by Laura Kaye
Shit if the whole fiasco this morning didn’t prove he had no business wanting into her life. Or her bed.
Or her heart, a traitorous part of his mind whispered.
Fucking hell. Not a chance.
Hoping work would distract him from his most recent cluster, Marco returned to the bar and got everything restocked and ready for the double service Sundays entailed. He was working lunch and his part-time counterpart, Jameson, was working the dinner shift. Alyssa was on with him for lunch, which Marco hoped would work in his favor.
With the doors ready to open in fifteen minutes, Marco headed to the break room for a bite to eat. Before he got there, a raucous conversation made its way down the hall to him.
“…and she turned him down,” someone said, dissolving into laughter.
“Shut up, asshole. Why do I tell you anything?” Eric grumbled.
“Just as well. She’s too good for you anyway,” Van said. “Speaking of…where is she? Isn’t she on for lunch?”
Tell me I didn’t just hear what I think I heard. Marco rounded into the room and the conversation died an unnatural death. “Hey,” he said, attempting to act like he hadn’t been eavesdropping.
Van crossed his arms and eyed him curiously. “You feeling better?”
“Yeah. Thanks for asking.” He grabbed a plate and filled half of it, then took a seat.
“So, Tommy, you gonna play at open mic night this week?” Eric asked.
Tommy was their sound technician and looked the part, complete with grunge clothing, long hair, and two fully tattooed sleeves. His ink was sweet, though. Marco had never gotten any tatts because they too easily identified you in the field, but that wasn’t standing in his way anymore, was it?
Tommy shrugged. “If the spirit moves me. We’ll see.”
Marco looked up from his plate. “I vote for playing. Your music is brilliant. That shit needs to be shared.”
Tommy’s mouth dropped open as if Marco had sprouted three heads. Was it so fucking unusual for him to participate in casual conversation? From the way they were all gawking at him, apparently so. After a long moment, Tommy recovered. “You play anything?”
“I was good at guitar and passable on the piano. But I haven’t played much in a few years and my left hand is not what it used to be. Not sure if I could even manage a bar chord, as weak as it is right now.” He swallowed another bite, feeling everyone’s gazes on him. He looked around. “So, who asked Alyssa out?” he asked, working hard at nonchalance but probably failing, judging by the way his gut clenched.
Tommy and Van developed a bad case of shifty eyes and Eric became fascinated by the food on his plate, identifying him as the culprit.
“Hey, Alyssa?” Van called.
Marco cut his glare away from Eric and looked over his shoulder.
She leaned around the doorjamb but didn’t meet his gaze. “Hey, guys,” she said softly, her witty, outgoing demeanor nowhere to be seen. Marco willed her to look at him.
“Join us,” Van said.
“No, that’s all right. I already ate. Thanks, though,” she said quietly. With a quick wave, she disappeared into the hall.
…
Was this shift ever going to end? Pete had only given her three tables for her first time going solo, and that wasn’t nearly enough to keep her mind off of the abject humiliation that still burned through her over the scene in the green room that morning.
It didn’t help that Marco kept trying to engage her in conversation every time she placed a drink order. But talking was the last thing she wanted to do. She needed another lecture like she needed a hole in her head and, if she were being honest, she felt horrible about comparing him to her dad. Had she ever said anything less true or more unfair? She’d just been so mad at herself for doing something she knew she shouldn’t have done and embarrassed that, of all people, Marco had been the one to find her. In one fell swoop, she’d undone her efforts to prove to him she was a woman who could take care of herself, not a child who still needed his help.
And that made her heart hurt because the more time she spent in Marco’s presence, the more she suspected what she felt for him extended well beyond a crush or the love she’d expected. True, he wasn’t the same easygoing boy she’d known. He’d grown into a complicated man who radiated a quiet, hurting intensity she found utterly attracting. The haunting echoes of the horrors he’d survived cast shadows in his eyes and over his very body, and in that darkness she saw the hurts she bore from her own childhood. That they now shared a soul-deep pain called to her, made her want—no, need—to ease his burden. After all, how many times had he been there for her? Just once, she wanted to be that person for him.
He wasn’t the only one who had changed. She used to be so shy it was painful, but therapy, self-defense classes, and a freshman roommate who had been the biggest extrovert on the planet combined to make her stronger, more independent, and more outgoing. After so many years of letting others take care of her, not wanting to ask for help was now her biggest weakness. She knew herself well enough to recognize that. Put plainly, she’d become stubborn and downright determined to prove she didn’t need anyone’s help. Not anymore.
Finally, the early show ended and the last customer filed out. Alyssa had been so stuck in her head all afternoon, she couldn’t have described the band or its music if her life depended on it. To prepare for the evening show, the waitstaff collected all the condiment bottles, and she and Kim stood at a counter in the kitchen topping them off.
“How’d your first service go?” Kim asked.
Alyssa worked at a smile. “It was fine.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I’m just not quite myself today.”
“Why don’t you go out and enjoy this beautiful day. Maybe that’ll help.” Kim bumped her shoulder.
“I will.”
Kim set down a bottle of ketchup. “So what are you waiting for?” Alyssa frowned. “Go now, girl.”
“B-but,” she sputtered. “We’re not done yet.”
“Correction: I’m not done yet. You go. I’ll finish here. Really. This job’s a marathon, not a sprint, and you’ve been working extra hours every day since you started. Go on now.”
Alyssa hesitated for a moment before the need to escape this day became too strong to resist. “You are my new favorite person, Kim. Thank you.”
In the lounge, Alyssa clocked out, grabbed her purse, then made a straight shot for her car. She had a date with a hotel receptionist, iTunes, and a poolside deck chair at her little hotel.
Her car was broiling, so she rolled the windows all the way down. First an apartment, then maybe a new used car with air-conditioning that actually worked? She could dream.
She drove across the rear lot to the side exit. From the corner of her eye, she caught someone barreling out the back door. Had someone called her name? If so, whatever it was could wait until tomorrow.
Thankfully, it was a short drive to the hotel. The light turned green at the intersection in front of her destination, and a flash of movement in her rearview mirror captured her notice. Was that…no! She eased the Corolla into a parking space near the front lobby, anger and exasperation filling her chest in equal measure.
Betty rocketed into the space beside her.
Marco jumped out of the Mustang and rounded the back of his car to her driver’s side. She opened her door and got out, closing it harder than she meant to. “What are you—”
“Just listen for a minute, okay?” He braced his hands on either side of the car’s roof, boxing her in.
All the fight drained out of her, and she sagged back against her door. His expression was tense and uncertain. And, oh, that face—if men could be beautiful, then he truly was. “Okay.”
“You’re not staying here. Not anymore.”
Her exasperation returned. “Uh, yeah. I am. I looked all over my first night in town. This place has the cheapest rates.”
Marco closed his eyes and shook
his head. “No. Damn.” He released a long breath. “I suck at talking to you, don’t I?”
“Yeah. Kinda.”
He looked at her for a long moment until finally one side of his lips curved into a crooked grin. Her heart tripped over itself at its appearance. If she’d thought him beautiful before…
He reached up, slowly, and curled a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
His fingers caressed her skin in a slow slide she felt everywhere. Man, she’d always crushed on Marco, but she didn’t remember her body ever aching for his touch the way it did now, but then she remembered what they were talking about—him helping her.
He brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “I was going to talk to you after work, but you left before I found you. What I meant to say is, I want you to come stay with me.”
Warring responses waged within her. The thought of sharing a house with him again was the stuff of late-night hopes and fantasies, but she knew he was only doing this out of a sense of duty and obligation. He’d found her sleeping at Whiskey’s this morning, and now he felt the need to help her. Just like old times.
Her insides deflated at the thought.
“I’m fine. I have enough money now. I can make it until payday.”
He stepped in closer and cupped her cheek in his big hand. “Great. I’m glad to hear that. But if you stay at my place, you can save that money and use it to…I don’t know. Furnish an apartment or whatever.”
It took everything she had not to lean into his hand, not to turn her face and press a kiss against his palm. It made the desire to fall into him so damn strong. Instead, she shrugged. “I wouldn’t want to intrude or, uh, be in the way when you have…guests over.” The thought of who those guests might be made her stomach hurt.
His hand dropped to her shoulder and squeezed, a sad smile playing at his lips. “What guests? I’ve been a total recluse since I got home. My parents haven’t even been over since the day they helped me move in. So it would be just you and me. And since I’m inviting you, you wouldn’t be intruding.”
The way he’d said you and me echoed in Alyssa’s mind and tugged at her deepest desires. “I don’t know,” she whispered.
He leaned in. “I want you…or, um, I wouldn’t have asked.” With a strange expression on his face, he backed away and scrubbed his hands through his hair.
Did he just say he wants me? Alyssa felt the heat of a blush creep up her cheeks and hoped he might believe the heat of the sun was the cause. “Okay.”
His eyes were wary but his expression relaxed. “Okay?”
“Yeah. But it won’t be for long.”
He frowned. “My house is yours for however long you need. Besides, uh, you know Brady would have a fit if he found out about last night.”
Alyssa’s hopes plummeted to the ground. Duty and obligation it was, then. “I’m sure you’re right,” she managed.
“So just follow me home, then?”
Alyssa agreed, eager to return to the privacy of her car so she could spend a few minutes kicking herself over reading into what he’d said, how he’d touched her. “Lead the way.”
Marco slid into his car as she got into hers. Alyssa followed Betty to the edge of town to Marco’s house, a surprisingly charming brick Cape Cod with a curving sloped roof, loft-style windows on the second floor, and a wide front porch. His street backed to Braddock Mountain, the part of Catoctin Mountain that formed Frederick’s western boundary. The setting gave the house a rural feel even though it was only ten minutes from the small downtown.
Marco walked from his car in the driveway to where she’d parked on the street. “What can I help you with?”
Alyssa slung her overnight bag onto her shoulder. “I don’t have that much. I can manage.”
“Seriously. Load me up.”
Alyssa smiled. “Okay. Remember, you asked for it.” She popped the trunk, reached in, and chucked two pillows at him.
He bobbled the second one, nearly dropping it to the ground, and cocked an eyebrow at her.
Her grin was instantaneous. “Just seeing if you were a man of your word.”
“Count on it.” He stuffed both pillows under one arm and yanked her suitcase out with the other. “What else?” He surveyed the contents of her trunk, then stepped around and peered into her backseat. “Is this all you have?”
“For now.” The trunk held a small TV, a DVD player, her guitar, two boxes of kitchen items, a folded comforter, and three crates of books and picture frames. In her backseat sat a laundry basket of sheets and blankets and a duffel bag filled with towels and a few pairs of shoes.
He pressed his lips into a tight line and nailed her with a disapproving gaze.
She closed the trunk and tilted her head. “No yelling, remember? And no stern talking, either.”
He stared at her for another moment, then chuffed out a laugh. “Yes, ma’am. Come on.” He started up the front walk. “I don’t know how I’ll ever fit all this stuff in my house.”
Alyssa followed after him. “Do I need to add ‘no smart-ass commentary’ to the list?”
He unlocked the front door. “Probably. But I can’t make any promises on that one.”
She rolled her eyes and stepped in behind him. “Wow, Marco. This place is great.”
Original hardwood floors stretched out in every direction and matched the carved molding that ran along the baseboards and around the doors. A huge front window let warm light into the L-shaped living room, which connected directly to a dining room. However, sparsely decorated didn’t begin to describe it. “I don’t think I’m the only one who needs to get some furniture, though.”
Marco glanced around, a troubled expression on his face. A futon, a folding tray, and a TV on a small stand comprised the totality of his belongings in the two rooms she’d seen so far. “Yeah. It’s on my to-do list. Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”
A hallway off the empty dining room led to a set of stairs with detailed moldings all along the side, then to a bathroom and a bedroom.
She followed him into the bedroom, the most furnished room she’d seen so far. A queen-size mission bed and two nightstands sat on one wall, and a long dresser with a mirror took up most of another. A solid navy comforter provided the only color in the room. The walls were bare.
“Here you go.” He dropped her pillows onto the bed and settled her suitcase next to it.
Two folded shirts rested on the long dresser, and a glass of water and a sports watch sat on one of the night tables.
“Wait,” she said, looking around, her stomach flipping in realization. “This isn’t your room, is it?”
Chapter Seven
So much for the plan to keep his distance.
Scrubbing his hand through his hair, Marco nodded. Yes, it was his room. And having Alyssa in there three feet from where he’d dreamed those dreams about her was really fucking distracting. “I haven’t gotten around to outfitting the upstairs guestrooms. You know, because of the no-guest thing. So it’s yours as long as you need it.”
“Then where are you going to sleep?” She stared at him, cheeks pink. Her eyes went wide. “You’re not thinking of the futon. Marco, I’m not kicking you out of your bed.”
“It’s fine. I don’t sleep that much anyway.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Why not?”
The question caught him off guard. He needed to watch what he said around her. She was too damn perceptive and knew him too well—or, at least, the old him. “When you do what I used to do, you learn to operate on very little sleep.”
She eyed him for a long moment, then dropped her bag off her shoulder and sighed. “Okay. Well, thanks.”
“No problem.” They stood looking at each other. She was so damn pretty. “Um, so, I’ll let you get settled in. I guess.”
“Oh. Right.”
Marco stepped around her, then paused in the doorway. “Bathroom’s right out here in the hall. Let me know if you need anything else.”
“I will
.”
He pulled the door shut and walked into the kitchen. Bracing his hands on the counter, he stared out the window at the mountain. Alyssa Scott was in his house. In his bedroom. Maybe sitting on his bed right now. His dick twitched at the thought. Treacherous bastard.
But what was he supposed to do? Let her struggle to make ends meet for however long it took her to get on her feet? And what if she ended up again in the position she’d been in last night? Not enough money to put a roof over her head and nowhere to go. Next time, they might not be so lucky—it might not be him who finds her. And then… He couldn’t even let himself think about all the ways her little campout at Whiskey’s might’ve gone wrong.
By taking her in, he was doing what was right.
And wasn’t that a convenient rationale that allowed him to ignore how much he wanted her there. Even though it was stupid, and dangerous, and just…really fucking stupid.
The way his body strained at the fly of his jeans proved that.
A door opened behind him. “I’m going to grab my guitar,” Alyssa called.
“Okay,” he said, feeling like a schmuck for not getting it himself, but he wasn’t really, er, presentable right now. He heaved a deep breath and willed his body under control.
She returned a few minutes later and leaned in the kitchen doorway. “Wanna see?”
“Yeah. Break it out.” More settled now, he followed her into the living room where she’d left the case sitting in front of the futon.
She opened the lid and pulled the acoustic into her lap.
“Oh, man. That’s a beauty. Let’s hear it.”
“Really?” She smiled and, when he nodded, checked her hand position and started to play.
Marco braced his elbows on his knees. It was an old Lennon–McCarthy song he used to play for her on the piano. Back then, she’d said “In My Life” reminded her of her mom. She played it beautifully, in a light, hopeful arrangement that pulled a rare smile out of him. Her body swayed with the rhythm and her fingers flew over the fretboard. How many afternoons had the two of them sat in the basement family room at his parents’ house and played guitar together, him on the old acoustic packed away in his bedroom closet, her on the smaller guitar his parents bought for her one Christmas. Brady bored quickly of their jam sessions, so the music was something they’d often shared alone.
