Page 1 of Forbidden Desire

Chapter 1

Marco

I take another glass of champagne from a nearly empty tray held by a cocktail waitress who has been tailing me all night, giving her a nod as a thank you, and walking away to find a corner of the party where I can people watch. She’s attractive enough. Blonde. Plumped-up lips. Petite, yet somehow with long legs that are squeezed into a black skirt that leaves little to the imagination. There’s a good chance she might be coming home with me tonight. We haven’t spoken a word to each other, but her eyes are screaming “fuck me.” I try not to get distracted by them. I can focus on that later. Now, I just need to watch the room and schmooze like I always do at these types of parties.

Tonight’s party was forThe NY News Daily,a small newspaper I had had my eye on for almost a year now. They are an independent newspaper that took years to find its footing in the competitive world of New York journalism, but it finally seemed to, thanks to a well-known author who had begun writing shortstories, driving traffic to their paper sales and website clicks. Her name is Monica—can’t remember the last name. I only know because my assistant has been keeping tabs on their numbers, and is a big fan of the author. She writes romance or something like that. Something I’m not privy to, in literature or in my own life.

Sex, yes. Romance, no.

Now that the paper has gained traction, I’m hoping to buy them out and add them to my collection of journalistic endeavors. I truly have no interest in the world of journalism or writing. I hardly read the paper myself, but newspapers are surprisingly profitable, especially in ad space. Several times I have tried to set up meetings with the owner, but to no avail. The owner is stubborn, which is why I’m here trying to build credibility and trust before ripping out what he knows from underneath him. I would rather be anywhere else than at this rooftop party with cheap champagne and bad live music, but attending comes with my job.

That job being buying out smaller businesses and making them more profitable just to turn around and sell them again. It is a risky game, but one I have mastered over the years, making me one of the youngest billionaires on the East Coast. Also, making me one of the most feared billionaires. I believe they’ve said that no business is safe when I’m around. But no one at this party knows that I’m here, or at least, they haven’t discovered me yet. I wasn’t exactly invited tonight. However, I was able to pay the doorman downstairs a few hundred dollars to turn a blind eye as I made my way toward the elevators with the rest of the partygoers.

I find it better to keep a low profile, letting my company speak for me. While my name is in the press and on the tips of people’s tongues, I try not to make my image the center of attention, which is why you’ll rarely find me on the front page of any magazine or being sloppy in the tabloids. Trust me, I have fun, but behind closed doors.

I find that if I’m not recognized, I’m able to take people by surprise, like at this party tonight. It’s not until people hear my name that their ears perk up, which is why I’m usually on a first-name basis. By hiding my wealth and identity, people won’t try to use me. Mainly women.

I love women, don’t get me wrong. I love everything about them. The way they bat their eyes when they try to get what they want. The way their bare skin feels against my hands. The way they scream my name. But money and women make for a messy combination, hence why I’ve never been in a serious relationship. Relationships mean getting close to someone, and letting them see the real me. I don’t have time to try and figure out someone’s true intentions. I have a company to run. Besides, I’d rather be known for my skills in the bedroom than what someone can buy with my money. I get plenty of action without flaunting my money anyways.

Speaking of, the same cocktail waitress is heading back my way. I wonder if anyone else has noticed the particular care she has taken on me as a partygoer. I look down at my champagne glass and realize it’s almost empty. For being cheap, I sure have been sucking them back. I can almost feel the headache coming on. I would rather have an expensive glass of bourbon than suck down another glass of stale champagne, but I don’t want to riskbeing rude to the blonde batting her eyelashes as she swishes her hips my way. Plus, a little liquid courage might help me get around this party of strangers.

“Would you like another?” she asks, her voice low and slow. She knows exactly what she’s doing in the way her tone oozes into my ears like warm honey.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” I ask with a smirk, taking another glass from the tray.

“Maybe,” she replies coyly.

“What time are you off?”

“Whenever this ends.” She waves her hand, uninterested at the surrounding party, her eyes locked on mine.

“I don’t know if I’ll make it that long, sweetheart.” I lean against the wall, turning my back toward the city. Playing hard to get is my specialty.

She gives me a pout, making her glossy lips appear even plumper and my eyes can’t help but be drawn to them. My mind drifts to what they’d feel like against my own lips. The space between my legs wants to feel them other places.

“I’m here on business,” I say with a shrug.

“So official,” she quips, standing straighter and I can sense the sarcasm.

I give her a smile, throwing her a bone.

She takes it. “I’ll make it worth your while.” She leans in and whispers the words, close enough to tickle my earlobe. Yeah, she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“I’m sure you will.” I give her a knowing smile and she returns it with a tug of her bottom lip against her teeth. She carries the tray of champagne to the next group of partygoers. I almost say “fuck it” and take her home with me right then. I can pay whatever she is owed for the rest of her shift.

It’s tempting, but I can’t.

I sigh, taking a long sip of champagne, and turn to look out over the city lights. The warm July breeze runs past me, rustling my hair and making me feel even more suffocated in this gray linen suit. I tug at the collar of my shirt, welcoming any air. This small newspaper could probably afford this venue because it is the dead of summer and New York City is currently in a heat wave. I wipe a bead of sweat from my brow and lean slightly over the wall, taking in the view of the city on this moonless night. The night isn’t getting any younger, and I have yet to talk to the owner. I finish my champagne and set it down on the brick wall.

I feel boozed up enough to where I am ready to schmooze and make my rounds. A few of the paper editors I recognize from where I had looked them up prior to coming to the party.Research had to be done if I wanted to look like I knew what I was doing. I had to look like I actually cared about the newspaper, even though I had every intention of just reselling it. I can’t make that known though, even though I’m sure my reputation is well known by everyone at this party. That’s why I’m glad no one has caught onto who I am yet.

I spot one of the sports editors and casually ease my way into the conversation he’s having with one of his colleagues. I don’t keep up with sports, but I know a little to get my foot in the door. He welcomes me with a curious look, and for a second, I wonder if he’s recognized me. But then he shoots a few questions my way about the Yankees’ current standings. Thanks to his own writers and what I read in the paper this morning, I’m able to keep up. He seems to buy it. I introduce myself as Marco, intentionally leaving out my last name, before moving onto the next editor I recognize. I can only talk about sports for so long.

Business, I can talk about for hours. Women, sure. These are the two things I enjoy most in life. I get the same high from selling a company as I do from getting off by a woman.

After striking up a few conversations and making my presence known to the higher up editors of the paper, I scan the room for the owner. I have yet to see him tonight, and he’s the main reason why I’m here. He’s the big catch. As I inspect the room for him, I also look out for any other potential candidates I can bring to bed later. May as well kill two birds with one stone. But, besides the cocktail waitress, no one really sticks out.

I finally spot the owner, Mr. Walsh, walk into the room. I can sense the room’s mood shift slightly as his presence becomesknown. Everyone’s a little more alert, but not scared. It speaks to who he is as an owner. I wondered briefly what it would feel like to not be feared. A woman is walking beside him. This is the first time I have seen her too. She piques my interest more than her boss does, and he’s the one I’ve been looking for all night, so that’s saying something. I try to assess what their relationship might be before making my move. He’s definitely her boss, although I don’t recognize her face from the paper. She’s young, probably mid-twenties, and is entirely distracting.

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