Page 22 of What She Wants

My mind clears by the time I arrive home, park my car, and get out. I need to run on the treadmill to relax my body, work it out a bit in my home gym and release in a good hot shower to wash the day away… except for Esme.

I’m never washing her away.

Chapter15

Esme

Me:We need to talk

Marín the Evil: I’m at home

I look heavenward with a deep sigh because of course he’d want me to come over. A big part of my brain tells me to turn him down but I don’t really want him to know where I live just yet and we can’t have this talk in public.

Me: Fine, send me the address again.

I remember exactly how to get there but he doesn’t need to know that. I’m showered and primped up in a brand new outfit before I realize what I’m doing. My mind tries to give me plausible reasons for the primping but the logic in me knows the truth; I care how I look in front of Marín. It’s just another reason why I want to fight him. How dare he make me feel concerned by such a thing.

My nerves are jumping all over the place by the time I make it to his area. I really need to talk him out of this ridiculous idea of us getting married. I get on my own nerves, why would I add a husband to that mix?

Memories of the last time I drove over attack me the moment I pull into his driveway. Damn, he had me on fire and ready to agree to anything just to get him inside of me. Residual arousal haunts me on the way to his door.

Straightening my shoulders, I raise my hand to knock but he swings the door open. My mouth goes dry and I almost swallow my tongue. This feels like war. Marín’s hair is slicked back and still damp from his shower. His chest is gloriously bare, displaying everything I’ve probably put on a Christmas list at some point. His navy lounge pants ride low to show the V that disappears under them.

“Want some?” He asks with his sexy accent.

“Huh?” He's making it very hard to think.

I shake my head to break me out of the lust haze he pulled me into since he opened the door half-naked. As if by some sort of magic, I’m now able to see a bowl of sorbet in his hands.

“No, thank you,” I respond as he leads me inside. I really feel like his question had a double meaning but I could be exaggerating.

He sucks the sorbet off his spoon, closing his eyes and moaning almost like he did when he ate me. I turn and walk in a direction far from him and his seductive ways. I can’t lose focus, I need to reason with the crazy man. Pivoting, I face him when I’m a safe distance away.

“Look, I came on a little strong the other day, but we need to reconsider this marriage business. I understand how I handled it could be triggering but we don’t have to stick with this just because your mom misquoted you.”

Marín looks at me as he finishes his dessert but I wait it out for his response.

“I wasn’t misquoted. I didn’t give her an interview like how the article is set up but everything in there I’ve said to her at one point or another.”

“We were not having a secret affair until the thrupple article, Marín!” I clear my throat because I said that a little loudly and I’m trying my best to be rational.

He lowers himself on his couch and pats the space next to him. Seeing him relaxing on his couch and ready for bed gives me pause. It’s concerning; not because I’m scared to have sex with him, it’s more because I want to cuddle and I never want to cuddle.

Marín watches me expectantly, waiting for me to sit before he gives me a response. Our staredown doesn’t last long since I’m here to try to get out of this and being violent and loud did me no favors last time.

I sit with one leg tucked under me partially facing him, he leans in and it takes everything in me to sit still. His green eyes look like they’re trying to read my soul as he studies me for a moment. Marín’s thumb slides across my cheek as he cups my chin.

“What are you scared of, Esme?”

I jerk my head out of his grip because the question surprises me. “I’m not afraid of anything. Getting married is crazy and extreme. I don’t even know how old you are, if you have or want kids, your favorite color, or even why you became a gynecologist.”

“40, no kids but want some, burgundy is nice, and gynecology has a better chance of building strong patient relationships than other specialties. Women will always need a gynecologist from their first well woman’s all the way past menopause. Besides, people constantly talk about men not understanding women and it’s literally our job to try.”

Instead of getting caught up in his interesting statement, I give him a side eye because he has yet to touch the subject of us calling off this stupid engagement.

“Stop skirting around the main subject,Delgado.”

His lips ghost mine and he doesn’t back up. “I love when you say our last name like that.”Our?My stomach flips; his statement answers my inquiry loud and clear. “I’m not skirting anything, I haven’t changed my mind.”

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