“What?”
“You heard me.”
We laugh and talk the entire night away. Marcus is a great listener, but most of all, he’s funny.
Taking a brief moment to look down at my watch, I see it’s 11:26. “It’s getting late. I really must be going. Thanks for—”
“Do you want to come back to mine for a coffee?” He drums his fingers on the table. His left eye twitches, briefly. Is he nervous?
“I’m pretty sure they have a coffee machine here.”
“No, it’s broken.”
“Really?” I find that hard to believe. What’s his game plan now?
“Yes,” he says with “guilty” written all over his face. “I only live a stone’s throw down the road.” He grabs my hand, pulling me to the railing and pointing down the beach to the Oasis high-rise apartments.
“At Oasis?” No way.
“Yes.”
“Wow! A luxurious high-rise beachfront apartment on an assistant’s wage. You’re either extremely efficient with money, or you’re a manwhore. Which one is it?” I banter, playfully.
“Not an apartment. The penthouse suite,” he replies, looking rather pleased by his living space.
“And you’re a gloat, I see.”
“There’s no reason I can’t take pride in what I own.”
“You’re such a manwhore then … aren’t you?”
His head tips back, and he laughs. The sound is like music to my ears. “So, coffee?”
“Just coffee?” I question, offering him hope.
“Yes, just coffee.”
“Well … I don’t drink it, so no.”
His eyes light up. “You’re something.”
“Something that is leaving now. Thank you for a fun evening.”
“No problem. I’ll walk you out.” He extends a long-fingered hand to me. Our fingers slip together with ease.
“If you must.”
Marcus places his hand on my lower back when we take the stairs. I like his touch. Maybe I could start to like coffee again if I tried hard enough.
We walk like this until we get to Bertha.
“The VW. I saw this car at the cemetery when I pulled up,” he comments.
“You saw me too. Put two and two together, genius.”
“Touché.”
I turn to face him with Bertha behind my back.
“Have a good night. Don’t let your hex get you,” he says.
“I wish I could control it. But I can’t. It could kill me before morning.”
His gaze is intense, all traces of humour lifting his cheeks now gone. Swiftly, he closes the small distance between us, forcing my back against the car. He places his hands on either side of my face and stares deeply into my eyes.
I don’t know why I do it, but my finger runs over the scar on his cheek, gently caressing the small rise of skin. Want—or is it need—for his touch sears through my blood.
“That would be a shame,” he says softly.
“What would?” I’m overcome.
“Your death.”
His lips are so close to mine, I’m tempted to have a small taste.
Stepping back from me, Marcus glances towards the ground. I feel his absence and will his attention to return.
“Do you drink tea?” His voice mirrors mine—nervous.
“Yes.”
“Would you like to come back for some tea?”
“I would,” I reply, without thinking about the answer.
“Good.” He takes my hand in his. “This way, Miss McMillian.”
I go with him like a lovesick teenager. This is ridiculous.
Taking our time, we stroll along the footpath. I, of course, trip over thin air, and he manages to catch me on the way down. Maybe having him around might save me a few scraped knees.
“So you’re really cursed?” he asks after my near-miss with the pavement.
“I am.”
“I don’t believe curses exist. I think it’s just an unfortunate case of a lot of bad luck.”
I roll my eyes. He has no idea what he’s talking about. If he hangs around with me long enough, he’ll soon know his statement is a load of cow crap.
We say nothing more. The silence makes me evaluate my motives for leaving with him. I tell myself that it’s just a cup of tea with a friend and colleague, and I’m being nice. It still doesn’t stop the waves crashing inside my stomach and the flutters present in my chest.
***
The lift stops at the top level, the doors open, and we step off, hand in hand. The sexual tension is at fever pitch. Every part of me wants his touch, but my heart and my head know this will never be a possibility because my level of messed-up is off the scale. It’s a cup of tea with a friend and that’s it.
“This is home,” he says before punching numbers into a keypad by a door and pushing it open.
Walking in behind him, I must say the arse view I’m getting was worth the trip.
“Are you staring at my arse?”
Busted. “Whatever do you mean?”
He softly laughs as the apartment fills with light.
“Wow. This is big.” My voice radiates how surprised I actually am.
“It’s definitely spacious.” He flicks more light switches on.
“You’re very neat,” I yell out, having no idea where he has gone.
“I like things to have a place.”
Neat? I like to live my life in a constant treasure hunt. I hunt through all my crap until I find what I’m looking for. Totally not compatible.
The entire space is modern and well decorated. He definitely likes fine things. I’m still puzzled at how he can afford something like this.
Slowly making my way into the kitchen, I see him putting water into a coffee machine that’s homed on a large marble bench. I glance over his shoulder, and the view of the beach is even more stunning from this height.
“Can I?” I point towards the sliding door to a deck.
“Of course.”
Stepping out onto an oversized patio, a million miles from the ground, I’m greeted by a crescent moon. The salty smell and taste of the seawater from this high up, and the sound of the crashing waves help me to relax. His place is so peaceful. If only I didn’t hate men so much, and if only I wasn’t walking the path to crazy town, I might be able to stay here forever.
EIGHT
Beautiful Mistake
“Such a beautiful view.” His tone is dreamy.
“It is,” I reply, still wrapped up in the peacefulness of the ocean. I can sense him close, too close.
One hand and then a second grab onto the bar on either side of mine. He presses his body against my back. A tickling sensation fills my senses as his breath runs along my neck.
Losing my inhibitions, I tip my head sideways, giving him access. Stop, Abigail.
“You’re the definition of beauty,” he whispers before soft lips connect with my skin, perfectly. His nose runs along my jawline.
I melt into him. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this way. Even though this must end, a minute more seems harmless.
“Abigail,” he murmurs, kissing my neck again, “what I wouldn’t give to take you right now.”