20. Lauren
20
Lauren
He’s trapped.
The ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of my lips as Marcus’ cursing fills the car. I shouldn’t be happy about this, but I can’t help the flood of satisfaction that fills me. I also can’t help muttering a thanks to nature for doing something in my favor. Call me selfish, but I’m thankful for that fallen tree. I won’t be sleeping alone tonight.
“This can’t be fucking happening,” Marcus, still looking through his rearview mirror at the massive tree that came crashing down moments ago, blocking the road. “I thought they took care of this!”
“Who’s they?” I enquire.
“The environmental agency,” he replies, moving off the road. “Dad reported that rotting tree when he was here a couple weeks ago. It was a fucking safety hazard! How the hell couldn’t they see that? Imagine if we were behind by a minute or less—we would be crushed in a heartbeat.”
The smile vanishes. Shit. I didn’t even think about that. Now I understand why he’s so upset.
“This is bad,” he mutters.
“Yeah,” I agree. “Thank God we made it out alive, though.”
“Thank God for that, but it’s not going to help me with getting home,” he replies glumly.
“Jesus. There’s a goddamn storm outside and a tree blocking the road and all you can think of is going home. Am I that repulsive?”
“What?” His head quickly twists as he stares at me, bewildered. “How the hell did you come to that conclusion?”
“Never mind.” I wave him off as we pull up to the gates of the cabin. As Marcus presses the clicker to open them, a dark figure appears at the entrance of the guardhouse. Marcus rolls the window down, and the guard introduces himself, assuring us that the entire property is tightly secured. With a honk of his horn, Marcus steers the SUV down the driveway and parks in front of the patio.
It’s a stunning, two-story dwelling with a lumber-and-glass mix that gives off rustic luxury. He bought this place two years ago, but I’ve never visited because I’ve never been a fan of seclusion. I assumed this was one of his many fuck-pads. I’d always felt queasy about coming to a spot he’d bought solely for hooking up. Now, I have no choice.
He opens my door, and I mutter a thanks before easing past him. Making my way to the door, I stand there with my arms folded across my chest, waiting as he gets my bags and punches a code in the door, the tension thick as hardough bread.
Getting inside, my eyes sweep the open, high-ceilinged space. The décor is quite stunning, though I’m not surprised. Marcus has always had good taste and since getting Rosemead Developments up and running, his taste has become quite expensive. I move down the steps into the main area, taking in the blend of luxury and rustic on display in here .
“Got those leather couches for a steal,” he says behind me, and I scoff in my head. It might be a steal in Marcus’ book, but I’d bet my last dollar it’s still high-priced.
“See that chandelier?” He point to the crystal accent sitting over the wooden table. “It’s almost two hundred years old.”
Thus, crazy expensive . “That’s nice,” I mumble, whipping around to face him. “Can you show me to my room?”
His eager expression simmers, and he nods then moves ahead. “Follow me.”
I stare at his broad back as he leads the way, past a huge fireplace and up a set of curved wooden stairs. There are two hallways leading from the landing, and he goes down the right, finally stopping in front of the last door.
“This is it,” he says. He makes no move to open it, just steps aside. “I’m going to call Gabriel and let him know what happened, then I’ll have Dad arrange for them to record our statements. I’ll take your bags up later.”
I nod briefly. He’s already halfway down the hall before I even turn the knob. I enter the spacious bedroom, kick my shoes off, and jump right into the king-sized bed, sighing loudly. Too much has happened today, and my brain can’t process it all.
A sudden push on my shoulder makes me fly up with a gasp, my arm swinging. He pulls back and raises both hands. “Lauren, it’s me.”
“Marcus?” I squint at him, wondering why he looks so blurry. I rub my eyes. They feel so tired.
“Yes. Marcus.” My vision clears, and I see his soft smile. “You fell asleep.”
“Oh. For how long?”
He shrugs. “An hour, maybe. I’m not sure.” His head leans toward the door. “The police chief is waiting for us. ”
“Jesus.” Reality gives me a solid face-slap, and I groan. It’s not a nice feeling to remember there are criminals after me. I shimmy out of the bed with another groan, and Marcus looks at me with sympathy.
“It’s going to be over soon,” he assures me. “I promise, I’ll be there every step of the way.”
His comment triggers a smile. “I appreciate that.”
Within twenty minutes of giving my statement, I start feeling hope. Not only do they have the shooter under police guard in the hospital, the cops are confident they’ll get the mastermind through him. Fingers crossed it won’t take long, because I’m ready to go back to my normal life when all I had to worry about were the assholes at my office and the growing crush on my brother’s best friend.
“Hey.”
I twist on the couch. He’s standing in the space between the dining area and kitchen, his expression wary. “I saw some groceries Dad left while he was here a bit ago. Do you want me to fix anything?”
“What are my options?” I ask, rising.
He goes back into the kitchen, and I follow him. “There’s some beef, chicken, some veggies that haven’t yet gone bad…”
I move closer as he peers into the fridge, one hand resting on the door.
“Oh, there’s yoghurt. Your favorite brand, too—”
Marcus suddenly straightens and turns, giving me no time to move. His body bumps mine and sends me stumbling back, almost losing my balance.
Almost.
He grabs my arm, breaking my fall. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he says.
“No, that was on me,” I reply. “I shouldn’t have been standing so close.”
“I guess we both share the blame, then, huh?” He smiles.
I smile back. He’s not letting go of my arm.
I don’t want him to let go of my arm .
My chin rises as our eyes meet. Staring right into those hazel orbs, I see everything Marcus is feeling right now, everything he’s been trying desperately to hide.
Desire. For me.
I’m not like a little sister to him after all.
No.
I’m the woman he’s desperately trying not to fuck.