by Larissa Ione
He concentrated on his own ice cream to keep from turning what she was doing to hers into a Penthouse fantasy. “You don’t strike me as the party type.”
“I’m not. My parents would kill me if I didn’t maintain a four-point GPA.”
He snorted. “Have you ever gotten a B?”
“Once.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Middle school art class. I hate art.”
“Funny,” he drawled. “That was the one thing I was good at. That and shop class. Anything I can do with my hands.”
She glanced at his hands as if wondering what kinds of things he did with them, and he decided he very much wanted to show her.
“I remember you were always working on that car.” She waved at someone in a passing pickup. “I can’t believe you still have it.”
He loved the thing. Working on it had helped him through some rough times. More importantly, his car had been his escape from his home life. How many miles had he racked up driving from his house to Logan’s? Or to the movies? Or to anyplace his dad wasn’t?
Brittany probably didn’t want to hear all of that, though, and he certainly didn’t want to put a damper on their little ice cream escapade.
“I learned from my mom to use something until you can’t use it anymore,” he said, which was as true as all the other stuff. “She’s pretty frugal.”
“Probably more so since your father left, I’ll bet.”
“Definitely.” He wondered how much Brittany knew about his family situation. No doubt gossip had given her some good, and probably accurate, intel. “His leaving didn’t help matters, but she was like that long before he ran off. She was always forced to stretch the money when my sisters and I were growing up.”
They had to go single file to avoid a crowd of people on the sidewalk, and when they were side by side again, she touched him lightly on the shoulder. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was soothing, and it warmed him more than the Texas sun. “I shouldn’t have brought him up.”
“Nah, it’s okay. The son of a bitch is gone. Talking about him isn’t going to bring him back like some sort of curse.”
“Still, I’m sorry you had it rough as a kid.” She nodded at a passerby she must have known. “Parents suck sometimes.”
He eyed her in surprise. “Are you telling me your folks aren’t model parents?”
“Why would you think they were?”
He shrugged. “They always seem so put together.” Distant and a little unemotional maybe, but they at least seemed invested in their children’s education and interests. “You always had everything you wanted––hell, Mallory told me you got your BMW for your sixteenth birthday. And you live in that mansion with a pool.” He mischievously tugged on a lock of silky hair, jumping at any excuse to touch her. “Where I could be a pool boy if I wanted.”
Her bubbly laughter at his reference to her grandmother’s offer made him smile. He could listen to that all day.
“I grew up with privilege,” she admitted. “But sometimes I’d have given anything to have the kind of parents who would get down on their hands and knees and play with colored chalk on the sidewalk, you know?”
Yeah, he knew. His mom had been that type of parent, and sometimes it cost her. Spending an hour to read to Mallory or make plastic jewelry with Dakota would put her behind in her chores, and Hector would flip the hell out. Marcus would often sneak around to help her...cleaning the bathroom or dusting the furniture, but it was never good enough, and she’d get blamed for doing a sloppy job. If he admitted that he’d helped, she’d get yelled at for letting him do “women’s work.”
It had been a no-win situation no matter what.
“Well,” he said, as they crossed to the town square, where the courthouse lorded imperiously over the grassy park, “I’d say you turned out okay even without a colored-chalk parent.”
She gave him a sideways glance and a coy smile that made his blood run hot. “Aren’t you a charmer, Marcus Alvarez.”
Damn, she was a sweet thing. Something inside him melted as thoroughly as their ice cream cones in the summer heat, and he decided he needed to explore the spark between them. They could work out the logistics of their relationship later. Long distance relationships could work, right? “So...can I charm you into grabbing lunch tomorrow?”
As they stepped into the cool shade from the massive Storm Oak Tree, she looked over at where a few Founders’ Day committee members milled about, pencils and notebooks in hand as they surveyed the square. His mom was there near the gazebo, standing next to Brittany’s mom and grandmother.
“I have to work,” she said, “but I get off at four. We could do an early dinner, if you want.”
“Deal.” He gestured toward the pharmacy. “Pick you up at work?”
“That sounds great.”
An awkward silence fell as they stood there in the shade watching cars drive by. He wanted to kiss her, but it wouldn’t be appropriate. Would it?
“Well,” she chirped, breaking the uncomfortable lull in conversation. “I’ve got to catch my mom. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for the ice cream.”
He nodded like an idiot and watched her walk off, her long legs eating up the ground as she strode toward her mother. How was he going to make it until tomorrow? This was only the third time he’d seen her since arriving in town, but every time he saw her, he felt a connection building and strengthening like nothing he’d experienced before.
Finally, he tore his gaze away and turned to head back to his car...only to get ambushed by Brittany’s father. “Hello, Marcus.”
Jesus, where had he come from? Marcus scanned the square and finally saw the senator’s car parked illegally in front of a hydrant just a few yards away.
“Senator.” Marcus started to move past the man, but Sebastian’s hand snapped out to stop him with a grip on his biceps.
“Can we talk?”
Marcus shrugged out of the hold before he forgot everything Ian had taught him and hauled off and punched the guy. It probably wasn’t a good idea to assault the father of the woman he wanted. “I really need to get home––”
“It’ll only take a minute.”
Shit. Gripping his shopping bag tighter, Marcus nodded. “What’s this about?”
“Brittany told us you’ve been living in Montana,” he said, and Marcus wondered where this was going. Nowhere good, he was sure. “Never been there. Heard it’s beautiful.”
“Do you want vacation spot recommendations?” Marcus said smoothly. “Because Missoula is amazing this time of year.”
Senator Rush’s lips thinned in a patronizing smile. Game on, then. “I was just wondering if you were going back.”
Aaaand...there it was. The real reason for the senator’s sudden interest in him. And why was everyone so obsessed with whether or not Marcus was staying? It was starting to get on his nerves because the truth was that he was becoming less and less certain about the answer to the question. He missed the ranch. Missed Ian, who texted a couple of times a day to make sure everything was going okay. But while he’d been gone, he’d also missed so much of his sisters’ lives.
And then there was Brittany.
But the hell if he was going to say any of that, and some little devil on his shoulder encouraged him to toy with the guy. “I doubt I’ll go back,” he said. “My roots are here, so I think I’ll stay.” He thought of Ian, and instantly guilt washed over him because oddly enough, saying that didn’t feel like a lie.
And it was very clearly not the answer Sebastian was looking for. “Is that so? Not much in Storm to hold a young man’s interest.”
Still channeling the devil on his shoulder, Marcus slid a meaningful glance at Brittany, who was looking like an angel as she stood in the sunshine laughing with her mother.
“Oh,” Marcus drawled, “I don’t know about that.”
The senator’s expression turned dark, his eyes narrowing with contempt as he shed the pretense of this being a friendly chat. “It won’t last, son
. I’ll see to that. You think you can rise above it, that your breeding isn’t the sum of who you are. But that’s life’s most ridiculous falsehood. A scrappy little Chihuahua may aspire to be a noble, powerful Great Dane, but he never will be. It’s nothing personal. It’s just the way life is.”
Marcus’s skin felt tight, scoured raw by the hatred in the senator’s words. The worst part of it was that the guy probably didn’t even realize he was so hateful. He’d likely go to his grave denying that he was an elitist snob who looked down on those who didn’t have his money, his breeding, his education, his social standing, his color of skin.
“Yeah, well, if you knew anything about dogs, you’d know that Great Danes have a tragically short lifespan.”
Sebastian puffed up like an angry rooster. “Is that a threat?”
Marcus reached out and brushed invisible lint off the senator’s shoulder, daring the guy to do anything about it. “It’s nothing personal,” he said, throwing Sebastian’s own words back at him. “It’s just the way life is.”
“Be careful, boy,” Sebastian growled. “No Chihuahua has ever been a match for a big dog.”
The man strode away like a big, self-important bag of dicks, and as he joined his wife and daughter, Marcus realized that if he wanted Brittany, he was going to have to deal with her family on a regular basis.
Of course, that was assuming he stayed in town. And that he could handle the shitstorm that would surely follow.
Chapter Eleven
Dinner with Marcus did not go as planned.
He’d met Brittany at the pharmacy as agreed, looking like he’d stepped right out of a movie in black jeans, black cowboy boots, and a gray button-down dress shirt open just enough to reveal a tantalizing hint of hard, bare chest. He’d tamed his hair a little, combing it back in a sleek sweep, but a few unruly strands curled around his ears and temples, lending a wild element that suited him. He reminded her of a panther on a leash; he might look docile, but only a fool would forget that he was a powerful animal, worthy of respect.
And like a big cat, he’d been strangely aloof on the walk to Farm to Table, Storm’s only upscale restaurant. At first, she’d written it off as nerves, because heaven knew she’d had butterflies. A whole swarm of them.
But when dinner had gone the same way, she knew something was wrong.
Oh, they’d chatted politely––he’d asked more about her college classes and experiences, and when he talked about his time in Montana, he’d truly come alive.
But then, almost as if he suddenly remembered where he was or who he was sitting across from, he’d get that troubled look again, and an awkward silence would fall. And even when they talked, he wasn’t as free with his smiles and jokes as he had been just yesterday.
Now, as they finished dessert, he was finally warming up a little, and while she’d like to think the thaw was because of her, the way he practically moaned over the chocolate mousse said the sugar rush was the likely culprit.
Still, watching the ecstasy in his expression made her pulse pound crazily as she imagined the look on his face when he made love. Then she wondered if he was loud in bed. Or was he silent and intense?
More importantly, how long was it going to take before she knew the answer?
The spoon clinked against Marcus’s dish as he scooped up every last bit of dessert.
“I’m guessing you’re enjoying the mousse.”
“There’s only one thing better than a perfect chocolate mousse,” he drawled, his voice going impossibly deep and bedroom husky. Dear Lord, she wanted to hear that voice while he kissed his way down her body.
“Sex?” she asked, and even to her own ears she sounded needy and hopeful.
“I was going to say drag racing, but yeah, that too.” This time his tone was teasing and he had a killer smile to go with it.
She felt her face heat, and she cursed her hyper-reactive skin. Some people wore their emotions on their sleeves, but hers preferred her cheeks.
“You still race your car?”
“Nah.” He licked his spoon, and seriously, he had to be intentionally doing stuff like that to drive her nuts with lust. “I’ll leave illegal street races to the younger crowd.”
She gulped some iced tea in hopes of cooling off a little. Didn’t work. At all. “You make it sound like you’re ancient or something.”
“I prefer the word experienced.”
“Really.” She dragged her finger through the frosting on her carrot cake and licked it off while he watched with smoldering eyes because two could play that game. “And what, exactly, are you experienced at?”
“It’s a long list,” he said, sounding a little strangled.
It sounded like a list she’d like to explore. Before she could rally with a suitably flirty comeback, the waitress brought the check. Marcus reached for it, but Brittany was faster.
“My treat,” she said, and when the smolder in his eyes turned to ice, she instantly knew she’d made a fatal mistake.
“I can pay, Brittany.”
“I know you can,” she said quickly. “I just...I still feel bad about what my grandmother said the other day, and I want to make it up to you.”
His expression might as well have been carved from stone. “I don’t want your family’s money to pay for anything of mine.”
Taken aback, she inhaled sharply. “Marcus––”
“Let me pay.” He held out his hand, and had he been anyone else, she’d have refused or offered to go Dutch. But something told her he needed this and that she’d only make things worse if she argued.
With a sinking sensation in her gut, she handed him the bill and waited quietly as he paid with cash.
More silence ensued as they exited the restaurant.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” he said, and the sinking sensation hit rock bottom at the finality in his voice.
But she wasn’t ready to give up yet, and as they crossed the street to cut through the town square, she said, “If you don’t have plans tonight, we could go see a movie or get a beer at Murphy’s. I think Ginny is going to meet Logan there. We could all hang out.”
Marcus halted beneath the massive tree, in the exact same spot where they’d stood yesterday. The difference was that yesterday she’d been full of hope and happiness, and today...all she could do was wonder what she’d done wrong.
“Brittany, I’m sorry, but I don’t think this is going to work.”
She shouldn’t have been surprised, not after the vibe he’d been giving off all evening. But somehow, she was stunned. “I don’t understand. Marcus, what’s going on?”
He jammed his hand through his hair, and his curls went wild. Even his demeanor changed, and the image of the panther on a chain came back to her, except now, the big cat had broken free of its restraints.
“We’re from two different worlds, Brit. I like you. Too much, probably. But our worlds weren’t meant to collide, and I think it’s best that we step off and avoid disaster.”
“Disaster?” She gaped at him in disbelief. “We’re not boarding the freaking Titanic, and we’re not from different planets. We grew up in the same town. Went to the same school. We have the same friends. So where is this coming from?”
“Oh, come on,” he said, as if she was the one being difficult. “You’re on a path that leads to success and mansions and a damned yacht or two. I’ve got a past I’m not proud of, and a future full of unknowns.”
“Stop it.” She lowered her voice as a happy young couple, their fingers twined together, passed by. The universe was taunting her. “Whatever it is that’s bothering you, we can work through it. I don’t care about your past. I couldn’t care less if you’ve smoked weed or drag raced or been to prison. I. Don’t. Care.”
He stepped back as if he’d been slapped, his gorgeous eyes flashing with fury. “Prison? You think I’ve been to fucking prison? Is it because my family is from the wrong side of town or because I’m half Hispanic?”
What the...
what? Had he really just said that? Her mind spun with confusion over his bizarre behavior and the unfounded accusation, and her own temper flared.
“That’s not fair,” she snapped. “I’ve never treated you any different than I’ve treated anyone else. I only mentioned prison because it was something my grandma said––”
“Of course it was,” he said bitterly. “Well, you know what? She wasn’t completely wrong. I have been to jail. Twice. The charges were dropped, but not because I didn’t do what I was accused of doing. I did. If you want to know more, maybe your dad can dig up some dirt. I’m sure he’d love to. Hell, he probably has my police record printed out with all the juicy parts highlighted and waiting for you to see.”
“Dammit, Marcus, now you’re just looking for a reason to push me away.”
“What, me being poor, mixed-race trash and you being well-bred white royalty isn’t a good enough reason?”
Seriously, what the hell? “That’s you and your issues talking,” she shot back. “Not mine.”
“Really?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice. “So you’re saying your family wouldn’t have a shit fit if they saw you with me? If they saw me kissing you? Touching you?”
Oh, God. Now she saw it in her head, and she couldn’t think of anything else. “I don’t care,” she breathed. Besides, her parents would get over it. Her mother often surprised Brittany with some of her social views, and her father could be swayed by a logical argument. So they weren’t completely unreasonable.
Which was something that apparently couldn’t be said for Marcus.
Snorting, he turned on his heel and headed for their cars parked across the street. “Whatever.”
Oh, no. He was not going to walk away again. Catching up to him, she seized his arm and dragged him around to face her.
“Is that what you do when things get rough? You walk away?” She glared up at him, daring him to answer. When he didn’t, she squared her shoulders and prepared for battle. If being the daughter of a senator had taught her anything, it was that when you know you’re right, you fight. “Tell me, Marcus, why did you run off all those years ago?” She knew things had been bad at home, but surely fleeing to the other side of the country had been excessive.