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Marcus’s stare shifts in a way that unsettles me. As if the sound of my laughter is something to marvel at, and it shakes me to my very core.
“The woman you were waiting for…” I begin, asking the question that’s been burning in my gut ever since the start ofHallevah. “Was she Cat?”
He gawks. “What? No. Cat and I have been friends since we were kids.”
“Friends can be lovers, you know.”
My interest must entertain him, because when he braces me for a lazy spin, and then dips me low, he’s grinning from ear to ear. “I happen to find your jealousy quite attractive, slayer.”
“I’mnotjealous,” I grit.
“Sure you are,” he says, righting us. “I can see it here,” he taps the corner of my eye and then my fevered cheek below, “and here.”
I attempt to wiggle free, but his arms clamp around me, bear-hug-style.
“Let me go, you insufferable ass.”
He only holds me tighter, that relentless merriment softening his features enough for me to forget who he really is or that we come from two separate worlds.
“Her husband passed around the same time Leah did, so I try to support her however I can.”
I go lax in his arms. Will he ever stop surprising me?
“She’s my friend and I care about her and the girls dearly, but it’s not that kind of love.”
“That kind?” I prod nosily, wondering what his idea of true love could possibly be.
“You know,” Marcus says as if it should be obvious, “all-consuming and shatterproof. Where you can’t stop touching each other, no matter where you’re at or who’s watching, and there’s a clear distinction of who plays the big and little spoon when you finally lay down for the night.”
I break away from him, absently staring at the built-in bookcase beside us.
“Honestly, I wouldn’t know what that’s like. The only person I remotely care about is my editor. How pathetic is that?”
When I return my gaze to his, whatever defense may have been protecting him has crumbled almost entirely. “Not pathetic.”
“And the fact that I’ve never really had a boyfriend?”
“Preferable,” he says throatily, without hesitation.
Those hooded eyes stare at me with all the intensity of a summer storm—full of lightning and the surety of gentle rain—and more than anything, I wish I understood how he could both degrade me as he once had and utterly captivate me as he does now.
Whether I want to admit it or not, seeing what a huge part of Marcus’s life his sister had been shines a different light on that interview. Maybe he hadn’t quite moved past losing her? Maybe he’d been lashing out? It would explain his reckless behavior, and while it’s not an excuse for treating people poorly, it does soften my anger toward him.
Marcus’s lips draw dangerously near to mine, dredging up memories of that day at Pearl Beach. His thick lashes flutter as our breaths mingle, causing five different alarms to blare in my mind. We’re too close to jumping over a line we can’t uncross. The kind of line that breaks each one of my steadfast rules.
Dipping my chin, I twist toward the built-in bookcase and rectangular desk beside it.
I already know which books belong to Penelope by the racy titles on the spines, but it’s the gold picture frame beneath them that demands my attention.
Our hands brush when we reach for it at the same time.
“Oh.” I jerk mine back.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, but his essence, paired with a tantalizing wave of body heat, makes me dizzy.
“Is that you?” I point at a young boy who has the same dimples and dark blue eyes, but hasn’t grown into the strong, sharp features he now has as a man.
“Yeah. That’s Penelope’s younger sister, Carrie, sitting beside me.”
