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Fourteen

Dublin, New Year’s Eve

Walking into Mark’s Dublin hotel suite, Alex gave her boyfriend a flirty smile over her shoulder. “Wow, this room’s gorgeous! Happy anniversary, babe.”

He grinned and walked past, wheeling her small carry-on along the carpet. “Not splitting hairs, Lex, but our anniversary is actually tomorrow…” He turned around and started to unbutton his coat.

“I know, but it doesn’t mean we can’t start celebrating early!” She removed her parka and hung it up in the closet.

Mark’s eyes drifted. “If I’m honest, I’ve never liked New Year’s Eve. It’s so overrated.” He took off his scarf and coat, tossing them onto a clothes-covered chair. “You don’t fancy staying in, do ya? We could order room service, watch a film, toast the new year in, just the two of us?”

Alex quickly set her purse down on the edge of the desk. “Babe, you feeling okay?” She narrowed her eyes. He seemed distracted. “It’s not like you to bail on a party. I mean, I’d love to stay in, but we’re in Dublin and…aren’t your castmates expecting you?”

“Yeah, but…” He fiddled with his wristwatch.

“It would be kinda rude to bail on them now…don’t you think?” She clasped his hand. “Why don’t we just go for a bit, have a dance…leave right after midnight…?”

He looked up. “I’m just not feeling in party mode today…”

“Well, I know what might help!” Alex clutched fistfuls of Mark’s shirt, tugging him into her chest. She returned to his lips, picking up where they had left off when he’d scooped her up at the airport forty minutes earlier.

Mark tripped over her wheelie carry-on, sending his lips skidding off her mouth and down her chin. “Shit. Cary Grant, I ain’t. Almost went arse over tit there.” He winked lazily and rolled her luggage to the far side of the room, away from distracted feet.

Alex giggled and turned back to her purse on the desk.

Intermingling on its surface with opened packages of Jaffa Cakes and the latest novel he was reading, Mark had a collection of framed photos, a portable shrine in his room dedicated to their relationship: beloved shots of Alex with his red Vespa during their first date, Mark laughing at Alex wearing a Venetian mask on their one-year anniversary trip to Venice a year before, and the pair cuddled together for warmth in a soggy Glastonbury Festival tent.

Alex’s eyes did a second loop, revisiting each photo as Mark opened the minibar and removed two miniature bottles of gin. He cracked one open, then the other, downing both without taking a breath.

“Whoa, steady tiger—it’s not even four o’clock yet! It’s early…even for a Dubliner!” Alex chuckled. She glanced down at one special memory holding pride of place in a heavy wood frame. She picked it up.

Wrapped in each other’s arms in front of the Royal Court Theatre, Mark beamed at Alex as THIRTEEN BY ALEXANDRA SINCLAIR sizzled above their heads in red neon. She stared at the image. Mark had chosen to showcase her greatest accomplishment instead of one of his own. “You carted all this stuff over here?”

He slipped an arm around her waist and grabbed the photo out of her hand, returning it to the desk. “Yeah, I always want you with me…”

“That can be arranged.” The words barely out of her mouth, Alex met Mark’s lips urgently, the gin still potent as she kissed him hard and fast. Her hands dove into his hair, pulling him closer, his kiss deeper. She had to taste him, own him.

Mark didn’t back down. Gripping her ass so hard she cried out, he pressed against her with feral intent, blurring the lines of where he ended and she began. His tongue was frantic, devouring her. It had only been two minutes since their last kiss, but to Alex, this one felt different. It was fierce and wild, like Mark’s lips were trying to soothe an insatiable need only her mouth could possibly fulfill.

Their second anniversary was the next day, but the desire to show their commitment to each other right then was too powerful to resist.

Mark broke free, breathless. “I want you—so badly.”

Heart racing, she flung off her sweater and tugged his long-sleeved Henley. “Off, now.”

Mark obliged and yanked it over his head, chucking it out of the way. His impatient hands skimmed down her back and unhooked her bra. Normally, Alex would taunt him a little longer, make him wait, but she had left her patience back in London. She let her bra slip to the floor and pulled him close again, craving bare skin-on-skin contact.

He kissed and sucked her neck, his mouth and tongue only pausing to release ravenous moans from his lips as his thumb teased her hardening nipple.

She felt the button undo on her jeans and Mark’s fingers slipping into her cotton panties. Gasps left her lips in quick succession. “Keep…going.” She gripped the back of his neck, her sighs fueling his hunger.

“Christ, Lex.” He groaned between breaths. “You feel so good.”

She stared at his lips and lunged, desperate to taste him again. Their kisses grew more eager, more frantic as if their time together was running out and their mouths demanded to profess everything they needed to say before the clock struck midnight.

Alex left his lips to catch her breath. One hand slipped downwards, stroking the prominent bulge inside his jeans. “Mark…”

He moaned and removed his hand from her underwear, yanking her jeans to the floor. With a naughty smile, he pressed his lips against her ear. “Hey, sexy playwright lady, this actor needs some direction.”