Chapter 13

Marcus takes me to the cloakroom and collects our coats. He waves off both his bodyguard and his driver when they approach him, even going as far as to step aside to have what looks like a short disagreement with the bodyguard.

Finally, the bodyguard shakes his head ruefully, and Marcus waves him off with a smile.

"Sorry about that," he tells me, helping me into my coat and even buttoning the top for me when my fingers fumble over the material. "Yasin is a little too good at his job sometimes."

"How can a bodyguard be too good at his job?" I ask with a smile. "Surely he can't be too good at keeping you alive and away from all the crazy stalkers who might want to corner you or creep through your bedroom window at night."

Marcus laughs, really laughs, with his head thrown back and rich mirth coming from deep in his belly. I love being the one to make him laugh like that.

"Okay, good point," he says, taking me by the arm and leading me out into the chilly night air. "No, he's just a little too overprotective at times. I'm perfectly capable of driving my date home on my own, and so I shall."

This is a surprise to me, though not an unwelcome one. Being truly alone with Marcus for the first time, even if it's just for a few minutes, sounds wonderful. A bit dangerous, maybe, considering I'm struggling to remember that I can't fall for this guy. But right now, I can't really seem to bring myself to care about that too much.

Marcus waves over to the valet and has a quick word, and within moments, a sleek little yellow Porsche pulls up in front of us. The valet accepts Marcus's tip with a nod, and soon both Marcus and I are sliding into the warmth of the purring car.

I struggle a little with my seatbelt, feeling like an idiot when Marcus reaches over to help me. He's going to think I'm drunk, or just clumsy – who can't buckle her own seatbelt?

Marcus must sense my embarrassment, because he says, "Don't feel bad. The passenger seatbelt on this car has been glitchy for ages. I really need to make a note to get it repaired."

His hands are hot and his palm smooth across my belly as he gently tugs the seatbelt down across my torso. His left hand jiggles the seatbelt clasp until the mechanism clicks.

It sounds loud in the quiet car – there's only the sound of our breathing, both a little heavier and faster than is warranted. It sounds like we've both been running up the steps, not just sitting in a Porsche tugging on a seatbelt.

Marcus clears his throat, lets his fingers linger on the seat belt by my hip for a moment before slowly pulling away. I'm sure my face is red, but thankfully it's too dark for Marcus to really be able to see. I hope so, anyway.

"Back to your hotel, Madam Doctor?" Marcus asks. I can tell he's trying to lighten the mood, to dispense some of the heat and tension that appears to have seeped into the car with us.

"Yes, please," I say. "Do you remember where to go?" I'm still slightly embarrassed that Marcus has had to see the run-down, shabby place I'm staying, but there's not much I can do about it.

"I do," he says. "And–" he hesitates. "Look, I hope you didn't think I was too pushy back there, dragging you out. I just–I just didn't like the way that guy was looking at you, honestly, and I don't really trust the motives of a lot of people at this wedding."

"Really?" I ask in surprise. "Why were they there, if they can't be trusted?"”

Marcus sighs, flicking on the turn signal and gliding into traffic with ease. "It's hard to explain, to someone from the outside," he says. "Not that you're an outsider," he hastens to add. "I don't mean that as an insult."

"I get what you mean," I say. "And I'm not offended. I am an outsider to your world."

Marcus flashes me a brief smile, then turns serious again, staring at the road as if in thought for a few moments before he continues.

"Events like this aren't just celebrations, parties," he says at last. "I know you know that; I'm not trying to be condescending, I promise. It's just – they're also not what you'd think of as normal networking events, either."

"What do you mean?" I ask with curiosity.

"I can't really go into it too much," Marcus says. "I'm always at risk of saying the wrong thing, saying too much, letting something slip. I have to be careful in what I say to anyone, too; this isn't personal to you."

"I understand," I say, and it's the truth.

"Not everyone at these parties, or networking events, is a good person," Marcus settles on after another pause. "Some of them can be bad people, or dangerous people.

"Some of them are necessary for us to work with, but I also want to be careful about who else gets introduced to them, because their motives are often not very pure."

I nod.

"So, I just want to protect you from all of that," Marcus says. "I didn't like the way that guy was eyeing you, so I suggested we go. I hope that's okay."

"It's okay," I reassure him. "Honestly, it's getting late, anyway. I have an early shift at the soup kitchen tomorrow, anyway."

Marcus's face lights up when I mention the soup kitchen.

"You were so amazing that day," he says, his voice gentling as he slides an admiring glance at me.

"So were you," I say. "You really leapt into action. Even sacrificed what I'm sure was a wildly expensive cashmere coat to the cause."

Marcus laughs aloud again. "Nicole, I truly hope you wouldn't think I'm so vain and shallow that I'd put a cashmere coat over the life of a child."

"Of course not!" I laugh. "That's not what I meant."

"I know," he chuckles. "I have more cashmere coats than I can count. And honestly, I'd give them all away if it meant that no child ever passes out from hunger again." He sighs again, looking wistful.

I reach over and place my hand over his, where it's resting on the gearstick. His gaze flashes to me, and I feel my heart beat a little faster.

"I feel the same way," I say quietly. "As a surgeon, all I wanted to do was alleviate suffering and make people better. It's all I've ever wanted to do, to make the world a better place."

We pull up in front of my hotel, and Marcus parks the car, idling by the curb for a few long moments. He flips his hand upside down and laces his fingers with mine, gives my hand a squeeze. His skin is so warm, almost hot. Werewolves tend to run hotter than humans.

"Nicole, I–" Marcus pauses. Then he slips his hand out of mine and into his coat pocket, where he takes out his wallet and hands me his card. "I hope you'll call me, sometime. If you ever need anything, I mean."

"Thank you," I say, clutching the card between my fingers. "Well – good night."

Marcus looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn't.

"Good night, Nicole."

I slide out of the warmth of the car and scurry up the steps to the front doors, turning to wave. Marcus seems satisfied that I'm safely inside and waves before pulling away.

Back in my room, fresh from the shower and combing out my hair at that junky old desk, I stare at the card in front of me. Tonight felt like a dream, like Cinderella going to the prince's ball.

But the balls always end, and the glass slipper comes off. The prince already knows where I live, and he's not knocking down my door to take me away to his castle to live happily ever after.

Sometimes, people don't get a happily ever after. And I guess I'm one of them. I need to focus on creating my own life, not waiting for someone else to save me.

I crumple up Marcus's card and throw it in the trash before flinging myself into bed to stare at the dark ceiling until morning.