The Marker: Book One in the Bridge Series

by Howes, Ann

  “What the hell do they feed you?” I say to the dog, who I’ve decided to name Truman.

  The dog sneezes and hangs his head. Big droplets of drool fall on the tile and I have to be more than buzzed because I swear his lips turn pink.

  “Oh boy, buddy. How can something so ugly and farts like you be so damn cute?” I scratch the top of his flat, blonde head and this seems to please him. He snorts and smiles, turning on his canine charm. And just like that, I fall in love with the little bastard.

  “You know, Truman, you and I can be really good friends as long as you don’t keep doing that.”

  * * *

  An hour later, after Cass has blow-dried and styled my hair, I’m still buzzed from wine and grateful it’s not from Vicodin for a change.

  Before leaving, Cass helps me unpack and hang my clothes in a closet the size of an extra-large storage container. They look lost in there.

  From my limited wardrobe, I choose loose black palazzo pants, and a matching low-cut, V-necked sweater and since I can’t navigate the hooks, forget the bra.

  My hands and knees are scabbing, but they’re still tender and currently unbandaged as I’m airing them out from my shower.

  Just as I’m slipping on a pair of sandals my cell phone pings.

  Dean: Miss you Baby. Can’t hide from me. Know where you are.

  Ugh.

  Dean: Can’t stop thinking about you. All the things I’m going to do when we’re together again. Just thinking about you makes me hard.

  Then the asshole sends a dick pic.

  Dean: This is what you do to me.

  Fuck.

  I need a new phone.

  I’d be lying if didn’t admit I was scared. But really, I’m more disgusted and annoyed. I should tell Gianni, maybe…no, definitely, minus the dick pic, but I’m not ready to face him yet.

  I am, however, fortified with alcohol and perhaps my judgement is lacking but I’ve had enough of Dean’s crap.

  Me: Fuck you, Dean. I hope it falls off.

  The moment I press send, I realize my mistake. My insides dip as I toss my phone onto the bed.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  When are they going to invent the technology to unsend a text? I’d invest.

  Shaking my head at my stupidity, I wander over to the French doors and lean against the frame. In the failing light, a small sailboat skims over the choppy ocean and a tiny crewman dressed in yellow ducks under a shifting boom.

  Dean aside, I have a bigger problem. A rather large, man-sized one and it’s taking every cell in my body to fight this attraction and I have no real defenses. I’ve never had any defenses against him.

  As a teen, I would have given anything to be seduced by Gianni, no matter how selfish or inappropriate.

  Okay, since I’m being honest, I’ll admit I went out of my way to attract him. Pretending to myself I was dressing for Joey in sexy tops, showing lots of skin. I didn’t make it obvious (at least, that’s what I hoped) and I didn’t exactly throw myself at him because that would have pissed Joey off and caused a fight. Not that they needed a reason to fight. But I put myself in situations where I might have brushed up against him. Or my bare leg touched his briefly under the table. I’d pretend it was an accident or I didn’t notice.

  The summer before my dad died, I’d overheard Gianni making plans to attend a concert at Crissy Field. I convinced Joey and some other friends to go and I dressed in low-rider jean shorts and a tank that exposed inches of my midriff and my belly ring. I thought I looked hot. Joey agreed but Gianni lost his shit when a girlfriend and I accidentally ran into him and his date on the way to the bathroom.

  He looked me up and down, wrapped his hand around the inside of my arm, his knuckles grazing my breast. I barely noticed him pulling me aside as I was fixated on the electricity buzzing through my nipples and body.

  Then his mouth got close to my ear and he growled. Not hello or how’s it going. Instead, I got What the fuck you doing? My brother lets you dress like that and walk around alone? You looking for trouble, Shelley?

  I didn’t know what reaction I expected, but it wasn’t that. It was the first time he put his hands on me and the first time I experienced raw sexual need in a way that left me edgy for days. I didn’t even mind he was pissed because he noticed me and I got that reaction from him. Like he cared a whole lot.

  When I looked over my shoulder as we marched away, he was watching me and I won’t deny it thrilled me.

  If he decides to seduce me now, how long will I be able to hold out and what happens if I no longer want to?

  For him, it’ll be just sex.

  For me, something else entirely.

  The thought is profoundly depressing. Problem is, there’s a part of me that wants to be one of his women. That’s willing to take what I can get. Good thing the rest of me—the saner, smarter part isn’t—and that’s what I’m clinging to.

  A knock on my door sounds. “Come in,” I yell over my shoulder, thinking it’s probably Cass being her usual forgetful self and come back for something.

  As soon as the door closes, the skin on my neck reacts, as if a breeze passes over it. I whirl around and my heart stops, then resumes pounding at double speed.

  His hair is damp and curling over his ears. A clean pair of jeans hug those lean hips, complemented with a light blue, button-down flannel shirt. It’s partially open, allowing a glimpse of hard chest muscles.

  “You have a moment?”

  He enters without waiting for my answer, but it wouldn’t matter, since his hotness has fried all the synapses in my brain and I can’t seem to formulate any words. One more layer of my defenses crumble and falls like confetti to my feet.

  On his way towards me, he drops something onto my bed, though his eyes never leave my face. They’re searching, like he’s trying to see inside my head, read my thoughts, gage my reaction and therefore determine how to deal with me. I find this all unnerving, yet strangely empowering. It seems I may have him on uncertain footing.

  Then he one-ups me.

  “You look beautiful,” he says.

  The muscles between my legs clench. It’s bad enough he’s in my room, filling my space but then he has to throw words like that at me? Not only does it confuse me, but I’m immediately suspicious.

  “I took advantage earlier, when I kissed you,” he says.

  My eyes widen and I’m thinking what the hell? When he says nothing more, it occurs that although he hasn’t actually said he’s sorry, at least he’s acknowledging it. Since he broached the subject, I may as well call him on it.

  “I’m not at your disposal, Gianni.”

  “I know.” He takes another step, stopping only a foot away.

  Dammit, he’s too close.

  I drag my gaze away, afraid he’ll see more than I want him to and focus on the little sailboat that’s almost below the bridge now.

  “I don’t want you to think it’s the reason I brought you here.” His voice is soft. “To take advantage of you.” He reaches out a hand and wraps it around my forearm. I manage not to react. He cannot know he has any power over me.

  “Shelley?”

  I ignore him.

  “Will you look at me, please?”

  I steel my nerves and meet his gaze, careful to keep my expression bland.

  It’s not easy. It’s not fair, the advantage he has, and though his touch on the surface may look impersonal, it feels possessive.

  “Are we good?” he asks.

  No, we’re not. But I shrug as casually as I can. “Sure,” I say, then turn my eyes back to the water. “It was just a kiss.”

  Those fingers around my arm tighten almost indiscernibly. “Right,” he says after a beat and lets go of my arm. I hate that the warmth is gone. I want it back.

  “Come inside.”

  “Why?” I hold my breath and glance at him, noticing he’s gone cool again.

  “Time for fresh bandages.” He points to the little bag on my bed and
indicates with his head that I should precede him.

  I hesitate, not sure I want him touching me while my body’s humming the way it is. Except he leaves me no choice by stepping behind and herding me towards the bed.

  “Take a seat.”

  I continue to stand while he scoots that comfortable armchair closer, placing it in front of me then eases into it.

  “De Luca”—he catches my eye—“sit.”

  It’s fruitless to argue, so I sigh and drop onto the bed. He begins to roll his sleeves and I’m spellbound by his arms, not too bulky, but strong and beautiful. His muscles cord and flex as his fingers manipulate the fabric, making my stomach tighten. I’m thinking I’m doomed as a wave of arousal washes over me.

  When he’s done, he reaches for my leg, cupping my foot and lifting it, situating it on the chair between his thighs.

  I force myself to keep my breathing steady, even as his warmth lingers around my ankle.

  But then his other hand captures the fabric of my pants, sliding slowly up my calf and the back of my knee. Trails of fire follow, which burn brighter the higher he goes. Those palms are rough and calloused, like a man used to hard work, but they feel good moving over my overly sensitive skin.

  So, so good, I don’t want him to stop.

  That hand shifts to the inside of my thigh. Every single muscle tightens and it wouldn’t take much for me to climax if he’d just touch me there. I bite harder to stop from gasping and squeezing my legs together.

  It would be so easy to give in. To spread my thighs inviting him further.

  “Gianni?” My voice is breathy and little more than a whisper.

  His hand stops midway and it’s not lost on me that he’s breathing harder than he should. I search his face, but his eyes are focused on the spot where my thighs meet.

  “Gianni?” Stronger this time.

  His gaze shifts to mine, and it’s hot, glazed, like a man really turned on.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper and it’s odd to me that it’s me asking this time.

  “Whatever the fuck you want me to.”

  “You need to stop.”

  “Jesus, De Luca,” he says it like it hurts. “You can’t look at me like that and expect me to want to stop.”

  I blink and his hand inches a little bit higher.

  I swallow, because I want him to keep going but he can’t. He just can’t, and it takes everything in me to say, “Please stop.”

  He stills and shuts his eyes. Then a moment later he sits back in his chair, taking a deep breath through his nose. When he looks at me again his face has gone hard.

  “You’re a piece of work.”

  “What?”

  “The fuck you doing pulling a stunt like that?”

  “Me? What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t pull that shit with me. Your voice says stop but your eyes say something else.”

  Oh God!

  “Are you kidding me? You’re calling me a cock-tease?”

  “Your words, Shelley, not mine.”

  “You’re the one who had your hands on my legs. I did not ask you to put them there, so how does that make me a cock-tease?”

  “Yeah, that was me.” He leans forward and gets in my face. “You don’t look at a man like that, look at me like that, if you don’t want to take it further.”

  “What are you talking about? Look at you how?”

  “That’s the way you wanna fucking play it?” He holds my gaze for a long moment. “Warning, De Luca. I’m not one of those little boys you’ve fucked before like my brother and I’m sure as fucking hell not Melnikov. Next time you play with me, expect to get what you get.”

  Excuse me?

  Oh!

  “That’s a really fucked-up thing to say to me.” I rise up and plant my hands on my hips. “I can see you haven’t changed at all. You’re still a giant asshole. In fact, I think you are an even bigger asshole than you ever were. This is the way I look, Gianni Cadora, and I’m not the one doing the playing. Believe me, I’m very aware you’re not Joey and I’m also very aware you’re not Dean. But guess what else I’m aware of?”

  “I can’t fucking wait to find out.”

  “Ugh! That, right there.” I point at him. “It’s men like you that make it difficult for a woman like me to trust. You never explained how someone”—I make air quotes with my fingers—“you’re not in a relationship with has your goddam front door key. Don’t you dare tell me I’m a piece of work. Apologize for insinuating I’m a cock-tease, or I’m packing up my ass and heading to Cass’s.”

  “You’re not leaving.”

  “Then apologize.”

  “Fine.” His jaw sets into a hard line and those eyes are back to ice “You’re not a cock-tease.”

  “And?” I tilt my head.

  “And Gina used my house to entertain some of her real estate clients since her apartment was under construction. I forgot she still had the key.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Yeah, hmm. Now sit your ass down and let’s try this again.”

  I open my mouth. His answer, however, was more than I expected, so I shut it. I’m angry and frustrated but mostly with myself that I allowed myself to be so exposed.

  I’m also intrigued with the tiny kernel of knowledge I gained. It’s the second time I’ve gotten the impression he’s jealous. But I sweep it away because no damn good can come of me thinking like that. Thinking I may have some effect on him other than just a primal, basic one of a dog chasing a bitch in heat. Past experience has taught me how often I’ve been wrong about a man. Particularly as he wasn’t honest with me about being with my dad when he died and I’m still not entirely convinced he’s told me everything.

  Since I can’t look at him, because him being angry somehow makes him sexier, I focus on the snoring dog at my feet instead.

  By the time he’s finished bandaging my knees, I’ve calmed enough to resolve I’ll stand firm and not give him any more power over me. I won’t be his toy, no matter how persuasive he is or how much I want to.

  My phone buzzes again. I glance at it and groan inwardly. Another text from Dean.

  “What?” Gianni asks. Though he’s calmed a little too, I get the impression he’s not exactly lollipops and rainbows.

  “Nothing.”

  “Hand me your phone, De Luca.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Hand me your fucking phone, Shelley.” He says it slowly, punctuating each word.

  Okay.

  So, he’s still angry.

  He sticks out his hand, palm up. I sigh and give it to him.

  Dean: Coming for you, baby.

  I watch him as he works his jaw, the muscles bunching as he scrolls through all the messages and figure the exact moment he sees the picture of Dean’s erect penis. It isn’t hard to miss because every muscle seems to solidify then vibrate.

  When he’s done reading, he lifts his gaze. His eyes are hard and glittery, making my skin prickle. I recognize that look. Joey had the same expression just before he blew.

  “When were you going tell me about these?”

  “I was going to…”

  “I’m not fucking around here, Shelley.”

  “I…”

  “Do not antagonize him. From this moment on, I want to know the second they come in. You forward them to me immediately. You get me?”

  “Gianni, I…”

  “Simple question, De Luca. Do. You. Get. Me?”

  Shit, I’m in trouble.

  I can take a lot of things, but I’m not sure I can take this. Tears prickle at the back of my eyes and I blink several times, then nod.

  He hands my phone back. Our fingers touch and that electric buzz runs through my hand. The way his jerk, I know he feels it too but he avoids my gaze and pulls the zipper on the first aid kit like it’s the most important thing in the world in that moment.

  “I’ve got work to do,” he says. When I look up, I see what anyone who’s ever fucked wit
h a Cadora must have seen, right before they died. Pure, lethal, unadorned violence.

  “Help yourself in the kitchen. If you need anything, ask Marco. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Then he’s gone. Five minutes later I hear the door on the truck slamming and then him leaving. The mutt hears it too. Truman raises his head, ears twitching. Then he turns towards me, blinks and farts.

  Gah.

  “Couldn’t have said it better myself, buddy, but you are so not sleeping in my room tonight,” I say, burying my head in the pillows.

  9

  Game on

  * * *

  The following evening, I enter the kitchen with a steadfast Truman in tow. Except to eat and do his business he hasn’t left my side and truthfully, I’m grateful. It’s been lonely.

  Marco stirs something in a large pot on a stainless-steel gas stove. My senses detect garlic and tomatoes and my empty stomach celebrates.

  When he hears me, he turns and I burst out laughing. Always the comedian, his head is freshly shaved and he’s dressed in jeans and a black Henley, covered by a frilly pink apron with Viva Las Vegas stamped in rhinestones on the front.

  “Look at you in your pretty little apron. How could I forget what a goofball you are?”

  Without a doubt, he did it to cheer me up as he’s laughing his big, warm laugh with me. The panty-dropping kind that comes from the gut and lights up his eyes. I see why Cass is so interested.

  Gianni is missing in action…still. In fact, I’m not even sure if he came back last night. What if he went to Gina? Awful thoughts of them ran through my head on replay all night.

  And all day.

  I have no right to be jealous, but of course I am.

  “What’s cooking, good-looking?” I ask Marco, faking good humor and peeking past his shoulder.

  “Spaghetti and meatballs,” he says, hooking an arm around my neck and kissing the top of my head. “Want wine?” He points a wooden spoon to a crystal decanter of red on a large, polished farm-style table, with places set for three.

  Three.

  My pulse jumps. “Just a little,” I manage to say without my voice shaking and betraying my excitement that Gianni’s joining us. At least I hope it’s Gianni, unless Marco has a date.