26. Marcus
Chapter twenty- six
Marcus
Gripping the gold bar, I push the door open. As the heavy glass closes behind me, the hoots and hollers of drunken poker night soften. She’s standing at the edge of the balcony, her wine glass on the edge she’s leaned against, her hands pressed on the white marble. My drink is in its place next to hers. I join her but stay a step back so I can observe. I might not trust a lot of people, but I want to trust her. I don’t let a lot of people into my life, but I want her to be all-consuming. I want her ingrained in every aspect of my life. My morning workout routine. Breakfast after we shower–me with coffee and her with tea. Making time for lunch between my meetings and whatever it is she decides she wants to do for work–doing whatever it takes to make sure she has access to her dream once she figures it out. I want to come home to her each night and read with her head in my lap and my fingers in her hair. I want her to be a part of all the things I want to keep in my life and want to make time for all the things that I’ve never made space for because it wasn’t right.
Fuck. Besides the fact that I have about a twelve percent idea of whether or not she has any of those feelings about me, none of it will be a possibility if Beau strikes a match before I have a chance to fire-proof us. I need to tell her. I need time.
She inhales deeply–as if being inside was suffocating her and she’s able to take full breaths out here–and gazes out over the courtyard. A soft glow from the stars illuminates it just enough to make out the pergola, now devoid of flowers, and the trees lining the boundary of the property. She tips her head up, eyes wandering over the specs of light like she’s searching for the meaning of life–or maybe just a constellation. She glances over her shoulder like she’s checking to make sure it’s me behind her. “Do you know what I love about the stars?”
“Hmm?” I slip my hands into the pockets of my slacks, forcing my gaze from her and tilting my head toward the sky.
“They’re not something you can take a quality picture of with a phone camera. Regular pictures, like selfies with friends, emotion somehow attaches to them in a way where you can feel it once the moment is gone. But the night sky? Most pictures are lackluster. The only way to feel something by it is by being in the moment, by standing under it in silence, in appreciation for its vastness and power. Even the best photographs can’t quite capture that.”
My eyes drift back to her. I love the stars but in the science type of way. I took all five astronomy classes available in college on top of my regular course load for no reason other than interest. Although, I can’t say I’ve ever thought of space that way. But I don’t disagree. It makes me wonder if I’m starting to feel that way about her . There’s so much to her that can’t be captured in a picture, so much I want to know that no one else would if they only saw her frozen in this moment behind the glass of a frame .
At my silence, she turns to face me. “Is that stupid?”
I shake my head. “Not at all. The way you see the world is . . . refreshing. I don’t make time to see it that way.”
She steps away from the railing, bringing us only a foot apart as she eyes me like she’s not quite sure what to make of me.
Movement in the corner of my peripheral catches my attention, and I shift my glance away from her just long enough for confirmation on who is pushing through the door to ruin our moment.
“Touch me,” I whisper without thinking twice, fear rushing through me that if I don’t take this chance, Beau might make sure I never get it.
Her face scrunches. “What?”
“Touch me,” I repeat. “Trust me.”
She only hesitates for a moment before taking a step that closes the distance between us and sliding her hands under the fabric of my suit jacket, across either side of me, then meets my gaze like she’s awaiting the next instruction.
“I’m going to kiss you now.”
Her eyes widen, and her chest stops moving like she’s holding her breath, but I don’t give her a chance to object or respond or think twice. I bring my hands to either side of her neck, my fingers slipping gently into her tied up hair and my thumbs grazing her jaw as I pull her lips to mine.
She tenses for a split second, her fingers digging into my waist, but then she relaxes, tilting her head toward me more, letting me into her embrace and past her lips as I deepen the kiss. She catches a groan I couldn’t manage to suppress as her tongue tangles with mine. Goddamn, she tastes good. Like sweet wine mixed with bourbon and something unique to her .
Heat radiates from her as she presses her body against mine, like she’s burning up, like we’re on fire–a stark contradiction from the cool night air. A sigh escapes her like this is comforting–like I am. I try not to read into it as her arms slip around me, her hands running up my back with enough pressure that I can feel where they touch the edge of every muscle.
My grasp in her hair tightens, and I’m trapped somewhere between never wanting to pull back and getting carried away. I’m lost in her. Present. She makes me not want to be anywhere else or care about anything else except this moment with her. All the work I’ve been throwing myself into the past few days was mostly to keep me from doing this . I might have thought I could pretend it was a distraction and deterrent from her ex, but the moment her soft lips touched mine, it wasn’t just more than that–it became something different entirely.
I want Brooke Fields. And not for fake. Because this one kiss will never be enough.
Not wanting to get too deep, not before I know if she wants any of this to be real, I pull back just enough to break the kiss. She’s out of breath, her chest rising and falling, her eyes still closed. The gold sparkles in her makeup shimmers slightly in the starlight until her eyes flutter open and she stares up at me, my thumbs still locked on her jaw.
“What was that?” she whispers.
“Beau was about to join us.”
“Did he leave?”
I glance behind us to an empty balcony, the only people in sight are the ones surrounding the poker tables on the other side of the glass doors. I nod.
“That’s why you kissed me.” She says it somewhere between a question and a statement .
I hesitate, looking into her eyes as if the gold or the green in them might reveal what she wants me to say. “If you want that to be the reason.”
“Brooke!” The voice of her mother pierces through the night, disturbing the silence, and our moment, as both of us turn to face her. In the process, one of my hands slips from her face, but Brooke doesn’t let go of me. She keeps her arms linked around me and leans in closer like I could protect her from this woman. “You need to get inside. What is the point of you being here if you aren’t here ?”
“Mom, relax. I just needed some fresh air.”
“This isn’t the time for a make-out session with your boyfriend, Brooke. Grow up.” Grow up? That’s her advice? This lady is about as mature as a fifth grade mean girl bullying everyone on the playground.
Brooke groans, but leans into me more and glances up. “Buy me another drink?”
I grin, wrapping my arm around her shoulder. “It’s an open bar.”
“In that case, I’ll have two.” She smiles, and it’s brighter than the stars, and my stomach sinks. I’m lying to her right now, and I hate it. The thought of her feeling about me the way she does about Beau makes me need two drinks.
We follow her mom inside, and she immediately leads us toward a group of people standing by one of the casino tables. My phone vibrates in my pocket as we’re approaching. I slide it out, praying it’s who I hope. The PI.
Brooke glances over at me, curious. I know I need to answer, but I don't want to leave her. I choose the long term priority and step away from her. “I need to take this.” Hurt flashes across her face–mixed with a little fear, like I ripped her safety blanket from her. “I’m sorry. Five minutes, okay? ”
She nods, and I lean in, kissing her without permission and hoping it won’t be the last time. When I pull back, her eyes have softened. “I’ll be right back,” I assure her again.
I answer the call as I’m walking away, right before my voicemail catches it. “Hey,” I greet the man. “Give me a second.” I scan the room for a hallway, finding one to the side of the bar and walk down it until I find an empty room to slip into. “What did you find?” My voice is hopeful but on edge.
He goes into a few minute breakdown of the nothing that he’s found based on a surface level search. Apparently Beau is a much better lawyer than we’ve given him credit for. I spend the next fifteen minutes going over everything I can recall about my blackmailer and things I’ve noticed since our time in Connecticut and my few chance encounters. We hang up only after he’s assured me that as long as there is something to find, we will find it. I call my lawyer and update him. Once I disconnect from the second call, I check the time. Fucking hell. I’ve been gone for nearly a half an hour. Trying to stay positive, I focus on the gratitude for not only having access to but also being able to afford immediate help this way. I’ve never simultaneously loved and hated money so much, and I pray it’s not what rips me from her. Brooke once told me that her mom says money is the source of all problems. I know she meant the lack of it, and I hate to admit it, but the general idea is not wrong .
I pocket my phone and rejoin the event. Scanning the room, my eyes immediately find the most beautiful girl. My pulse pumps in my ears, tuning out the chaos of the party. I consider myself a calm and collected person, but my panic mode is activated as I watch Brooke lean a little too far onto the bar, flirting with the goofy Frank Sinatra motherfucker. She’s slipping away from me before I’ve even gotten to hold her.
As I approach, she’s laughing about something he said, swirling her wine mindlessly in her glass. My hand touching her lower back startles her, drawing her attention to me. I shoot the bartender a warning glare, and he backs away.
“Hey.” I kiss her cheek, partly for show and partly because I need to be close to her. I need her to know that I want this–want her–before the cards are too stacked against me.
“I think we have a very different meaning of five minutes.” She’s not being harsh. She’s hurt, and I hold onto the feeling that she wants me to be with her. I guide her away from the bar and out of earshot of the bartender.
I pull her to me by the small of her back with one hand. I let the other settle at her neck, my thumb holding her jaw in place as I debate what to tell her. Her hands hesitantly fall to my chest. I brush my thumb along her cheek. “I’m sorry. I know I sound like a broken record.”
“You really do, Marcus. Look, I know you’re . . .” She glances around to make sure no one is near us. “I know you’re not really my boyfriend, but I thought I could count on you to be here for me like we agreed upon.”
Fuck. I want to lay it all on the line, but this moment doesn’t feel right . It’s not some big romantic gesture confessing my feelings as an excuse for why I keep abandoning her–even if this time is completely different. “You’re right.”
“What was so important that it had to be dealt with at 11 p.m.?”
I take a breath, running through my options. I’m not ready to tell her. I don’t want to here, not like this. I want to be honest about Beau, but if she feels the need to confront him that could backfire. I have to take the chance, though, because I don’t want to lie to her more than necessary. “Beau.”
“What about Beau?” She scans the room as if she’ll find him ready to pounce.
“He cornered me. Said he wants you back. That you left Thailand so you could come back to him.”
She laughs incredulously. “You told him to fuck off, right?”
I stare back at her.
“Right? Do not tell me that you believe him.”
“No,” I say hurriedly. “But there’s something else.”
Worry fills her eyes as she waits.
I release a controlled breath. “He’s trying to dig up dirt on me.”
“He what?!” she whisper-yells. “Well he won’t find anything so it doesn’t matter.”
“Yeah,” is the only word I can manage to pull from my vocabulary.
She tries to pull away from me. “Where is he? I’m going to put him in his place. That piece of–”
I pull her tight to me, holding her close and hard enough that she can’t escape. “No. Let me take care of it.” She debates her options. “Can I just take you home?”
She nods. “Okay.”