Page 44 of Break Me Beautifully
"I don't know. Maybe five or so?"
"Jesus."
"I want to get everything done in time for the show," I say, blushing a bit. "It has to be amazing, Marshall. It just has to be."
His smile fades in a way that makes me uneasy. Turning, he puts the coffees and bag on a small table he brought after visiting me in the studio and seeing how I was using the lone chair for everything. He'd also brought me a phone charger so my phone wouldn't die again and give us a repeat of what happened last week. "Take a break with me," he says.
"Okay." Placing my brush down on my tray of paints, I join him and take the coffee. "Smells great," I say, inhaling the bitter scent and steam. Sipping carefully so I don't burn my tongue, I reach for the bag. "What did you buy?"
His hand slaps down on the table. I jerk backwards on impulse, scowling at his smug grin. "It's a secret."
"I'm too hungry for games, Marshall."
"Close your eyes, then."
"This again?" I ask, closing my eyes with a light laugh. "You're obsessed with keeping me in the dark."
He doesn't say anything for a long minute. "I guess I am," he says thoughtfully. "Try to guess what this is."
"How? Give me a hint."
"Use your senses, Leona."
I make a face, ready to tell him this is silly, then the sugar and vanilla tickles my nose. There's cinnamon, too, and I inhale with a groan. "Wow, that smells delicious."
"You can eat it, if you guess right."
"Marshall."
"Try it. Just try."
Tensing my forehead, I focus on the task. My stomach rumbles in the silence. He chuckles, but I ignore him. Iknowthis smell. It's on the tip of my tongue, the string of memory stretching in a coiled line, darting around clips of my childhood where I crept through the halls, through the kitchen, looking for snacks to hide away with in the rose garden. My mother was strict on what we ate. Treats were for guests, sugar off limits except for special occasions. There was a wonderful cook who would arrive every Sunday to bake treats for my parents to use as bait for their expanding list of networks.
She was a large woman with strong, smooth hands, eyes like the bottom of a lake, rosy cheeks, and a quick wit if you gave her a chance. I was the only one who did. My reward, for playing her word games, was a perfectly cooked...
"Cinnamon sugar doughnut," I blurt, opening my eyes.
Marshall's shock radiates off of him. In his fingers, pinched in a paper triangle, is a beautifully fresh doughnut. "How did you know?" he asks.
I can't mute my grin. I don't try to. "It's a secret," I tease, throwing the words back in his face. Snatching the doughnut, I bite into it with my eyes rolling. "Ohh mffyyy gaawwd," I mumble around my mouthful. Chewing, I say, "Try some."
He's gazing at my mouth. "If you insist." His hand encircles my wrist, holding me steady while he takes a bite of the sweet treat, his teeth clicking, lips gentle as they almost brush my skin. There's liquid desire in his dilated pupils. I tremble, forgetting to chew, standing there like an idiot with my mouth still full. "It's delicious," he whispers.
Fuck, how does he make eating so sensual?
Marshall smirks at me, letting go of my wrist, his thumb brushing sugar from my cheek. "Maybe you should swallow now."
Gulping the doughnut, I wash it down with my coffee. "How did you know I love these?"
"I didn't. It was just a guess."
"A good one," I say suspiciously. I can't help but doubt him. Even if he's spilled some of his mysteries to me, there are others that slip in to fill the gaps.
How did he discover my Instagram account?
Who was that woman he spoke to in the mall?
There are many things to wonder about Marshall Klintock. "Did you grab breakfast for yourself?" I ask.
