from her reverie and glanced across
the seat at him. “Hmm?”

“I just wanted to know what was making you
smile like that?”

“Was I smiling?” She hadn’t noticed, but now,
as her cheeks warmed, she realized she still was.

“Yes, you were.”

Their fight and her lingering resistance
faltered as she glanced at him and saw the man she’d seen two years
ago. Handsome. Powerful. Confident. Master of the universe. At
least, of
her
universe. “I was thinking about the night we
met.”

A grin touched his lips, and a soft,
reflective chuckle broke from his throat. “Did I ever tell you
about the moment I saw you the very first time? I mean, what I
thought the very second I saw you?”

The chill that had plagued them since leaving
her apartment instantly dissipated. “I don’t think so.” If he had,
she couldn’t remember.

He reached for her hand. She laced her
fingers between his.

“I was standing across the room drinking a
scotch. At least I think it was scotch. I was feeling pretty
miserable and down on my luck.” He paused, and a wistful expression
fell over his face as if he were remembering. “And then there you
were.” He shot her a quick, adoring glance. “It was like the sea
parted and led my eyes straight to you. God, you were beautiful.
You still are.” Another glance, a little longer this time, a little
more reverent.

Whatever problems stood between them, Mark
clearly loved her beyond compare, still as smitten with her now as
he had been then. Warmth spilled through her body, and she knew she
was blushing from head to toe.

“That red dress”—his eyes darted to her as if
he could still see her wearing it—“was almost criminal. You were
stunning in that dress. The most alluring woman in the room.” His
fingers tightened around hers. “And I remember you looked so
uncomfortable.” He chuckled. “You kept fidgeting and running your
hand down the skirt as if you wanted to ensure it wasn’t showing
off too much of your gorgeous legs.”

She giggled quietly as she remembered how
awkward she’d felt in that dress. That night was a lifetime ago.
She’d come so far. “I’ll admit, I’ve become a lot more comfortable
wearing clothes like that.”

“Yes, you have.” He enforced the sentiment
with another squeeze of his hand around hers. “But that night, you
looked almost terrified. You had no idea how to handle all the
attention, but I could tell you secretly loved it. That’s when I
knew you just needed a little push and you’d discover how sexual
you are.”

In the months that followed, he had
definitely pushed her. And he’d awakened hidden desires she hadn’t
known she possessed. He still had the power to do that.

“I remember thinking you looked like a
princess meeting the public for the first time,” he said. “You
liked the attention, but it intimidated you and you didn’t yet have
the experience to know how to respond.” He paused, his expression
tender yet possessive. “I knew the moment I saw you that I had to
know you. And when I got to know you, I knew I had to have
you.”

The declaration sent a thrill through her,
and warmth pooled between her legs. In this moment, Mark was
completely open, and so was she. At times like this was when they
became magical. This was when they became one.

His thumb gently stroked the back of her
hand. “When the seat opened next to you, I took it. I refused to
let anyone else take the opportunity I knew was meant for me. I
never imagined it would lead to this. That we would be here now,
almost two years later, still together.” He lifted her hand and
kissed her fingers. “You gave me the greatest gift that night. You
blessed me with your presence. When every man in the room wanted
you at his side, you were at mine. You chose me.” He tore his gaze
from the road to glance at her. “You chose me, Karma, and for that
I will always be grateful. You found me. You made me a better
man.”

She scooted to the edge of her seat, leaned
over the center console, and pressed her cheek to his shoulder.
This was what she loved so much about Mark. He made her feel
special. So very special. And loved. If only every woman had a man
who made them feel this way, the world would be a better place.

“I love you,” she said, wrapping her arm
around his torso.

He kissed the top of her head. “I love you,
too, princess.”

She giggled. “I’m not a princess.”

“You’re
my
princess.”

Once they reached the Palmer House Hilton in Chicago,
they couldn’t get to their room fast enough. His parents had
offered to let them stay at their home, but Mark had insisted on a
hotel, and as rabid as they were to be alone, she was thankful he
had.

The moment they’d lost last night rose up
higher, stronger, more intensely, demanding they commune in the
most intimate way known to man and woman.

As soon as the bell hop unloaded their
luggage and the door shut behind him on the way out, Mark pressed
her against the wall then lifted her so she could wrap her legs
around his waist.

His kisses blazed, his caresses burned, and
his body surged against hers like a blast of hot air. All Karma
could do was hold on, grapple for purchase, and pray she didn’t
pass out.

As he entered her on the bed a few minutes
later, she came. And as he pummeled her body in an unrivaled
sensory onslaught, she came again, and again, and still yet
again.

He flipped her over, held down her arms, bit
the back of her shoulder, and gripped her hips so harshly she knew
she’d find bruises there later.

One awful fight and the resulting sexual
frustration it had created blasted out of them, culminating in one
of the most intense sexual experiences she’d ever had.

When Mark finally collapsed against her back,
his cock pulsing inside her, filling the condom he’d managed to
roll on somewhere in the midst of transporting her into nirvana,
she came again, shuddering in his grasp.

The last bricks of the wall that had gone up
between them last night fell, and for a couple of hours, they
forgot the world.

Then it was time to get ready to leave.

“Do I look okay?” Karma brushed her hands
down the front of her off-the-shoulder grey knit top. The fabric
was silky and draped alluringly over her breasts and torso. She
wore a black camisole underneath, and a long, silver necklace
adorned with round circular links hung around her neck. She’d
completed the outfit with dark grey denim trousers and stylish
black ankle boots.

“You look perfect.” Mark kissed her and
helped her into her coat. “Don’t be nervous.”

He had helped her pick out the outfit and
unintentionally matched her in his own denim trousers and dark-grey
sweater.

Still, she was second-guessing their decision
not to dress more formally. “I feel like we should have dressed up
more.”

“We’re fine. Trust me.” He whisked her out
the door before she could object further.

His parents’ house was magnificent. A
behemoth of brown bricks with white trim and a slate-grey roof.
Four massive columns rose from five-foot-tall pedestals in front of
the paned-glass entrance. It looked exactly like the type of house
a millionaire would live in. Easily three times the size of their
new home. Maybe even four.

“You grew up here?” she asked as he pulled in
front of the wide steps leading to the front door. Which was really
an understatement. How did you call
that
a front door? It
looked more like the entryway to a palace.

“Yes,” he said, shutting off the engine.

“And you weren’t popular in school?” She
remembered him telling her how he’d been bullied, but she couldn’t
see how someone with this much money couldn’t be one of the cool
kids. If he’d gone to the school she’d attended, he’d have been the
most popular boy there.

“It was a very elitist school.”

Shit. She didn’t want to see the houses of
those other kids if this was considered the low end of the elite
spectrum.

“I guess.”

The valet—
valet?
The Strongs had their
own valet?—opened the door for him as another opened her door and
held out his hand to help her out of the car. She took it and
stood, gaping at the impressive mansion.

Mark joined her, and she wrapped her arm
around his as the valet drove his car around to the back to where
Karma was sure she’d find a parking lot fit for thirty cars, maybe
more.

“We’re a bit later than I wanted to be,” Mark
said, hurrying her up the stairs. “They’re sure to be making final
preparations for the party, and guests will start arriving soon if
they haven’t already.”

A butler opened the door and welcomed them
inside.

Karma didn’t know where to look first. Up or
down. An expanse of gleaming, polished marble stretched in all
directions beneath her feet, lit by an enormous crystal chandelier
that hung like falling shards of ice from the ceiling. The crown
molding gracing the tops of the white walls was more like art than
architecture, and twin, winding staircases curved up either side of
the substantial foyer. In the center, directly below the rounded
balcony that looked over the foyer, sat a table black as onyx, upon
which stood a colossal flower arrangement inside a massive
hand-painted vase. Bright-pink roses, yellow daffodils, tall sprigs
of lavender, and white Star lilies gave the foyer its only splash
of color. But what a splash it was. More like an explosion in the
otherwise colorless but opulent entryway.

Then she glanced at the butler. He wore a
black and white tuxedo—with tails. She suddenly felt severely
underdressed. She was so not in Kansas, anymore. If the hired help
could make her feel this inadequate, how would the other guests
make her feel?

“Welcome home, sir,” the butler said.

“Thank you, Henry. You look splendid.”

“Thank you, sir. May I take your coats?”

“Yes, please.” Mark helped her out of hers.
“Karma, meet Henry. Henry, this is Karma Mason.” He offered no
explanation as to their relationship status. Then again, he was
proper enough to know he should tell his parents they were engaged
before he told Henry.

Henry’s expression perked as he regarded her,
taking her coat from Mark. “My pleasure, miss.” He gave a little
sideways bow of his head, obviously understanding exactly how
special she was in Mark’s life for him to bring her home to meet
the parents.

She nervously nibbled her bottom lip. “Nice
to meet you, too.”

Henry took Mark’s coat, smiling. “Nice to see
you’re finally settling down, sir.”

Mark chuckled. “Okay, Henry, stop calling me
sir.” He turned toward her. “Henry only behaves this way when my
parents have a party. Don’t let him fool you. He’s a scoundrel. And
excellent at cards. He’s the one who taught me how to play
blackjack and poker.”

“I’ve never seen you play poker,” she
said.

“I never really liked the game.”

Henry glanced side-to-side as if making sure
he wasn’t being watched, then he took a step forward, grinning
mischievously as he spoke to Karma. “He only doesn’t like the game
because he played against someone once who apparently had a better
poker face than he does and ended up losing ten thousand dollars of
his inheritance.”

She shot him a questioning glance. “Ten
thousand dollars?”

That shadow Karma thought was gone made a
reappearance and flashed across Mark’s face. “It was the last time
I ever played.” He shifted his gaze to Henry. “And quit telling her
stories like that, Henry, or you’ll scare her away.” He meant it as
a joke, but Karma could hear the hint of fear in his voice.

Henry winked and took a step back, becoming
the picture of propriety again. “Of course, sir.”

“Good man.” Mark took her hand and led her in
the direction of conversation and laughter as Henry opened the coat
closet to put away their coats.

She stole a peek into the extra-large,
lighted, walk-in closet as they passed. Fur. A lot of fur jackets
hung inside. And purses that looked like they could put Coach to
shame. She was fairly certain she saw a gold Chanel emblem on one
made of baby’s-butt-soft leather the color of honey. At least it
looked
baby’s-butt-soft. And there went her black, quilted
North Face coat to mingle with the designer labels. Her poor coat
was going to get an inferiority complex in there.

And didn’t she knew how it felt? She was way
out of her league here. If this party were a representation of the
food chain, her league was somewhere down around small farm
animals. A lamb or potbelly pig. The people she was about to meet
were lions. If she wasn’t careful, they’d eat her alive.

“You’re so tense,” Mark whispered, squeezing
her hand. “Relax.”

“I’m trying.” She took a few deep breaths.
“It’s just . . . this place is really big. Bigger
than I imagined. It’s kind of intimidating.”

“Try not to think about that.”

“Okay, okay.” She needed to get her mind off
the grandeur oozing the smell of money all around her. “Remind me
again what your parents’ names are. Adler and Giada, right?

“That’s right. Adler is a family name, and
Giada is Italian.”

“Giada. Like the chef, right?”

He frowned as if confused.

“You know,” she said, “the petite, wafer-thin
Italian chef with the big teeth who’s always smiling? The one on
the Food Network who always calls it
mozzarella
?” She did
her best at pronouncing the word with an authentic Italian
accent.

“You mean,
mozzarella
?” He corrected
her, making what was such a familiar word sound intensely
foreign . . . and a bit sexy. Like a new word
altogether.

“Yeah, that.” She smirked at his teasing
grin. “But that Giada. You know who I’m talking about, right?”