Chapter 13
Marcus tossed a few bills on the table without checking the amount.
The money didn’t matter. The only thing that held his attention was the woman across from him.
Infuriating. Magnetic. More dangerous to him than she could possibly know.
Walking away tonight would be the smarter choice, but smart had stopped factoring into this hours ago.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, his voice low.
Her gaze caught his, steady. “And do what?”
Heat slid through him at the challenge in that single word. He leaned in just slightly, letting her see he’d heard every layered meaning in it. “Nothing we should.”
They stepped out into the night together, the cool air powerless against the slow, electric burn sparking between them.
She moved with that easy, unhurried grace that made it feel like the sidewalk belonged to her.
He kept pace without falling behind, refusing to be the man who trailed after Frankie Peterson.
Wanting her wasn’t just reckless. It was betrayal wrapped in temptation.
She wasn’t just any complication. She was the woman who’d torched Lola’s debut during Fashion Week, killing the biggest break of her career before it took its first breath.
He hadn’t stayed to see her reaction, but he could picture it.
That same stunned, tight-lipped look she’d worn when her prom date bailed and Marcus, at her brother’s request, dropped everything to take her himself.
That was the bro code: you looked out for each other’s family.
And yet here he was, walking beside the culprit. Letting her tip a smile his way. Letting himself imagine what it might feel like to kiss her.
What did that say about him? That loyalty wasn’t as deep in his DNA as he thought? Or that she was the kind of temptation that didn’t knock, rather barreled right in without an invitation? DNA be damned.
He opened the Jeep door for her, holding it long enough to catch the whisper of her perfume. A luxury scent that belonged on a red carpet, not in a small-town parking lot.
He slid into the driver’s seat. His hands closed around the wheel as he forced himself to remember who he was supposed to be. Not the man who forgot his reasons. Not the man who lowered his guard because a woman with dangerous edges and soft skin looked at him like he mattered.
“Thanks,” he said, his voice rough. “For trusting me with your secret.”
“You didn’t run screaming,” she replied. “That’s something.”
He meant to leave it at that. He should have. Instead, he turned toward her. “Tonight was fun.”
Her eyes held his. “How fun?”
“Too fun.” He reached for her before he could talk himself out of it, fingertips brushing the curve of her jaw. She didn’t move away.
“Shut up and kiss me,” she murmured.
Then she was against him, fast and hungry, the kiss stripping away every inch of caution he’d built. She made a low sound that landed square in his chest, hollowing out his resolve.
He broke away just enough to rest his forehead against hers, breath unsteady. “This is a bad idea,” he said. “You’re vulnerable. I—”
“I am never vulnerable.” Her lips brushed his, featherlight.
“I shouldn’t—”
“I give you permission,” she whispered.
“To do what?”
“To be my knight in shining foreplay armor.”
His mouth twitched. She thought she was making a joke, dangling a dare he was more than capable of meeting. She had no idea that when she learned his most important secret, the one that would matter most to her, she wouldn’t see a knight at all.
His eyes closed. God help him, he needed this. Not forgiveness. Not understanding. Permission. A single moment where he didn’t have to be the clean-up crew, the man who kept order while everyone else made chaos.
Just a man. Wanting a woman. Wanting her.
He kissed her again, slower now, deeper, letting it sink into her bones that she’d just made a promise her body would have to keep.
He pulled back just enough to speak, the warning rumbling up from somewhere low. “Careful, Frankie. I don’t do half-measures.”
Her breath caught, but her chin tipped in defiance. “Prove it.”
“Oh, I will. And when I’m done, you won’t just change your mind about foreplay. You’ll beg for it.” He released her and shifted into gear with deliberate precision. “Buckle up.”
The tires bit into the pavement as they tore from the curb, each mile toward Gi Gi’s Manor burning the last of his restraint.
Marcus pushed open the manor’s front door. The hinges groaned in protest. His keys skidded off the side table and clattered to the floor, but he didn’t flinch. Couldn’t. Not with Frankie slipping in behind him and brushing past, stealing the lead like she always did, like it was in her blood.
She turned halfway toward him, cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes burning with something wild and unrestrained.
Jesus. She looked like a fever dream he’d had once and never recovered from.
He caught her hands before she could fire off something snarky or seductive or both. Held them like a man bracing for an aftershock.
“Now’s the time to say no.” The words felt foreign in his mouth.
She startled as if he’d just confessed to being a virgin in an adult film. “You sound like an anxious schoolboy having second thoughts about going down for the first time.”
“Or just a guy trying to be a gentleman.”
Her expression shifted from teasing to outright horror. “You’re seriously trying to seduce me with the word gentleman?”
His cock twitched, not from arousal, but in self-judgment.
Smooth move, Mr. Got No Game. Why not hand her a business contract while you’re at it, you absolute dumbass.
“I mean,” she went on, eyes narrowing, “that’s not a sexy flex, Marcus. That’s trauma dressed up in pressed slacks.”
“Since when is being a gentleman not sexy?” The words had been to make sure she still had a choice. For his sanity. For the last thread of control he’d clung to all damn evening.
She crossed her arms. “Look, no offense, but the last guy who called himself a gentleman showed up with a playlist that might as well have been titled Emotional Safety Blanket. He prefaced foreplay with a breathing exercise and asked if I needed a lumbar pillow.”
“I take it you said no.”
She jabbed a finger toward him. “A pillow, Marcus. For my back. During sex. I’ve had TSA pat-downs that were less cautious.”
He tried not to laugh. Failed. God. He hated to throw shade at another man’s moves, but ouch.
Her hand flattened against his chest. “Another self-proclaimed member of the gentlemen club brought up my sexual needs before he even asked me on a date. I thought he was going to hand me a contract. Sex-nup first, invite second.”
“There’s a club? Damn. I missed that memo.”
“If you’re serious about this whole gentleman-who’s-good-at-foreplay routine, I’m going to need more than talk…or at least promise not to dim the lights and ask if I feel seen.”
The silence stretched, thick and charged.
He stepped into her space. Her eyes flicked up, wary, like she thought he might kiss her forehead and retreat.
“I’m not that kind of gentleman. I won’t light a candle. I won’t cue up jazz. And I definitely won’t ask if you feel seen before I kiss your inner thigh.”
Her breath hitched.
“I won’t ask,” he murmured, “because your body will tell me everything I need to know.”
She tilted her head, a wicked little smile curling the corner of her mouth. “I’ve heard this kind of bravado before. Results were…underwhelming.”
He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “I promise to be better. Unless you’re afraid to test the waters.”
She matched his lean, her words spilling warm against his skin. “I adore tests. The harder, the better.”
His pulse jumped. The tone was pure challenge, sweetened with heat.
“This test comes with a warning.”
“I’m listening.”
“Studies show I will ruin you for every future man who tries to warm you up. Gentleman or otherwise.”
“I love a cocky bastard,” she murmured. “Especially one who can back it up with studies.”
He closed the space between them, moving with the kind of patience that damn near strangled his self-control. “By the time I’m done with foreplay, you’ll be calling me Daddy…and begging me to spank you.”
Her pupils widened, dark and bottomless, her jaw set like she was holding herself together by sheer will. “Better make good on it.” The grit in her voice scraped over his control like sandpaper.
“Oh, I will.” He slid his hands to her waist, yanking her flush against him.
Regret could wait its turn. Tonight belonged to rawness, risk, and every reckless choice he’d traded away for anonymity.