“What are you doing?”
His fingers skim my cheek in feather-light touch before he brushes my hair behind my ear.
“Marcus, stop.”
“I’m just checking your head to make sure you’re okay. Here, lower it so I can take a look.”
“I promise I’m fine.”
“Well, then it won’t hurt for me to look, now, will it?”
“I suppose not.”
His fingers bury themselves into the thick layers of my hair, pressing gently as he locates a particularly sensitive spot. “We have a lump. It’s not too big. Does it hurt?”
“It’s a bit sore, but I’ll survive.”
“Something tells me, Abigail, you have many battle scars, and you’re an unwavering fighter.”
I’m instantly shocked.
“Who’s Mike, and why are you so angry at him?”
Shifting uncomfortably, I steel my instant surge of nerves and press down on Marcus’s arm until it drops away from my head. His eyes track my every move as I manage to stand.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers as he towers in front of me.
Tears strain at my eyes. I will not cry.
“I’m sorry for whatever he did to you.”
“I need space,” I say with a dry tongue.
“And I need you, Abigail, here with me, helping me through this case. I know you’re strong enough to handle this. Please don’t leave me. I need you to help me.” He caresses my arm with such tenderness, that even though it leaves behind goosepimples, it also tells me deep down inside this beautiful man there is a person who needs me.
“Why me, Marcus?”
“Because it was always supposed to be you.”
Instant confusion. “How? I don’t know you. I’ve only just met you.”
“You do know me, Abigail, and in time you’ll remember.” Grabbing my wrist, he pulls my hand to his cheek and places my fingers against his skin. The small raised scar falls beneath my touch.
“I’ve seen this scar before, haven’t I?”
“You have.”
“Tell me how.” My eyes beg him to offer an explanation. Marcus sighs heavily.
“That I can’t do. You need to remember on your own. I promised. Just know my heart will always find you.”
“Promised? Who did you promise? Find me? What?”
“Yes, Abigail. It’s such a shame your eyes have lost their sparkle. They are so much more beautiful when you’re happy. You have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.”
“Well, you have a pretty mouth, so open it and tell me what you’re not telling me or get away from me, you choose.”
One, two, three steps back is all it takes until Marcus is standing at the other side of the elevator.
“Well, hello, you two,” a bald and sun-wrinkled man says, looking down at us through parted doors. “We’re going to pull you up. We still haven’t been able to get this thing to move, so it’ll be a bit of a squeeze, but we can get you out.”
“Oscar, good timing,” Marcus says, grabbing his jacket from the floor and passing it to him through the gap where the bottom of elevator evades the exit to the first floor. “Move aside,” he instructs before placing his hands on a ledge and pulling himself upwards until his legs slide completely through.
“You’re a strong lad,” Oscar says as I watch Marcus dust his pantlegs.
“Your turn, Miss McMillian.” Marcus kneels and reaches his long arms through the gap. Slipping my jacket back on, I lift my arms up. My body is lifted out with ease, and before I know it, I’m on my feet being held securely in Marcus’s arms.
“I think we should get you back to the manor,” Marcus says softly.
“You think?” I scold, rearranging my skirt.
“You’ve always had such fire.” He laughs in response. I, in turn, stomp towards the emergency stairs on the first level.
How the hell does he know me? What isn’t he saying? Wouldn’t I remember knowing him? Is he playing a different type of game with me? And, if so, why?
TWENTY-TWO
Fighter
“Are you okay?” I can sense Marcus’s desire to comfort me as he stands by my outstretched legs.
“Fine.”
“It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?” he asks. The river glistens with the late afternoon sun as I lie on a pool lounge, looking towards the jetty.
“It’s peaceful.”
“I need to go to that dinner now … You’re sure you don’t want to come?”
“No, thank you.”
“I’ll be back about nine, okay?”
“Okay,” I reply softly, shifting so I can see past the sun’s glare. Instantly, I’m met with dark eyes, a grey suit, and hair that’s neatly groomed. He’s so damn beautiful. “Come here,” I beckon, swallowing hard.
Marcus moves to my side as I sit upright.
“Bend down,” I demand. His eyes widen with surprise as he does. With shaking fingers, I straighten his lopsided blue tie at the knot. “Much better.” My voice is almost inaudible.
Smiling, his cheeks press upwards as his eyes narrow.
I cup my still trembling hand against his warm cheek, allowing my thumb to brush back and forth across his scar. “What you said today… do you think I’ll remember how I know you?”
He nods, slowly, never taking his eyes from mine.
“Marcus. Do I want to remember?”
His head begins to shake almost hypnotically. When he clears his throat, I see pity. “I want you to remember because, if you do, then you’ll remember me. I want that more than anything. I just wish you didn’t have to remember everything.”
“Everything. Why not?”
“Because, sometimes, we choose to forget the things in life that hurt us the most.”
“Hurt me the most?”
“Yes.”
“If I do remember—if I want to—tell me, will it be worth it?”
“It will be painful, but I think I’m worth it.”
I drop my hand before lowering my head. It’s quickly lifted again by his hand on my chin.
“Abigail, I wish you could remember this.” His lips press feather-light against mine.
Placing my hands to his cheeks, our mouths press hard together. Whirls of lust heat my skin in response. Why do his lips feel like home?
Disconnecting, I’m halted by his expression—his eyes now darker than before.
“Can you feel it, Abigail?” he asks hopefully.
I can, but I’m rendered silent by the tingling sensations coursing through my body. I clasp my lower lip between my teeth.
“I know you can. I never forgot what this felt like, but I also never remembered correctly either.”
“Stop.” I shy away. “Go or you’ll be late. I’ll be here when you get back.”
“Be good,” he says before the sound of his shoes walking through lush grass grows quieter and more distant.
***
I’ve no idea what time it is when I re-enter the manor. Sunset has come and gone, so I assume it’s around seven-thirty. Entering through the back door, I’m met with sweet eyes.