~010~ UNDENIABLE CURRENT
1347 Words
NORA
I shoot my deadliest glare across the studio. Tiffany glares right back. She's spent the last twenty minutes introducing herself to every breathing soul in the building—twice—like she's running for mayor of Reality TV.
She’s tall, auburn, stunning, and currently staring at me like I murdered her favorite houseplant.
The Taste of Tomorrow offices are pure chaos. The producers are sprinting with clipboards, the assistants juggling coffee and the signing of contracts. And right in the middle of it all is me. The freshly married walking disaster.
"I still don't understand why she's here," Tiffany announces loudly enough for the entire floor to hear.
I slowly lift my gaze from my coffee.
A producer winces. Someone else suddenly discovers that the carpet is fascinating.
Tiffany crosses her arms, flipping her hair. "Let's be real. No one would care about her if she hadn't trapped Marcellus Gregory."
The room goes pin-drop silent.
My smile blooms, full of teeth.
"Interesting," I purr. "Please, do go on."
Big mistake on her part. She takes it as permission.
"The wedding is obviously fake," she scoffs. "They knew each other for five minutes."
Three years of hell, actually, but okay.
"But congrats on landing a billionaire, I guess."
The producer next to me nearly chokes on his latte.
I set my coffee down with care. “Are you done?"
Tiffany smirks. "Not even close."
Perfect.
I pull out my phone, and Tiffany laughs.
"Calling your husband already? How predictable."
"Nope." I start typing, my lips curving. "I'm summoning him."
The entire room freezes.
Tiffany snorts. "Right. Sure you are."
I send my message quickly. Then I tuck the phone away and lean back, enjoying the stunned silence.
A little over half an hour later, the studio falls deathly quiet as a sleek black SUV glides up outside. The doors open. And Marcellus Gregory walks in.
Every woman in here forgets how to breathe. Including Tiffany.
His dark suit is tailored to sinful perfection, his slightly long hair curling past his collar. His expression is that of a bored predator… until his eyes lock on mine.
In an instant, it ignites like a heat-seeking missile.
Fuck me.
That stare drains every bit of moisture from my throat.
Is it me, or is it actually hot in here? Sheesh.
He strides straight through the lobby, ignoring everyone else, and stops right in front of me. Close enough that I catch that woodsy amber scent that makes my knees quiver.
"Nora." His voice is so f*****g deep, and it slides down my spine, leaving goosebumps behind.
I ignore the flutter in my stomach and lift my chin.
"You're late."
One dark eyebrow rises. "Cut me some slack. I left as soon as I got your text.”
"Fine," I point across the room. "That one."
Dead silence.
Marcellus slowly turns his head towards Tiffany. She visibly swallows, all her confidence evaporating under that icy blue gaze.
He looks back at me, his voice deceptively calm. "What did she do?"
I smile sweetly. "She said our marriage is fake."
The room collectively holds its breath.
Marcellus stares at me for a second, then at Tiffany, then back to me. A dangerous smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. The exact same one that makes me want to slap him and climb him at the same time.
Oh, this is about to be fun. Right?
Without a word, he closes the last step between us, slides one big hand around the back of my neck, and pulls me in. His soft lips meet mine.
The kiss isn't gentle or polite.
It's a bloody brand.
He kisses me like I’m his favorite dessert. His tongue strokes against mine in a way that makes my toes curl, my whole body shaking.
The kiss at the wedding was only a preview. This is—
Oh f**k.
When he finally pulls back, my lips are swollen and tingling.
His eyes are darker, hooded, burning with that feral hunger he barely keeps leashed.
The entire studio is dead silent except for the distant hum of a camera that someone probably forgot to pause.
Marcellus doesn't let me go. He keeps me tucked against his chest, one possessive hand resting across my lower back.
He turns his head towards Tiffany, his expression transforming from heated to ice-cold in a single heartbeat.
"You will speak to my wife with respect," he says, his voice calm. "Or the next time I come here, it won't be for a friendly visit. Understood?"
Tiffany looks like she might actually faint. She nods frantically, all the color drained from her perfect face.
Marcellus doesn't wait. He turns back to me, the smirk returning as he gently brushes a strand of hair from my cheek. His thumb lingers on my jaw, tracing my skin.
"What do you want for lunch today, little wolf?" he asks. "I'll have it brought here. Or I can take you somewhere private..." His gaze darts down to my mouth again. "Very private."
My brain can’t keep up. The sexy bastard knows exactly what he's doing.
He’s holding me like he owns the copyright to my existence while radiating enough dominant heat to set the whole studio on fire.
I swallow hard, trying to remember how words work.
The tension between us is so thick I can barely breathe.
And every single person in the room is watching like this is the best episode of Taste of Tomorrow they've ever witnessed.
….
Marcellus doesn't give me a choice about the ride home. He simply opens the door of the black SUV and waits, one dark eyebrow raised in challenge.
I climb in without arguing, mostly because my things are already being moved to his place and fighting him right now feels pointless. Even though dad was a hundred percent against it.
The door shuts with a heavy click, sealing us inside the cool leather interior.
The car glides into traffic. For a moment, we both stay silent.
"Why did you go there today?" he finally asks.
I shrug, staring out the window. "I just wanted to check out the proposed venue. You know how it is."
A soft hum vibrates from his chest. "No. You went because you didn't want to be seen as just my wife. Yet here we are... and you still called me."
I shift in my seat, heat crawling up my neck. My fingers twitch towards the door handle, ready to create distance, but his hand catches mine before I can pull away. He doesn't let go.
I look at him. Those dark blue eyes lock onto mine, pulling me in until everything else fades.
"There is one indisputable truth, Nora," he says, his voice slipping into that velvet-rough register that makes my pulse go crazy.
My heart pounds harder, a wild drumbeat against my ribs.
"Nora Wolfe is a great cook and influencer."
The sincerity in his tone catches me completely off guard. His gaze dips slowly to my lips, lingering there, before rising back to my eyes. "And anyone who doesn't think so should seriously consider a lobotomy."
I'm breathless at this point.
His thumb strokes lazy circles over the back of my hand. Then without breaking eye contact, his palm slides down, settling high on my thigh.
The hem of my mini dress has ridden up, and his fingers rest on my bare skin. Heat spreads everywhere he touches.
I bite my lower lip without thinking.
His eyes darken instantly, turning stormy with hunger.
"Don't do that," he warns, his voice husky now, "unless you want me to lose all restraint."
A shaky snort escapes my lips. "Is that a threat?"
The words barely leave my mouth before Marcellus leans in, wrapping one big hand around my throat, his lips at my ear.
“I warned you,” he whispers, running his teeth over the sensitive skin of my ear, sending a thousand bolts of electricity through my body.
And in a blink of an eye, he hurls me into his lap!
- Writer
