The Marine (Black Hawke Security #3)

CHAPTER ONE

D aniel Dufort lifted his whisky to his lips and nodded at the blonde who was regaling him with an apparently hilarious story of her father at their recent New Year’s party.

Daniel knew who the man was. The fact he’d actually spent time with his wife and family was a small Christmas miracle. He’d heard rumors—and his source was pretty reliable—that her father, Senator Johnson, had two girlfriends. Neither of which knew about the other. With Valentine’s Day approaching, it would be an expensive one for the politician.

Three women. Ugh.

Daniel shivered at the thought. He preferred his women in and out in an evening, not sticking around for breakfast or a ring on their fingers.

He glanced around Bar Hugo , one of Manhattan’s most exclusive bars, and saw most of his key connections had now left. The only reason he was still nursing his Macallan was, to put it bluntly, his cock. The blonde, who wouldn’t stop talking, was going to have her mouth around it within the next hour.

Beep, beep.

Daniel, we need to speak. Meet me in your office in an hour.

After reading his father’s message, he mentally rearranged his plans. Dropping his crystal glass onto the polished wooden bar, he replied to confirm he’d see him there, and then took the petite blonde’s arm. “Shall we go?”

Her face lit up.

“Your place or mine?” she purred.

“I have a meeting in my office tonight, so let’s head there,” he replied, leading her to the private exit. The last thing he wanted was to be photographed with her and more gossip spread about his relationship status.

When would the media give up? He was never getting married.

She hesitated slightly as his offer sank in. There would be no breakfast in bed. Daniel held her gaze. The decision was hers—she could take it or leave it.

He knew she’d take it.

They all did.

A billionaire in a suit was an aphrodisiac to these types of women.

Like his brothers, he had inherited their father’s good looks. At six-foot three with a muscular frame—which he worked hard to maintain in his gym—and a square jaw, Daniel was confident and powerful.

Some of it learned. Some of it was natural.

In the United States, and other places around the world, Daniel Dufort was frequently quoted in business and economic media, and unfortunately in less respected publications for the women he took to events. Rarely, if ever, was it the same women, and yet they insisted on discussing his marital status.

The gossip columns had a few cringeworthy nicknames for him. Try as he may, Daniel struggled to keep his sex life private. He only had a few rules.

No promises.

Nothing overnight.

No, do overs.

Okay, fine—he occasionally slept with the same woman twice, but not in the same quarter or it gave the wrong impression.

Daniel Dufort wasn’t interested in a relationship. Of any kind. He didn’t believe in true love, nor was he going to settle for something vanilla. However, he did enjoy female company, and the activities at the end of the evening, so he took dates to the events he had to attend, or to meet some social obligation.

And he wasn’t lacking in options.

But a relationship was not for him.

Settling down with a best friend and having missionary-style sex three times a week? No thanks.

As predicted, she’d walked through the door, so they head to Dufort Towers. Daniel hung his dark gray Tom Ford jacket on the hanger and turned.

Miss Johnson— fuck, he’d forgotten her name —lingered, taking in the valuable 57 th Avenue view that overlooked Central Park. It was one of the best along Billionaire Row.

“Stunning,” she said, stepping up to the full-length glass.

Daniel removed his cufflinks, and they pinged as he dropped them on his custom-made oak wood desk. He rolled his shirt sleeves to his elbows and checked the time on his Piguet watch.

They had thirty-five minutes.

Daniel moved to stand beside Miss Johnson and dug his hands in his pockets. “I’m going to assume you give head.”

She turned, her mouth opening.

A good start.

Daniel leaned in and ran his finger through her hair. “Or I can bend you over my desk and fuck you. You decide.”

Her mouth closed and acceptance settled over her features. She was too proud to storm out, and he knew she was wet for him.

She reached for his fly and slid to her knees. “Both.” Her eyes lifted to his as she gripped his cock.

Daniel didn’t answer. He simply watched her tongue swirl around his swollen head and take him deeper, inch by inch.

Daniel let out a low moan. He gripped her hair and pressed in further while she moved skillfully over and around him. It wasn’t long before he was fucking her throat as she milked him dry. He groaned out his orgasm while she swallowed.

That was a bonus—he thought she’d be a spitter.

She sat back on her Manolo Blahnik heels and licked her lips. She was a beautiful woman, more natural than many in this town, but like all those before her, Daniel suddenly lost interest.

Most of them were here for his last name. They often had trust funds or money of their own, but he had power and they falsely believed by marrying him, they would also have power.

They were wrong. Power was something one either had or didn’t have. It came from within, as much as a bank balance.

Dufort Hotels, which made up most of the Dufort Dynasty, had properties all over the world. It had been built by his father and went public two years ago. Two years ago, his father had stepped away—though remained the majority shareholder—and Daniel had taken on the position he’d been groomed for all his life.

CEO of Dufort Hotels.

“Thank you for being my date tonight,” he said, zipping his pants. God, why could he not remember her name?

Megan. Shit.

“Give your father my regards, Megan.”

She stood and smiled at him, all sultry. “I think you’ve forgotten about part two.”

No. He hadn’t.

Fortunately, his father was always early and at any moment he’d be interrupted if things got tense. Occasionally, claws came out when they felt rejected.

“Looks like we are out of time. I need to prepare for my meeting,” he replied with no pretense of disappointment, then stepped away. “Please make use of the facilities before you leave if you need to.”

Daniel stepped behind his large desk and lifted his laptop open.

Megan cleared her throat and picked up her purse. “No, thank you. I will gargle the sperm from my throat with a glass of Cristal champagne when I get home,” she replied, then spun and walked out of the office with her head held high.

Despite himself, Daniel smiled.

Good for her.

A moment later, his father stepped into his office, thumbing his finger over his shoulder. “Was that Senator Johnson's daughter I saw leaving?”

“Yes. She accompanied me to the Glass Towers rebrand launch this evening,” Daniel said.

Glass Towers were a friendly competitor in New York City, but a competitor, nevertheless. He’d chosen the senator’s daughter as a political statement because of some government lobbying he was doing regarding the water system in Manhattan. The CEO, David Glass, disagreed with Dufort, which could cost Glass Towers a small fortune if it went ahead. But it was the right thing to do, and they both knew it.

Daniel smiled.

He loved the game, and he was good at it.

Johnathan Dufort walked over to the same spot Megan had performed in and rocked on his feet. It wasn’t unusual for them to meet in the evenings, but Daniel knew what this was about. It had been a hot topic for weeks and was his least favorite subject right now.

“I don’t have good news, son,” he said. “The agreement is still missing and now Senator Mackenzie is trying to extort us.”

He looked up.

“With what?” Daniel asked loudly. “He’s already doing that by claiming we owe him more interest on the initial loan than was originally agreed to.”

Nearly two decades ago his father had entered an agreement with his then friend, Bill Mackenzie. The amount had been substantial—in the high six figures—and was paramount in Dufort Hotels growing into what it was today. The loan was to be repaid in twenty years with three percent interest.

It was no secret. Their finance team had been putting the money aside over the years and were preparing to pay it out in this financial year.

A few weeks ago, they’d received a letter from the now senator requesting payment for a much larger sum. Attached was a copy of the agreement.

Except it wasn’t the original—it had been doctored.

The three percent interest had ballooned to fifteen percent. A rate no one in their right mind would agree to.

Very few people were aware of the situation, outside his father, his brothers Fletcher and Hunter, their financial advisor and lawyer. The latter had advised they hunt down a copy of the agreement before going to the authorities.

Johnathan Dufort had thought he had a copy at home in his own files, along with the one kept in the vault at Dufort Dynasty.

Apparently not.

His father ran a hand over his face.

Shit.

“Father. Tell me.”

Johnathan slammed his fist down onto the arm of the sofa next to him. “He has said we have thirty days to pay, or he wants his daughter married into the Dufort family. The prenup cannot exclude her from the Dynasty shares.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Daniel growled.

He knew what was coming next.

“She has asked for you.”