Chapter 2 #2
Marcus chuckled, a mischievous glint lighting his impossibly blue eyes. “Go? And deprive you of what’s about to be the highlight of your day? Never.” With a snap of his fingers, a linen-covered table materialized between them, complete with flickering candles and polished silverware.
Then, there it was: the pièce de résistance.
A steaming dish of lasagna sat at the center, its golden, bubbling cheese glistening under the soft candlelight.
The layers of pasta, rich tomato sauce, and a hint of pesto filled the air with a heavenly aroma.
Sorcia’s knees wobbled at the sight—and then her gaze landed on the basket of perfectly toasted garlic bread.
“Damn you,” she muttered under her breath.
“Come now, I’m just here to provide for your basic needs,” he said, all mock innocence. Another snap of his fingers, and two plush, velvet chairs appeared, their deep red upholstery complementing the romantic glow of the candles.
“I hate you,” Sorcia grumbled, sinking into the chair despite herself, her body betraying her hunger.
“No, you hate how much you love lasagna,” Marcus corrected, taking the seat opposite her.
He leaned forward, expertly slicing into the lasagna with the silver spatula.
The cheese clung stubbornly, and he spun the spatula several times before it broke free with a satisfying pull.
“And carbs. You’ve always been a sucker for carbs. Admit it.”
Sorcia rolled her eyes, taking the plate he handed her. “Carbs are the beautiful but I don’t always have time to work out. Unlike someone who probably thinks smashing into people on a rugby field is a good substitute for therapy.”
Marcus smirked as he served himself a massive portion of lasagna. “Careful, sweetheart. Those games are why I can still handle anything—or anyone—that comes my way. Including you.”
She snorted, grabbing another piece of garlic bread. “Handle me? The only thing you’ve ever managed to handle is a ball, and even then, I’m sure you dropped it half the time.”
He leaned back with a confident grin, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You keep telling yourself that, Sorcia. But deep down, we both know you’ve always appreciated my moves—on and off the field.”
Sorcia didn’t react, reaching for the garlic bread. “Please. The only thing I’ve ever appreciated about you is when you stop talking.”
She took a deliberate bite of the bread, the satisfying crunch and the buttery, garlicky flavor momentarily dulling her irritation. She closed her eyes, letting out a quiet sigh of pleasure.
When she opened her eyes again, it was to see Marcus smirking at her. “Resistible,” she said finally, her voice muffled by another bite and she looked down at her plate. “Very resistible.”
Marcus leaned forward, his smirk deepening. “Resistible, huh? Is that what you told yourself the night you dragged me into your coven’s sacred garden and kissed me like your life depended on it?”
Sorcia’s eyes snapped back up, locking onto his with a flash of indignation.
Her glare was sharp, but the faint blush creeping up her cheeks betrayed her.
For a moment, her lips parted as if to argue further, but the memory slipped in unbidden—his hands gripping her waist, his breath hot against her neck, the heady rush of desire that had consumed them both.
Her glare wavered, her eyes softening as the past tugged at the corners of her mind.
A flicker of something unreadable passed over her face—nostalgia, longing, maybe even regret.
But just as quickly, her expression hardened.
Her jaw set, and her mouth pressed into a firm line, her chin tilting up defiantly as if to shield herself from the vulnerability that threatened to surface.
“I did not drag you,” she said firmly, her voice sharp with deflection. “You followed me like a lost puppy.”
“A lost puppy?” Marcus laughed, his voice rich and teasing. “Sweetheart, I let you think you were leading. But let’s not forget who pinned who against that ancient oak tree.”
Sorcia scoffed, but the memory hit her like a tidal wave. His hands, rough yet careful, sliding along her waist, his lips capturing hers with a ferocity that stole her breath. She shoved the thought aside, stabbing her fork into the lasagna with more force than necessary. “You’re delusional.”
He leaned back, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Delusional? That’s funny, considering how often you whispered my name that night.”
Sorcia’s jaw tightened, though her pulse betrayed her, quickening at his words. “I seem to recall you were the one begging,” she shot back, her voice sharper than she intended.
Marcus laughed, low and full of confidence. “I wasn’t asking. I was giving orders with charm. You just didn’t realize it at the time because you were too into the moment.”
She groaned, tossing her fork onto her plate and crossing her arms. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, here we are,” he said, gesturing to the candlelit table between them. “Sharing lasagna, garlic bread, and our charming history. Admit it, Sorcia, you’ve missed me.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’ve missed carbs. Don’t flatter yourself.”
Marcus chuckled, his voice dropping an octave, his tone softer but no less teasing. “Carbs didn’t make you shiver under the stars. Carbs didn’t make you laugh until you cried. And carbs definitely didn’t make you—”
“Don’t,” Sorcia cut him off, her voice trembling just slightly.
The air between them shifted, the teasing giving way to something heavier, more charged. For a moment, neither spoke, the silence filled only with the crackle of the candlelight and the faint clink of silverware.
“I’ll stop. For the moment,” Marcus said finally, his voice softening, the teasing edge giving way to something more sincere.
His sharp blue eyes lingered on hers, catching the flicker of vulnerability she tried so hard to hide.
The sight of it tugged at something deep inside him, stirring that unyielding need to protect her. “But you can’t deny it. Not entirely.”
Sorcia looked away, focusing on her plate, her heart pounding in her chest. Damn him for being right. Damn him for knowing her so well.
“Just eat your lasagna,” she muttered, though her voice lacked the bite she’d intended.
Marcus didn’t grin this time. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady and earnest. “I’ll eat,” he said, his tone gentler now, no longer baiting her. “But let’s get one thing straight—I don’t like seeing you this way. Wounded. Worried. Whatever it is, Sorcia, I’ll fix it.”
Her fork paused mid-air, her lips pressing together as she struggled to maintain her composure. He always did this—slipped past her walls with those maddeningly tender moments that left her feeling both comforted and furious.
“I missed carbs,” she said at last, the words a deflection as she reached for her wine. She swirled the deep red liquid in the glass, letting its earthy aroma fill her senses. “Not you.”
Marcus allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch upward, but his usual smirk was absent. “Of course. The carbs,” he murmured, his voice warm with amusement but his eyes watching her closely, studying every nuance of her expression.
She took a slow sip of the wine, savoring the way it lingered on her tongue. “And you’ve always been good at picking wines. I’ll give you that.”
He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tracing the rim of his own glass. “See? Progress.” His tone was light, but his gaze remained steady, protective. “Now, if you can admit I’ve been right about at least one other thing in my life, we might actually get somewhere.”
Sorcia set her glass down with more force than necessary, her eyes narrowing as she met his gaze head-on. “The only thing you’ve ever been right about is leaving. Feel free to try that one again.”
The words hit like a slap, but Marcus didn’t flinch. Instead, he held her gaze, the strength of his presence wrapping around her like a silent vow. “I’m not leaving,” he said quietly, his voice firm but free of arrogance. “Not this time.”
For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them taut with unspoken tension. Sorcia looked away first, picking up her fork with a huff. “Just eat your lasagna, Marcus.”
But this time, her voice wasn’t nearly as convincing.
He barked a laugh, grabbing two slices of garlic bread. “Harsh. But you’re going to want me to stay when you hear what I have to say.”
“Unlikely,” Sorcia retorted, closing her eyes as she took a bite of lasagna. The tangy tomato sauce and creamy cheese melted on her tongue, momentarily silencing her irritation. “Oh, damn. This is good. I know you didn’t make it, but whoever did deserves a statue in their honor.”
Marcus grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that infuriatingly charming way she’d always hated to love. “I’ll let my chef know. Maybe you can send them some of your famous cinnamon rolls in return—if you haven’t eaten the entire batch before they’ve even cooled.”
Her glare was immediate, sharp enough to cut through the warm glow of the candlelight. “Mock the cinnamon rolls one more time, and I’ll hex you so hard you’ll be tasting kale for a month.”
He raised his hands in mock surrender, the grin widening to reveal the perfect symmetry of his teeth. “No need for threats, sweetheart. I respect your relationship with carbs. Truly, it’s inspiring.”
“And I respect your relationship with your ego,” she shot back, arching an eyebrow. “It’s amazing how you manage to carry it around without spraining something.”
Marcus’s laughter rumbled low in his chest, a deep, rich sound that sent an involuntary shiver through her.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that stole her breath for just a moment.
“Feisty as ever. But you’re avoiding the real topic here. ”
Sorcia’s eyes narrowed slightly, her posture stiffening. “Oh, let me guess,” she said, her voice laced with skepticism as she finally speared another forkful of lasagna. “You’re going to claim I have some big, catastrophic problem, and only you can solve it. Right?”
His smirk softened into something more serious, though the glint of confidence in his eyes never wavered. “Exactly,” he said, his voice lower now, almost intimate. “And this time, I’m actually serious.”
Her lips parted slightly, but she quickly recovered, setting her fork down with a deliberate clink against the plate.
She studied his face, the sharp lines of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble that only made him look more rugged and infuriatingly attractive.
The teasing gleam in his eyes was gone, replaced by something steadier—something that made her heart thud harder in her chest.
The change in his tone and expression caught her off guard. For the first time that evening, she saw not the insufferable, cocky ex she loved to hate, but the man who had once made her feel safe. The man who had kissed her with the kind of passion that made her forget how to breathe.
“Serious?” she echoed, her voice quieter now, her defenses wavering as she searched his face.
His eyes softened just enough to reveal a glimmer of concern beneath the confidence. “Yes, Sorcia. Serious.”
The tension in the room thickened, the teasing banter fading into the background like the last notes of a song. Her gaze flickered to his hands, now resting on the table, steady and unyielding, just like the man himself.
She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. “Then say what you came to say,” she demanded, her tone harsher than she intended, though her heart betrayed her with its uneven rhythm.
Marcus leaned back slightly, his eyes never leaving hers. “I will. But first, I need you to stop pretending everything is fine. Because it’s not. And you know it.”
The weight of his words pressed down on her, making it impossible to look away. Damn him for knowing her so well. Damn him for still being able to read her like an open book.
Her fork paused halfway to her mouth, her gaze snapping to his. Despite her best efforts to remain unaffected, a small knot of unease twisted in her stomach. She hated how effortlessly he could still get under her skin, even when he was at his most infuriating.
“Start talking,” she said, her voice sharper than intended as she reached for another slice of garlic bread, using the motion to mask the tension creeping into her posture.
Marcus leaned back in his chair, his expression softening—not entirely, but enough to send a different kind of shiver down her spine.
His eyes, usually alight with mischief, now held something heavier, more serious.
“You’re in more danger than you realize, Sorcia,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with something almost tender.
“And this time, you can’t handle it alone. ”
The lasagna, no matter how decadent and perfectly crafted, suddenly turned to ash in her mouth. Her appetite vanished, replaced by a chill that spread through her chest like frost.