casting a long shadow over the length of hers. Warring desires rocked through him. But for now, being near her was enough—would have to be enough.
Moving to her side, he spread out the extra towel she’d brought beside her and lay down on his back. The sun was too hot against his black jeans and its shine too bright in his eyes, but this closeness, this feeling of not being alone—maybe it meant he was even weaker than he thought, but he needed it. Jesus, he was starving for it.
Movement from the towel next to him captured his attention. Marco rolled his head to the right and found himself looking into Alyssa’s big brown eyes. She held his gaze for a long moment, neither of them talking, or moving, or avoiding the scrutiny of the other.
Finally, she turned her head back up to the sun and closed her eyes. Her hand slid across the grass between them and clasped his. His throat went tight. She’d known. Dammit, she’d known just what he needed from her. He slid his long fingers between her slender ones, linking them together more tightly.
And then he closed his eyes and struggled not to voice his greatest fear.
He might be falling in love with her.
Chapter Eight
Marco had nightmares.
Alyssa first learned that her second night at his place. She’d gotten up to go to the bathroom and heard him calling out words too slurred for her to understand but in a tone so tortured she couldn’t miss the feeling behind them. For long minutes, she’d stood in the doorway of the dark dining room, debating whether to wake him. But then he’d settled, and she’d returned to bed.
Every night, it was the same thing. Sometimes it went on longer. Sometimes he shouted out or moaned. The specific notes of his anguish varied, but the basic soundtrack remained the same, like a needle on an old LP stuck in a particularly deep groove.
She wished she could talk to him about it, ask him what was haunting him night after night. But ever since she’d woken up late Sunday afternoon to find the towel beside her—and the house itself—empty, he’d been avoiding her. She was sure of it. He was gone when she got up in the morning and beat her to work every day. He didn’t join her and the others in the break room for a bite to eat, and, after making sure she safely got back to his place after work, he often went to the gym, not returning until she’d fallen asleep.
The only thing that kept her going was her memory of the desperate need in his blue eyes while they’d lain side by side under the summer sun.
But how could she be there for someone who insisted on staying away?
Maybe he simply didn’t want her to be.
By Wednesday night, her heartache for him blossomed into the determination to simply confront him. She couldn’t go about her life acting like everything was okay when her oldest friend and the person who owned the biggest piece of her heart carried torturous pain around inside him.
Of course, she had to wait for him to come home from the gym first. In his bedroom, she changed out of her work clothes and pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of girly striped boxers. Then she planted herself on the futon, eyes on the front door, and waited. As the numbers on the LED screen of her phone passed one a.m., Alyssa struggled to remain awake, and then finally stopped fighting it. She’d hear him come in. Against one armrest, Marco had stacked a pillow on top of the folded blanket he’d been using at night, so she reclined against them and let herself drift off.
Warm arms slipped under her body and for a moment she was weightless.
Forcing her eyelids open, Alyssa looked up at the hard angle of Marco’s jaw. “Marco,” she whispered, her sleepy voice cracking.
“Shh. Don’t wake up,” he said in a low voice.
God, his body felt so good against hers. She reached up and cupped her hand around his neck. “Talk to me.”
He turned sideways with her as he stepped through the bedroom doorway. Gently, he laid her on his
Moving to her side, he spread out the extra towel she’d brought beside her and lay down on his back. The sun was too hot against his black jeans and its shine too bright in his eyes, but this closeness, this feeling of not being alone—maybe it meant he was even weaker than he thought, but he needed it. Jesus, he was starving for it.
Movement from the towel next to him captured his attention. Marco rolled his head to the right and found himself looking into Alyssa’s big brown eyes. She held his gaze for a long moment, neither of them talking, or moving, or avoiding the scrutiny of the other.
Finally, she turned her head back up to the sun and closed her eyes. Her hand slid across the grass between them and clasped his. His throat went tight. She’d known. Dammit, she’d known just what he needed from her. He slid his long fingers between her slender ones, linking them together more tightly.
And then he closed his eyes and struggled not to voice his greatest fear.
He might be falling in love with her.
Chapter Eight
Marco had nightmares.
Alyssa first learned that her second night at his place. She’d gotten up to go to the bathroom and heard him calling out words too slurred for her to understand but in a tone so tortured she couldn’t miss the feeling behind them. For long minutes, she’d stood in the doorway of the dark dining room, debating whether to wake him. But then he’d settled, and she’d returned to bed.
Every night, it was the same thing. Sometimes it went on longer. Sometimes he shouted out or moaned. The specific notes of his anguish varied, but the basic soundtrack remained the same, like a needle on an old LP stuck in a particularly deep groove.
She wished she could talk to him about it, ask him what was haunting him night after night. But ever since she’d woken up late Sunday afternoon to find the towel beside her—and the house itself—empty, he’d been avoiding her. She was sure of it. He was gone when she got up in the morning and beat her to work every day. He didn’t join her and the others in the break room for a bite to eat, and, after making sure she safely got back to his place after work, he often went to the gym, not returning until she’d fallen asleep.
The only thing that kept her going was her memory of the desperate need in his blue eyes while they’d lain side by side under the summer sun.
But how could she be there for someone who insisted on staying away?
Maybe he simply didn’t want her to be.
By Wednesday night, her heartache for him blossomed into the determination to simply confront him. She couldn’t go about her life acting like everything was okay when her oldest friend and the person who owned the biggest piece of her heart carried torturous pain around inside him.
Of course, she had to wait for him to come home from the gym first. In his bedroom, she changed out of her work clothes and pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of girly striped boxers. Then she planted herself on the futon, eyes on the front door, and waited. As the numbers on the LED screen of her phone passed one a.m., Alyssa struggled to remain awake, and then finally stopped fighting it. She’d hear him come in. Against one armrest, Marco had stacked a pillow on top of the folded blanket he’d been using at night, so she reclined against them and let herself drift off.
Warm arms slipped under her body and for a moment she was weightless.
Forcing her eyelids open, Alyssa looked up at the hard angle of Marco’s jaw. “Marco,” she whispered, her sleepy voice cracking.
“Shh. Don’t wake up,” he said in a low voice.
God, his body felt so good against hers. She reached up and cupped her hand around his neck. “Talk to me.”
He turned sideways with her as he stepped through the bedroom doorway. Gently, he laid her on his
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