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Stretching his arms up, he laces both hands behind his head and crosses his ankles. He’s smug in all his exposed glory with a towel lazily draped over his pelvis, and I admire the way this position lengthens his beautiful body.
“Would you come to my shows?” he asks.
“You can’t be serious.” I laugh, turning on my side and adjusting my towel over my backside.
Sparrow lies beside Marcus, nibbling on a patch of clovers, but even she raises her head to grunt in disbelief.
“Dead serious,” he says, rolling to mirror the way I’m facing him. “Go on, tell me you’d be a die-hard Juice Head.”
“Hardly.”
When he cocks a brow, I huff, playfully exasperated, “Yes, Marcus. I’d be front and center, shaking my tits for your obnoxious fruit band. Is that what you want to hear?”
“I knew it.” His smile turns positively radiant as his gaze travels over my skin like a tangible caress. There’s a good foot of space between us, but my thighs rub together as my body reacts to him.
“Okay, your turn. Tell me something I don’t know about you,” he says expectantly.
Jango settles his jaw on the curve of my waist, nudging my elbow, and I absently rub his ears. “So, the thing is, I’ve always loved the color green. And limes are my favorite fruit—”
Marcus brings the tip of my finger to his mouth and gives it a naughty bite. “You said you wouldn’t laugh.”
After kissing the sting away, he languidly threads our fingers together, and I stare at our connected hands resting on the quilt.
That barrier of ice around my heart reminds me of its presence. It’s there for protection. To keep me from experiencing the devastation of being let down or hurt ever again. But when I’m with Marcus, in our hideaway spot, basking in the sunlight and enjoying simple touches… It’s the closest to shattering as it’s ever been.
“Can I ask you something?”
“You’re deflecting,” he teases, “but I’m hard-pressed to deny you anything, slayer.”
My stomach twists as if someone’s wringing it dry. “There are so many rumors about you out there, yet none of them seem to be true.”
The corner of his mouth hints at a smile. If my sudden interest in his A-list life surprises him, he hides it well. “Funny thing about rumors is, they’rerumors.”
“I suppose, but I’m still curious. Does Mr. Matthews really have connections to the mafia?”
There’s no way he’s going to give me that answer, especially not if it’s true. But as usual, Marcus surprises me.
“No. My father is not tied to the mafia,” he confirms. “I mean, he does have some questionable acquaintances, but who doesn’t in Hollywood?”
“Fair enough.”
The amusement in his smirk reaches his eyes. “Go on, I know there are more questions burning away in that pretty head of yours.”
“I once read that your mom ran off to Barbados with her yoga instructor boyfriend.”
A flash of humor crosses his face before he shakes his head. “Are you serious?”
I can’t help but smile back.
“Allegedly, she and said boyfriend were being investigated for money laundering and counterfeiting art.” His brows shoot toward his hairline. “But the reports were spotty on whether they were tried in court.”
Marcus shifts on the quilt, averting his gaze. “They were extremely careful to keep it all underground.”
I cease breathing, waiting for him to give me the rest.Can it really be true?
But I know he’s fucking with me the second his stoic expression breaks. “Come on, you can’t really believe those shitty tabloid and magazine stories, do you?”
My lips thin as I raise to sitting and tuck the towel in my lap. His mocking amusement at what I do for a living stings. Maybe celebrity gossip wasn’t what I always wanted to do, but most people don’t realize how much goes into writing and developing stories. All the tiring interviews, calls, emails, and insane amounts of research hours. It’s hard work.
