by Shandi Boyes
With my hair pulled into a low ponytail, I exit Marcus's bedroom and saunter down the wooden staircase. My quick strides slow when the heat of the midmorning sun warms my face. My eyes scan the area, seeking any type of clock. I fail to find any.
My endeavor to tell the time from the position of the sun ends when the sickly-sweet smell of pancakes and bacon filters into my nose. I increase my stride, my rampant hunger stronger than ever. Upon entering the kitchen, I discover Abel standing near a large open cooktop, frying bacon and flipping pancakes.
“Good morning, Abel,” I greet as my eyes seek Marcus in the vast space.
Abel spins on his heels to face me. “Ms. Cleo, how did you sleep?”
“Well, thank you,” I answer, grateful he doesn’t seem peeved by my tardiness.
I slip into one of the six stools tucked under the counter when Abel nudges his head, requesting for me to sit. My eyes bulge when he places a large mug of hot chocolate in front of me before moving back to the stove.
“Where is Marcus?” I query, lifting the mug to my lips to blow air on the steamy contents inside.
Abel places four pancakes and numerous strips of bacon onto a plate before answering, “He is working off his breakfast in the gym.”
“He’s already eaten?” I interrogate, my tone high with disappointment that I once again missed the opportunity to dine with him.
“Yes, Ms. Cleo, many hours ago,” Abel replies with laughter in his tone.
With a grin, he nudges his head to the digital clock in the microwave oven. I nearly fall off my chair when I see it's a quarter to twelve. I shouldn’t be shocked at the time. The only person who believes the early bird catches the worm is a person who hasn’t spent their night in a Marcus Everett lust-inspired trance.
“He did ask me to call him once you were awake, so I better do that,” Abel informs me, placing a large plate of food down in front of me.
“Wait,” I request loudly, startling him enough he stops strolling to a security intercom at the side of the room.
“Perhaps I can surprise him in the gym once I’ve eaten?” I mumble, saying anything that will give me a few minutes alone with Abel.
I don’t know why, but my intuition tells me Abel could be my greatest ally in unearthing the real Marcus—not the hyped persona the members of Chains and the public know.
Abel connects his big brown eyes with mine. “Mr. Everett does not appreciate disobedience, Ms. Cleo,” he informs me. If it weren’t for the twinkle in his eyes, I would have thought he was worried about being disciplined.
I purse my lips. "He only told me yesterday ‘a young man only knows the rules, but a wise man knows there is an exception to every rule.' Surely you can't get in trouble for following his advice."
Abel runs his hands down the white apron tied around his slim waist while contemplating a response. “It's nearly my lunch break,” he mumbles a short time later.
“And it's horribly rude to leave a guest to eat alone,” I add on while pulling out the empty stool next to me.
My heart beats faster when the cutest grin I’ve ever seen stretches across Abel’s face. Marcus wasn’t joking; Abel is as bratty as me.
When Abel occupies the seat next to me, I take a sip of my hot chocolate. An inappropriate moan topples from my lips when the scrumptious goodness hits my taste buds.
Abel smiles. “Good?”
I nod. “It’s delicious. What's that?” I swish the spicy flavor around my mouth. “Nutmeg?”
“It is,” Abel confirms, smiling radiantly. “With a hint of cinnamon.”
When Abel hands me a knife and fork from a stack on the kitchen counter, I secure a second fork for him and push my plate to sit between us. He eyes me curiously, seemingly shocked.
"You did say it's your lunch break, and there is plenty of food here for us both," I advise his puzzled expression.
“Ah.” Abel’s eyes glisten in the midday sun. “I knew you were different from the moment I laid my eyes on you. You have a very kind soul, Ms. Cleo.”
I pop a large chunk of pancake in my mouth, hoping to conceal the huge smile his compliment awarded me with.
Abel and I sit in silence for several minutes while consuming our breakfast. Although I am the hungriest I’ve ever been, there is no doubt Abel’s pancakes are the most delicious I’ve ever eaten. They are fluffy and filled to the brim with sugary goodness, similar to the man sitting next to me. Abel doesn’t need to speak to express himself. His worldly eyes share a lifetime of memories without a word needing to be said. He appears to have lived a very fulfilling life.
“Have you known Marcus long?” Abel questions me before popping the last slice of crispy bacon into his mouth.
I swallow my mouthful of pancake before shaking my head. “We talked on the internet for a few months, but I only met him in person last week,” I disclose before screwing up my nose. “Well, actually we met a little over four years ago at a hospital in Queens, but it was a flyby meeting.”
“Oh.” That is all Abel mumbles, but his eyes show he wants to say so much more.
“Have you worked with Marcus long?” I query, hoping to keep our conversation flowing.
Abel slides off the barstool to put our empty plate in the stainless steel dishwasher. "It will be five years this coming June," he answers as the happy twinkle in his eyes softens. "But I've known him for many years, before he was even out of diapers. You should have seen him when he was a young boy, Ms. Cleo. Big green eyes that were full of mischief."
I smile at the thought of a grubby-faced Marcus. "So you've known his family for a while?"
I pace around the bench to assist him in clearing away the mess he made while making me breakfast. When he tsks me, I say, “You cooked; the very least I can do is help clean.”
Abel’s narrowed gaze lifts from my empty mug of chocolate to me. He glares into my eyes, warning me to step out of his domain. I angle my head to the side and bow my brow before awarding him my best stubborn Garcia glance. We stand in opposition for several seconds, neither willing to back down.
A victorious grin morphs onto my face when Abel says, “Very well. But if Mr. Everett discovers you washing dishes, I’ll tell him it was your penance for refusing to eat breakfast.”
My mouth gapes. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, yes I would,” he replies without pause or delay.
Rolling my eyes, I rinse our used dishes in a sink of bubbly water. “Do you spend much time with Marcus’s family anymore?”
Abel accepts the plate I am holding out for him. “Ms. Serenity used to visit weekly before she left to help Marcus in New York. I’ve missed her weekly visits,” he confesses before loading the plate into the dishwasher. “She is coming back this weekend. I am sure she will have plenty of stories to share with me about her time in the city.”
“I had lunch with her last week. She is doing very well,” I advise, aiming to ease the small bit of pain in his eyes.
My endeavor has the effect I am hoping for. "I am delighted to hear that, Ms. Cleo. She is a good apple, much like Marcus. After everything they've been through, they both deserve to find happiness."
Suddenly, his lips smack together, and guilt rapidly darkens his eyes. He runs his hand down his apron several times in a row before locking his glistening eyes with me. "Please forgive me, I have said too much."
Not wanting to push our conversation into uncomfortable territory, I gently nod while moving to gather the cooking instruments off the stovetop. Once they are rinsed free of oil, I hand them to Abel to stack in the dishwasher. We stand side by side cleaning the kitchen in silence for several moments. It isn’t uncomfortable. I just need a moment to contemplate his blurted confession, whereas he needs a few moments to ensure it doesn’t happen again.
“I have a younger sister,” I inform him a short time later, striving to lessen the tension bristling the air with muggy heat. “Her name is Lexi. She has a beautiful soul, but she is a lot of work.”
&nb
sp; A gathering of wrinkles spreads across the bridge of Abel's nose when he smiles. "Then you must be sympathetic to Mr. Everett? I grew up with two older sisters, and that was a challenge so I couldn't imagine having three younger sisters to contend with."
“Marcus has three sisters?” I ask, my tone drenched with amazement.
“Oh, yes.” Abel paces to the side of the kitchen. “They are as beautiful as their mother.”
After drying my hands with a tea towel, I move across the room to join Abel. Warmth blooms in my chest when my eyes drop down to the wooden photo frame he is holding out for me. The young teen in the photo is easily distinguishable: it's Marcus. Although his tightly twisted afro is longer than he wears it now, there is no mistaking his dazzling green eyes. He is as devilishly handsome in this photo as he is now.
“That's Ms. Annalise and Ms. Celestine,” Abel informs me, pointing to two people in the photo I’ve not yet had the pleasure of meeting. “You already know Serenity.”
Annalise is the spitting image of Serenity, all the way down to same eye coloring. Celestine is the youngest of the group; she appears quite a few years younger than her older siblings. Her eyes are brown in color, and her dark, wavy hair hangs halfway down her back. Just like Marcus, his three sisters are incredibly attractive.
“You could meet them next month,” Abel says, accepting the picture frame back from my grasp. “If you can convince Marcus to attend the celebration.”
“Celebration?”
Abel peers past my shoulder, making sure we are still alone before he opens the top drawer of the study nook we are standing next to. The invitation he passes to me is as elegant as the one Mr. Carson handed me months ago. It has gold script handwritten on paper so thin it crumbles under my touch.
"Marcus is organizing a party for his mother's fiftieth birthday. A wonderful celebration, unlike anything this town has seen. One he doesn't plan on attending.”
My brows scrunch, confused by his statement. “Why would Marcus organize a party but not attend?”
Abel places his rheumy hand on my forearm. "That's something only he can tell you." The emotion expressed by his eyes as he peers up at me cuts me raw. He has such a beautiful soul. "It won't be long, Ms. Cleo. He will open up to you. I just know it."
Unable to speak with my heart sitting in my throat, I nod. Although Marcus and I still have a very long way to go, I genuinely believe I was assigned the Chains' investigation as it was the universe’s fucked up way of bringing us back together. I've never understood fate, but I know there is a more significant hand at play when it comes to my relationship with Marcus.
“Now go and show him that the man frolicking with you in the foyer last night is the same young man I raised him to be,” Abel requests as the sassiness in his eyes grows tenfold. “Just try to do it with your clothes on this time.”
My hands itch to cover my heated face, but I keep them fisted at my side, determined not to give Abel the satisfaction of seeing he has me flustered. Abel's worldly eyes tell me he has lived his best years, but they are the same set of eyes that guarantees he will keep Marcus on his toes for many years to come.
I don’t know why, but I get great satisfaction in knowing that.
27
After receiving precise directions to the gym, I press a kiss to Abel's cheek and saunter outside. Gravel crunches under my bare feet as I cross a hedge-lined driveway separating the primary residence from a group of outdoor buildings. With the weather more pleasant than an early New Jersey winter, the hairs on my arms only bristle slightly from the fresh ocean breeze gliding over them. This area of Florida is gorgeous. The ocean background seen over the dense clifftop is as blue as the sky, and the sand lining the beaches is crystal clear.
The winds budding my nipples eases when I step under the alcove of the first building. I am not at all musically inclined, but it doesn't take a genius to know the first structure is the recording studio Marcus mentioned yesterday. If the soundproof booth with a large black microphone isn't a strong enough indication, the musical instruments lining every wall spell it out.
Following Abel’s directions, I duck down the corridor separating the studio from the four-car garage and enter the second door on my left. I feel Marcus’s presence before I see him. He has his back facing me as he runs on a treadmill in the corner of the room. His shirt has been removed and tucked into the back of his plain black running shorts, and rivulets of sweat are streaming down his cheeks.
I prop my shoulder onto the doorjamb of the gym, happy to undertake my workout less vigorously. I don't need a piece of equipment to complete a strenuous exercise regime. The sight of Marcus's muscles releasing and contracting is enough of a workout for my sexually-motivated body. It mimics his movements, tightening more and more with every lengthened stride he takes.
Way before I’ve had the chance to inspect every perfect muscle in his ripped body, Marcus’s head slings sideway. I straighten my spine, vainly trying to act like I wasn’t getting all hot and bothered perving on him. It's a fruitless effort. My wide eyes and hanging jaw gives away my deceit.
“Good morning, Cleo,” Marcus greets me, his breathing super rough from his laborious activities.
His index finger jabs the speed button on the treadmill, lowering it from a fast run to a brisk walk before it comes to a complete stop. While running a small white towel over his sweat-drenched head, he moves to stand in front of me. I suck in air deeply through my nose, worshipping the smell of sweat on his heated skin. It rushes a flurry of memories into my mind—naughty, wicked memories.
“How did you sleep?” Marcus asks, leaning in to press a kiss on my cheek.
I snap my head to the side, forcing his lips to land on my mouth. “Perfect,” I reply, my throaty purr vibrating against his full lips.
“Good,” he breathes out seductively before his tongue lashes my mouth, soundlessly requesting access. I give it to him.
We kiss for several moments, savoring in a rare moment of pure silence between us. He caresses my cheeks in his big hands and playfully nibs at my lips. I purr into his mouth, appreciating the tang of his sweat flavoring our kiss His kiss is scrumptious, toe-curling, and sweet, a vast reminder that the man standing before me is Marcus, not Master Chains.
Once he has every morsel of my breakfast left lingering in my mouth taken care of, Marcus pulls away from our embrace. I stare up at him, wide-eyed and in complete awe as he checks our embrace didn’t cause any irritation to my split lip. It didn’t—not the least. His kiss completely wiped all thoughts from my mind—good and bad.
I never thought it was possible to feel desired when wearing not a smidge of makeup and men's clothing two sizes too big. But I do feel desired—very much so. How could I not when Marcus is glancing into my eyes with more admiration than I've been awarded the past four years? The way he stares at me makes it seem like I am saving him from a life of misery, not the other way around.
“Have you eaten?” Marcus questions, snapping me out of my loved-up haze.
Smiling, I nod.
“Good. Come. I want to show you something.”
Not waiting for me to reply, Marcus paces out of the virile-smelling gym. We race across the driveway faster than my legs can move. When my dainty strides hinder Marcus’s long ones, he scoops down, curls his arms around my waist, and hoists me over his shoulder. I incoherently grumble, faking annoyance at his caveman hold. It's all for show. I’m idolizing every minute of his carefree attitude. I also get the most spectacular view of his traffic-stopping backside.
A warm sting spreads across my left butt cheek when Marcus awards my firm squeeze of his backside with a playful slap. I giggle wildly and kick out my legs, striving to ignore the tingling of excitement racing down my spine. Even with my ponytail swishing to and fro in front of my eyes, I can’t miss the broad grin stretched across Abel’s face when he spots Marcus and me entering the foyer of the palatial Everett mansion.
Smiling, Abel waves at me. I wave straig
ht back.
“I’m going to town.” Abel projects his voice across the vast space, ensuring Marcus can hear him over my childish giggles. I’m not laughing at our immaturity. I am laughing at the little jig Abel did as we strode by him. For a man who would be hitting close to eighty, he has some smooth moves.
“I’ll be back in a few hours, Mr. Everett,” Abel continues shouting, his body still grooving.
Marcus raises his other hand in the air—the one not clutching my backside—signaling to Abel he heard him.
Only once we stop outside one of the spare bedrooms he showed me yesterday does Marcus place me back on my feet. He waits for the blood that raced to my face from my upside down hold to clear away before he locks his eyes with mine. My lungs take stock of their oxygen levels when I spot the cheeky gleam in his eyes rapidly being replaced with dominance.
He tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ears before digging a silver key out of his running pants pocket. Confusion engulfs me when he places the key into a lock on the door I didn’t notice yesterday. It looks new and chunky, and I swear I’ve seen a similar one to it before. I suck in a lung-filling gulp of air, conscious it may be my last chance to secure an entire breath when he swings open the door. Air traps halfway down my throat when my eyes lock on a large leather chaise positioned in the middle of the room.
As I command for my lungs to breathe, I step into the space that's nearly an exact replica of his playroom in Chains. The bed that was positioned in the middle of the room yesterday has been pushed against the far wall. Its floral bedding has been stripped, replaced with a dark satin material that complements the veins woven throughout the woodgrain base. Floggers, whips, canes, and spanking instruments I don't have a name for line the wall on my right, while the white lace drapes covering the window have been switched to a sun-blocking Venetian blind.