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“Yeah, right.” Her perfectly shaped nose grows as she leans into the camera. “Let’s face the facts here, shall we? Fact one: You told him to take a hike, but when he followed you to Florida, you folded. Immediately.”
“Only because I didn’t want to disappoint my grandparents,” I protest, but Kendall is not listening.
“Fact two: You let him stay with you on the condition that he leave after Thanksgiving dinner, but he’s still there, isn’t he?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Fact three: The man built a fucking empire from scratch, so he clearly knows how to get what he wants. And he wants you. Very much.”
“Oh, please—”
“No, listen to me, Ems. What do you get when you take a determined billionaire and a girl who’s putty in his hands?” At my purposefully blank stare, she clicks her tongue in pretend disappointment. “You may not be a finance whizz, but even you should be able to do that math. A couple living together and getting married, that’s what!”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Yeah, okay, whatever. I’m not moving in with Marcus. And I’m certainly not marrying him—not that he would ask. I told you about Emmeline and the matchmaker and all of his requirements, right?”
“So what? He’s there with you, not her, right? On Thanksgiving. At your grandparents’ house. If that’s not a declaration of intent, I don’t know what is.”
“An intent to fuck me, maybe,” I mutter—only to flush when Kendall lifts her eyebrows, intrigued.
“Do tell. Is he—”
“Not going there,” I say firmly. “And I’m not moving in with him. It’s way too soon. Besides, there are all sorts of problems with that idea.”
Kendall frowns. “Like what?”
I sigh. “Like the fact that I would never, in a million years, be able to cover anything close to my fair share of living expenses at his place. Even if he owns his penthouse outright, the property taxes alone must be astronomical. And there’s also his chef and his plant people and—” I stop because Kendall is looking at me like I have been carried off by aliens—and returned with green scales and tentacles.
“Ems,” she begins, only to fall silent, her eyes widening as she stares at something behind me.
Pulse jumping, I turn and see Marcus.
A barefoot, shirtless Marcus, who’s approaching me with the smooth stride of a panther.
He must not have taken a shower or shaved yet, as his thick brown hair is rumpled and his jaw dark with morning stubble. His jeans are riding low on his narrow hips, exposing that mouthwatering V guys with washboard abs tend to have, and his hair-dusted, powerfully muscled chest looks like it belongs on the cover of a men’s fitness magazine.
The Wall-Street-king-turned-hot-pirate edition.
“Morning, kitten,” he says in a deep, sleep-roughened voice, his blue eyes hooded as they rake over me with heated possessiveness.
My throat goes dry even as my mouth floods with saliva.
If Marcus in a suit is sexy as fuck, this version of him—all potent, primal masculinity—is the stuff of women’s fantasies. The dark, politically incorrect ones we’re not supposed to admit to having.
Swallowing thickly, I stutter out, “M-morning”—only to remember we’re not alone. Tearing my eyes away from all that dangerously hot muscle, I turn back to the phone screen, where Kendall looks like she’s about to choke on her own drool.
“That’s Marcus,” I say unnecessarily, and she blinks, looking so dazzled that I want to reach through the camera and shake her. Maybe after pulling out some of her sleek, shiny hair.
Best friend or not, she better keep her hands—and drooling eyes—off my man.
“Hi, Marcus,” she says breathlessly, pulling herself together with effort. “I’m Kendall, Emma’s friend. You, um… spoke to me on the phone the other day.”
He smiles, showing off white teeth and those sexy grooves in his cheeks. Totally unconcerned with the fact that he’s flashing his perfectly sculpted pecs at the camera, he sits down next to me, draping one muscular arm over the back of my chair. “Yes, of course, I remember. How are you, Kendall?”
“I’m great, thank you,” she chirps, putting on her upbeat, flirty mask—the one that fools all the guys into thinking she’s the brunette equivalent of a ditzy blonde instead of the smart, pragmatic shark she is. “How about you? Are you two having a great time in Florida?”
“I certainly am.” Marcus looks over at me, his heavy-lidded gaze speaking volumes, and I curse my blush-prone skin as my cheeks heat in response.
Kendall looks like she’s ready to swoon. “Oh, how romantic. Emma told me how you met, with the whole name mix-up—and here you are today. What are the odds, right?”
“Indeed,” Marcus says huskily, not taking his eyes off me. “A total black swan event.”
My cheeks burn hotter. I must be so red by now. Trying to pretend Marcus isn’t devouring me with his gaze, I paste on a bright smile and say in a voice that’s only a pitch too high, “So how are things over in the Big Apple? Did the snow from the storm melt?” It’s a total cliché, but the weather feels like the safest topic.
