Page 47 of Wistful Whispers
“Ah, right. You’re not letting me off the hook.” I lean back and give her the rundown on how it all started. “At the end of the day, understanding how to give a woman pleasure became a challenge. I wanted to be the best.” I tilt my head. “What started out as an experiment with two friends in medical school expanded. No two women are the same and this fascinated me. Things got a bit out of control, apparently. Hence, the reputation I never asked for, but can’t deny.”
Marcella’s throat bobs when she swallows, her gaze flickers down my body for a brief second before snapping back to my eyes.
“I see,” she murmurs as her cheeks flush red.
I watch her carefully and notice something I didn’t expect—interest.Genuineinterest. It’s subtle. Unmistakable.
Holy hell, this is getting dangerous.
I shift in my seat. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Why?” A flash of hurt crosses her face.
I shift, extending my legs under the table. This woman knows more about me than my own brothers, why not leave it all out there? “Look, I come from a family of men who are larger than life. Three rockstars. A tech mogul. A man who’s taken over the family’s construction empire. I was the sensitive, quiet one. The one who always followed the rules. When you grow up watching your brothers get all the attention, you start to wonder what you’re missing.”
Marcella giggles nervously. “Jesus. That’s…”
“Ridiculous?” I supply.
She stabs at her salad. “Not the word I was going to use.”
“Look, it stopped being fun years ago and I stopped. It wasn’t fulfilling for me. After Miranda…” I trail off, running a hand through my hair thinking of my encounter with Cecily and how empty I felt. “Pointless.”
Her brows draw together. “Why wouldn’t you think I’d understand? Do I come across as uptight? I was twenty-nine once, you know.”
I roll my shoulders, feeling the weight of the admission before I even say it. “Because you’re probably used to being worshipped. You don’t seem like a woman who’d ever stoop so low to let some creep get you off in a stairwell and not remember your name.”
Marcella exhales sharply, like I’ve struck a nerve she wasn’t prepared for. Her fingers clamp around the stem of her wine glass, and for a second, I think she’s going to brush it off, give me some cool, unaffected lawyerly response.
Instead, she lets out a bitter laugh. “Guys don’t worship fat girls like me, Seamus. They fuck them in secret. Or they don’t bother at all.” She looks off into the distance, not before I catch the flicker of something in her eyes—raw and unguarded.
Beneath all her armor, she’s as lost as me.
“Christ. That’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” I can’t help myself.
Her head jerks toward me in surprise.
I lean forward, elbows on the table. “You’re not fat. You’re the most stunning goddamn woman I’ve ever seen.” The words come out rough, guttural. “I can’t get you out of my head. I can’t sleep. Or concentrate. It fucking kills me you think I’m some misogynistic asshole who’d treat you that way. If circumstances were different, would you even give me the time of day?”
Her lips part slightly. No words come out. A flicker of shock—like I’ve caught her completely off guard.
She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t blink.
Whatever walls she built, have I somehow slipped through the cracks?
Her silence dares me to make the next move.
It’s all I can do to hold the line—for now.
fifteen
Marcella
Same Night
Myheartseizes.
Not from fear—from recognition.
