“Gabby,” he says, exasperated.
But I take another drink. And then another, turning to look at the ocean, my back to him.
He marches around me, grabbing my arm as I start to bring the bottle to my lips again. “Gonna drink the whole damn bottle?” He’s frowning as he looks me in the eye. “Slow down.” He reaches for the tequila in my hand, taking it from me and placing it on the table. “You’re here, and everything’s fine. Relax.”
“It’s too perfect,” I blurt out, breaths ragged.
“What’s too perfect?”
“This! It’s too romantic! Too perfect!”
“Well, I was hopin’ to make you comfortable. Figured that was what you would have wanted.”
“I love it,” I admit. “It is what I wanted. I just…I came in, expecting to be disappointed. Hoping to find any excuse to leave.”
I walk past him, going to the sliding doors that reveal the beach. I expect to see a crowded beach, but there aren’t many people around.
“This villa is located on a private part of the beach…just in case you’re wonderin’ where everyone’s at. Only the people who are in this villa can set up out there. Most are either gone during the day on business or at the pool.”
“Booking a room here must have cost you a fortune.”
“Price doesn’t matter.”
I sigh, feeling the heat of his body behind me.
“You realize this isn’t just…whatever you think it is, right?” his voice is lower.
I turn to face him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…we can do things other than have sex. Walk the beach. Lay on towels like beach bums. Grab some food and drinks. Whatever you wanna do.”
I notice the way his shoulders hunch a bit, and his eyes avert to the left. “You’re nervous too,” I point out.
“Nah. Just want you to feel good here. That’s all.” He’ll never admit that he’s nervous, but I see it all over him. He didn’t think I would show. My presence alone has surprised him.
I take a step closer to him, my heart beating rapidly. “This place is great, Marcel. You did good.”
He puts on a soft smile. I reach down to grab his hand, bringing the palm of it up and pressing it to my cheek. He looks at me oddly, confused, but I close my eyes and let out a relaxed breath.
My nerves are starting to settle, and I don’t know if it’s those swigs of tequila that’s done this, or just the fact that he’s right here in front of me. Whatever it is, I accept it.
“You’re in good hands, Miss Gabby.” His voice holds a mixture of serenity and playfulness.
“I know I am.” I smile up at him, and he drops his hand, entwining his fingers with mine. His chest touches mine, and he’s looking right into my eyes.
“Then don’t be nervous. Be yourself. Just ’cause we’re here, doesn’t mean shit has changed.”
I nod, dropping my eyes. “Kay.”
He brings his other hand up, tilting my chin. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Look away like you don’t have a say-so. Is bein’ yourself too much to ask for?”
“Sort of.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
He drops his hand, but his other is still connected with my other.
“Can I be honest with you?” My chest feels like it’s on fire. I need to tell him how I feel, unleash the heat that’s burning me up inside.
“Sure.”
“It feels wrong being here. Not that I don’t want to be here. I just feel so guilty.”
“Well, how can I make it right?” He doesn’t hesitate with that question. It’s almost like he saw it coming.
“I don’t know.” I shrug one shoulder.
Marcel studies me briefly, then he pulls his hand out of mine. My heart plummets, and I think I’ve just ruined this entire thing for him, until he opens both arms and wraps them around me. Surprised, I bring my arms up, locking them around the back of his neck. He’s so much taller, so I’m standing really high on the tips of my sandals, but he’s holding me close, keeping me steady enough that it doesn’t hurt.
“I’ve got you,” he mumbles in my ear. “No games and no bullshit for the next three days. No thinkin’ about what’s back at home, no guilt gettin’ in the way. I’m huggin’ you now ’cause I’m about to give you a choice.” He pulls back, his large hands holding me just below the ribs to keep me in place. “You walk out that door right now and leave, and I won’t blame you. Hell, I won’t even be mad. Disappointed, yeah, but I’ll live. But if you stay, I promise you the next three days will be nothin’ short of amazin’. Why? Because I’ve decided to dedicate the next three days to you.” He looks me over. “Choice is yours, Gabby. You go, and you won’t have to live with the regret that comes afterward.”
We stare into each other’s eyes, his ocean blue boring into mine. How does he do that? How does he always make the choice seem so easy, yet so difficult all the same?
I back out of his grasp and watch his head fall. He’s no longer looking at me. Walking around him, I grab my tote bag and go straight for the door. I swing it open, gripping the handle, and looking back.
“Well? What are you waiting for?”
He turns to face me, confused.
“You said we could do whatever I wanted, and I’m starving right now, so let’s find something to eat.”
He cracks a smile—probably one of the biggest, most handsome smiles I’ve ever seen on him. “You’re a little jokester, huh?” He’s still smiling, going for a duffle bag in the corner and pulling out a T-shirt to put on. I can’t stop the smile that sweeps over my lips.
“You really thought I’d walk out on you like that?”
“Shit, wouldn’t have surprised me. You’re wishy-washy sometimes.”
“Like I said…all with good reason.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He slides into the black Nike running shoes in the corner next, and I bite a grin. I love when we tease and bicker. Doing it with him feels natural, like we’re supposed to do it. “All right then.” He’s at the door, towering over me. “Let’s grab the princess somethin’ to eat.”
“Princess?” I giggle, watching him close the door behind him.
“Yeah, ‘cause that’s what you’re actin’ like. A damn princess, demandin’ food and toyin’ with my emotions like that.”
I bust out laughing, bumping into his arm. He lightly bumps me back before we reach the elevator.
The doors peel apart several seconds after he hits the button and the cart is empty. The doors seal shut, and Marcel is standing right beside me, his fingertips in his front pockets.
He looks down at me. “You and those damn dresses.”
I look down at my pink dress with yellow polka dots. It reminds me of lemonade. “What’s wrong with my dresses, sir?”
“They make me want to rip ’em off.”
“Oh really?” I drawl, battling a grin. “Then why don’t you?”
“Oh, trust me. I will. Just not right now.” He scratches the tip of his nose, turning to face me. “But there is one thing I need to do.” He brings his body directly in front of mine, caging me between his arms. His mouth crashes down on mine and he groans, dropping a hand to cup my hip, and burying his groin into mine.
The kiss is powerful and deep. Passionate and hungry.
I moan behind the kiss, reaching up to tangle my fingers in his hair. Another groan builds in his throat, both of his hands coming up to cradle my face.
He’s wanted to do this since I walked into the room, and I can’t blame him, because I wanted the same thing, despite how nervous I was.
This fire.
This forbidden power.
The ache that only he can create and take away.
When the elevator comes to a stop and then chimes, Marcel has to force himself to pull away and stand beside me again. He reaches down to grab my hand with a grin, lips swollen and pink.
“Damn girl,” he breathes,
running a hand through his hair with his free hand. “Made me lose myself there for a second.” He has this wide smile on his face, and I can’t stand how sexy it is on him. The doors open and he leads the way out of the elevator, still holding my hand, and I blush from his words, avoiding eye contact with the people who have been waiting for the elevator to come down.
They probably see my face and know we were fucking around in there. He’s insane! That’s something Kyle never would have done, especially not on an elevator. Too much of a risk, and it breaks all of his polite, well-mannered rules, but Marcel? He doesn’t give a damn about breaking rules. That was clear to me from the moment I met him.
I swear he’s going to kill me by the time this trip is over. I just hope he does it softly.
THIRTY-NINE
MARCEL
WE CATCH lunch at a restaurant that supposedly sells the best piña coladas around. Gabby found it on an app on her phone and the rating was decent, so I drove there.
Gabby has had two piña coladas so far. She sips from her blue straw before diving into the sweet potato fries she ordered.
“That’s all you’re gonna eat?” I ask, pointing at her meal of salad and sweet potato fries with one of my real fries.
“Yes. Why?” she asks, meeting my eyes.
“That’s fuckin’ rabbit food,” I laugh.
“Not! It’s healthy, unlike your greasy burger and fries over there!” She gives me a smug smile, popping another orange fry into her mouth. “So, if I’m going to be spending the whole weekend with you, I’d like some facts. Tell me about you, Mr. Ward.”
“Not much to know about me.”
“I’m sure there’s plenty.” She takes another sip of her drink. Goddamn her lips. Pouty. Pink. Full. I’m wondering what they’ll be like wrapped around my dick—anxious to find out, honestly. There’s no doubt I’ll find out tonight.
“What do you wanna know?” I place my elbows on the table, putting one hand on top of the other.
“You already told me where you’re from. I don’t know much about your love life, other than the fact that you haven’t been in a relationship for longer than a month.”
“I’m single—have been for a couple years now. Why are you always so curious about my love life?”
“I’m just wondering! It just seems like there would be some woman around.”
“Well, there isn’t. And that’s the truth.”
“Mm-hmm. And are you happy with that?”
“Yep.”
She narrows her eyes. “I don’t believe that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re here with me. You’re obviously lonely if you booked a villa just so you could be with a married woman.”
“It’s lonely sometimes, but workin’ makes up for that.”
“Well what about family? Do they visit you?”
I lower my gaze to her plate. “No. Don’t have much family that can visit.”
“No siblings?”
“I had a sister.” I don’t know why I say it so blatantly. I don’t like talking about Shayla with anyone.
She stops chewing, looking at me carefully. “Had?”
“Yeah, had. She passed about eight years ago.”
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Marcel. I didn’t mean to—”
I wave a dismissive hand. “It happened, and I’ve grieved. All there is to it.”
She swallows the bite of salad in her mouth, still staring at me. I can tell she wants to ask me a thousand questions—I see them in her eyes—but I’m glad she doesn’t. She changes the subject instead.
“Well, let’s not get into family today. What made you want to get into landscape designing?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve always been good with my hands. Good at buildin’ and creatin’ things. A few months after my sister passed, I enrolled in a community college, got my degree in landscape design, and started up the business. I got lucky one day. The governor reached out to me and said he needed his yard repaired after a bad storm hit. I told him I’d do it at a discounted rate. I guess I did a good job, because he recommended me to everyone he knew afterward.”
“That’s so good!”
“You could say say that.”
“Are you really thinking about stopping residential work?”
“Not completely, but I’ll most likely take less jobs when it comes to residential. More money in commercial, plus it’s way less complicated. My residential clients can be a pain in the ass…including the client sittin’ across from me.”
She giggles and throws a fry at me. “Ha! Shut up!”
“Now tell me about you.” I lean forward, smirking.
She’s still laughing as she asks, “What about me, exactly?”
“What college you graduated from, favorite color—whatever.”
“Okay…um, I graduated from Colgate University—it’s a college in New York. And I have two favorite colors, pink and yellow.”
“Colgate. Interestin’. I’m honestly curious how Kyle even met you. You’re only twenty-five. Seems like you got married straight outta college, but he’s older, right? How’d that happen?”
“I told you, he used to come to a restaurant I worked at a lot.”
“Was it near the campus?”
“About a ten-minute walk from school.”
“Where there was probably nothing but college students around. That’s not weird at all, a grown man going to a place where college students hang out.”
“He used to have meetings up the street from the café I worked at,” she says defensively.
“Hey, I’m just sayin’. You wouldn’t have caught me in an environment like that.”
“Here you go, being a dick,” she mutters with an eye roll.
“I’m not bein’ a dick. I’m just sayin’ that shit sounds sketchy from his end. Fuckin’ predator,” I laugh, and she rolls her eyes again, sitting back against her chair and folding her arms. “Come on, I’m teasin’ you.” I can’t help laughing though.
She huffs, picking up her drink and sipping from the straw until she’s finished the piña colada. The waiter comes to our table with the bill, and I pull out some cash and enough for a tip, leaving it on the center of the table.
“You’re gonna be with me for the next three days, little thing.” I stand with a grunt, extending my arm and offering my hand. “Might as well get used to the hell I give you.”
She looks at my hand, then sucks her teeth, but accepts it. I pull her out of her chair, gripping her hand and leading the way out of the restaurant.
It’s close to six in the evening. The sun is setting, and I hear Gabby sigh beside me. As we walk to my truck, she asks, “It doesn’t feel weird being with me? Holding a married woman’s hand?”
“Nope, and I wish you’d stop bringing up the fact that you’re married. It’s gettin’ old, and it isn’t like I don’t already know that.” I open the passenger door and she climbs inside. She’s staring at me as I close her door.
“Why doesn’t that bother you?” she asks when I get into the truck and buckle in.
“I’ve already told you,” I say as I turn the ignition. “I don’t think of you as his. When you’re around me, you’re mine.” Our eyes connect and hers become misty. She runs her tongue over her lips before sitting back in the seat. “Buckle up.”
I take off, rolling the sunroof back. Gabby’s curly hair flies all over the place, but she tucks most of it behind her ears, then rolls her window down, letting more air in. She rests the back of her head against the headrest, smiling faintly.
I smile each time I steal a glance of her. My satellite radio plays a song by some singer named Billie Eilish—the name it says on my radio screen, anyway—and she starts tapping her fingers to the beat of it.
I don’t know if it’s just me, but I don’t think she realizes just how beautiful she really is. Her olive eyes sparkle from the sunset rays, her skin a dewy caramel due to the glow. She’s gotten a tan recently. It’s a
surprise I don’t wreck from trying to look at her so much.
When we’re back at the villa, we head up the elevator and to the room, but as soon as we’re inside and I see that same sunset painting the whole room orange, something comes over me. I can’t even help the feeling, nor can I fight it. As soon as her bag is down, I’m right in front of her, holding her face, kissing her feverishly.
She moans in surprise, but her arms tangle around the back of my neck and her body is flush to mine. I bump her forward and she stumbles backward, but I hold onto her until the back of her legs hit the couch and she drops down.
I’m on top of her in a millisecond, pushing the lower half of my body between her thighs. She looks up at me beneath hooded eyelids, the sun on her skin again, just like a fucking angel. I can’t help the grind that takes over me, building both of us up. She’s panting beneath me, grabbing for the hem of my shirt. I lift up so she can pull it over my head.
“You have such a nice body,” she murmurs.
“Appreciate that,” I murmur, then go back to kissing her. Her hands are all over my back, reeling me close. She sucks on my bottom lip, and I swear my cock is about to rip right through my jeans—I’m that fucking hard.
“Damn,” I groan. But I can’t say more. Every part of me is lit on fire, including the organ in my chest, but I ignore the emotions coursing through me. I consider it lust and nothing more.
I push her dress up, and she leans forward so I can take it off. Her panties and bra match—red lace.
“Undo my pants.”
She sits up as I rest my knees on the edge of the couch. Her face directly in front of the bulge between my thighs. She unbuttons my jeans, biting into her bottom lip. When she’s done, she looks up at me while pushing them down. I stand to step out of them, then I’m between her legs on the couch again, perched on my knees. She’s staring now, not blinking.
“I’ve been thinkin’ about what your lips would look like around my cock for so long. I’m sick of waitin’.” I push my boxers down, letting my cock fall out. Her breath hitches as she studies me—all of me. “Come here,” I command softly, pressing a hand to the back of her head and bringing her face forward.
She leans forward willingly, scooting across the couch to get closer.
The Man I Can't Have (Ward #1) (Ward Duet) Page 26