by Dana Volney
Despite wishing and dreaming all day about seeing him, touching him again, she felt awkward being a dozen feet away. Had he heard her? Should she say hello and get his attention? No. She continued her leisurely pace and tried to hold her paper sack from the music store especially still.
Marc’s head swiveled, and they locked eyes. Too late. A tingle started in the back of her throat and spread to her cheeks. Don’t blush. Don’t blush. You’re fine.
She grinned and made sure her voice was light. “Hi.”
“Hey.” He was holding two white to-go containers in his hands. “I knocked, but you weren’t home.”
He’d knocked? And possibly, hopefully, brought her lunch?
“Errands to kick off the vacation.” She swayed her small paper sack toward him to offer proof of her morning.
“Are you hungry?”
Am I ever. He was probably talking about food, though. “Absolutely. Thanks.”
He finished opening his door and motioned her inside.
“What’d you make?” she asked.
“An old Graystone favorite.”
My family favorite? “Oh, yeah, what’s that?” She set her purse, bag, and shoes on the floor by the front door.
“Spaghetti.”
She stared at him. The sweet man standing in front of her had listened. She’d told him a tender memory, and he had paid attention. A mix of emotion filled his blue eyes—excitement, fervor, and hunger. The passion she’d witnessed last night was alive in Marc. He set the containers down and crossed to her. In one motion he grabbed the back of her thighs and lifted. She hugged his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist. Marc pushed her back against the wall, next to the closed front door.
She welcomed the move.
• • •
Marc couldn’t help his need. He couldn’t refuse himself the happiness of being near her, touching her, or being inside her. He’d been unable to concentrate at work. All he saw was Sophie—Sophie’s skin in the candlelight as she sang to him, Sophie’s brown eyes dancing with laughter, Sophie lying naked on his bed staring up at him with desire.
Now, she was in his arms, and his body felt relaxed and tense all at once. Sophie had a calming effect on him. When she was in his arms, she set him on fire. Lava coursed through his veins, and she was the only one who could cool him off.
She held him tightly with her legs, pressing him against her completely. Her hands caressed his body and moved to his pants, unbuttoning and unzipping. He wanted her now, but he couldn’t bear to move his hands from her skin. He cupped her breast and bent his head to run his tongue along her nipple before taking it into his mouth. Her nipple tightened to a point as his tongue slid around it, sucking and kissing. She moaned into his hair, and he smiled, trailing kisses up to and along her collarbone, up her neck to her ear.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered into her ear, then nibbled on her lobe, kissing his bite.
A breathy “please” passed between her lips before he kissed her hard, breathing in her light, citrus scent. Grapefruit. The scent he should’ve known the first time he caught a whiff would now be his favorite forever.
She had his pants lose around his hips, and it didn’t take much to slide them and his boxers down. Before they fell, he grabbed his wallet, pulled out a condom, and covered himself.
Thanking everything holy in this world that Sophie was in a dress, he hiked it up with ease. Moving her tiny underwear to the side with his index finger, he couldn’t wait a second longer. He found her center and filled her completely. A groan escaped his lips, and he heard Sophie catch her breath. He looked into her captivating brown eyes and saw something he didn’t expect: tenderness.
He brushed his nose against hers, letting her see the passion in his eyes, and their pace quickened. He closed his eyes, searing the moment into his brain for eternity. With every thrust and kiss and feel of her body pressed against his, he couldn’t hold back. He had absolutely no control with Sophie; he wanted everything from her and wanted to give her everything he had in return.
“Oh, Sophie … ”
“Marc,” she cried out, and he felt her pulse with each beat of his heart.
He couldn’t hold back. He was too far, and she felt too good. She sucked on his neck and ran her tongue in a circle before she lightly bit him, sending him into euphoria.
She clung to him, both of them breathing hard. He kissed her cheek, and she kissed his collarbone.
He didn’t release her; he wanted more time. Their lovemaking was special, but it was shaded by a sinking feeling. He felt so much when he was around Sophie. Feelings he hadn’t experienced in a long, long time. Could they sustain their relationship? Was he at a place in his life where he could maintain a life with another person?
The short answer was no.
CHAPTER SIX
Marc set out plates full of spaghetti on his dining table after all of their clothes were back in their rightful places. Sophie took a seat and crossed her legs. Her day officially could not get any better. A hunky man who couldn’t get enough of her, a thoughtful lunch, and time to write more songs. Yup, life was where she wanted it to be—in her pocket.
“I had to heat it up a bit.”
His goofy half-smile made her chuckle. I’ll eat cold food all day long if we’re doing naughty things against the wall.
“The delay was worth it.” She winked. “Smells wonderful.”
He’s amazing. The man sitting across from her had only been in her life for a couple of days, but already she wanted him there for years to come. The longevity of a relationship had always seemed like an impossible feat, but after seeing Candace fall head over heels in love, even though it was new love and anything could happen … maybe Sophie needed to reevaluate the concept. If it were possible for someone as headstrong as Candace to let herself get swept away, there was certainly a chance for her.
“It’s not fair really,” she continued. “The food I usually make isn’t near as delicious. You’re spoiling me.”
“We’re getting busier at the restaurant.” He smiled. “You might have to stock up on cereal.” He focused on his plate and wrangled a meatball.
What does that mean? And what was with the smile? Hadn’t he been the one asking her over for meals all the time?
“I’m always stocked up on cereal.” She wrapped noodles covered in tomato sauce on her fork, but suddenly the bite wasn’t very appetizing.
“Are you having a productive morning?” he asked.
She studied him. His body language hadn’t changed, and he watched her with a pleasant expression. Maybe he’d just wanted sex, and maybe she did, too. Their affair could be meant for a couple of hot encounters only. She could accept their chemistry for what it was: hot, instant, available, and temporary. A nagging feeling started in her chest and rose; she’d never been good at accepting what she didn’t like.
“Yeah. Got my list checked off. I need to work on some Orange Heart business.”
“So are you the finance person for the band?”
“I’m the main contact, keep the books in order, and, sometimes, the tiebreaker for the set-list order.” She couldn’t make eye contact with him. “In the beginning, we had a lot of scheduling conflicts because we were all takings gigs.”
“Too many cooks in the kitchen. I understand.”
“Did your delivery truck arrive?” It was either make conversation or get up and walk out. The latter might cause too much of a ruckus and require her to explain her actions.
“They called when I was coming here. Just got there.”
Marc was talking to her, but he seemed distracted. Work was clearly needing his attention, but in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help feeling that she was an intrusion in his life.
She wasn’t sure what she wanted. They lived next door to each other, but real estate did not a future make.
After a quick lunch, he followed her into the hall and waited until she unlocked her door. The sensation of his hand on
the small of her back made her melt into him a little, even though she was mad. He leaned in and kissed her forehead.
“Have a good afternoon,” he said.
Their eyes didn’t meet, and she didn’t say anything back. They’d reached a pivotal moment and had gone separate ways. She wasn’t the casual type—she wanted to date a special someone—and he … hell, she had no idea. In situations such as these, there was only one thing to do: buy a real damned candle.
• • •
Marc walked away from Sophie. Not his ideal option—he’d would have liked to be with her the rest of the day. He stopped. He’d forgotten to make plans with her. He wasn’t sure a power outage would hold up as a way to hang out with her three nights in a row.
I don’t even know her cell number.
He turned back. “Sophie, what are you doing tonight? I was thinking Thai for a late dinner.”
“Ya know, I don’t think so. I have a thing with some friends.”
His chest tightened. “Oh, okay, another night then.”
Marc had no idea what went wrong. One minute they were making love, the next they were eating, and then she’d been quiet—which, in woman terms, equaled unhappiness. Had he said something inappropriate? Is that why she didn’t want to have dinner?
Ah, hell, she had plans with friends. He was thinking too much about Sophie. He needed to get back to his restaurant and make sure dinner prep had been started. Still, a feeling nagged at him. He couldn’t change his path now. He had a plan for his life, and Sophie wasn’t part of it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next day, as Marc watched the last lunch plate of lobster roll leave his kitchen at Sizzo’s, he wiped the sweat from his brow with the white rag that usually hung on his left shoulder and threw it in the laundry bin by his office. There were two offices off of the kitchen, one for him and one for Kurt. He’d picked the one farthest away; it wasn’t overly large but enough to fit his desk, filing cabinet, and two chairs for visitors. He sat in his brown leather chair and fired up his laptop to do some social media marketing. Lunch service had been busier than normal, which put him in a good mood. Things were turning around—business was picking up each day, his recipes were being received well, and Sophie was in his bed.
He honestly didn’t know what to do with the latter, though. He wanted to be with her. Really. But he’d set up goals. Deviating now when he was just starting to see progress would be insane. Sophie would still be his neighbor, so hopefully they could keep their casual thing going, and Sizzo’s could remain his number-one priority.
Kurt popped his head in. “There’s a lady asking for you out front.”
He found a picture on his laptop of his mozzarella-pesto chicken to promote tonight’s dinner special. “Did she say why?”
“No, nothing I could help her with. I don’t think she wants to talk about food.”
Marc glanced at the time in the corner of his screen. Dinner prep wouldn’t start for a little while. A reporter wanting to do a story would be perfect. He could use free press.
“Okay. Thanks.” Marc captioned the picture with tonight’s special on Facebook and Twitter posts before closing his laptop. He pushed through the stainless steel swinging doors that led to the front dining room. A woman in a black dress and black trench coat, with shoulder-length blond hair, had her back to him. Her orange Coach purse caught his eye as she spun toward him. He knew that purse. Couldn’t be. He hesitated mid-stride before coming to a complete stop.
Felicia. He stared into the eyes of his ex-fiancée, standing in his restaurant in Wyoming.
“Hi,” she said and took a step toward him.
He didn’t move. Her perfectly made-up face, soft curls, and bright smile turned their assault on him. Why the hell is she here? Felicia had been out of his life, completely, for five months.
He didn’t speak. He had no friggin’ clue what to say; he only managed to wrinkle his forehead.
“You weren’t hard to find,” she answered his non-verbal question. “Your restaurant is your last name.”
He finally found his voice. “But why are you here?”
She pointed to an empty table behind him. “Can we talk?”
He nodded as his mind went in a hundred different directions. Is her dad okay? Is she in trouble? Did I keep something of hers by accident? Their last conversation had consisted of her telling him she no longer loved him and calling off the wedding two days before it was supposed to happen. It had been very clear they didn’t have a future or need to ever communicate again. She scooted in the dark wooden chair, and he pulled out a chair and sat farther away from the table. He didn’t know what was coming next, but his instinct to run was growing. She’d left him, and he’d started all over—they were sitting in the very place that defined his new life.
“Why are you here?” Yeah, he was the asshole who didn’t want to ask or answer any fake pleasantries. Felicia hadn’t traveled hundreds of miles to ask about his damn day.
“Okay, let’s just dive right in then.” She shifted slightly in her seat, revealing one toned leg crossing over the other.
He didn’t want to have a conversation with or even sit across from her. He wanted to get back to Sizzo’s—the restaurant he owned by himself and was going to make successful by himself. No partner or fiancée needed. Ah, hell, she’s not my enemy. She was someone he’d once committed his life to. A long time ago.
“I’m sorry,” he said, making sure there wasn’t a scowl on his face. “How’ve you been? You look good.”
“I’m well. Thank you.” She glanced around the dining room that was nearly cleared of patrons. “I like your place.”
He took stock of what Felicia was seeing: his modern design with the hardwood floors, tables to match, and 3D metallic artwork made a fun, relaxed environment for his diverse cuisine.
Curiosity for her motive was chewing at his throat. “I’ve been open for three months.”
Anger flitted across her eyes as they fixed back on him. “You didn’t fight for me,” she said with a quiet rage he’d never heard in her voice before.
Now we’re getting somewhere. “You made it clear you were done,” he said, matching the quiet strength in her voice.
Felicia’s words that day five months ago—her tone, her inflection, all of it—were forever burned into his mind.
“I don’t love you.” He had looked up from slicing a rack of lamb to see Felicia. He hadn’t even assumed she was talking to him—why would he? They were two days away from getting married. They’d been dating for three years. But the moment he saw her darkened blue eyes well with unshed tears, he knew. He knew they were over. He knew her love alone wasn’t enough. He’d held back—something had always stopped him from going all in with Felicia. Yes, he’d asked her to marry him; it felt like the right thing to do. The restaurant with her dad was going well, she was great, and there was no reason to do anything different.
“What do you mean?” is all he could stupidly say. Maybe she wasn’t saying what he thought she was.
“I’m calling off the wedding. I can’t marry you, Marc.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t think you love me, either. Not the way I want to be loved.”
The words, however true, cut him. There was no world in which he’d wanted to hurt and let down the beautiful woman standing in front of him.
“I’ve already made the calls.” She set down the princess-cut diamond ring on the counter and walked away. That was the last time he’d seen her.
Now his jaw tightened. He hadn’t been able to picture walking away from the place he’d coveted most, but it had been the right thing to do. One of the hardest things he ever done, in fact, but right. One of the hardest things he’d ever done, but right. After Felicia left him, nothing about his life fit anymore. It took him two months to figure out his next restaurant and settle on a location.
Felicia swished her blond curls behind her ear and laid her hands back in her lap. “I’ve had ti
me to re-evaluate life, our relationship, and … I made a mistake.” She paused, and he saw the sadness lower her shoulders. “But, we weren’t in a great spot. Obviously. Which was both of our faults.”
“Yeah.” He couldn’t argue with that. They were good together—hell, they were going to get married, and he’d been happy with that decision for his future. Five months ago.
Now, having met Sophie and the desire she stirred in him and a whole mess of other feelings he hadn’t even been able to sift through yet, he wasn’t so sure Felicia had been wrong to leave him.
“Have you thought about us?” she asked.
“I don’t know what to say to that.”
Yes. No. He’d actually tried really hard not to think about them or the years they’d spent together or walking away from the restaurant he’d help build.
Did he want to get back together with Felicia? She seemed to want to patch things up between them. Would she move to Casper? Would he move back to Tacoma? This was a turn of events he hadn’t seen coming when he’d brought spaghetti home for lunch yesterday with Sophie.
Sophie. What about Sophie?
“Have dinner with me tonight.”
He glanced past her to metal artwork of a cowboy waving his hat and riding a bucking bronc on his entrance wall. “I can’t. I work dinner service.”
Misery washed over her face. He owed her.
“Meet me here at ten.” He couldn’t traipse Felicia back to his place with Sophie next door.
Maybe she was right, and he’d been too hasty to accept her leaving and not fight. Was there still something between them to restore?
• • •
What a holy mind-terror of a day. His ex-fiancée showed up, he didn’t see Sophie at all, and he had another meeting with Felicia tonight. If there was ever a day that he wished he’d slept through, this was it. He really could’ve used seeing Sophie during his quick break between Felicia’s visit and dinner service. Sophie would’ve put things in perspective. She would’ve made him laugh and asked some ridiculous questions and sang a song that would’ve made him want to kiss her all night long. Okay, so maybe all of those things wouldn’t have happened by bumping into Sophie in the hall. But he’d sure been thinking about those scenarios for hours. And visions of getting back together with Felicia—those were more confusing than happy. He plated the mozzarella-pesto chicken as his sous chef finished sautéeing asparagus for a four-top.