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“It’s what?”
“Nothing.” I shake off the daze I was captured in. He wasn’t meant to hear that. “Do you want to give me a quick tour before they get here? I don’t know where anything is and we kind of have to convince them I live here.”
“Right. Yes. Uh. This way,” Marc mumbles through his words as if he’s caught off guard by something. By what? My presence?
The way he’s been looking at me lately, the small glances in my direction, the stare as I entered his home just moments ago… it’s starting to feel like there’s nothing fake about this arrangement anymore. I don’t know what to make of anything.
I’ve got to get these thoughts out of my head immediately.
“This is the living room,” he starts.
“You don’t say?” My tone drips with sarcasm as if the couch and television doesn’t give away the fact that this is the living room.
“That mouth, Avery,” he spits back at me.
“What about my mouth, Marc?” I challenge, arching an eyebrow to see just how far I can push him. Clearly my feisty mood from the day is still lingering on my tongue.
“Watch it,” he pushes back. “Before I find something to fill it with.”
I simply hum in approval. Wanting nothing more than for him to fill my mouth with a certain something to flip this day around for me.
When I showed up in his office yesterday, I had no plans of dropping to my knees for him. I had no plans toeverdrop to my knees for him. But there’s this pull that I can’t quite describe. Jealousy raged inside of me when I saw Jessica in there, ready and willing to suck him off under his desk.
Never in my entire life have I felt jealousy. It took me all afternoon after the incident in his office to realize that’s what that strange feeling was. The way I reacted… I didn’t want Jessica to have him. Hell, I didn’t want anyone to have him but me. The feeling of possessiveness over him sent me over the edge.
It turned me on more than I will ever admit to anyone.
Just thinking about it turns me on right now.
“Avery, did you hear me?” Marc says, slicing through my thoughts.
“What did you say?”
“The kitchen is here. Can I get you a glass of champagne?”
I blink a few times, unable to tear my gaze from him. Maybe it’s the fact I was thinking about yesterday, but shit, looking at him in the most relaxed state, in his own home is seriously fucking with my psyche right now.
I’m at a loss for words.
He moves around the kitchen with ease because duh… it’s his house. He’s wearing a pair of dark wash jeans and a pale yellow polo shirt. The color only accentuates his already bronzed summer skin. How he has a tan is beyond me. They guy does nothing but work all day long.
“How in the world are you so tanned for someone who works as much as you do?”
“I run every day, remember?”
“How could I forget?” I roll my eyes. “You seem like the type of guy who runs 5K’s on Thanksgiving morning too. You know that’s a major red flag, right?”
Marc lets out an amused chuckle before he changes the subject. “I didn’t have much time to cook or prepare for this dinner because I was running late from my meeting—”
I bring my hand to my chest. “You? Running late? Color me shocked, Marcus.”
“Cute,” he tosses back with a cheeky grin. “Thomas helped me out and had Rosie whip up some stuffed shells and garlic bread. She brought me the ingredients to make the apple crisp too.” His hands scrub at his chin as if he’s nervous. “I was thinking we could make it together before they get here.”
“You’re cute when you’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.” His words stammer around the lump in his throat. He takes a sip of whiskey and I’m in a daze as I watch his throat bob when he swallows.
“It’s okay if you are.” I chuckle. “I’m nervous too. I’ve had the day from hell and I can feel my nervous belly kicking in.”
