Page 30 of Best Man Speaking
Her eye contact is steady—ballsy, even. “No.”
Hallie had always had tough skin; she’d had to with parents like hers, forever seeking perfection.
The life she’s living, the life abroad she’d always talked about—there’s no doubt she flourished without me. I admire that she’d been brave enough to leave, to choose herself and stay gone until it suited her.
I don’t necessarily like it, but I admire it.
“Will you catch up with your parents while you’re here?”
She huffs indelicately. “Not a chance.”
“You know, your dad—” I start before being cut off.
“Is not someone I talk to or about. Ever. But especially with you,” she finishes sharply.
My idea to get her on board with talking to her dad for the purpose of charitable funds, derails slightly. To be fair, I hadn’t really expected her to hear me out. She’s going to need to warm up to me a whole lot more before I bring it up again.
“Hallie, give me something here.”
“Would a black eye meet the criteria?” she asks with genuine curiosity, and I feel a perverse glee.
“Well, that depends on you, really. Is there some other way in which you’d like to have your hands on me?” I ask since she’s diverted the subject again to the physical, and I don’t even care. Not when it works to my advantage. Getting close to her, gaining her trust, is apparently what I’m needing to do. Because I don’t plan on lying to her about what her dad wants; I just need her to let me bring it up without the threat of murder.
Hallie’s jaw tenses, and her eyes spark—but not with the annoyance I’d expected.
I feel my own flare in response, my pulse kicking.
Fuck.
When we were young and alone, she’d always had a hand on me, or I’d had one on her. The image of her climbing over me, her palms pressing against my pecs, my fingers tracing the curve of her hips and the line of her spine. It’s a memory I wouldn’t mind revisiting.
I can’t help but wonder if that’s what she’s thinking about. If she’s imagining my hands on her, firmly stroking and touching, heavy and warm as I press her into my bed. Chances are she isn’t, but I don’t want her to go until I find out.
I only hope if I push this, she doesn’t run altogether.
Julian would never forgive me.
Chapter Nine
Hallie
The temperature in the room has risen, and with a single look, the air that was once plentiful seems to have been sucked out completely. It’s always been like this with Marcus and me. The two of us charge a space with energy—energy that can result in the most heated of sparks or the most destructive of implosions. The temptation to revisit this particular part of our past to “just see” what the current between us would lead to is enticing.
I eye Marcus warily.
He sits before me, his simple presence the utter embodiment of a man-sized self-destruct button. And yet, part of me truly does not care. My curiosity, my desireto know—the trait that takes me all over the world—is also the instigator of every bad decision I’ve ever made. It’s what makes me the fool who’s forever touching walls with wet paint signs.
But touching Marcus? It would leave me with more than paint-stained fingertips.
Whatever he sees on my face causes a small smile to grace the corners of his lips, and he places his mug on the heavy block of a coffee table between us.
I freeze, breath stalling, as he stands, then moves around to sit on the edge of the table. Our knees brush.
“You’re a bit close,” I state, my heart picking up its pace beneath my ribs.
“I thought you might like me this close,” Marcus replies smoothly. “It’d make giving me a black eye much easier.” His lips curve into a knowing smirk. “I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”
It’s in moments like this I wish I could raise a single brow. Instead, I’m stuck with having to use my words. If only my mouth weren’t so great at getting me into all sorts of trouble. The truth is, I don’t mind him this close; I’m just not sure what stupid thing I might do.
