Page 14 of Tripped By Love
Clayton’s eyes squinted, taking in the arm around my midriff. Taking in the wide breadth of Marco’s stance and the muscles that rippled beneath his workout gear.
“Who’s this?” Clayton demanded.
“Like I said. I’m her boyfriend, and you’re the asshole who’s leaving.”
My heart flipped and twirled with the stupid wish that the words were true. That somehow, I’d be lucky enough to claim this stunning man as my own. That his possessive, protective grip was something I was used to.
Clayton glared—one I returned, and one I figured Marco was also returning even if I couldn’t see his face. It didn’t surprise me when it was Clayton who relented first. He stalked toward the door, opened it, and then looked over his shoulder at us.
“I’ll be back in a week, and I’ll be here all summer. I have a right to see my son, but I want to see you both. Maybe you should figure this out before I return,” he said, his eyes landing on Marco’s arm before coming back to my face. He was pissed. Angry that whatever plan he’d had going on in his mind had been thwarted with Marco’s appearance. With my lack of submission.
The door slammed behind him.
I sagged in relief, my heart pounding as much from Marco’s length tight up against mine as from the confrontation with a man I was ashamed to have let in my life.
I pulled away, and Marco let me. The loss of his touch hit me stronger than any loss I’d ever felt from Clayton. This loss made me want to step back into Marco’s embrace and see if he could hug me as tightly as I hugged Chevelle. Until there wasn’t even a breadth of space between us.
I couldn’t meet his eyes. I was afraid that not only would he see the longing in me, but that I’d see disappointment spreading over his face because I’d once let that weasel into my bed. I couldn’t bear to be less in Marco’s eyes than I already was.
“What the hell was that?” he asked, and instead of stepping away, he closed the distance again. He put a finger under my chin, drawing my gaze to his. I saw anger there, but I also saw fear tangled with another emotion. One I wanted to call yearning but was probably just concern. Still. It made me gasp. A little breath of air that drew his eyes to my lips.
“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head, but so entranced by Marco’s skin touching mine that it was hard to think.
“He’s really Chevelle’s father?” Marco asked.
“Sperm donor. Not a father,” I said, my chin raising.
As if it suddenly hit him how close we were and just how much he was touching me, Marco stepped away, all his emotions shuttering behind a blank face that was square and beautiful. As if he was an ancient Aztec god come to life. Black hair shorn short like the military man he’d once been, the bristles echoing the ones scattered across his chiseled cheeks and sharp chin. Heavy brows sheltered his dark-brown eyes that flickered with the emotions his face was trying to conceal.
“He wants to know Chevelle. Wants you?” His voice deepened as if the idea was enough to hurt him. My heart flipped wildly with the hope that maybe there really was more to Marco’s and my arrangement than just being workout pals. Maybe the feelings I held at bay were also buried in him.
The image of the couple from the day before, spinning down the sidewalk together, hit me, but instead, it was Marco and me. Could we be that? I shook my head. It was ridiculous. A dream I couldn’t risk wishing for not only because I knew better than to expect him to desire me, but because I didn’t have time for anything in my life but Chevelle and the café.
“I hardly think that’s his real plan,” I finally spoke. “He was very clear he never wanted children—and certainly not with some backwater nobody.”
Marco’s eyes flicked to the door and back to me, his tall frame straightening, tightening as if he was ready to do battle.
“Just ask it,” I said.
His eyes widened a hair, nostrils flaring slightly.
“What?”
“Ask me why I was with that pompous, arrogant asshole.”
It was a dare I wasn’t sure he’d give in to. Because if we were merely gym buddies?if I was merely a project he was overseeing?then he shouldn’t care why I’d been with Clayton Hardy, Esquire of Jackasses. But Marco had shown up. Defended me. Claimed me in order to do so, and now I wanted to know if he’d go further, even when I knew I shouldn’t tempt it. I ached to know if he’d come out from behind his armor to show that there was more to him…to us.
