Chapter 13
thirteen
The sound Marco makes sends an electric charge through my body. A low, growly moan rumbles around his lips as he swallows a mouthful of tea and pulls the cup back, blinking at it like it’s a mystical mug of ambrosia.
“That is incredible,” he tells me, his voice matching his dark velvet eyes as they flicker to my face. “Really. Alice.”
He has never said my name before. Ordinarily, I’m “Miss Moore.” The memory of the last time I saw him—after the incident outside the subway—makes my face flame. I basically ignored all of his offers to help me, yet here he is. Complimenting me.
A spark ignites in my lungs, burning up my breath. “Thank you,” I murmur, looking down into my own cup. “This has been my favorite, lately. I-I found it in a tiny Indonesian tea shop.”
Marco stares into the liquid, a look of true awe on his face. “It’s great.”
He seems sincere. And very surprised. It puts a giggle in my voice as I reply, “Is that a shock?”
Marco’s features turn from wildly handsome to absolutely devastating when he grins. The white flash of his teeth against his dark tan skin and black stubble sends another jolt straight through my heart.
“I’m particular about it. I usually only enjoy my own.
And Ella’s, although she really can’t make it right.
She means well so I just drink it anyway.
I was worried yours would be like hers,” he admits, his smile taking on an irresistible, rueful quality.
“But you make better tea than I do. This blend is the best I’ve had. Ever.”
I find myself smiling back at him. Well, in that case… I stand and dip into the kitchen to take the kettle off the two-burner stove, along with a sachet of dried herbs. When I return and place the tea on the low table between us, he stares at it.
A wave of shyness comes over me as I sink into my seat and pull my sweater closed over my center, hoping he won’t notice the belly pooch under all my layers. “T-take it,” I stammer. “I can get more.”
Marco’s ponderous frown is almost as beautiful as his smile. “No one appreciates a good blend of tea more than me. I’d never want you to part with yours.”
But he’s tempted. I can tell from the gleam in his warm brown eyes.
“Seriously,” I insist. “Take it as a thank you for…” I wave my hand at my computer, though I can’t begin to describe what he was up to. “… whatever you’re doing.”
His brows snap together. “The new software is just installing,” he murmurs, shifting slightly. He clears his throat. “It will only be another moment or two.”
I try to ignore my stab of disappointment. Of course he isn’t going to stay long. It’s Saturday night. He probably has plans. A girlfriend at home.
Thinking as much, I glance at the small canvas bag I offered him. “Hope there’s enough in there for two,” I fret, mumbling to myself. “I never thought I’d need extra…”
Just like that morning in the coffee shop, he hears me when someone else wouldn’t. His head snaps up, that dark gaze snaring mine. “Two?”
My cheeks and chest heat under his direct regard. When he doesn’t drop his eyes, I know I have to clarify, “You and your girlfriend.”
Another broad, wry grin. “Ah. No worries on that front, unfortunately.” He looks back at the tea and then smiles wider. “Or, fortunately, in this case. More for me.”
It’s been a long time since anyone was so complimentary about something I made. Another pleased giggle skips up my throat. As I laugh, his focus flies over my lips. A second later, he blinks back at the computer.
“I think this is done,” he announces, removing his thumb drive and snapping the screen shut. “It should work normally. Call me if it doesn’t.”
I open my mouth to attempt to force out a reply—or perhaps an apology, for not calling him the last time when I clearly should have. But he reaches his large, brawny hand out to me. “Give me your cell. I’ll add myself to your contacts. Since you clearly won’t.”
His stern side-eye makes my stomach squirm. When I place my cell on his palm, he gives one of his enigmatic half-smiles and patented solid nods. “Good girl.”
My insides erupt in jitters, butterflies pouring into my abdomen. As he finishes typing, Marco clears his throat and shifts a bit more. “I don’t sleep much. So if you’re ever out late and get stuck, I want you to call me.” His dark eyes snap to mine, blazing with shocking intensity. “Got it?”
“Uh-m,” I wobble, my breath pinching. “O-okay.”
Lord, why does his scolding melt me? I blink, trying to come up with something else to say. “I—I have a tea for insomnia, too, if you want it,” I offer. “It’s lavender and honey.”
His eyes darken. “Lavender?”
“Mmhmm.” I nod, standing to go back to the kitchen. “It’s from the same shop. You’ll probably like it.”
Even with a gorgeous single man the size of an ox as a distraction, our kitchen practically gives me hives.
Drying dishes, the toaster, and Tris’s blender clutter our small strip of counter, making every move precarious.
I try to keep the space as tidy as possible, but it always feels like the whole thing could tumble down at any moment.
Our ‘pantry’ is just a cabinet above the narrow refrigerator. Tris can reach everything easily… but I usually wind up using kitchen tongs and jumping on my tiptoes to get things from the highest shelf.
I huff as I brandish my utensil and stretch as far as I can, only barely missing the purple tin I aimed for. I startle at Marco’s low chuckle rumbling at my back.
He followed me.
Between his height and the impressive width of his shoulders, he practically fills the room. I scoot over, trying to make space for him without tripping on my own feet and falling against the wall of his chest.
“Here,” he says quietly. I get a full hit of his leather-and-manly-man scent as he stretches right over me and collects the lavender tea tin, bringing it to the place between his torso and mine. I expect him to back up, but his massive frame hovers close while he gazes into my face.
A quiver trickles down my back. His features relax, the tension evaporating from his thick brows. “Alice.” Marco blinks. “Your eyes are so blue.”
Something about his stunned expression strikes me as funny. I laugh lightly, unsure what to say. “Yeah… they, um, always have been?”
My mother tells me that my eyes are my best feature. Or, in her words, “my one saving grace.” Tris often chuckles about them, too. She likes to say that she thought she had the most unique eyes in the world until we met. Then she’ll usually flash a grin and add, “You bitch.”
Of course, Marco says neither. He bends a little closer, laser focused. “They’re beautiful.”
Liquid warmth fills my lungs to the brim, cascading into my middle. A sense of complete calm washes over me, chasing away my nerves. I stop shaking and simply stare back at him, our gazes locked.
For one breathless moment, I have the insane idea that he might kiss me. He looms so close, his focus flitting from my eyes to my mouth and back again before he clears his throat, remembering himself as he straightens.
“Sorry,” he mutters.
Another apology for flirting with me.
Because this is his job. And he’s chosen to accomplish it by leading me on.
Will that ever stop feeling like a stab to the chest?
Marco sways slightly, but his eyes linger on mine. Full of intensity—regret, probably. Pity, maybe.
So I straighten and hand him the tea he retrieved, doing my best not to sound breathless. “I think you’d better go.”