Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Marcus
T hings that I’m thankful for but won’t be admitting to anytime soon: my brother setting up Hallie to stay in my guest house and the spectacular phone sex I’d had in said little brother’s spare room two nights ago.
This is somehow what my life has boiled down to over the last week. Hallie.
Not the charity.
Not my business.
Not work in general.
Not even the relationship I’d painstakingly repaired with my brother.
None of it. Just. Her.
Getting Hallie out of my system has somehow turned itself into a full-time job, one I’m apparently totally devoted to and am looking to get a promotion in. Luckily, she seems just as loath as I to admit the attraction between us is still so very lethal, and for that, I’m grateful. I might hate myself for it, but it eases my conscience to know she probably hates herself more.
None of this, however, stops me from leaving work early, my mind too full of other things to focus on what needs to be done. Instead, I find myself at First instead, I walk inside to find her sitting on the floor, overalls on and feet bare, surrounded by a multitude of notebooks.
“Thinking of starting a fire?” I ask from the edge of the room, not wanting to scare her.
The candle in the center of the coffee table is large enough to have three wicks. The whole space smells like something sweet I want to eat.
She doesn’t startle at my voice, doesn’t even look up from the open pages in her lap. “Only if you’re inside with the doors locked.”
Shaking my head, I make my way toward her. “How are you so morbid?”
She pops her chin up, finally looking at me. “I don’t know. One too many serial killer podcasts?”
I crouch beside her, gently pulling on a lock of her hair, and she snaps her notebook shut. “Something you don’t want me to see?”
“Something I wish I didn’t have to see,” she says with a small laugh.
I extend her the coffee, and her brows rise.
“For me?” she asks, her shock palpable.
“Erica requested I bring it by. She mentioned she hadn’t seen you at all today.”
“I’ve been a little busy,” she says, motioning to the mess surrounding us.
I lift one of the notebooks, one that looks more academic and less like a teenage journal.
Hallie doesn’t tense or move to take it away, so I flick open a page to find her neat writing and studious highlighting. I can easily remember the girl who’d worked so hard at school, hair always tucked behind her ears, studying for hours in the library with my brother.
I flip open to the back of the notebook, and she finally tenses beside me.
This is where the good stuff always is. Snippets of lyrics, doodles of houses, and roughly drawn cubes cover the page, but my eyes don’t miss the H.S. inscribed in a small black love heart in the bottom right-hand corner of the page.
Apparently, she doesn’t miss it either and quickly snatches the book from my hands.
“That’s enough of that,” she says, standing up, very much indicating I should do the same.
I’m more tempted than I should be to peruse the personal-looking notebooks. They make up the majority of the multicolored mess on the floor, all of them looking well-worn. Egotistical as I am, I can’t help but wonder how many times my name features in each one.
The guest house is full—fuller than I’ve seen it before—and while there’s a mess of books on the floor, it’s interesting to see how she’s transformed this bare-bones space into something of her very own. Her leather jacket hangs on the coat hooks by the door, a cute tweed cap I’ve yet to see her wear next to it.
“How’s sorting through the past?” I motion around us.
“Less uncomfortable each time I look through it,” she says, moving to the small living room and taking a seat with her coffee.
Part of me is surprised at the ease of this interaction, considering the last time we spoke.
Speaking of which.
“That reminds me,” I say. “What you told me the other night on the phone, you didn’t happen to confess to that in any of those diaries over there, did you?”
Her cheeks flame, and she curls her feet up beneath her on the soft linen of the cream-colored couch. “No, actually. Believe it or not, I’d planned to take that particular secret to the grave.”
“And now I know,” I say, smug with the knowledge of this once closely kept secret.
“And now you know.” Her tone is slightly weighted, with an importance I can’t quite put my finger on.
“When do you plan on moving the rest of the boxes?” I ask.
“I’m going to do a little every day. Saves getting a different rental.”
I continue to stand, not quite knowing what to do with myself. I’ve dropped off her coffee, I’ve made fun of our past, and now…I should go.
Except. I don’t want to.
It’s still not enough. Even though it should be. I still haven’t given Johnathan Cairns an answer about his money yet. And I’ve yet to come up with a solution for what I’ll do to fund my charity without it.
I run a hand through my hair, frustrated at myself, and the small smirk that touches her lips doesn’t slip my notice.
I want to touch her. I need to ask to touch her. I must be the one to bite her smirking bottom lip. But the thought of asking without the heat and animosity of our normal banter is suddenly a roadblock in my brain. Complete and utter static where there once were words.
“Is there something else?” Hallie asks with wide eyes and false curiosity.
She knows exactly what I’m here for, and the fact I hadn’t planned this moment ahead makes me wish for a less pathetic do-over.
If I can’t use my words, the least I can do is use my body. And so I move in toward her, slow and steady. I keep my eyes on hers, letting them dip only briefly to take in the delicate curve of her lips.
When I’m finally in front of her, she looks up at me for mere moments before I drop down to my knees, bringing us face-to-face. Having Hallie gaze up at me might be hot as hell, but the fire in her eyes as I drop down before her is what I’m aiming to keep ablaze.
I brace my hands on either side of her hips, my palms pressing firmly into the cushion beneath. Getting in close, I rumble in her ear, “Tell me you’ve not been looking for a little extra release since Saturday night?”
Hallie sits back on the couch, a small smile touching the corners of her lips, her eyes still alight on mine. “Are you honestly here to ask for a nooner?”
I sit back on my haunches, recoiling in horror. “Not if you call it that.”
“What would you call it, then?”
“I’d call it sealing the deal.”
“Sealing the deal? How very high school of you,” she replies drily.
“There isn’t a single thing that’s high school about this, Hallie. Personally, while I enjoyed hearing you moan over the phone, it’s not the type of sex I’d had in mind.”
I know I’m being blunt, but I cannot find it within myself to care.
“You just expect I’m willing and ready because you feel like it?” she asks, as if I’d assumed she’d make this easy for either of us.
“No, but for someone who sounded as wet as you did during our last call, I’d like to think you might give me the chance to coax you to the point of being willing and ready.”
A delicate pink stain flushes her cheeks.
Hallie is mulling, no longer in the tipsy mindset of the weekend past.
I can only imagine she’s reassessing this agreement and the rules we made. Considering the last time we slept together—the only time we’d slept together—and the fallout that occurred not all that long after, I don’t think I blame her.
But I also don’t care.
I pull the cocktail napkin out of my pocket—I’ve been carrying it around like a fool—and wave it like a white flag.
She smiles, shaking her head as she snatches the small, folded square from me. “You’re a terrible influence…but okay.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, some remnant of gentlemanly behavior inside me compelling me to double-check.
Hallie’s eyes light up as she replies, “I should say no, but I’m up for a compare-and-contrast experiment from the last time we did this. Let’s see if you can manage to get me off with a part of your anatomy that’s not your fingers or mouth.”
My face warms, and I wonder if the flush that’s stained her cheeks is now present on mine. “That’s a challenge if I’ve ever heard one.”
“Are you sure you’re up for it?” she teases, and it’s all the incentive I need to bring my mouth to hers, finally closing the space between us.
Her tongue meets mine, warm and unafraid. She nips at my lower lip, and, unwilling to be outdone, I gently bite down on the fullness of hers. Each and every one of her actions is a tease, and I can’t help but want to be closer, to consume her further.
It takes no time at all to unclip the buckles on her overalls, the fabric covering her chest falling away with ease. I’m a layer closer to skin but take my time shaping my hands over the curves of her body as I move slowly down the cotton of her T-shirt.
Our kiss continues as I splay my hands over the warm skin of her stomach, my fingertips curving around the softness of her hips, before stroking up toward her breasts. I brush my thumbs over her pointed nipples just once before I sit back, disentangling myself from her. It physically pains me to do it, but somehow I manage, moving to stand myself.
“Take your clothes off.” The words are a gruff demand, and although she raises her brows, for once in her life, she doesn’t question me.
I know my eyes are hot on her, unblinking and utterly focused as she stands, then gives her overalls a delicate push down so they spill around her feet. She steps out of them and kicks them to the side.
“If you think I’m getting naked in the middle of the day, with you standing here fully dressed, you’re kidding yourself.”
I grin. “Here I was hoping that might be something you’re into.”
“Get naked or get out, Marcus.”
“Brave words from a woman who’s not wearing pants.”
Her cocked brows are answer enough.
I lift my T-shirt from its hem, pulling it straight up and over my head before toeing off my shoes and socks.
Hallie lifts her peach T-shirt off the same way, baring her fabulous body to my greedy eyes. Her bra is some insubstantial fabric, which, with a magical flick behind her back and a shimmy of her shoulders, drops to the ground. My eyes don’t know where to look first, so they look everywhere all at once, from her dusky-colored nipples to the small tattoo between her breasts.
My hands are on my belt buckle when her brain seems to kick in. “Do you have a condom? Generally speaking, I like to make good decisions.”
“And I’m a bad one?” I ask, not nearly offended.
I pull a foil packet from the wallet in my back pocket.
“Obviously, but if it feels good enough, I’ll be happy to participate more than once,” she replies with a sweet voice and wicked eyes.