Chapter 39
thirty-nine
I will probably never get used to seeing Marco naked.
I have a sneaking suspicion he’s trying to slowly inure me to his physical perfection, though, since he’s used every opportunity this week to strip his clothes off in my presence.
The first couple of days, he mostly stuck to rolling his sleeves up and kicking off his shoes at every opportunity. Next, the shirts started to disappear. Now, just five days into this temporary kidnapping, he doesn’t seem to own any clothing apart from sweatpants and boxers.
By the time he emerges from his post-workout shower, in nothing but a pair of black joggers, I have settled on his couch with my latest book. Marco’s dark eyes skim over the robe I wear as often as I can, then stray to the teapot and cups I set out on his coffee table.
His expression is as devastating as it is rare. I’ve never seen him smile like this for anyone else—wide and dazzling. Always too quick to be anything but genuine and always with a wry glimmer, like he is as surprised to be smiling at all.
No. So far? This look seems to be reserved for… me.
This time, his grin flashes over his features while he drops his eyes and shakes his head. Almost as if he can’t believe his luck.
Absurd.
Why would having me on his couch, in a robe he paid for, make him feel lucky?
I’m the one who clearly did something good in a past life to end up here.
Every time he smiles like that. Or takes my stress-bitten, paint-stained fingers in his and brings them up for a kiss.
Or skims his lips over the pulse point in my neck.
Or carries me to his bed to make sure I sleep there… I have to do a double-take.
Is this real? Does this strong, handsome, perfect man actually want me?
When he catches me staring—probably with my mouth hanging open in outright disbelief—Marco’s grin grows. His brown eyes warm and soften, the depths as clear and dark as the strongest black tea. They twinkle at me. Hi, sweet girl.
I feel my lips curve into a moony smile. Hi.
He takes the seat beside me, settling as close as he can get without dragging me into his lap. My copy of Her Errant Earl takes up residence in his lap as he props one leg up on the coffee table. A brawny hand curls around my thigh while the other flips to the page marked with his bookmark.
While he starts to read, I start to stare. He’s just so impossibly handsome. His square jaw, black stubble, thick hair, and bronze skin. The tiny twitch of his lips that tells me he feels my eyes tracing his face, but doesn’t plan to call me on it.
After a moment of marveling at him, I notice the deep purple smudges under his eyes.
The slightly deeper frown lines bracketing the stern curves of his mouth.
He hasn’t slept well during the week—I know because he occasionally jerks awake and typically rolls out of bed long before his six a.m. alarm.
My mind races. What’s bothering him so much that he isn’t sleeping? Is it something to do with Ella and Grayson? Or because I’m here?
Maybe he hates it. I bet I’m every bit as burdensome as I feel, and he’s counting the seconds until—
“Hey.”
Warm, brawny fingers wrap around my palm, pulling my thumb from my teeth. He brings my abused hand to his mouth, nuzzling it with his lips. Dark eyes snap with soft intensity as they bore into me.
“Don’t hurt my sweet girl,” he warns, the dangerous rumble vibrating into my side. He cocks an eyebrow, lightening his tone. “She still hasn’t agreed to go out with me yet.”
A giddy thrill bursts under my lungs. I laugh, but the sound is breathless. “I thought you were kidding,” I half-fib. “I mean, why would you want to go out? I’ve been here all week.”
Marco’s thick brows knit together. “Because I’d like to take you on the kind of evening you deserve. And show you off.”
I open my mouth to reply, but there are no words to describe the sheer, illogical panic seizing my insides. Because I’m starting to suspect the one thing I might be more afraid of than this being some sort of ruse… it is real.
“I—” The explanation tangles in my throat. I try to swallow around it, forcing myself past the fear I don’t quite understand. “O-okay.”
Marco reads my expression. His eyes seem troubled, but his mouth eventually flits into a half-smile. “Tomorrow night. Be ready at six.”