“Just try.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
I won’t meet his eyes, and my body shakes. I can’t stop it—the truth spills out of me in a flood of emotion. “You’ll change,” a desperate breath, “Time will pass, and you’ll forget all of these words. You’ll break me. And that’s something I’ll never come back from.” Oh, god. I said it.
He doesn’t answer immediately, and I notice for the first time he’s breathing as hard as I am. Seconds tick by, and our eyes meet. I see him thinking. I see desperation.
“I will never break you.” His voice is back to angry. “Never.”
“You already have.” I hate that I’m on the verge of sobbing. I will not cry.
“H-how?” I’ve never heard Marcus stutter. He’s always in control.
I’m trying to find mine. “You’re here with another woman.”
“I told you to trust me.”
Twisting harder, I push against his shoulders. “I don’t trust you. I don’t trust any man. I never will.”
He holds me tighter. “You can trust me.”
My head is pinned against the column as he kisses me hard. A little noise squeaks in my throat and for a moment, I stop struggling. I need this. I need him. Our mouths move together, and his tongue curves with mine. He’s tearing away my resistance stroke by delicious stroke.
With a groan, I give him a hard push. I must’ve caught him off balance because he takes a step back. “Stop! You’re asking too much.”
I’m panting, and my voice is shaky. His head drops. I’m still trapped by his body, but for several long moments, he doesn’t speak. Neither of us speaks as the thickness in the air dissipates, and the roar of the crowd at the gala drifts to us over the water.
“I’m sorry.” It’s so quiet, I question if I even heard him. Dropping his arms, he lifts his head and looks straight into my eyes. “I shouldn’t have pushed you.”
Somehow he holds me with only his g
aze, and even though I want to run, I can’t force my legs to move. He consumes me with his touch, he sends my body to places I’ve never dreamed possible, he breaks all of my rules, and I only want more of him. Now he apologizes, and I can’t decide if I’m relieved or miserable.
He drops his gaze again, and passes his hand over his chin. “I won’t hide how I feel. I want you. I’ve never wanted any woman this way, and I think you feel the same.” A pause, a beat. I’m hanging on the edge. “But I won’t force you.”
He straightens in front of me, adjusts his coat and gives me one last glance before stepping around the column and heading back to the gala.
I can’t do anything but lean forward. Tears flood my eyes, and I’m broken and powerless. My strength is gone. He’s all I want, and I can’t do a thing to stop it.
* * *
Marcus
I lost it in that moment. I saw her with that guy—a strange man holding her, touching her—and Paige, Karen, even Amy’s ground rules, everything was forgotten. Primitive, overwhelming rage took control of my reason, and I followed her out of the ballroom down to the pier, a singular thought blasting through my brain: MINE.
What a fucking caveman.
I appreciate how unfair I’m being. I’m here with another woman and no explanation, and I fly off the fucking deep end at the sight of her doing the same. I’m not proud. I told her I was sorry, but I’m not sorry. I’m fucking losing my mind, and I am NOT sorry.
Back in the ballroom, Paige catches up to me, holding my arm and leaning into my ear. “Where have you been?” Her eyes meet mine, and we’re back to acting, playing the part of the happy couple in love. God, this has got to end soon.
“Needed some air.” And a hit of Amy Knight, my drug of choice.
“You took off so fast, I didn’t know what to think.”
“Sorry.” Holding her hand, I lead her to the dance floor. “Let’s seal this deal.”