“Don’t you start pressuring me too, Marco,” she said tiredly. “I came here to get away from that. You’re as bad as John.”
It was like she’d physically slapped him with the way he moved three steps back. As she looked up, she saw the anger in his eyes—it blasted her like the setting sun over the ocean. The last time she’d seen that look had been the night they’d broken up. It wasn’t a look she enjoyed having directed in her vicinity.
“You’ve seen John again?”
Phoebe nodded, not game to say anything, worried about how he would react. Oh, she knew he wasn’t going to hurt her but his jaw was so tight it looked like it could shatter in a flash.
“You saw him here? But you told me earlier you weren’t expecting to see him here.” He spat the words out as if he’d tasted moldy food.
“No,” she burst out. “The only person who has interrupted my solitude is you.” “When did you see him last then?”
She knew he wasn’t going to like what she had to say next. “The night we broke up.”
* * *
Marco had to walk away—if he didn’t, he would punch the wall. The thought of Phoebe, his Phoebe, talking—and maybe more—to that man the night they’d broken up, filled him with a rage he hadn’t felt since he’d found out that Veronika was a fake and a fraud.
But, like watching a train wreck, he had to find out all the details. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he found out they spent the night together—even if it was just talking.
“What did he want?”
“Do you really want to do this, Marco? He’s not here, you are.”
A harsh laugh erupted from him. “How do I know you haven’t told him to come up after you’d been here a week?”
As the color rose up in her face, he knew he’d taken it a step too far.
“Really? You think I want him here? I came here to try and sort out what my feelings are for you. For him. I wanted time to think, to work out what I wanted for a future, and I’m here two days and you turn up. If you were any type of decent guy, you’d have left by now.”
For a moment Marco was lost for words. She was right. He should’ve left her alone. But the need to be near her had overwhelmed his senses. He wanted her, and he didn’t want to believe their relationship was over.
He was going to show her that they were meant to be together. He knew they could build on the physical side of their relationship. He cared for her, worried about her. He kept telling himself it wasn’t love—it couldn’t be love, because to fall in love would be to put himself at risk again, and he wasn’t sure he could be that vulnerable—but he knew, deep inside, he would cherish her for the rest of his life.
If only she’d let him.
“You know what?” he started conversationally. “You’re right—I probably should’ve left you alone. But here’s where I’m different from John. I don’t give up. He already walked away from you once, and though I’m sure he is now professing how he’d made a stupid mistake in letting you go and wants you back, I’m not walking away. I’m staying.
“To prove what, Marco?”
“That I’m the man for you. That we’re meant to be together.”
“And that’s not pressuring me? How am I supposed to work out what I want with you here every second of the day? You know why I came here; why can’t you respect my wishes? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
Her last words were said so despondently that he wondered if he was pushing too much. Perhaps it would be best to leave her alone. But what if John found out where she was? What if John came and saw her? Marco wasn’t prepared to take that risk. He knew that if they could spend some time together, just the two of them, really get to know each other, then it would all work out. He’d realized that on the drive up. They hadn’t spent time getting to know each other properly. Not in a share your deep, dark secrets kind of way. Well not for him anyway. He hadn’t really touched on the subject of Veronika with her. He’d only given a vague reference to past relationships not working out.
“I don’t want to leave you alone, Phoebe.” He closed the distance between them again and pulled her tight against him. He would never get sick of holding her in his arms. She fit perfectly as if she had been made for him, and only him. He ran his hands up her back, trying to make her relax. It was really like holding a piece of board. “I think we should start over,” he whispered softly, the need to press his lips against the soft shell of her ear almost over powering him.
“I think it’s too late.”
“It’s never too late to start again. I can’t—no, I won’t—let you go, Phoebe.”
He dropped a soft kiss on the top of her head and released her from his embrace. “So how about we start with dinner tonight?”
* * *
“How about we don’t.” The last thing Phoebe wanted to do was go to an intimate restaurant with Marco. Her body still radiated heat from when he whispered in her ear. It was like not seeing each other for a couple of days had heightened her attraction to him. But attraction didn’t sustain a relationship. There had to be more.
Could she have more with Marco?
Did she want to take the risk?
The last time she’d given her heart to someone it had been trodden all over. So why get engaged to a man she didn’t love?
You sure you don’t love him? a little voice inside her head taunted her.
No, she did not love Marco. She cared, that was all. Caring was safe. They would’ve had a safe, stable marriage. The sex was good—better than good—and she’d thought she would’ve been happy with that.
“I’ll cook.” Marco’s offer broke her from her internal thoughts. “What?”
“I said I will cook.” “What, bacon and eggs?”
In all the time they’d been together he’d only ever cooked breakfast or a snack, like he did today when he’d arrived. A vision of Marco in nothing but a white towel flipping pancakes entered her mind. Her mouth watered and she didn’t know if it was from the thought of food or the thought of Marco bare-chested. She needed to get him to leave if she was going to try and keep her sanity.
“Yes, I can cook something more than bacon and eggs and BLTs.”
Phoebe scrambled to come up with a reason to have him not cook. Cooking had always suggested intimacy to her. Two people chatting casually, sharing a glass of wine, stealing kisses in between tending to various pots bubbling away on the stove.
“So what do you say, shall I cook us dinner?”
“I’ve got no food,” she blurted out, grasping on an excuse that wasn’t quite untrue. She did need to go to the shops. That had been her plan today after her swim, only her plans had been totally derailed by the man standing in front of her, looking so sexy and at home in this house, smiling the smile of a Cheshire cat.
“There’s food. I went shopping before I came here.”
She sighed, knowing there was no way she was going to get out of it. Marco had planned everything. She should’ve known he would have a plan; he was a highly sought after architect. He designed multi-story buildings and shopping malls—he made sure everything was thought of in his designs, so there was no way he wouldn’t have thought of everything tonight.
“Fine, you win. We’ll eat here.” She paused and gave him a direct stare, hoping that he couldn’t see the attraction she still felt for him burning in her eyes. “But the moment the meal is finished you’re leaving. Deal?”
He wandered back towards her and touched a hand to her cheek. The touch was so gentle and caring it took all her strength not to turn her face and kiss his warm palm. His small touches were intoxicating. “I’ll agree to part of the deal. I’ll cook, but I decide when I leave.”
Phoebe could’ve argued more, but she knew it would be a hopeless cause. Beneath the sexy glint in his eyes, resolve shone.
“Fine,” she agreed. “Now pour me a wine. I’m thirsty.” She knew she sounded bitchy, but his nearness to her and this new determination he was showing her ha
d her slightly rattled.
“Pardon?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Please can you pour me a glass of wine?” she said with a sweet smile. He nodded. “Go out onto the deck, I’ll bring it out to you.”
Phoebe made her escape to the patio. The sun had well and truly set and darkness enveloped her in its embrace. It was a beautiful night; a soft breeze brushed across her bare arms, and the shushing of the waves, as they rolled onto the shore before sweeping back out to be engulfed once again, gave the illusion that all was right in the world. She would’ve preferred to see five-foot waves and a swirling wind. It would’ve matched the emotions going through her.
“Here’s your wine, and . . . ” He placed a platter of cheese and crackers on the table. “Also a little something for you to eat while I fire up the grill. Steak and salad sound good?”
Phoebe turned and took the wine from Marco, careful not to touch his fingers; the last thing she wanted was to drop the glass at his feet. “Thank you, and way to impress a woman— steak and salad. Here I was thinking that you were going to whip me up something more gourmet.”
He threw back his head and laughed before leaning in and dropping a quick kiss on her lips. She almost leaned forward to make the contact last longer but pulled back. “I like it when you joke, you should do it more often.”
He didn’t wait for a comment, but turned and walked back into the house, whistling softly under his breath. She thought about what he’d said. She hadn’t joked around with him much—she’d never thought he would appreciate it. She was always known at the hospital as the resident comedian, but sometimes joking was the only way to cope when things got dark with emergency after emergency after emergency.
It was something she’d done as a kid too, when things had gotten bad at home. It was easier to joke about why the power was out than face the fact that her mum and dad had thought it was a great time to go on vacation and forget to pay the electricity bill while leaving her home alone. Only Sophie and Phoebe’s neighbor Mrs. White had known the truth. It was Adele White who had taken her in when her parents had thought deep-cave diving was a good adventure to try, only it turned out to be deadly instead of fun. Phoebe shuddered and pushed the thought of her parents’ untimely death aside. Thoughts of Mrs. White—well they were still too raw to deal with. She’d hated that she hadn’t been able to go to her funeral. To say a final goodbye. Not that she was positive Adele White would’ve wanted her there, after all.
She sipped her wine, wishing her troubled thoughts away into the ocean with the waves as they retreated.
“Everything okay?” Marco’s quiet voice drifted over to her. She turned her head to the side and saw him sitting in a chair on the deck.
She mustered up a smile that she really didn’t feel. “Fine, just enjoying the quiet of the night.” She glanced around the deck, sniffing to see if the scent of grilling meat was in the air. All she smelt was the ocean. “I don’t smell anything cooking.”
“I was about to start but I didn’t want to disturb you. You seemed so very far away.” “Nope, I was standing right here, so how about you impress me with your culinary
skills and get cooking. I’m getting hungry.”
She withstood his gaze, sure he was going to press her to find out what she had been thinking about. But as if realizing he wouldn’t get very far questioning her about her thoughts, he rose elegantly from the chair and went into the kitchen.
A breath whooshed out of her—she wasn’t sure she was ready to share everything with Marco yet. It was funny—she’d told him all the dirty details about her relationship to John, but had only touched on her childhood and her parents with him. Neither one of them had discussed their upbringing. It seemed strange that she now just realized that. It was like by keeping a part of her away from him, she was creating a distance so that he couldn’t hurt her. It didn’t seem right, considering they’d been about to get married.
There should’ve been nothing between them, but apparently they were very good at keeping secrets.
Then again, when she’d been in his arms she had always lost her ability to think. All she had done was feel. Everything involving her past had faded to nothing and she had only been able to concentrate on how Marco had made her body come alive. Physical connection was a major part of relationships, but emotional connection was even more important. Perhaps in order to move on and see if there was more than just a physical connection between her and Marco, she had to share the dirty secrets of her childhood— only how would he react when she revealed her past to him? When she revealed that she’d been keeping that part of her from him. He already said he didn’t like liars—would he see her as being a liar? And if so, what would happen then? Would he still want her?
5
Phoebe placed the spoon back in the bowl, feeling sufficiently full.
“Well? Do my culinary skills pass your test?” Marco asked as he stood and collected their dessert bowls.
“Depends—do you expect me to do the dishes?”
“I think I can manage to put a few plates, bowls, and utensils into the dishwasher.” “Excellent. You’ll make a good husband for someone one of these days.” The moment
Phoebe uttered the words she wanted to gobble them back up. How could she have said something like that?
“You had me.” He threw the words over his shoulder as he walked away, her eyes tracking the steps and noticing the rigidness of his back. They had been so relaxed with each other over dinner, discussing topics that wouldn’t cause any tension between them. He’d told her about his client meeting and the far-fetched idea his client had had with regards to the design of the building. She didn’t have a lot to contribute about what she’d been doing because he knew where she’d been the last few days.
The evening had been one of the nicest ones they’d ever spent together. Just the two of them. Alone. Not at some crowded restaurant. Not at a fundraiser event for a charity that Marco donated to. Most of the times, when it had been the two of them, it had been after an evening out, and then they were usually too busy exploring each other’s bodies to think about talking.
But tonight had been different—better. And then with one careless sentence she’d ruined the evening.
“Coffee?”
She jumped because she hadn’t heard Marco come back out onto the deck. “Uhh, no thanks, but if you want one that’s fine.”
By saying that, she’d all but told him that she didn’t want the evening to end, and she didn’t.
“No, I don’t think I will.”
Disappointment flooded through her. He was going to leave. She stood up, not sure what to say or do.
“Do you want to take a walk along the beach?” At his suggestion the disappointment lifted. Perhaps he didn’t want to leave after all.
“Sure, that sounds great,” she said. “Let me grab a jacket and a flashlight in case we need it.” The moon had risen but it never hurt to be careful.
Phoebe rushed inside, grabbed her jacket, and opened and closed a couple of drawers and cupboards before she found the flashlight.
She went back out to where Marco was leaning against the railing of the balcony. His forearms were resting against the top balustrade and he had loosely clasped his hands in front of him. She wanted to walk over and hook her arm through his and lay her head on his shoulder. Just the two of them standing there, comfortable with each other, no words needing to be spoken.
As if sensing her behind him Marco turned and for a moment she thought she saw sadness in his eyes, but in a flash it was gone and she wondered whether she’d imagined it.
“Ready?” he asked and held out a hand towards her. She placed her hand in his and with a small squeeze they started down the steps towards the quiet beach.
They crossed the soft sand silently until they reached the hard wet sand signaling the place the waves had rolled to earlier. It was low tide and there was no chance that the waves would wash up to where they were walking.
“Sorry for what?”
“For everything,” she said simply, and it was true. She was sorry that she’d caused him pain. “For what I’ve put you through.”
He gave a shrug of his shoulders as if her breaking their engagement was a trivial thing. Not an event that caused upheaval not for only for them, but for their friends and for the places and services they had booked.
“You did what you thought you had to do.”
It was the last thing she expected to come out of his mouth. She stopped and pulled her hand out of his hold.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Exactly that. You did what you thought you had to do. You thought you had to break off the engagement and so you did. Can’t say I agree with it, but it is what it is.”
A hollow feeling filled the pit of her stomach. Was he saying he now accepted her decision and this was it? Nothing more to be said or done.
“What about all your declarations of earlier in the night? Where you said you weren’t giving up on us? That you weren’t like John and wouldn’t walk away” She wanted to stamp her foot, surprised at how hurt she really felt. “Was that all lip service, Marco?
Was it all just a lie?”
If he was surprised by her outburst he didn’t show it. She threw the last bit at him, as she knew he didn’t like liars and probably wouldn’t like to be called out as one.
“No, it wasn’t a lie. I meant every word of it. But the fact remains you felt you needed to end our engagement.”
“So what happens now? Are you going to leave?” She huddled further in her jacket, putting her hands in her pockets so as not to reach out and beg him not to leave. Which was such an irrational thought, when all she’d wanted from the moment he turned up was for him to leave.
Seducing Phoebe: Lovers Unmasked: Book 3 Page 6