Chapter 6 Marcus
MARCUS
We arrive back at the hotel after an afternoon of silence.
A sharp contrast to what I’d hoped was Esmerelda finally warming up.
It’s all or nothing with her, and I can’t say which I prefer.
Neither of us utter a word. It’s like we’ve mastered the art of pretending the other doesn’t exist. Esmerelda sees a cat in the bushes, and without a word to me—and about a thousand crooning words to the cat—she makes a beeline for it.
The second I’m inside the suite, I make my way to the desk and sink into the wingback chair that is more stylish than it is comfortable. I need to check in on business. See the numbers, reports, updates. Anything to feel like I have a grip on something.
I open the laptop and stare at my reflection on the black screen before booting up.
I look as perfectly put together as I always do, but on the inside, my thoughts are a tangled web of frustration and confusion.
Tasting blood, I suck in a breath and yank my thumb away from my mouth.
Disgusted with myself, I shove both hands in my pockets.
I hadn’t even known I was chewing the skin around my thumbnail.
And it pisses me off. Habits like that are a sign of weakness.
And in my world, weakness is a death sentence.
Especially now, when the council is watching our every move.
When the screen clicks on, I hesitate. If I get caught working on our honeymoon, and some council snake slithers back with a report, it won’t look good.
From the corner of my eye, I see Esmerelda kick off her sandals and slip through the glass door, humming under her breath. She probably fed every stray cat on the island.
Again.
On her way past me, she stops and taps her manicured nail on the desk. “I’m going to shower; do you want to take a piss before I use the bathroom?”
I flinch. Gods, she’s as abrasive as barbed wire against lace. If I wasn’t already repulsed by nearly everything about her, that alone would do the trick.
“No, thank you.” My tone comes out clipped.
She shrugs and walks off without a care in the world. Screw it. Let them report me. If the council had to share a room with her, they’d understand. Hell, they’d probably feel bad for me.
Time blurs as I work my way through my emails. I technically don’t need to do a thing since Leonard is taking care of things back home, but despite how much I trust him, my skin feels way too tight at the thought of not being in control.
I’m so lost in work, I don’t even notice when she returns until her voice slices through my concentration. “Did you move my brush from the bathroom?”
I look up, straightening slowly as I turn my aching neck from side to side. My lower back protests against the movement. This workstation is obviously only here for show. I turn toward the door, the tension in my body ratcheting up when my eyes land on Esmerelda.
Goddess help me.
She stands there in a thin white towel that barely clings to her.
Water glistens on her skin, catching the light like a thousand tiny diamonds.
Her hair drips down her shoulders, dark and wild.
And her skin… Gods, her skin looks soft enough to ruin me.
My mouth dries, and I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek. It won’t do if my jaw drops.
I will not lose focus just because she’s showing some skin. She’s dangerous. She’s the enemy.
But my body doesn’t give a damn.
I’m yanked back to the beach. Reading was near impossible, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her strong body cutting through the water.
When the wave caught her by surprise and all but spat her out of the ocean, I was mesmerized as she stumbled out of the waves like a siren, her long hair clinging to her, her laugh like music as it traveled across the beach to me.
I found it admirable that she could laugh at herself—something that surprised me, as she always seemed so serious.
But my admiration was short-lived as the realization that I was attracted to a murderer hit me like cold water on a frigid night.
And much like now, I was caught staring at her.
I hope she doesn’t realize I’m getting hard.
“Well?” she demands. “Did you move my brush?”
I give myself an inward shake and slam my laptop shut.
“I did not.” My tone slices through the air, and I’m sure I’m glaring at her like I did this afternoon.
She glares back, eyes narrowing. Then she scoffs, turns, and disappears, slamming the bedroom door so hard it reverberates through the suite. I scrub a hand over my face and lean over, resting my arms on my knees. I need to get it together. I’m tired. Sun-drunk. Yeah, that’s probably it.
It’s like…emotional beer goggles.
Yes. That’s all it is.
My gaze slides to the pull-out couch. Too short.
Too narrow. It would probably be more comfortable sleeping on a concrete slab.
I think of Esmerelda sleeping comfortably in the giant bed.
Does she sleep naked, or does she wear cute bunny pajamas to bed?
The thought makes me huff out a laugh. Esmerelda wearing anything cutesy?
At the same time, all the blood rushes back to my cock.
Fuck!
I adjust myself roughly, squeezing until the ache reminds me who’s in control. I will not get off to Esmerelda. I’d rather cut my dick off and gift wrap it for the council. My wolf growls in disagreement but I ignore him. I’m in control, not him.
I yank open the pull-out and force myself into the makeshift bed. The lamp clicks off, but sleep eludes me. I lie there, tossing and turning, the image of Esmerelda in nothing but the towel playing over and over like a fucking movie.
Damn her. And damn these thoughts.
Eventually I turn on my side and check under the pillow. My fingers brush cool metal. The aerosol can of wolfsbane is still there. Good.
Esmerelda doesn’t know I’m immune to it. She never will.
It says something that I have to arm myself just to sleep in the vicinity of my wife. But I saw what she did to my employees. If she tries something, she won’t catch me by surprise.
Satisfied, for now, I settle back. But peace doesn’t last long. My mind won’t let me forget the way she looked. The way she laughed.
I curse my body for responding.
Again.
It feels like I’ve just fallen asleep when a loud banging permeates through my restless dreams. The sun blinds me even through my closed eyelids. I groan as I roll over and nearly fall right off the pull-out bed.
“Good morning.” Esmerelda’s voice is uncharacteristically bubbly as she opens the door and greets whoever is on the other side. It’s more surprising than her being up and at ’em when the sun’s barely up.
“Morning, ma’am,” a polite voice says. “Room service.”
“Thank goodness, I’m starving. You can put everything on the table. Oh, and my husband will tip you. He’s a much more generous tipper than I am. Never gives anyone less than a fifty.”
Squinting at the dull light peeking through the blinds, I grit my teeth and glance at my watch.
It’s barely six o’clock, and she’s already starting her shit.
This woman is going to be the death of me—and my finances, if she keeps this up.
My family has money, and I’ve made a fair share of my own since starting my business, but at every opportunity, she comes up with a reason for me to shell out cash.
I scramble up and grab my wallet to give the bellboy his exorbitant tip while Esmerelda wastes no time whatsoever piling up her plate with eggs and pancakes. The bellboy leaves, taking his large cart with him with a promise of returning to clean up later.
I’m sure you will, buddy. Especially for that kind of tip.
I clear the grogginess from my voice and pick up one of the mugs to pour coffee into it. She hasn’t said a word to me. “You’re up early. Having trouble sleeping?”
“I slept very well. I just want to go on a wolf run this morning. Care to join me?”
I shake my head. “I prefer to run on my own, thank you. But you enjoy it.”
She takes a bite of a croissant before pointing it at me. “Uh-uh, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander. I went to the museum for you; it’s time to do what I want.”
“I still have sand in places I shouldn’t have sand that says we did what you wanted yesterday on the beach.”
She looks like the grape she just popped in her mouth has just turned sour. “They really weren’t exaggerating about you, were they?”
I grab a slice of bacon. “Who are they and what did they have to say?”
She shakes her head. “Never mind.”
I want to press her for more information, but what I’ve learned in a very short time about Esmerelda is that if she doesn’t want to do something, pressing her will only make that stubborn streak I witnessed within five minutes of being in her company raise its ugly head.
“So, you gonna run with me? Or are you scared?”
I roll my eyes. I don’t care what she thinks, but now I think I could do with releasing a little tension. “Fine. I’ll run with you.”
“Well, then, pretty boy. You better eat up. You’re going to need all the fuel you can get to keep up with me.”
“We’ll see.” One thing Esmerelda would do well to keep in mind is that there are two situations where I will never let her get the jump on me: one is on a run, and the other is in a scenario we definitely wouldn’t be exploring.
It takes us another hour to get to the beach after breakfast. Esmerelda may get up early for her runs, but it takes her ages to leave.
We start off in human form until we get a couple of miles down the beach.
“Ready to race?’ I ask.
“Why?”
“Because, my wife, I need to see you put your money where your mouth is.”
She raises her chin. “Fine.”
Nodding, I start jogging in place, loosening up as I roll my neck from side to side, the satisfying sound of the crack competing with the sound of seagulls.
She mimics me. “All right. On your mark. Get set...”