28. Marcus
Chapter twenty-eight
Marcus
Fucking hell, my shoulder hurts. How can it hurt when it’s numb? I open my eyes, but the room is still dark aside from the sliver of light infiltrating through the blackout curtains. Straining to look at the source of my pain, the most beautiful girl is tangled in me. Her head is heavy on my chest, her hair fallen from her bun and splayed over the pillow under my head. She’s tucked into me, her leg over one of mine and her arm around my waist.
She’s covered by the comforter, but she’s wrapped around me so closely that I’m reminded she’s not wearing underwear, and every moment of last night replays in my mind. Can thinking about sex release endorphins the way having sex can? I’ll research that later. Either way, my shoulder numbness is now on the backburner. We didn’t even have sex, but goddamn was it good.
I run my thumb across my lip, remembering her lips on mine and my tongue on her. I was hopeful but still surprised she let me blindfold her. It’s something I’d thought about doing with her in the fantasies I’ve been pushing away the past few weeks, so it worked to my benefit that one of the articles I was reading suggested taking away a sense to heighten the others.
I’m elated that everything I tried worked. I mean, I would have kept researching, trying, doing whatever it took to give Brooke an orgasm like that, but holy hell was it satisfying watching her fall over the edge the way she did. It was more than experiencing her build up the tension and let it all go. It was her getting comfortable with me, letting me into her safe space, trusting me . I was conscious of it happening, but it wasn’t until she curled into me, sex-sedated, and comfortable, that the guilt hit fucking hard.
It’s not like my secret is horrific and dark. I could never work another day in my life and be set. It’s my secret that feels like a crime when it comes to her. I’m proud of my worth. I worked hard for it. I need her to see the good in that, but it’s like she’s wearing . . . whatever is the opposite of rose-colored glasses. I need her to take them off long enough to understand, to not want to bolt at my apparent red flag.
I almost told her last night. I don’t want her to think I misled her, took advantage for sex, but she was so peaceful falling asleep. I couldn’t bring myself to disturb it. Especially not when we have a busy day today. Another event at the country club. It’s not that I can’t see why Brooke has the opinion she does of rich people. The ones she has experience with are insufferable. I just have to show her the other side. After she fell asleep, I stayed awake for another three hours. Thank god my phone was within reach from where she held me captive, so I was able to do some digging of my own. I went down a few rabbit holes and ultimately followed a trail of court cases for clients all from the same family–ones where Beau was the lawyer. Based on what was available to the public, it doesn’t make sense Beau won the case. It should have been a shoo-in for the plaintiff. Might be nothing. I could be missing crucial information. Also might be something. I sent my lawyer and PI an email around four in the morning before finally joining Brooke in an uneasy sleep.
I brush my hand over her arm across my chest, whispering my fingers against her skin until she stirs. Her eyelids flutter open as she takes in her surroundings without moving. “Morning, love,” I say, my voice rough from its first use of the day. She lifts her head a bit to meet my gaze, studying my face as if my greeting means what she thinks it does. “Yes, I still mean everything I said last night, don’t regret anything we did, and absolutely want to do it again.”
She gives me a sleepy smile as she sits. Before I can stop her, she swings a leg over my waist, straddling me. “I was really hoping that would be the case.” Her hands fall to the V of my abs, disappearing under my briefs, and mine run up her thighs, her skin soft under my fingers. With the comforter behind her, she’s on full display and not shy about it at all–not that it’s bright in here, but still. Fucking hell. It’s sexy.
I groan, already regretting my decision. “But not right now. If we start, I won’t stop. And we have an event to get to.”
She pouts. “It’s just a little cooking competition. It’s not like Gordon Ramsay will be there.”
I chuckle. “I thought Bobby Flay was your favorite celebrity chef?”
“He is, but no one puts on a show like Gordon.”
“That’s true. We still have to go.” I squeeze her thighs.
She snaps the band of my briefs lazily. “Who is your favorite chef?”
“Anthony Bourdain,” I answer without hesitation. “Was, anyway.” She’s silent, her eyes drifting to information in her mind. That death fucked me up. It hit so hard, it was one of the catalysts to shifting my mindset around making money, around focusing only on things that fulfilled me and that made a difference.
“I love learning new things about you.” She leans in to kiss me, her lips pressing against mine and sealing the sad memory away.
She pulls back, sitting up again, moving slowly against my already hard cock. “Brooke.”
“What?” She feigns innocence.
“We’re going. You were actually excited about this event.”
“Okay, okay. But I’m still returning that favor later.”
“I’m not keeping score.” I grip her hips, debating staying here in favor of her riding me, but our first time will not be a quickie. “Come on.” I nudge her off me, and she tumbles to the mattress dramatically before swinging her head up for momentum and jumping off the bed. I chuckle, shaking my head. This girl.
She’s mine.
In twenty minutes, I’m ready to go in my go-to black jeans and gray V-neck when Brooke walks out of the bathroom. She’s in jean shorts rolled at the bottom and a loose-fitting maroon T-shirt that says “wander” in bold serif across the front with “forever” scripted below. Her hair is thrown in a messy bun with a folded bandana as a makeshift headband. It’s an outfit that her mom will surely comment on, but she’s perfect. Somehow more desirable than last night when she was all done up.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks, crossing the room to the nightstand to grab her phone and slide it into her back pocket .
I meet her where she’s at and pull her to me by her hip with one hand, the other gripped on her neck as I kiss her. It’s soft at first, but then I need more. Her hands cling to my waist as she lets me deepen the kiss. I break it too soon, knowing we can’t be late, and she immediately whines at the loss of contact. I can’t help but grin.
She leans her head back, still holding tight to me, and I don’t want her to let go. I already know she’s the girl I’ve been waiting for, the one I’ve been hoping will cross my path every time I see my parents together, or Dean and Maci. Troy and Lexy. Cooper and Sophie, even. “I’m going to be thinking about that kiss all day.” She sighs like it’s a bad thing. “And last night.” The brown of her hazel eyes appears to be winning the daily battle today as she stands directly in the stream of light coming from where I’ve cracked the curtains.
“Good. I intend to keep it that way.” I plan to remind her all day of the things we’ll do together later, now that I don’t have to pretend I don’t want more with her.
She slaps playfully at my chest. “Marcus! We have to be around kids all day.”
I shrug, pulling away from her. “I happen to know a secret hiding place that only one kid ever knew about.” I throw her a wink over my shoulder as I head for the door.
We arrive at the country club in pure chaos. There’s no one at the front to even check us in. Brooke navigates us through the lobby, the help scurrying about carrying baskets of vegetables, fruits, and other assorted pantry goods. We make our way outside, a perfect view of the setup from the top of the marble staircase. Memories of kissing Brooke for the first time last night replay in my mind. The same must be happening for her because she turns back, leaning into me as if she’ll know I’ll wrap my arm around her. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she tells me, and I consider whether or not I’m capable of keeping a kiss PG in front of all the kids with their parents.
I’m about to respond when her mother’s shrill voice pops our bubble. “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Brooke turns her head but stays close to me. “Right here, mom. Like I said I would be.”
“And really? That is what you’re wearing?” Predictable.
“Mom, we’re hanging out with kids all day and cooking. I want to be comfortable.”
“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now.”
I bend to whisper in Brooke’s ear, not giving a damn if I’m being rude. “I’ll take them off you if that would make her happy.” Brooke grins up at me.
“I’ve got your station all set up with Beau.” Both our gazes snap back to her mom. Brooke stiffens next to me, my possessiveness building as I process what she said.
I relax only slightly as Brooke does, laughing at her mother. “Yeah, not going to happen. Marcus is my boyfriend. Either we work together, or I won’t be helping at all.”
“I had to play safe, Brooke. We both know you can’t cook, and I couldn’t count on him knowing how to.”
Brooke glances back at me. “Please tell me you can cook.”
“As well as I can eat.” I shoot her a wink.
“Better find Beau a new partner, Mom,” she says, not succeeding in holding back her smile.
“I’ll take one for the team,” a voice comes from behind us, and Brooke’s grin breaks free. I turn to see her friend, Cam, in khaki shorts and a navy polo with his hair dyed and gelled like he’s in a boy band. Brooke told me he comes from money but doesn’t act like it. His parents have forced him to attend all the charity events since he was a kid, and he’s been Brooke’s sidekick ever since. I wonder what locked Cam into the category of rich but not hated for Brooke? Figuring that out could help my case.
“Fine, thank you, Cameron. Please try to rub off your attitude on my daughter.”
He smirks. “I’ll try my best.” With that, she turns, leaving the three of us alone.
Cam appraises us with a pointed look like he’s trying to determine what pissed off Mrs. Fields. “Holy shit! You two fucked, didn’t you?!” He slaps Brooke’s arm. “Bitch, why didn’t you tell me?!”
She rolls her eyes, but her face flushes too. “No, we didn’t. Come on, you know I’ll tell you.”
Her friend looks to me for confirmation. “Not yet. Sorry to disappoint.” I chuckle.
“I’m stuck with Beau for half the day. You owe me a good story.”
Brooke links her hand with mine, locking our fingers together as she grins at her friend, and I fucking love it.
“Seems like there already is a story considering this thing,” he wiggles his finger between us, “Is definitely not pretend anymore.”
“It never was,” I say, Brooke glancing at me in surprise. I shrug. “Let’s get to cooking, shall we?”
“We shall,” Cam says, linking his arm with Brooke’s and pulling her away from me. Her laugh fades as he forces her quickly down the marble staircase. “Tell me everything,” he says and she glances over her shoulder at me.
I follow far enough behind them that Brooke can tell him whatever she wants. I’ve overheard enough conversations between Maci and Lexy to know that nothing is safe when it comes to best friends, so there’s no point in trying to stop it. When we get to the field at the bottom of the staircase, it’s lined with makeshift mini-kitchens, just like you’d see on an outdoor episode of Masterchef . The space under the pergola has been redesigned into a temporary pantry. It’s impressive, and I can see the allure of a place like this. Maybe some people are here for show and status, but it’s not like they aren’t making a life-changing contribution to society.
From what Brooke told me, these events are connected. Last night’s gala was to raise money for children with leukemia, and today, some of the kids who are well enough get to participate in a cooking competition. Each group is assigned a kid to help make a dish.
Once I make it to the back of the tables from my slow walk to give them space, Brooke reaches for me. I give her my hand and she leads me to the front of the set-up, a table to the far left facing the pantry. “You can really cook, right?”
“Yes.” I chuckle.
“Okay, thank god. I’m excited. Thank you for being here.” We stop behind our makeshift kitchen. “Oh, shoot. I forgot to ask if you have any meetings today. I guess I should have considered that before forcing you to be stuck with me without an escape.”
“No work. I left my phone in the room.”
“On accident? Did I distract you? I’m sorry. Do you need to go back and get it?”
“I’m out of the office.” It wasn’t an accident. It was intentional. Until I figure out how to talk to her about the amount of money I make, I have to do everything I can to prove that it doesn’t consume my life negatively. Her being part of my life has quickly become a priority. I know it’s a risk that my lawyer and PI can’t get a hold of me for a few hours. But if I have my phone, I’ll check it every five minutes, and that’s not going to serve anyone. I figure that as long as I’m present with Brooke, I can prevent the snake from slipping in unnoticed while I pray my money is enough that the men I hired can handle it on their own.
“Have you ever been ‘out of the office?’” She chews on her lip with her eyes locked on mine.
My gaze is stuck on the strands of hair she’s pulled in front of her bandana headband, and I fight the urge to touch her face. It’s like I’m pulled to make up for lost time with her, weeks of wishing she was mine. “No,” I answer her honestly. Even when I’m camping, I rarely disconnect unless nature’s control over service towers forces me.
She opens her mouth to speak when a young Asian girl pops up in front of us. She’s wearing a pink flowered sundress. Her hair is pulled into pigtails, but there are chunks missing, giving her a bald spot in the front, like she recently started chemo. Brooke immediately bends to her level. “Hi. Do we get to hang out with you all day?”
The little girl nods.
Brooke reaches for the straps of her dress, lightly running her fingers over the bow holding it together. “I love your dress. It’s so beautiful.”
“Thank you.” The girl tucks her chin to her shoulder shyly. “I like your headband,” she whispers. “I wish I had one to cover up my hair.”
Even from standing, I can see Brooke’s heart breaking in a tear sitting on her lashes. She reaches to her head, loosening the knot at her neck and undoing the bandana. “You can have it if you’d like.”
The girl’s eyes widen. “Really? ”
“Yup.” Brooke reaches to tie the white paisley fabric around her head, fastening it with a small bow directly over her bald spot. The girl touches her head and smiles. “What’s your name?”
“Amara.”
“That’s a pretty name. Did you know in Thailand it means ‘immortal,’ like an angel?”
She nods. “My yai told me that. She lives in Thailand, but I can’t go there. Mae says I’m too sick to go right now.”
I squat to their level, my forearms resting on my knees. “You know, Brooke used to live in Thailand.”
“You did?” Her voice whispers amazement.
Brooke nods, and the girl's gaze comes back to me when I ask her, “Do you want to make food from there today?”
“We can do that?”
“We can make whatever you want,” I tell her. Once I started investing, I signed up for weekly cooking classes so I could learn how to make authentic dishes for anyone I’d get into business with. It sealed the deal on more than one occasion.
“I wish we could make Pad Thai, but I’m allergic to peanuts, so I’m not allowed.”
“What if we make it without them?”
Amara glances at Brooke. “Can he really do that?”
Brooke smiles, standing and reaching for her hand. “I think we should trust him. What do you think?”
She nods, placing her little hand in Brooke’s and reaching up for mine. “Okay, let’s go to the pantry!” she exclaims, tugging us both forward.