Page 31 of Never Less

“There’s a lot to do around here,” I tell her. “Beaches, bars, amusement parks, clubs, museums, shopping… it’s a good area. Oh, and there’s this really nice wine tasting tour that I think you’d like. I went on it a few years ago with Char and John.”

“Yeah?”

I nod. “I’ll have to be more careful this time, though. I got pretty drunk last time. Wasn’t really keeping track since I wasn’t having much of any particular wine, but it all adds up fast. Apparently, I said some pretty funny things. Ask Char about it sometime.”

She laughs. “I’ll have to.”

From there, dinner goes much more smoothly. Liliana seems to loosen up, and she doesn’t let go of my hand until we finally start eating. I continue to tell her about life in Florida, hoping I don’t sound like a sleazy salesman. It’s difficult to do, considering the future I’ve wanted for longer than I care to admit feels just out of reach.

Liliana listens intently, never taking her eyes off me. I can’t deny that we’re moving closer to forbidden territory, flirting with a line that shouldn’t be crossed. The problem is, with every laugh I pull out of her, every warm smile she tosses my way, I’m finding that I care less and less.

By the time we’re home from dinner, it’s late. We were both so engrossed in our conversation that we lost track of time. I felt bad for taking up our waiter’s table for so long, but I gave an extra large tip to try and make up for it.

Inside, Liliana meanders across the living room and peers out the windows. The palm trees are swaying violently, and we can hear the wind whipping around the house.

“Think it’s too bad out there for a swim?” she asks.

“Definitely.”

“Maybe tomorrow?”

I frown. “It looks like we’re going to get a nasty storm overnight, and it’ll probably carry over into the morning. But we’ll find the time for it before you leave. I promise.”

“Thank you.” She turns to face me. “Dinner was… really nice.”

“I had a wonderful time with you, little star.”

Liliana takes a small step toward me, and I think she’s about to take another, but then she stops. I use the hesitation to take her in. She fits here, in my home. Dressed up or only in shorts and a tank top, I don’t care. She was made for this place.

Or maybe it’s the other way around.

“That dress is a good color on you, by the way. Meant to say that earlier. You look beautiful.”

Stunning. Irresistible. My damnation.

With a small smile, she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She’s always gotten bashful when receiving compliments, and while I wish she’d accept them—own them—I can’t deny that it’s cute.

Again, Liliana’s gaze drops to my mouth. She’s still frozen in place, unable to make up her mind. When I move forward, she licks her lips.

Wild thoughts fill my head. Selfish ones. Depraved ones. Right ones, possibly. I could take her upstairs, kiss her until she’s panting, and then take my time undressing her. Make her wait, get her all worked up—and then give her everything she’d beg me for. My son would never be the wiser. He’d—

Goddammit. What am I thinking?

Liliana places her hands on my chest, and I realize she’s closed the distance between us. “Marcus—”

“It’s late,” I say quickly. If I stay down here with her for another minute, I’m going to lose control. “We should… I didn’t sleep well last night. I should go to bed.”

The hope on Liliana’s expression dies, and she nods silently and turns toward the stairs. My eyes fall to her legs—the curve of her calves, the smoothness of her skin—and I just about lose my fucking mind.

I walk Liliana to her bedroom door. I shouldn’t, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t force myself to operate using common sense. So when she turns to face me, I’m right behind her. And when she tips her chin up to look at me, our faces are mere inches apart.

For a few seconds, she doesn’t say anything, just looks at me. Maybe she’s waiting. To find the courage, for me to do the same, for fate to push us together.

It’s undeniable at this point, what we feel for each other. We’ve danced around saying the words aloud, like that changes things. Like it makes me want to kiss her any less—because I do.

I want to kiss my son’s girlfriend.

She’s nonnegotiably off-limits, and all I can think about in this moment is how badly I want to press my lips to hers. To do more—much more—than that.

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