Chapter 20
After the movie at Genesis and Jasmine’s, Markus and Gabby walked down the beach in silence.
Gabby wrapped the refined loungewear sweater tighter around herself to block the chill in the air.
The breaking and entering part of the evening had been simple in comparison to the rest of the night.
It was more like leaving a couples’ therapy session than a dinner party.
“Good job with the mission,” he said.
“Thanks.” She still had the USB drive tucked in her pocket. The plan was to upload it and send it back to EOD headquarters for review.
“While I was downloading, a couple came into the office.” She tried to recall their conversation, but it was fuzzy. “It was kind of hard to hear from the closet. Besides making out, they talked about us. More like they mentioned us,” she amended.
“Oh?” he said, his voice pitching up in curiosity.
“They were suspicious. And then one of them said, ‘I moan’ something something. I don’t know what she was talking about, but it struck me because it was odd.”
“Could you tell who was talking?”
“No, two women. As far as I know, there wasn’t a lesbian couple at the party tonight. They might have been staff or…” She had no clue who they were. “Mostly, I was glad that they didn’t find me hiding in the closet.”
For a few paces, they didn’t say anything. In the theater, things had felt cozy, but on the beach, talking about the mission, the uncertainty was back. Gabby was walking separately from Markus, her arms across her chest.
“So you have cold feet?” he asked.
“Oh, that.” She laughed off her conch confession. When he didn’t seem to buy her dismissal, she said, “How could I have cold feet for a pretend wedding? It was just something I said.”
It wasn’t. Their cult wedding might be fake, but it was a dress rehearsal for real life.
They passed by the still partially collapsed yoga tent, gleaming white in the moonlight, evidence of her complete lack of balance.
Gabby had seen a team of people trying to put it back up earlier and had overheard something about ordering new tent poles.
If she wasn’t careful, her whole life would become that yoga tent, collapsed around her.
Markus stopped in the path, unfortunately right in front of the metaphor for her life, which he didn’t seem to notice. It’s like he couldn’t see her flaws when they were as big as a collapsed British Bake Off tent.
The moon was full and shining over the water. His expression was earnest. “Gabby, there is no one on this earth I would rather pretend to marry.”
That was sweet, but sweet only counted for so much. “I’ve got a lot of baggage,” she said. “You know that, right?”
“Kids aren’t baggage. They’re part of the package.”
Kyle’s face when she saw Markus pick her up for the airport was seared into her brain, a stop sign that appeared every time she began to lose herself in the fantasy.
“That’s why I have cold feet. I’m not twenty and freewheeling.
Every time I make a choice, it’s like trying to steer a ship, slow and arduous, sometimes impossible. I’m a tanker. You’re a sports car.”
Markus accepted that. “Okay. That’s fair enough.”
They took another few steps in silence down the beach.
It had been a long day. Instead of circling everything that had happened, romantic and career-wise, Gabby took a breath in through her nose and released it through her mouth.
She surrendered to the moment she was in, to the experience.
There was too much control. She couldn’t guarantee anything to anyone, really.
Before they got back to the cottage, Markus said, “Earlier, we started—” A smile spread across his face.
“I remember.”
“We’re adults, and I want to talk about where we’re at before we do anything more.”
Her stomach about dropped to the ground.
“Last week, when you asked me to be your work wife—”
“Ohmygod, don’t bring that up again.”
“No, here we go,” he said with a half laugh. “I had my feelings hurt at first, but I had some time to think, and I get it.”
“Really?” That caught her off guard. Then the surprise turned into something mellower and sweeter all at the same time. Hope fluttered in her chest. A romance with Markus—she wanted it so badly she ached. So bad that she might risk too much.
But if they were honest with each other, or at least as honest as two spies could be… He knew her fears and desires. She knew his.
“But is it a dumb idea? Who keeps their romance at the office?” At the moment, her office was a moonlit beach. Ohmygod—was he? He was. Markus was dropping to one knee in the sand. The moon hung low over the water, and a breeze ruffled her hair.
With mischief sparkling in his eyes, he said, “Gabby Greene, would you be my work wife?” He searched in his pockets. “I don’t have a ring, but would you take this flashlight taser combo as a token of my affection?”
“Markus!” she rebuked. “A taser?”
“What? It’s a sign of trust after you tased the shit out of me on the last mission.”
Gabby took the taser like it was actually a ring. “Thank you.”
“Just make sure not to hit that button,” he pointed at a feature of the taser, “unless you want to tase someone, hopefully not me.”
She was living her dream. It was just backwards and inside out, but the feelings were the same.
If they were work wives like she’d originally wanted, she’d be a secret agent with a romance by day.
She’d hang up her trench coat and drive home to her kids and spaghetti at night.
With the right workarounds, she could have it all.
As if they were on top of the Eiffel Tower and he’d just pulled out a diamond ring for her, Marcus said, “What do you say? For better or worse? At least while we’re on the job.”
She shook her head but couldn’t stop a smile. “You just wanna—”
He smiled, no hint of apology.
Why spend their week arguing? She’d never been to the Azores. Didn’t she deserve to enjoy herself?
“I kind of figured we would have dinner first. One Starbucks date hardly seems like the foundation for a solid fake marriage.”
Markus shook his head. “We’re having dinner together every night this week. And”—he cocked his head toward the cottage—“I plan on laying plenty of foundation.”
Her cheeks flamed, and her stomach went weightless like she’d just gone over the top of a roller coaster.
Gabby desperately wanted this man in front of her.
Handsome, self-assured, out of her league—her stomach flip-flopped at the idea.
He still wanted her, even after she’d confessed all her insecurities and reservations.
They were walking into this together with their eyes open.
If it was dumb, at least they’d chosen it together.
He gripped her hand and said, “Do you want to go back to the cottage?”
“As long as you’re not sleeping on the couch.”
“Hell no. We can save that for California. Sleeping on the couch has been the hardest mission of my entire life.”
“Oh, really?” Gabby’s face was starting to hurt from smiling. “Tell me more.”
“It’s harder than that time I went undercover in the drug cartel. It’s more torture than the time I was actually tortured.”
“Oh no!”
Markus didn’t pause to explain the whole torture thing. “Gabby, I can’t stand knowing you are in that big bed all alone just on the other side of the wall when I have been dying for this moment since we met.”
At the cottage, butterflies erupted in her stomach. Operation One Bed was about to commence. The anticipation had risen to a fever pitch. She looked to Markus. “Are we—?”
He smiled and gave her a nod. “You ready?”
Her heart racing, she nodded.
“Let’s do this.” And he unceremoniously rolled his travel bag into the main bedroom.
For some reason, it felt like they were really moving in together.
That intimate moment when you’ve chosen to share your space with someone, to split a closet, to brush your teeth at the sink together.
To be in your pajamas in front of him without makeup.
At the very beginning, before it becomes old hat.
It was after midnight, but Gabby was wired.
“Which side of the bed do you want?” she asked. “I put my stuff on this nightstand, but I don’t care. It’s not like I have a phone to plug in.” Not since she threw it into the ocean. It felt like that had happened a lifetime ago. “Did I tell you I accidentally dropped my phone into the ocean?”
While unbuttoning his shirt, Markus began walking slowly toward her. “By the time I’m done with you, I don’t think you’re going to know which end is up, Gabby.”
“Oh—” Her jaw dropped, leaving her staring, gape-mouthed.
He dropped his pants, leaving him standing in a pair of boxer briefs that left nothing to the imagination. She’d seen him without his shirt before. Now he was giving his body to her. For a flash, her own stupid body spiked with anxiety. What was she going to do with it? Did she remember what to do?
With heavy-lidded eyes and full lips, he angled his gaze down at her. “How did I get so lucky?” he said.
“Um, actually, I’m the lucky one. You’re—”
He slipped his hands around her waist and slid them up under her shirt.
“Markus, I’m not very good at this.” She was so round and imperfect compared to this man. Cellulite on her thighs, a stomach pooch, stretch marks. She knew she was strong, but she mostly looked lumpy. “Do you want to turn out the lights?”
“I want to see you.” Huskily, he breathed out the words, “All of you.” With hypnotizing slowness, he was rubbing the pads of his thumbs over the sensitive skin of her waist, her ribs, that soft secret part of her tucked under her breasts, slipping under the rubber band of her bra, teasing.
He tugged at her shirt, a suggestion, and when she nodded, he helped lift it up over her head.
“Um…”
“Do you know what you do to me?” he whispered while trailing kisses from the sensitive skin of her neck down to her collarbone.
“You haven’t seen me without my clothes, Markus.”
“Gabby.” The way he said her name almost broke her. “Feel what you do to me.” He pressed his hardness against her, and she gasped. If anything could convince her that he wanted her, it was that steel rod in his pants.
“That’s for you.”
“For my big, lumpy butt?”
“Definitely for your absolutely perfect butt.” He let his hands skim her bottom.
She exhaled her insecurities. If he could love her big mom butt, maybe she could too. “Those pants are soft, aren’t they?” Jasmine’s refined loungewear pants felt like a cloud.
“Shhhh,” he whispered.
“Are you sure you’re not just really horny?”
With a laugh, he said, “I’m sure. I know what I like, and it’s you.”
“I like that you think you’re going to like my thighs, but I’d rather turn the lights off.”
“Fine, but I’m lighting a candle.”
The waves lapping against the shore outside, the candle flickering against the walls, the scent of ylang-ylang, and the distinctly male scent of Markus.
Markus groaned. “There’s my girl.” He picked up where he left off, trailing kisses down the soft skin of her collarbone, down, down, down to where his mouth set her on fire. She sat up for him so that he could unhook her bra.
“They go where they want, Markus,” she warned him, just in case he expected them to stand upright.
Markus shut her up with a kiss. “I’m familiar with how they work, Gabby. Yours are perfect.” He cupped one.
“It’s not quite as perk—”
She couldn’t get out the rest of the word when he dropped his mouth to her pink crest. Lightning rods of pleasure shooting from his mouth to her—
“I love this breast. I love this stomach.” He trailed his tongue down her stomach past every one of her stretch marks to…
“Hmm. I wasn’t expecting this,” he said as he slipped her panties to the side. “Are you stripping on the side?”
She managed an almost-laugh, except that she could barely talk. “The EOD made me get a wax.”
“What’d they think you’d be doing down here?” he asked, running his finger along a smooth lip.
Before she could explain double standards, he tugged the panties down.
“Markus, don’t.”
He slid back up her body. “Don’t what?”
“You don’t have to feel like you have to—”
He drew his brows together. “Don’t have to? What if I want to?”
“You don’t have to pretend that you want to taste me down there.
There’s no way you want…” She trailed off.
Phil had never gone down on her. A college boyfriend had a couple of times, but she hadn’t come, and it had just seemed like—there was no way anyone wanted to be down there.
She hadn’t accepted her thighs, let alone her…
she wasn’t even sure what to call it. Women threw around the word pussy so cavalierly.
Her vagina was Voldemort, the part that shall not be named.
“I know what I want. I want to taste you.”
“Oh,” she said.
Markus slid her to the edge of the bed, pushed her legs back, and…
“You really don’t… Oh.”
He was going so slow, so, so slow, driving her insane with wanting more, taking his time. Before, it had always been a mad rush.
“I hope I don’t taste like bong water.”
He slid a finger inside of her while he moved his lips upward.
“I don’t—” Her eyes almost rolled back in her head as he moved his fingers in and out of her canal while teasing, sucking, and licking.
“Markus,” she said his name. “Ohmygod.”
“Mm-hmm,” he murmured.
“Mark-us.” She breathed his name out, no longer a call for attention, but a cry.
“Markus!”
She arched her back and gripped the covers, all the while making noises that had never come out of her. When her body clenched around his fingers, he said. “Good job.”
In her wanton haze, she giggled. “Do I get a gold star?”
“Yes.”
“Markus,” she released his name in a soft exhalation.
“Thank you.” She didn’t even know that she could enjoy intimacy like this.
It had never happened for her. She was Sleeping Beauty, awoken with a kiss, not a chaste kiss on her perfect, pink, pouty lips, but down there. Her Prince Charming had gone to work.
Finally, he entered her, sliding in and out, skin to skin, moving with one another in an erotic dance that had never felt like this. When he came, he cried out in pleasure, a guttural throaty exhalation. She had done that.
Twenty minutes later, they were lying on the bed. She was tucked into his chest, feeling treasured in a way she never felt before. This was going to be hard to give up at the end of the week.