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If these were more primitive times, I’d have already thrown her over my shoulder and carried her off to my cave.
Her gray eyes round with shock. “To… to your place?”
“Yes.” I hold her gaze, not bothering to hide the dark lust coiling within me. “To my place. Now.”
There’s a better way to do this, I know. I could take her out for a drink; then, once we’re both pleasantly buzzed, I could offer to show her the rare book collection in my penthouse. We’d both know what would really happen once we got there, but we wouldn’t need to discuss it. She could pretend that she’s just going to see some books, and it would all be nice and civilized, properly romantic.
Except I’m not capable of being civilized right now. All my social graces seem to have deserted me again, the veneer of civilization disappearing. For whatever reason, I can’t play these games with Emma, can’t be smooth and urbane like I am with other women.
With her, I’m driven by pure instinct, and that instinct demands I get her into my bed right fucking now.
Her little tongue darts out to wet her lips, and I almost groan at the temptation. “What about—” She swallows visibly. “What about Emmeline?”
Fuck. “What about her?” I growl, pulling her closer. “I told you there are no commitments between us.” And there won’t be—not until I get Emma out of my system.
I’m not the kind of man who cheats.
“But you still… want to date her, right?” Her voice is breathless as her lower body molds against mine, and my erection presses into her soft belly. “So you could maybe marry her?”
“That’s a big maybe,” I mutter, and unable to resist a second longer, I grip her face between my palms and bend my head to kiss her.
Her lips are as soft as the first time I tasted them, soft and plush and so fucking sweet that all blood leaves my brain and surges directly to my cock. Distantly, I hear another meow, but I no longer give a fuck about the cat—or Emmeline and my lifelong ambitions. All my senses are filled with Emma… with the wet, heated slide of her tongue against mine and the faint smell of caramel on her breath, with the way her soft curves feel against me and how her hands clutch at my sides as I maneuver her toward her bed.
Fuck going to my place. Here will do just as well.
The backs of her legs touch the mattress, and she suddenly goes rigid. Gripping my wrists, she twists away from my kiss. “Wait!”
I freeze in place, using every ounce of my willpower to remain still as she slithers out of my hold and backs away, not stopping until she’s as far away from the bed—and me—as she can get.
“Listen, Marcus,” she says shakily, pushing the curls off her face with a trembling hand. “I’m not… This isn’t…” She gulps in a breath. “We’re obviously attracted to each other, but this isn’t going to work out.”
And as I stare at her in disbelief, she picks up her cat from the floor and says quietly, “Leave, please. I want you to go.”
23
Emma
“You did what?” Kendall’s voice jumps an octave as she stares at me, her half-eaten croissant clutched in her hand.
“I told him to leave,” I repeat, rubbing my temples as the headache from hell worsens.
I barely slept after Marcus left last night—my second sleepless night this week—and though I’ve had enough caffeine to wake a horse this morning, my skull feels like it’s being squeezed in a vise. Given that, I probably shouldn’t have gone to Kendall’s apartment for breakfast, but I needed someone other than my cats to talk to.
“Okay, back up.” Kendall drops the croissant onto her napkin and swivels her bar stool to face me fully. “Let’s go through this again. He broke down your door to save you after you tripped over your cat, and you guys made out while you were almost naked. He then ate gyros with you while his repairmen fixed it. After that, you kissed again, and he invited you to his place. And you told him it’s not going to work out and he should leave?”
“Technically, he kissed me after inviting me to his place, but yes, that’s the gist of it.”
“Emma! What the hell?”
I blink. “What? He’s still planning to date Emmeline, and you’re the one who told me to be careful. ‘Men are dogs,’ remember?”
“You dummy! That was before we knew he’s a billionaire.”
“Kendall—”
“No, listen to me.” She leans on the countertop, her elbow nearly squishing the croissant. “This isn’t some random Wall Street asshole—it’s Marcus freaking Carelli. And he’s interested in you enough to break down your door and eat takeout gyros in your shitty little studio.”
“Right. Because he wants to get into my pants.” I massage my brow ridge as if that would cause the pressure behind it to subside. I definitely shouldn’t have come here, I see that now. If I’d caught a nap this afternoon, I’d be better equipped to deal with Kendall and her insane views on dating. As is—
