The view outside the window blurred, for just a moment.
“Hey.” Lightly, Marcus touched her elbow with a fingertip. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she said, and let him interlace their fingers on his firm thigh.
That wasn’t a passive-aggressive dodge, either. She was fine. She would be. No matter what happened with BAWN, and no matter what happened with Marcus.
And maybe—maybe—the paparazzi’s intrusion had disoriented her more than she’d acknowledged. She’d already known about Marcus’s media persona, after all. Its reappearance shouldn’t have either surprised or bothered her.
In his inimitable fashion, he’d also protected her, drawing the paparazzi’s attention away from pressing her about her name, her work, or other identifying information. Even if she knew public knowledge of her real identity was—like so much else—only a matter of time.
More importantly: Even if she couldn’t trust him, not yet, she needed to trust herself and her own instincts. Those instincts were telling her the man beside her, with his grave eyes and gentle hold, was the true Marcus. Not the man who’d dismissed their day together as the necessary price he’d had to pay in exchange for physical closeness and intimacy.
Turning away from the window, she swung her knees to the side until they brushed his. “You distracted those people very capably.” With one finger, she marked a line down the center of his chest. “Very nakedly too. You’ll probably need a hot shower when you get back to the hotel.”
His lean body shifted under her fingertip, his belly rising and falling with each quick, deep inhalation. “Not if you keep touching me like that.”
Those formfitting jeans didn’t quite conceal his reaction to the contact.
“Well, I don’t want you to get frostbite.” Through the soft fabric of his tee, she traced the top of his jeans, the band of fabric riding low against those firm, flexing abdominals. “Not when you sacrificed your body for my sake.”
His voice turned low. Serious. “My body is a tool. That’s all.”
“Still.” She scooted a little closer on the seat. “Thank you for protecting me as best you could.”
His brow creased beneath that golden sweep of hair, and he captured her wandering digit in a light hold. “I only delayed the inevitable. At some point, they’re going to know your name and your address. Probably your phone number too.” He pressed a kiss to the pad of her finger. “I’m sorry, April.”
She shrugged. “It’s not your fault. When I agreed to dinner and today’s date, I knew all that was a possibility. I’ve tried to mentally prepare myself, but if I have trouble handling it, I’ll ask you for advice.”
“Of course,” he said, pressing her palm against his cheek. “Whatever you need.”
He couldn’t protect her from public scrutiny, even if he tried. Not without hiding her from the world like a dirty secret—which would hurt her so much more than even the most unflattering candid shot or intrusive phone call. Besides, protecting her wasn’t his job.
Making all the inconvenient aspects of dating him worth it? Now, that was his job. One he could resume . . . tomorrow, maybe? If his flight didn’t leave too early?
“When do you have to get back to LA?” The line of his cheekbone—it was so distinct under her fingertips. So sharp, like his jaw. “I need to work for the rest of the night, in preparation for the cleaning company tomorrow. But other than that, I’m free.”
When his forehead crinkled this time, she smoothed the lines. “My flight leaves tomorrow morning. I wish it didn’t.” Then his face relaxed, his grimace lifting into a hopeful smile. “But I’d planned to work out in the hotel gym first thing in the morning, before showering and checking out. Want to join me? We could grab a quick breakfast afterward. The hotel has a decent buffet.”
She dropped her hand to her lap, the nape of her neck prickling in warning.
“You want me to work out with you?” she asked.
Before this moment, she’d thought—
It didn’t matter. He was treading familiar ground now, digging the same poisoned well deeper and deeper yet, and she’d abandoned that particular spot long ago.
She wasn’t going back. Not for anyone, and especially not for a man whose company already came fraught with endless complications and contradictions.
“Uh, yeah.” His voice was quieter now. A bit uncertain. “Early tomorrow morning. If you’re interested.”
Her stomach was roiling, her cheeks hot with anger and stupid, stupid embarrassment.
One more chance. Just in case she’d misunderstood.
“Tell me, Marcus.” Her legs. They were touching his. She angled her knees away from him. “What do you recommend from that breakfast buffet?”
Head tilted, brow lowered, he was studying her closely.
“Um . . . I usually have the oatmeal. Hard-boiled eggs. Fruit.” The words came slowly. “But there’s—”
“I appreciate the invitation.” To her pleasure, her smile was probably colder than the wind on his bare chest earlier, her words clear and calm. “On second thought, though, I think I’ll be too busy to do anything tomorrow.”
Tomorrow and for the rest of her life.
Her lips were trembling, and she pressed them tight. Breathed through her nose until the hurt stopped twisting her gut inside out.
Oh, wow, someone prodding me to work out! How novel! she wanted to cry gaily, arms spread wide in false surprise. And how grateful I am for the suggestion of healthy food alternatives! Without your help, how would a woman of my size ever know about the importance of exercise and nutrition?
But she didn’t think she could keep her voice steady, not while saying something that revealed so much of her scarred heart. There was no point to wasting her energy on sarcasm, either. He probably wouldn’t even register it as such. They never did.
My body is a tool, he’d said. Like body, like owner, apparently.
She should have known. A body like his, a face that pretty? Of course he cared about appearances more than what lay underneath. Of course.
An erection didn’t mean he respected her. It didn’t even mean he liked her body. Just that their pheromones were compatible, probably to his abject confusion and dismay.
She loved shiny things, always had. But he wasn’t a diamond. Just fool’s gold.
Marcus Caster-Rupp could fuck off to exactly the same place as all the other people—roommates, colleagues, so-called friends—who’d seemed to offer unconditional affection at first, then eventually coaxed her to visit the gym, presented her with the gift of a high-tech scale, bought her a membership to a weight-loss organization, offered her helpful nutritional tips.
Over the course of two decades, she’d occasionally dated and fucked men like him. Before that, she’d lived with people like him for eighteen years.
Enough.
She was done being fat-shamed. By him. By everyone.
Tonight, she was pouring a glass of wine and explaining exactly that to her friends on the Lavineas server. Sharing hurts she should have acknowledged long before, telling them truths she wished they’d understood without her having to say anything.
She’d try to do it gently, because they were her longtime friends, unlike the man sitting across from her in this cab. But she was doing it. Period. No matter how hard it was to expose herself that way, and no matter how badly they might react.