music, not this dance crap.”
“I don’t mind it, but give me bands like Nickelback and Bon Jovi and then we’re talking. And I love Aerosmith, even if the band looks a hundred years old.”
Marcus laughs. “So none of those guys make you want to rip your shirt off?”
“I wouldn’t rip my shirt off for any musician. Doesn’t matter if he’s my age or sixty.”
Marcus’s lips move to my ear. “Well, for the record, I like those bands too. And for the record, some guy’s fucking you with his eyes.” His voice sounds odd and I wonder if there really is a guy watching me, or if he just said that to cop a feel. “You’re okay, Amber,” he says softly. “I won’t let him touch you.” He looks in my eyes and I see for a brief moment a familiar pain staring back. A pain I’ve seen reflected in the mirror.
I don’t want him to think that we’re playing by his rules, but this time, as his mouth moves along my jaw, I don’t flinch. And inwardly I high-five myself for not freaking out, and for once again being able to enjoy the moment a little.
But just as I think his reputation as a man-whore is overrated, he murmurs in my ear, “God, you look fuckable in that dress.”
Figures.
Chapter Sixteen
Marcus
Last night while Kitten and I danced, all I wanted to do was to protect her. The way she responded when I first kissed her confirmed she’s been damaged, and I don’t think it was the guy I hit at the party who’s at fault. He never had a chance to kiss her before I nailed him in the face.
But I screwed things up. She went from being vulnerable in my arms to this stone princess now sitting next to me in the food court. I’ve never responded to a girl the way I did with Amber, and my reaction scared me. I’ve always managed to keep up my wall with most people, and use girls purely for entertainment. That, and to prove to myself I’m a normal guy.
I’m not a complete ass where girls are concerned. I don’t treat them badly, and they know where they stand with me. Sex is a one-time deal. Any more than that and girls think you want a commitment. I thought Tammara was different, that we shared an understanding. I was wrong.
When I agreed to Amber’s plan, I thought it would be an easy fifty bucks. That I could walk away from last night fifty dollars closer to my goal, with no second thoughts or regrets. But then I talked to her—really talked to her—and I kissed her and listened to her talk about music. And I realized something.
Amber has gotten under my skin.
And I have to escape. I can’t afford to get close to anyone. I failed my brother and I’m afraid of failing Alejandro. I don’t want to risk failing anyone else, too.
Kitten deserves to be loved by someone who deserves her in return. That person is not me. My mother taught me that.
I didn’t want to be a jerk last night. I wanted to be Amber’s hero, someone who made her feel safe. But in the end, I did what I had to do, and I pissed her off.
Pushing away the emptiness worming its way in, I work through the first question of Amber’s math assignment with her, explaining each step while trying to ignore her strawberry-scented hair. As if that’s even possible. That scent has found its way into my dreams, and with Kitten next to me, it reminds me of the most vivid ones. The ones where we both end up naked. In my bed.
Groaning inwardly at the way my dick responds to the mere thought of those dreams, I ask, “How can you tell you’re in the hands of the Mathematical Mafia?”
Her warm brown eyes sparkle in amusement, like they always do when she knows I’m about to tell her a math joke, even though she knows it’s going to be lame. “I don’t know. How do you tell?”
“They make you an offer that you can’t understand.”
She laughs, the sound of it as warm as her eyes. I grin at the thought of how she’s the first person to laugh at my jokes, and go back to helping her with her assignment.
By the third question,
“I don’t mind it, but give me bands like Nickelback and Bon Jovi and then we’re talking. And I love Aerosmith, even if the band looks a hundred years old.”
Marcus laughs. “So none of those guys make you want to rip your shirt off?”
“I wouldn’t rip my shirt off for any musician. Doesn’t matter if he’s my age or sixty.”
Marcus’s lips move to my ear. “Well, for the record, I like those bands too. And for the record, some guy’s fucking you with his eyes.” His voice sounds odd and I wonder if there really is a guy watching me, or if he just said that to cop a feel. “You’re okay, Amber,” he says softly. “I won’t let him touch you.” He looks in my eyes and I see for a brief moment a familiar pain staring back. A pain I’ve seen reflected in the mirror.
I don’t want him to think that we’re playing by his rules, but this time, as his mouth moves along my jaw, I don’t flinch. And inwardly I high-five myself for not freaking out, and for once again being able to enjoy the moment a little.
But just as I think his reputation as a man-whore is overrated, he murmurs in my ear, “God, you look fuckable in that dress.”
Figures.
Chapter Sixteen
Marcus
Last night while Kitten and I danced, all I wanted to do was to protect her. The way she responded when I first kissed her confirmed she’s been damaged, and I don’t think it was the guy I hit at the party who’s at fault. He never had a chance to kiss her before I nailed him in the face.
But I screwed things up. She went from being vulnerable in my arms to this stone princess now sitting next to me in the food court. I’ve never responded to a girl the way I did with Amber, and my reaction scared me. I’ve always managed to keep up my wall with most people, and use girls purely for entertainment. That, and to prove to myself I’m a normal guy.
I’m not a complete ass where girls are concerned. I don’t treat them badly, and they know where they stand with me. Sex is a one-time deal. Any more than that and girls think you want a commitment. I thought Tammara was different, that we shared an understanding. I was wrong.
When I agreed to Amber’s plan, I thought it would be an easy fifty bucks. That I could walk away from last night fifty dollars closer to my goal, with no second thoughts or regrets. But then I talked to her—really talked to her—and I kissed her and listened to her talk about music. And I realized something.
Amber has gotten under my skin.
And I have to escape. I can’t afford to get close to anyone. I failed my brother and I’m afraid of failing Alejandro. I don’t want to risk failing anyone else, too.
Kitten deserves to be loved by someone who deserves her in return. That person is not me. My mother taught me that.
I didn’t want to be a jerk last night. I wanted to be Amber’s hero, someone who made her feel safe. But in the end, I did what I had to do, and I pissed her off.
Pushing away the emptiness worming its way in, I work through the first question of Amber’s math assignment with her, explaining each step while trying to ignore her strawberry-scented hair. As if that’s even possible. That scent has found its way into my dreams, and with Kitten next to me, it reminds me of the most vivid ones. The ones where we both end up naked. In my bed.
Groaning inwardly at the way my dick responds to the mere thought of those dreams, I ask, “How can you tell you’re in the hands of the Mathematical Mafia?”
Her warm brown eyes sparkle in amusement, like they always do when she knows I’m about to tell her a math joke, even though she knows it’s going to be lame. “I don’t know. How do you tell?”
“They make you an offer that you can’t understand.”
She laughs, the sound of it as warm as her eyes. I grin at the thought of how she’s the first person to laugh at my jokes, and go back to helping her with her assignment.
By the third question,
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