by Sarah Skye
His delicious lips twitch. “I’ll say. I need to go back to my place and work on this mess for a while. I think you should stay with Gram and maybe help her make some more calls.”
I completely agree.
Marco flashes a half-smile and pulls me closer. I rest my palms on his chest and lean into the hug. For a moment, we just gaze at each other. “I don’t want you to have bad karma or negative vibes. I don’t want you thinking you’re a bad friend because my sex god status got the best of you.”
I can’t help it. I bark a laugh. “You are so full of shit.”
He chuckles and squeezes me tight, but that erases my mirth.
I have to wet my lips and summon a little courage to say, “And anyway, I uh… well. For me at least, this feels like… more than sex.”
Relief, pure and unfiltered, washes over his face. Tension drops out of his shoulders, and then I’m treated to the shiest, happiest smile I’ve ever seen. Marco touches his forehead to mine.
“I’m so fucking glad to hear you say that. I am so fucking glad it’s not just me.”
Our lips meet in a kiss that stirs something at the bottom of my heart. Something I’ve never, ever felt before.
I pull back before it scares me to death.
“So what are we going to do?”
He shrugs. “Focus on Nina for now. See each other when we can. Recognize that explaining this to your friends isn’t likely to go well. Maybe wait till after the wedding, see what’s developed, and assess then?”
I mull this over while stroking his jaw. “What was the part about seeing each other when we can?” I ask slyly.
He grins and holds me even tighter. “Whenever we can. For as long as we can. To do everything we fucking can together. In the bedroom, on the rug, and out on the town, watching you smile and laugh and look at me like I’m the only bastard in the room who matters.”
Maybe you are.
“Whenever we can sounds good to me,” I agree.
21
MARCO
“Goodness gracious. You’re a lifesaver, Marco.”
Nina’s bridge club friend Ada O’Reilly shakes her head at me from across her kitchen table. Her tired eyes read bewildered.
This has been my routine for the past two weeks, ever since Nina told me about other friends in her circle being approached by that douche canoe Rick Heyden and his law firm. Every day since then I’ve been on the phone counseling them on what to do. A few have asked me to go to their homes so I can explain the situation in person. Every time it’s the same. Panic at what they’ve almost been duped into doing. Relief at my offer to help. Disbelief that I’m doing it for free.
Maybe another lawyer would charge them. But I’m fortunate enough to have enough savings from my past job, and the money Grandma Sofia left me, so I can help them.
Ada looks at me, her gray-blue eyes shining with relief, and something in my chest cracks. This. This is what I’m meant to be doing—using my law degree and experience to help people in need. When I told Dr. Imana my career change at my therapy session earlier, I thought his face was going to split in half. I’d never seen him smile that big.
“That’s wonderful, Marco,” he said. “It’s so heartening to see how your emotional healing is positively affecting your professional life. You’re showing so much care and empathy for the senior citizens you’re helping.”
“I just can’t believe I fell for that snake oil salesman,” Ada says, bringing me back to the moment. “Rick sounded so smooth and caring on the phone.”
“It’s not your fault,” I say gently. “He’s made a career out of conning senior citizens. And he’s very good at it, unfortunately.”
I think back on how devastated Nina’s friend Bev was when I stopped by her place and explained Rick’s deception to her. I ball one of my hands into a fist, remembering how she teared up when she told me about the check she sent. Luckily, one threatening call to that asshole fixed it. Bev got her money back and promised to call me if he or the law firm ever tried to contact her again.
“The state bar is currently investigating Rick and his firm, and local media have been airing reports about their unethical practices,” I explain to Ada. “That should cut down their predatory practices for the time being. But if they ever try to contact you again, call me, okay?”
She shakes her head. “I still can’t believe you’re doing this and not charging.”
“It’s a hobby for me, shutting these guys down.”
She stands up and pats my shoulder. “Well, if you won’t take money, then you need to stay for a slice of pie. It’s the least I can do.”
I chuckle a “thanks” and pat my stomach. Thank god this meeting with Ada is the last one I have scheduled. I don’t think my waistline can take more baked goods. That seems to be the way Nina’s friends show their thanks.
Ada’s five-year-old granddaughter Zoe darts into the room. “Nana, can I have pie too? Pretty please?”
“Of course, darling. Here, you sit in the chair next to Marco and I’ll get you both a slice.”
Zoe’s brown eyes go wide as she turns and looks at me, clearly still struggling to process my presence since I walked in a half-hour ago. I try my best to bite back a laugh. I don’t blame the kid. I’m a giant stranger who interrupted her play session with her grandma.
I flash what I hope is a friendly smile. “I like your crown, Zoe. I have one just like it.”
A smile tugs at her lips, and I mentally high-five myself.
“It’s a tiara. And nuh-uh, no you don’t.”
“I do. It’s pink and glittery just like yours.”
“You’re silly.” When she giggles, I laugh too.
Ada sets down the biggest slice of coconut cream pie I’ve ever seen. I choke out a thank you and wonder how the hell I’m going to eat all that.
“Whoa,” Zoe says while eyeing my plate. “That’s as big as your head.”
“I don’t know about that. I’ve got a pretty big head.”
I hold up the plate to my face, which makes her giggle even harder. As we dig into our pie slices, I ask her about the bright pink feather scarf she’s wearing.
“It’s a boa,” she corrects.
“Right. My apologies. It’s very beautiful.”
Soon, she’s chatting my ear off. I’m halfway done with my pie when Zoe asks if I’ll have a princess tea party with her in the living room.
“Oh honey, I’m sure Marco is busy doing other things today,” Ada says while tucking Zoe’s light brown hair behind her ear.
“I can make time for a tea party.”
It’s probably weird that I want to. I’m not someone who has spent a lot of time with kids. But the few times that coworkers and acquaintances brought their kids around me, I’ve enjoyed it. They’re fun to play with and always say off-the-wall stuff that had me howling.
Ada tilts her head at me. “You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Well, you two have a fun tea party then.”
Ten minutes later, I’m wearing a tiara and feather boa of my own, squatting on top of a toy chair that I’m certain is going to collapse under my weight. But Zoe is beaming and happily chatting away, so I figure it’s worth it.
The doorbell rings. When Ada answers it, Morgan walks in.
I don’t miss the expression that moves across her face as she sees me. At first, there’s a surprised smile, then something flashes in her eyes. It’s a softened version of that hungry look she pins me with every time she’s come over to my place or had me over to hers these past couple of weeks. She’s been slammed with work, and I’ve been busy helping Gram’s friends, but we’ve taken the “whenever we can/for as long as we can/do everything we fucking can together” agreement we made in Gram’s tiny bathroom pretty damn seriously. We see each other whenever we’re free, and more often than not things get naked very, very quickly.
She said it first: this is more than sex. Well, this more-than-sex thing has been getting more int
ense by the day. Every time I see Morgan, it’s like my heart flips. That’s never happened to me before. I’ve never smiled so wide, laughed so hard, or felt as content and comfortable as when I’m with her.
The words I spoke to her bounce back in my brain.
Maybe wait till after the wedding, see what’s developed, and assess then.
But I don’t need to wait to assess anything. I know I’m falling hard for her.
My mouth waters the longer we stare at each other. Morgan’s mouth opens as she licks her bottom lip, and I almost forget we’re in public.
“You look like a pretty princess!”
Zoe’s squeal jerks me out of my trance, and I laugh. I look over at her as she gazes at Morgan with wide eyes. Morgan smiles at her, then shuffles her feet. The bright dress she’s wearing sways with the movement.
“Aww thank you, but I think Marco is the prettiest princess, don’t you?”
Zoe giggles when I make a face at her. Ada asks if Morgan wants pie, but she says no thanks.
“I’ve got a photoshoot to run to after this.” She turns to me. “Gram mentioned you were over here, so I thought I’d stop by and say hi.”
Ada tells her how nice it is to see her and gives her a hug before leaving us. Morgan takes the little chair next to me, and together we all play tea party till Ada informs Zoe that it’s time to take her to a playdate with one of her friends.
My legs tingle from the ungodly pretzel position I’ve assumed for the past twenty minutes. I shake them out a bit before standing up. Then I peel away the boa and tiara and hand them back to Zoe.
“Thanks for letting me come to your princess tea party.”
This time she beams up at me, zero nerves or uncertainty in her expression. It feels like a strange and wonderful win. “Will you come to play with me again?”
“Sure. The next time I visit your grandma, we’ll have another tea party.”
She hugs my leg. I smile down at her and gently pat her back. Out of the corner of my eye, Morgan practically swoons. When I twist to face her, her hand is resting on her chest and her eyes have hearts in them.
We tell Ada and Zoe goodbye and walk outside to where our cars are across the street. We’re barely at the curb when she yanks me to her and leads me in a filthy, breathless kiss for a solid minute.
When she releases me, I open my eyes to see a woman with a stroller walk by, her jaw on the ground. We offer sheepish smiles as we wipe our mouths.
“Sorry,” I mutter right as Morgan bursts out laughing. The lady scurries away.
She yanks at the collar of my dress shirt. “Don’t you dare be sorry. That was hot as fuck, seeing you dote on Ada’s granddaughter.”
With a hand on her waist, I pull her against me. “Kind of a weird turn-on, but I’ll take it.”
“It’s not. At all.” She runs a hand through my hair. I close my eyes and hum. It feels so damn good to have her hands on me. It doesn’t matter that we’ve fucked every which way, every day this past week. I still want her.
“It shows just how sweet you are.” Her voice turns to a soft growl. “It shows you’ve got a big heart, which goes great alongside your equally big─”
I crash my lips against hers. She giggles into my mouth as I tease my tongue against hers.
“When you put it that way…” I murmur against her lips. “Pretty fucking hot.”
Morgan’s phone interrupts us. She sighs and pulls it from her pocket, then frowns at the screen.
“Everything okay?”
Her look turns shy, and I try to hold back a wince. I know exactly what she’s going to say.
“Yeah, just wedding stuff. I guess some of Lily and Calder’s relatives are being a little much.”
She mentions something about Lily’s mom freaking out about centerpieces, and Calder’s uncle complaining how there’s no good whiskey in the US, and Lily’s cousin insisting on having a vegan option during dinner.
I try to smile. “Yeah wow, that all sounds pretty frustrating.”
Morgan tugs a hand through her hair. “It’s just a lot. With work and trying to help Lily deal with everything, it’s a bit overwhelming.”
I grab her hand. “You’re doing an amazing job.”
She gazes up at me like she doesn’t quite believe me, the tinge of blue in her eyes dimming the slightest bit.
And then I think, fuck it.
“You have the next couple of days off, right?”
She nods.
“You don’t have wedding stuff to do either, right?”
“No, I’m free.”
“Let’s go somewhere. Just me and you, someplace away from the city. No work stuff or wedding stuff or worrying about friends or Gram.”
Her eyes brighten as she raises an eyebrow. “So, like, a romantic getaway?”
I nod.
She presses against me and slides her hands up my chest, resting them on my shoulders. “Gotta say, when I look at you I don’t see you as a romantic getaway kind of guy.”
I lean back in mock offense. “I’m more than just a pretty face, come on now.”
She bursts out laughing and I hold her tighter against me.
“You’re definitely more than that,” she says, her gaze tender. “I’m in. Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
22
MORGAN
The Mercedes rolls to a stop in front of the inn. For a second, Marco and I trade a sideways glance. We’ve chatted easily on the two-hour drive up here, but it feels now like we’re sharing a holy shit moment.
Here we are, at an inn in the woods. Together. On a romantic getaway.
I break the moment with a grin. “Well, let’s see how long we last until we murder each other.”
“My bet’s on eight hours,” he replies as he pops the door and hands his keys to the valet. The trunk thumps shut before I can even exit the car—our bags are already being whisked into the lobby.
We follow the bellhop to the concierge, who grins as Marco walks up. “Mr. Woodruff, good to see you again. Checking in for the weekend?”
Marco murmurs an affirmative, but I hang back as he takes care of logistics. The inn is adorable, all exposed wood beams and overstuffed couches. This is a ski lodge in the winter, and you can tell how cozy it would be to return to after a day out in the snow. Here in late summer, it’s rustic and inviting just the same.
We walk up a carpeted staircase to the second floor. Marco drops a card into the lock of a door at the end of the hall and gestures for me to step inside. A huge king bed sits in the middle of a gorgeous suite, with a fireplace opposite and curtains billowing thanks to the breeze on the terrace.
I twitch my lips. “Your usual room? I caught how the front desk greeted you. Is this your go-to for romantic getaways?”
Marco drops his wallet on the desk and turns to me, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Are you always so jaded, or is that a special skill you’ve crafted just for me?”
He asks the question even as he slips his hands to my waist and ducks his head to meet my eyes. Although his tone is gentle, my brow furrows.
“I’m not jaded. I’m just not naive.”
He wiggles his head side to side. “Well, in the interest of your enlightenment, no, not romantic getaways. This is my go-to when I need to get away by myself. And for skiing, but that’s the same thing.”
I chew on my lip. “By yourself?”
“By myself. I brought you because… well, because I love it and I thought you would, too.”
His cheeks flush lightly, but I melt a little. My palms skim up his chest without a word. I’m quite sure my expression tells him how much I love that, how honored I am, how much it means that he wants to share this with me.
Marco finally smirks. “Pretty sure that bought me at least an hour of not being murdered.”
I push him down on the bed and straddle him for that.
He chuckles even while I attack his mouth with a hungry kiss, but when I reach betwee
n us for his belt, one powerful hand grips my hair at the back of my head. “Mm-mm, not now,” he mumbles.
“Why?” I grunt, but that makes him give me a sharp tug.
“Don’t ask why. Just trust me.”
Marco’s voice has gone to that calm, soothing, dangerously hot tone he uses to urge me to surrender my worries and let him guide us. I don’t hear it every time we’re in bed together, but I hear it when I need it most.
And it’s worked every time.
That voice has become an automatic turn-on for me, a thrill of anticipation, an eagerness to let him be in control. To stop worrying for a while. To trust him. I know by now without question that he will take care of me, of us, just like I need. I know that choosing to let him control the situation gives me the power to relax and shut my brain off.
I swallow hard and don’t try to resist his hold on my hair. “I trust you,” I whisper.
“Good. Because, Morgan, I swear right now: your happiness is all I care about this weekend. I will make sure you have everything you need. Okay?”
We lock eyes. “Yes, Marco. Okay.”
He smiles. “Good. Then grab your hiking shoes and let’s get going.”
When I’ve dressed for a hike and am tying my hair into a low bun, he walks up behind me and dusts his lips on my ear. “Put it in a high, tight, ponytail. I want you to think about my hand in this hair while we walk.”
“Keep talking like that and I’m going to have to change my underwear before we go,” I mutter, and then grin when he laughs.
But out on the hiking trail, it’s a different dynamic. Marco and I talk as we amble. We talk about things we’ve never discussed before: philosophies, background stuff that’s not about our families, things we love, shows that make us laugh. He hesitates at moments that surprise me—moments that seem like a no-brainer to me and yet reinforce how differently his life has unfolded. He’s awkward talking about personal beliefs, like he hasn’t thought much about it before. His background stories all get delivered with a kind of contemplative detachment that says he’s only now examining how he really felt about things that happened. What his role was in certain moments. Sometimes, he falls quiet for a while, and I’m okay with that, too. This guy has a lot of processing to do.