Chapter 15
Gabriel
I kill the engine, and we sit in darkness.
The silence that filled the car during the drive from the Ashford villa presses down on us now, thick and suffocating.
Marshall hasn’t moved, his fists still clenched on his thighs.
He’s been staring through the windshield for the past twenty minutes with a death glare that could crack glass.
I grip the steering wheel and try to figure out why he looks like he wants to punch something.
The dashboard lights go dark when I pull the key from the ignition. The sudden blackness makes everything feel more oppressive. I can hear Marshall breathing beside me, each exhale controlled and measured.
I pop my door open first. The dome light flickers on, casting harsh shadows across Marshall’s face. He doesn’t look at me, just shoves his door open and climbs out, stalking toward the porch.
I hurry to catch up with him, my shoes crunching on the gravel. “Marshall.”
He doesn’t respond, just keeps walking.
“Marshall, are you okay?”
Still nothing. He reaches the porch steps and takes them two at a time. I’m right behind him, my heart starting to pound. He’s going to walk inside and disappear into his room, and I won’t see him until morning, and whatever this is will fester overnight and become something worse.
I can’t let that happen, so I reach out and put my hand on his shoulder, gripping the solid muscle through his shirt. “Marshall, wait.”
He stops, and for a second he doesn’t move. Then he spins to face me, and the look in his eyes stops my breath.
There’s anger there, but beneath it is something rawer. Something that looks like pain.
“I can’t do this, Gabriel.”
My hand drops from his shoulder. “Do what?”
“This,” he waves his hand between us. “I can’t be your stepbrother, acting like I don’t care when you’re being… propositioned.”
I blink at him. “Propositioned?”
His eyes flash. “I heard your conversation with Blaine.”
“And?”
He takes a step closer. “And are you going to get back together with him?”
“What? Of course not! Marshall, who the fuck do you think I am?”
“You’ve been with him before.” His voice is flat, but I can hear the hurt underneath. “How do I know you’re not going to run back to him, now that his wife gave you her blessing?”
“I’m not, okay?” The words burst out of me. “I’m not going to do that.”
Marshall’s shoulders relax slightly, but his eyes are still stormy. I study his face, trying to understand what’s happening here. He’s angry that I might go back to Blaine, I get that. But this feels like more than just brotherly concern.
“What else is wrong?” I ask.
He looks away, his jaw working. When he speaks, his voice is low. “It doesn’t matter that you’re not going to go back to Blaine.”
“What do you mean it doesn’t matter?”
“There’s going to be someone else after him.” He forces the words out like they’re costing him something.
I frown. “So what?”
“So I just can’t do it.” He turns back to me, and the raw emotion in his eyes makes my chest ache. “I can’t be in your life, playing the dutiful stepbrother, and watch you be with someone else.”
My stomach swoops, like I’ve missed a step.
“What are you saying, Marshall?”
He runs a hand through his hair. “I know we have an agreement. That whatever happened between us in the past few days was just a distraction. But I just can’t pretend anymore.”
“Pretend what?”
“Pretend you’re the effect, Gabriel, not the cause.” His eyes lock on mine. “You are the cause.”
I stare at him, my mouth hanging open. The words don’t make sense.
“What are you saying?” I repeat.
Marshall takes a step closer. “I’m saying you’re not just a distraction for me, Gabriel. You’re so much more than that. Always have been.”
“Marshall—”
“All those years I’ve been avoiding you…” His voice cracks, but he pushes through it. “I wasn’t avoiding you because I didn’t like you. I avoided you because I liked you too much. And I knew I could never have you.”
The confession hangs in the air between us, and I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t do anything but stand there and let his words sink into my bones.
All this time, I thought the distance between us was disinterest, at least on Marshall’s part.
A natural consequence of being forced into a family neither of us chose.
I thought he saw me as an obligation, someone he had to tolerate at family gatherings and holidays.
Someone he couldn’t wait to get away from.
“I’ve been running from this,” Marshall adds quietly, as if he can hear what I’m thinking. “From you. From the feelings I couldn’t act on.”
My chest cracks open. Years of confusion and hurt and longing I never let myself acknowledge come flooding out, and I realize with startling clarity that I’ve been running too.
I don’t let him continue. I dart forward and press him against the door, my hands fisting in his shirt, and kiss him hard.
Marshall goes rigid with shock, his body stiff against mine, his lips unresponsive under the pressure of my mouth. For a horrible second, I think I’ve made a mistake and misread everything.
But then he makes a sound in the back of his throat, low and desperate, and his hands come up to grip my hips. His mouth opens under mine, and he pushes his tongue past my lips, kissing me back with a ferocity that makes my knees weak.
I press harder against him, erasing the space between our bodies. His back is flat against the door, my chest against his, and I can feel the rapid thud of his heart. His hands slide from my hips to my back, holding me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
I break the kiss just long enough to fish the keys from my pocket. My hands are shaking, fumbling with the metal, and Marshall uses the break to kiss along my jaw, down the side of my neck. His teeth scrape against my pulse point, and I nearly drop the keys.
“Fuck,” I breathe.
I finally get the key in the lock and turn it. The door swings open, and we stumble inside together, still kissing like our lives depend on it. It’s just like that night a few days ago in the rain, except this time we’re not drunk, and we’re not pretending this is just a distraction.
This is real.
As soon as we’re inside, I kick the door shut behind us and close the distance between us again. Marshall’s hands are in my hair, tugging hard enough to sting, and I moan into his mouth. Neither of us tries to stop.
Marshall’s hands leave my hair and move to the buttons of my shirt. His fingers work quickly, popping them open one by one, and I do the same to his. We’re kissing the entire time, our mouths breaking apart only when absolutely necessary.
I get his shirt open first and push it off his shoulders. The fabric catches on his forearms, and he has to pull back to yank his hands free. The second the shirt hits the floor, I’m running my palms up his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, the solid muscle underneath.
He groans and grabs my shirt, pulling it open so hard that I hear a button pop and skitter across the tile. Then his hands are on my skin, sliding over my ribs, my stomach, my chest. His touch is hot and possessive, claiming every inch of me.
I kiss him again and start walking backward toward the stairs. Marshall follows, his hands never leaving my body. We’re a tangle of limbs and heat, stumbling but never breaking contact.
My foot hits the first step and I nearly trip. Marshall catches me, his arm wrapping around my waist, and we laugh breathlessly against each other’s mouths. Then we’re climbing, kissing between steps, hands roaming, clothes coming off piece by piece.
I pull at his belt, getting it unbuckled as we reach the landing. Marshall’s hands are on the waistband of my pants, popping the button, dragging down the zipper. We’re panting, our breath mingling in the narrow space between our mouths.
My shirt comes off completely somewhere near the top of the stairs. Marshall’s belt hits the floor with a clank of metal. We’re both barefoot now, and the cool wood under my feet contrasts sharply with the heat running through my body.
We make it to the hallway, still kissing, still touching, still moving toward one of our bedrooms. Marshall is looking at me like I’m everything he’s ever wanted.
His hands hook into the waistband of my pants and underwear and push them down over my hips.
I kick out of them, nearly losing my balance, and he steadies me with a hand on my waist. Then I’m pulling at his pants, getting them unbuttoned and unzipped, shoving them down his thighs.
We’re both down to nothing now, skin against skin. I can feel every inch of him, hot and hard, and my mind goes blank with want.
Marshall backs me against the wall, his mouth on my neck, his hands gripping my hips. I arch into him, my head falling back against the plaster, and he takes advantage of the exposed skin to kiss down my throat, across my collarbone, lower.
“Marshall,” I gasp.
He lifts his head and looks at me. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and his lips are swollen from kissing. He looks wrecked. He looks beautiful.
“Which room?” he asks, breath ragged.
I grab his hand and pull him toward my bedroom door.