One to Chase (One to Hold #7) Page 8

  My brow lines as I try to understand what he’s telling me. “Left... as in she moved to another house?”

  “No.” His voice is quiet. “I didn’t know where she went. I’ve since learned she moved to California. Half-Moon Bay.”

  “The other side of the country?” I actually hadn’t planned to say that out loud.

  “As far from us as she could possibly get it seems.”

  I can’t tell if he’s still angry. I feel like he must be—I know I can’t seem to let go of my past.

  “But... that was better, right?” For whatever reason, I want to comfort him. “Better than if she’d stayed and been unhappy?”

  “No.” He exhales a frustrated growl. “I don’t know. How can I answer that? All I know is Edward was a wreck. Henry was a sullen prick. Elaine was four.”

  Blinking quickly, I don’t know why my eyes are hot. “How old were you?”

  “Eleven.” He still isn’t looking at me, and I’m not sure I want him to. Tears would bring us too close. “She kept asking for our mother, and I wanted to protect her. I didn’t want her to feel like she’d lost everything.”

  Pressing my lips together, I swallow the pain in my chest. “Is that how you felt?”

  Those smoky hazel eyes rise to mine. “I was pretty young.”

  Nothing is between us on the banquette, and I don’t hesitate. I reach forward and take his hand, threading our fingers. Warmth spills through my chest. I can’t contain my feelings for him.

  “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

  “Ahh,” he leans back. “We all have shit in our past. Basically, it meant I was Elaine’s single parent.”

  “At eleven?”

  “Yeah.” It’s more of a sigh than an answer. I decide to turn it around.

  “I’m sure you were a great big brother.”

  A little laugh, and his thoughts seem to linger in the past. “I know entirely too much about women’s fashions.”

  That makes me laugh. “My kind of guy! And how did you come by this knowledge?”

  “Before Elaine could drive, she made me take her shopping.” He’s back with me now. “Chicago has nothing on all the cotillions and parties and dances in the south. God, it was never ending.”

  “Didn’t she have any friends with mothers who could take her?”

  “Yes.” A little shrug. “She wanted me there. So I went.”

  “You two sound very close.”

  He’s looking at our hands. “Not so much anymore.”

  “What? Why not?” I pull mine back, going instead for my wine glass.

  “She didn’t want to be a lawyer.”

  I can’t help a frown, and I shake my head mid-sip. “That doesn’t make any sense... Are you saying—”

  “I regret it now.” He inhales deeply and straightens, his hand moving to his place setting. “Edward is a control freak. We were expected to join the firm, keep it in the family, no exceptions. She wanted to be a teacher.”

  The waiter appears. “Will that be all, sir?” I glance quickly up to him then back to Marcus.

  “Want to try the Stout float?” he says with a grin.

  I want to hear the rest of his story. Everything about him has become intriguing to me, and I hate cliffhangers. “Not really.”

  Reaching in his pocket, he pulls out a slim leather wallet and passes a black card to the man. “It seems we’re finished here.”

  The waiter smiles and does a little bow before taking off for the check. Marcus turns to me, and I just say it. “I’d like to hear more.”

  “Not much more to tell.” He shrugs. “I agreed with him. I thought she should be a lawyer, too. She’s underpaid and undervalued—”

  Dropping my eyes to the table, I finish his thought softly. “She disagreed with you.”

  “She still does.” He leans down to catch my eye. “It’s okay. We’re working through it.”

  I consider his words. Now I know why he doesn’t mind my bossy personality. He’s a leader, but I’ve never been a good follower. I also understand his surprise tenderness.

  “Come back to my place,” he interrupts my reverie. “I’ll order you an insomnia cake.”

  Blinking up, I give him a playful scowl, suspicious of his motives. “What’s that?”

  He quickly fills in the check, signs, and moves out of the booth to stand. “All-night bakery. They deliver.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I never kid about cake.”

  He extends his hand to me. This protective man, his baby sister, his stubborn side, his contradictions... All of it swirls in my mind in a delicious consommé, and through it all, my insides are quiet. No signals.

  I take his hand, and once again, our fingers lace.

  Chapter 8: Lawyer Bites

  Marcus

  I hold Valrhona chocolate-cream-filled cake on a fork, and Amy leans forward in her tall stool to take it. She’s at the bar in my condo, and I’m feeding her French chocolate cake and trying to decide if it gets any better than this.

  “You are an evil man, Marcus Merritt,” she laughs, covering her mouth as she groans. She’s gorgeous. “How could you keep this a secret?”

  “Secret weapon,” I give her a wink.

  She leans back and takes a sip of red wine. “It’s amazing.”

  Our chat at dinner was completely out of the blue for me, but she tipped her hand on the daddy issues. I wanted this flighty bird to know she’s safe with me. It seemed to have worked—at least for now. I got her to come inside anyway. Of course, I promised cake.

  The thought makes me laugh as I hold out another bite for her. Green-hazel eyes blink round, and she shakes her head. “You haven’t had any!”

  “I bought this cakelette for you.” Circling the fork, I move it slowly closer to her perfect pink lips.

  “There’s no way I’m eating that whole thing,” she shakes her head. “Box up the rest, and I’ll take it home to Sylvia. She’ll love it.”

  Not yet. Putting the fork down, I walk around the bar and refresh my wine. “More?”

  “Mm,” she shakes her head. “I’m good, but I was thinking about your story.”

  Hopping off the stool, she walks around to where I’m standing. Shoes off, her head only reaches my shoulder.

  “What about it?” I watch as her mind works behind those beautiful eyes.

  “Well, obviously we can’t use it.”

  “It’s not legally advisable.”

  “Right,” she nods, flicking her gaze up to mine. “But it rounds out your image, your respect for injured parties... Maybe we could work it into something about how you protect clients’ interests, their case. Let me tweak it a bit. I’ll show you tomorrow.”

  “It’s good.” I nod and set down my wine glass.

  Then she laughs. “Just don’t take them to your cathedral office immediately after.”

  Reaching for her waist, I slide my hands down and pull her to me. “I like my office. It reminds me of home.”

  She doesn’t fight my hold, but her eyes are on her hands on my chest. I can’t tell what she’s thinking, and I don’t plan to mince words. “I want you to stay.”

  Her voice is low, her eyes on her hands. “I already told you. We’re working together. We should keep it professional.”

  I like how her position is softening on the matter. “You’ve done your job. Now let’s have fun.”

  At that her eyes meet mine. They waver a bit, and my stomach tightens when I see her internal conflict. “I’m not finished. I still have pictures to take, your bios to write, this mission statement—”

  Leaning down, I catch her soft lips with mine. It’s a light nip, a gentle pull, and her hand tightens on my shirt. She clutches the fabric, and I slide my palm up to her neck, holding her steady as I kiss her deeper, pushing her mouth open and finding her tongue.

  A little noise comes from her throat, and it’s like fire on kindling. My entire body is burning with need, and I’m ready to c
arry her to the bedroom. Looking up, I start to move her in that direction when she wavers.

  “Marcus, wait.” Her breathing is fast, and I know she’s losing this battle. She wants this as much as I do.

  Still, I won’t force her. My hands drop from her hips, and a frown lines my forehead. “I don’t beg, Amy.” I don’t mean to growl, but it’s time to put it on the line. “I don’t chase. I don’t even really see the same women more than a few times. But I’m asking you to do this.”

  Her eyes burn with lust, and her breasts rise with her fast breathing. Still she’s holding back. “I don’t do relationships. You should know that from the start.”

  “I’m not asking you to do anything.”

  Now her face lines, and she shakes her head, looking away. “What do you want from me?”

  She’s overthinking it. Backing off my anger, I reach for her again, sliding my hands over her ass and cupping her firmly against my body. She can feel what I want, but I’ll make it clear.

  “I want the same thing you want from me.” Her hands are open, palms against my chest, and I lean down to kiss her again.

  I don’t have to hold her head, force her lips to cooperate. She’s kissing me back. Her palms slide up my chest and around my neck. Her mouth moves with mine, and I lift my chin, pausing for a moment, studying her face.

  “I was wrong,” she says, naughty grin in place. “You’re not wicked. You’re dangerous.”

  “Bet your fucking ass I am.”

  * * *

  Amy

  Kissing Marcus is like touching my lips to an electric fence. My entire body lights up, and heat floods my core. In a sweep, I’m in his arms, legs around his waist, as he carries me to his bedroom. The last time we were here it was crazy, frantic. This time, he’s in control, and he’s taking his time.

  “Stand up.” It’s a low command that flickers excitement in my belly. I lower my legs to the floor watching his darkened eyes. “Turn around.”

  I do as he says, and he slides my hair over my shoulder, grasping the zipper on my dress. The light fabric drops down my arms, catching at my waist. Large palms slide over my bare hips, pushing the dress the rest of the way, leaving me standing in only my bra and lace thong. Black last time, nude this time.

  His hands move to my stomach, pulling my back to his chest. Will they go up or down? For the moment, those hands stay put, holding me still while his mouth finds the side of my neck.

  Just like before in Wilmington, he doesn’t kiss me. His lips graze over my skin, his teeth touch my neck, and he lightly inhales my scent. When he reaches the place behind my ear, chills scatter down my legs, and I have to reach back to hold him.

  “Oh, god,” I gasp. It’s too much sensation as his large hand moves down, slipping inside the edge of my panties.

  He’s got me, and he’s circling, playing with my clit before sliding a finger lower, dipping inside. A growl rumbles against my back.

  “You’re so wet,” he groans, lifting me forward and pushing me onto the bed.

  I’m crazy with desire as I feel him grasp my panties and jerk them down my hips A sharp “Oh!” flies from my lips as he shoves my thighs apart and I feel the slow drag of his tongue from my clit to the deepest part of me.

  “Oh, shit, Marcus!” My hips jerk involuntarily as he teases me with his tongue, and I hear the clink of his belt as he unfastens it.

  His large hand is on my lower back, holding me down. I’m flat on my stomach, spread like a picnic, and I’m only a few circles from screaming. Fluttering pre-orgasms tingle in the arches of my feet, and his thumb presses inside me, making me moan.

  “Fuck, Amy, I want to fuck you so hard.”

  “Yes,” I gasp. “Please.” My hand reaches out, over my head, and he keeps going, fucking me with his tongue. “Marcus!” My voice has gone high as my thighs start to shudder. Fizzy rockets of pleasure snake up my limbs.

  I hear the tear of foil and fast movements. He pulls back, kissing the top of my ass before pausing and giving me a bite.

  “Ow!” I shriek, but it’s more playful, dazed than painful.

  At that very moment, he’s over me, positioning the head of his cock just before driving deep inside, stretching me in the most delicious way. We both let out loud groans. His laced with swears, and he hits me so hard, I scoot forward on the mattress.

  He’s pushing harder, faster. Reaching out to hold, I feel his fist tighten in the top of my hair. His other hand slams against the mattress, and he thrusts even deeper into me.

  “Oh, god!” My voice is a shrill wail, but I’m pushing against the bed, against any opposing surface to drive myself back into him, to send him further into me.

  “Amy, shit,” he shouts. Sweat coats our bodies, and we’re hitting so hard, as if we’re trying to fuse our bodies together through sex alone.

  Marcus is rocking me, stretching me, hitting me deep in the exact right spot, grinding my pussy against the mattress, filling me with such force. I know I’ll feel this tomorrow every time I move.

  He pulls my hair, bracing my head against his chest, lifting me off the bed as he grabs my clit. “Come,” he grinds against my shoulder, then sucks my skin into a rough bite.

  The pain and the raw violence of it splits me in two. I wail as pleasure floods my shuddering insides, shaking me to my toes. My head is so hot and tight, I don’t even realize I’m still moaning loudly, bucking my hips to ride out the aftershocks, until the blackness begins to subside.

  That’s when I realize he’s there, right at the edge. I’m working him, and his teeth are at my neck. His lips are parted, and I hear his ragged breathing as he reaches the edge...

  “Shit,” his voice cracks as he falls over it. He holds me pinned, tight against his chest, and through my receding afterglow, I feel him pulsing deep inside me, flooding the condom and gasping against my skin.

  One arm is like a band of iron around my waist. His other hand grips the inside of my thigh, bracing me as his final moments throb inside me. I slide my hand along his forearm until our fingers lace. We’re both panting and sweating, and he guides me up to the pillows, spooning me from behind, still inside.

  “Jesus,” he whispers.

  My eyes are closed. I’m trying to find my feet, find that distance I like to keep between myself and moments like this. Only it’s not so easy.

  He’s told me too much about himself. We’re too much alike, and we share too many of the same experiences. I like his strong arms around me. I like his rough touch and frenzied responses to the incredible chemistry we’ve found. I’ve had hot sex, sure, but never deep, soul-shaking sex. A flutter of fear moves through my chest, and I wait.

  Still no signal.

  After a few more breaths, he releases me. Holding the condom, he slides out and quickly disposes of it before lying on his back. I roll onto my stomach and peek up at him. Large hands on his face, he pushes them back into his hair, leaving it adorably messy.

  Then he lets out a huge sigh and, “Fuck me, Janey.”

  My eyebrows pull together, and I can’t help laughing. “What the hell did you just say?”

  Turning his head to look at me, he grins. “Something my brother said when we were kids. I think it was originally Johnny, but I’d rather be fucked by Janey than Johnny.”

  Lifting my head, I bend my elbow to prop my cheek on my hand. “So Janey, is it?”

  Marcus looks at me with so much depth in his expression, I don’t know what to do, but just as fast, it’s gone. He rolls back to me, catches me around the waist and flips me onto my back.

  I can’t help squealing. “What are you doing?”

  His chin is right at my ribs, and he studies my breasts. “You’ve got really nice tits, you know that?”

  “Marcus!” I try to sit up, but he catches me and holds me.

  “Hang on.” His brows pull together like he’s studying something, and my insides feel like a goldfish out of water.

  “Let me up,” I say, but it’s too late
. He’s tracing it with his finger.

  “What do we have here?”

  “You’re being mean.” Dropping my head back on the pillow, I stare at the ceiling. “It’s a birthmark.”

  Just as fast, he lowers his mouth to my skin, giving it a kiss and then sliding his tongue over the light amber mark just under my left breast. Laughing, I catch his cheeks. “That tickles!”

  “It’s like a Rorscharch test.” His expression is professorial as he studies my skin. “I see a butterfly.”

  “I was so freakin’ embarrassed by it when I was a teenager.” Pushing against the bed, I sit up. His head is in my lap facing me, and his eyes are warm with his smile.

  “Why?” Tracing his fingers lightly over the spot, warmth flushes my limbs. “It’s so faint.”

  “I don’t know.” My voice has grown soft. “I thought it was ugly? I was finally okay with it when Sylvia told me it was an angel kiss.”

  His palm is against my ribs and I’m acutely aware of his thumb sliding over the offending mark. When our eyes meet, his are heated. “Not your guardian angel, I hope.”

  My entire body is aware of him. Every touch, every breath. “Why not?” I ask quietly.

  “Because if it was, he’s an idiot.” His tone is naughty, and I can’t believe I’m feeling the need for him again after what we just experienced.

  “How so?” It’s more sassy than I intended, but I’ll go with it.

  His thumb moves up and circles my tightening nipple. My insides clench. “He should’ve kissed you here.” Instantly his mouth replaces his thumb, and he gives my breast a hard suck.

  An involuntary moan slips from my throat. “Marcus...”

  He’s up and over me, pulling me down beneath him as he continues a trail of kisses across my breasts. “Or here.” His tongue circles my right nipple before he pulls it between his lips.

  My hands go to his cheeks, cupping his face as it moves over my body. “In fact, I hope he’s gay, or he’s a complete idiot of an angel.”

  Exhaling softly, I hold him as all the excitement of what he’s doing floods my lower body. “You’re insane. And possibly sacrilegious.”

  His head pops up, and he gives me a teasing frown. “I take religion very seriously,” he says. “So long as it stays out of my way.”