Chapter 6 Marcus #2
Before she says go, Esmerelda takes off at a sprint.
I should’ve known better than to trust her, but her throaty laugh drifting on the wind makes it all worth it.
I leave her to run ahead. I might think she’s a spoiled brat that I wouldn’t fuck even if paid an exorbitant amount of money, but I’m still a full-blooded male, and seeing her pert ass in front of me is the best view I’ve run to in ages.
“I’m shifting,” she says over her shoulder, already moving as her body blurs into her wolf form. This time, I’m faster. Fool me once.
I shift, magic sliding over my skin like cool water.
Clothes ripple and vanish with me, reappearing whole on the other side of the change.
My wolf growls in relief as my paws hit the ground.
Immediately, I can taste the brine of the water as waves crash against the shore and kick up the spray.
Conversations hum faintly inside beach houses as people get their days going.
I tune it out. My enhanced hearing is one of the things I dislike about my wolf senses.
I don’t like the idea of invading people’s privacy—even if it’s not intentional.
I bullet past Esmerelda, paws kicking up sand in my wake. The frustrated growl hot on my heels makes me laugh. She’s athletic and fast, and since I already know how good she is at sports, I hang back just to mess with her a little.
She shoots ahead, and I swear I see a smile. The gray stripes down the sides of her black fur gleam in the sunlight. Her wolf is smaller than I expected, but the fire in her luminous green eyes shows me size doesn’t matter.
Right, playtime’s over. I surge just ahead of her. She sticks out a paw, clipping my hind leg, and before I know it, I’m tumbling tail over head and kissing the hot sand.
Magic shimmers over her fur, and she’s standing on two legs again, clothes intact, looking infuriatingly perfect while I’m still face-first in the grit.
She doubles over laughing, and the sound hits me right in the chest. My wolf growls low, half embarrassed, half possessive, but there’s nothing for anyone to see.
I scramble up, shake sand out of my fur and shift back, brushing grit off my shorts before turning to face her. Her hair is a wild halo from the wind, eyes bright with victory.
“Quite competitive, aren’t you? You kicked my ass out there,” I say.
“Didn’t I tell you I would?”
“Yeah, but you cheated.”
She shrugs, the motion casual but there’s a flicker of something behind it. Her mouth curves at one corner. Not quite a smile.
“Who do you usually run with?” I ask, keeping my tone light.
Her expression falters for a heartbeat. Just a flicker, but I catch it. Then, her mask snaps back into place. All calm and composed.
“My brothers,” she says.
A sharp, unwelcome pang hits me square in the chest. I get it. Even with everything going on in my own mess of a family, I miss home, too. Maybe it won’t be a bad idea to convince Esmerelda to return home sooner…
I’ll bring it up later.
I study her a beat longer. “Are you close with your family?”
She nods. “I am.” Then, as if brushing it all aside, she adds, “And I’m starving. Let’s go get lunch.”
I’m not surprised by the abrupt change of subject. I’m the last person she wants to talk to about her family.
“Shall we head back to the hotel and order lunch?” I ask.
“Didn’t you want to check out some historical stuff?”
I’m surprised she remembered—or was willing to remind me. “You said you’re starving.”
“Yeah, but we can grab a hot dog on the way.”
This is interesting. I wouldn’t have pegged Esmerelda for the hot-dog-on-the-boardwalk type. With all the designer clothes and shoes she brought with her, I’m surprised she hasn’t insisted on caviar and crackers every day.
“Be careful, Esmerelda. I might start thinking you have a nice side.”
She snarls at me. “Do you want to go to your stupid museums or not?”
I raise my hands in mock surrender and laugh. “Let’s go.”
As we make our way through the hotel lobby after our excursion to the Cathedral Basilica of the Immaculate Conception, the concierge comes rushing out from behind the front desk, hand raised as he approaches us with a friendly smile.
“Mr. and Mrs. Benyamina, my sincerest apologies for missing you yesterday when you checked in.”
Esmerelda bristles at the use of my last name and shoots him a smile that looks a lot like death welcoming someone to the pits of hell. I try not to let my amusement show, but I can’t help fucking with my wife.
I hold out my hand for the concierge to shake and give him a knowing smile. “It’s no problem at all. We didn’t see many people yesterday. You know, newlyweds.”
She whips her head around at my blatant lie and glares at me.
The concierge shoots me a knowing smile. “Ah yes, of course. Well, if you are so inclined to mingle this evening, we have a bonfire tonight down at the resort’s private beach. Do join us.”
Esmerelda shoots me an overly sweet smile. “Honey, do you think you’ll be able to let me out of the bedroom long enough?” She looks at the concierge. “He was a virgin right up until we were married. Isn’t that sweet? Now I can hardly coax him out of the room.”
Well played, wife. Well played.
The concierge shoots me a sympathetic smile and awkwardly starts shuffling his feet, a sure sign he wants to get away from this conversation.
“We’d love to join you at the bonfire later,” I respond, trying not to let on that Esmerelda is getting to me.
After we both go our separate ways in the suite for an hour or so—me to do some work, and Esmerelda to feed every stray cat in the resort again—we meet again to leave for the bonfire.
Esmerelda is wearing an ankle-length red dress with white flowers that flows like silk. Her wild hair is somewhat tamed and frames her face, except on one side where she pulled it back with a floral clip. The outfit is soft and flowing and feminine, and I can barely take my eyes off her.
When we take our seat at the bonfire, we’re handed cocktails in hollowed-out pineapples. Frankly, I’d prefer a whiskey or some water, but when in Rome.
Esmerelda is so lost in thought as she stares into the fire that, for a moment, I’m worried about her. I’ve been going through the motions, and sometimes I forget to stop and think about what she’s had to sacrifice to do this.
For some reason, I’m compelled to make her laugh.
Lucky for me, an inebriated couple across from us get into a lovers’ tiff over how many cherries he got in his drink versus hers. The woman all but has both her hands in his drink, trying to fish out what she deems to be her fair share.
As I lean in to tell Esmerelda this, the wind changes direction, and a whiff of her floral perfume hits me. I shake myself out of it and lean in to whisper in her ear, but just as I do, she turns, and my lips brush her cheek.
As with every time I touch my wife, I feel the same sharp zap of electricity. Fuck me, is this the life I’m prisoner to? Feeling electricity between us but despising her so much I’ll never act on it?
Esmerelda turns to look back at the fire, and I do the same. The pinched look on her face tells me she feels it too. Well, unlucky for you, wife. If I have to be plagued by it, then so do you. I can also pretend I didn’t feel anything.
Easier said than done.
Esmerelda turns to face me again.
“I’m tired,” she says suddenly, her voice softer than usual. “I think I’ll head back.”
“Me too,” I answer, already rising. “I’ll come with you.”
We walk up the beach in silence. The moon is casting everything in silver and highlighting Esmerelda’s features.
For once, she’s not teasing me, and I’m not glaring.
There’s no snark, no game, just the two of us walking side by side when we’d rather be anywhere else but here, weighed down by obligation.
At the start of the path leading to the hotel, she pauses and looks out at the water. Her voice is barely more than a whisper. “You didn’t have to come with me, you know.”
I don’t say anything. Not because I don’t want to. Because I don’t know what to say.
We head back into the hotel together, barely looking at each other. But there’s something there. Something crackling in the silence.
And it’s not going away.
Not tonight.
Not tomorrow.
Not ever.