Taming Marco (The Moran Family Book 2)

by Alexis James

  I work out in the gym for a while, go for a three-mile run, and by the time I’m back in my condo I’m still waffling between calling her and making my own plans for the day, plans I’ve now decided must include a few hours at the office. There’s no way in hell I’ll be ready for the meeting Monday morning if I don’t get caught up.

  I spend a few hours putting my work life in order and when I finally grab my keys to leave the office and glance at the clock, I realize it’s too late to call her; most likely she’s already with Mia, chatting it up post workout.

  Grumbling to myself, I take the elevator down to the parking garage, get behind the wheel of my car, and start the engine. Once again, I’m contemplating my next move, which seriously pisses me off. Never before have I contemplated anything, except maybe what sex position I want to use. I don’t contemplate, I act. And for the past twenty-four hours I’ve done zero acting. I’ve been waiting for the phone to ring and trying to figure out what the hell I want from this odd relationship Amita and I have. So far, the only conclusion I’ve reached is that I’m desperate to get my hands on her. Everything feels off when I’m alone.

  Phone in hand, I dial her number without another thought. Maybe hearing her voice will help put an end to all this rampant chaos inside my head. The phone rings once, twice, three times, then immediately rolls to voicemail. Her very professional greeting makes me curse out loud, sounding nothing like the sassy broad I’ve been spending time with. At the beep, I hesitate, then immediately end the call without saying anything.

  Fuck. My. Life.

  Jesus, is this what I’ve become? Some desperate man pining over a woman who will never be his, mooning over not being able to talk with her, wandering around mindlessly in a fog of indecision?

  Yep. That’s exactly what I’ve become.

  Shifting into gear, I head to my favorite bar, pull into the parking lot, and kill the engine. And then I sit there. And I sit there. Fifteen minutes go by, then thirty, and still I’m sitting there deciding whether or not I want to go in. I know what will happen if I do. I’ll have a few drinks, then maybe a few more. Then some sweet thing will sidle up next to me, make me a few promises, and I can go right back to the life I’ve lived since I graduated college.

  Grow the fuck up, Moran. You’re not a college student anymore. You’re a thirty-year-old man running like a scared child from the one person who has been able to topple you off your throne.

  Without another thought, I put the car into reverse and head toward home. A lonely Saturday night isn’t the worst thing that could happen. The worst thing is doing something I’ll regret then having to look Amita in the eyes and lie about it. Or worse, I could come clean and let her see how truly repulsive I really am.

  When I pull up into my designated parking spot, I see her car. Better yet, I see her perched on the hood, tapping away on her phone. She lifts her head to shoot me a smile, one I feel right down to my toes, then slides off the hood and places her feet on the cement.

  “Hey, hot stuff.”

  “Hiya, sweet cheeks.” I move right up to her, barricading her against the rusty metal of her car. “I tried calling you.”

  She grins. “I know. That’s why I’m here.” Rising up on her toes, she kisses me softly then cocks her head to the side. “Am I interrupting anything?”

  Grasping her hand in mine, I start to walk toward the elevator. “Not at all. I thought you’d be having dinner with Mia and Cruz.”

  She shrugs. “We finished up our last minute wedding stuff, but I decided to take a rain check on dinner.”

  We’re silent during the trip to my floor, not speaking again until we step into the condo, where I immediately pin her to the door and kiss her hard. She moans softly, opening her mouth to accept my tongue and gripping my arms tightly, sighing when I slide my hands down and grasp her ass.

  My head might be in turmoil, but right here with her in my arms, I finally feel all the uncertainty begin to fade. Sex is not the answer, but sex with her will go a long way in helping me determine whether or not this is a passing fancy or something we need to consider for the long term. I haven’t had a girlfriend in years, but for her I’d consider it. For her, I’d consider a lot of things. Though, I do doubt my ability to make her happy.

  Amita pulls away, looks at me with a wide grin and eyes that tell me exactly what she wants, then weaves her hand in mine and pulls me toward the bedroom. Silently, she strips, baring all that beautiful skin, then lifts her eyebrows in question until I do the same.

  I bring her down on top of me across the mattress, mouths joined. Her beaded nipples brush against my chest as she straddles my hips and reaches between our bodies to stroke my cock. She sits upright, eyes locked on mine as she lifts up just enough to hover over me then slowly slides me into her one inch at a time. She’s burning hot, slick as can be, squeezing me tightly with the best grip possible. And when she leans back to support herself on my thighs, I’m greeted with the perfect view of our bodies joined together: my wet cock sliding deep into her body with a perfection that can’t be described … it can only be felt on every single level.

  Throwing her head back, she starts to really ride me now, one hand snaking behind her ass to stroke my balls. Between the look on her face that’s part torment, part torture and the sight of her pussy gripping me tightly each time her hips come up, I have no doubt that there’s nothing more I need. She’s perfection wrapped up in a gorgeous body that never hesitates to please me. But pleasing her is my priority, my only priority now, and without hesitating I reach between her legs, stimulating her clit with my fingers and thumb.

  “Oh God … yes …” Panting, her eyes open slightly to gaze down at me. “I’m so close.”

  I groan when her hands come up, fingers twisting and pulling her nipples as the pace grows more desperate, her moans getting louder. Her body is shiny with sweat, as is mine, and her fingers dip down to join mine between her legs. I feel my own orgasm threatening.

  Her hips roll, our fingers play, and the erotic view in front of me makes me impossibly hard. There’s no better sight, no better feeling than this woman seeking pleasure from my body. Everything in the past pales in comparison to how this feels, and how she feels in my arms.

  With a hearty moan, she comes hard; her entire body shakes above me as she fiercely rides me again and again. And when she slides her slippery fingers into my mouth, letting me taste her pleasure on my tongue, I groan and pulsate deep within her, filling her again and again as my head and heart explode as completely as my body has.

  When she finally slumps down in an exhausted heap across my chest, I’m numb with pleasure, my heart bursting with happiness, with contentment. I may have concerns about what this is and what we are to one another, but I do know without a doubt that there’s no way I’m ending this. Not today. Not anytime soon.

  “Do you, Mia Leilani Elliott, take Cruz Thomas Moran to be your lawful and wedded husband?”

  My eyes fill and I shoot Marco a watery smile, which he returns with a wide grin and a hefty eye roll. He’s standing right next to his older brother, hands clasped in front of him, looking dignified and drop-dead gorgeous in a black three-piece suit and crisp white shirt as he fulfills his best man duties. For someone so dead set on never having a forever, he looks pretty darn happy. Maybe that’s simply because he’s gaining a rockin’ new sister-in-law, or maybe it’s because deep down he does support the idea of marriage. I have no clue, though, and even after a month of sleepovers and the occasional fornication in less than desirable places, I’m still as unsure about what he wants from me as I was that first day.

  My gaze turns to Mia, who proudly stands facing her soon-to-be husband, looking breathtaking and everything I’d ever imagined a bride could be. Her long, dark hair is swept up on her head, the veil pinned beneath it to flow like silk over her shoulders. Her dress is simple and elegant—strapless, with iridescent beads across the bodice, flowing softly over the subtle curves of her hips. I know she’s
rockin’ five-inch strappy sandals underneath the satin as well as some miniscule lace lingerie she and I picked out just last week.

  Poor Cruz. He looks awestruck and bamboozled as he stares down into her eyes and repeats the words of their vows. Anyone looking at the two of them could see the love flowing between them—a love so deep, so certain, so complete, it begs for explanation, for understanding. It sure as hell is something I’ll never comprehend, most definitely not with the very skittish Moran brother whose been warming my bed as of late.

  We’ve had an eventful month together. We’ve gone boating again, had numerous dinners with Cruz and Mia, and I’m back to eating Sunday dinner with the entire Moran family. But other than that, and the fact that we are naked whenever possible, nothing has changed. He won’t hold my hand or kiss me when we’re around the others, will only flirt like he used to back when we were nothing but good friends. We’re not fooling anyone, but they all seem to accept us for what we are, though I have no idea what that is. All I do know is that the more time I spend with him, the more I want a forever. I want the wedding and the vows and the man who looks at me like he can’t imagine a day without me. Exactly how Cruz is looking at Mia this very minute. Keeping that wish to myself is slowly going to drive me insane.

  I’m falling for him in a way completely unlike what I felt for Vic—or anyone else for that matter. I don’t dare try to put a label on what I’m feeling. That step is simply too terrifying. Mia keeps insisting that we love each other, but I beg to differ. I do believe Marco likes me a lot, and cares for me in a way only he can, but when he looks at me I don’t believe he sees a future. I think he sees someone to warm his bed on a somewhat permanent basis.

  We’ve never talked about whether or not he still parties with his friends, or whether or not he’s continuing to bed other women. That’s an incredibly stupid thing for me not to insist on, but the unknown truth scares me to death. Besides, my naivety is working well so far, so why risk jinxing it? I don’t want to believe we’re not monogamous with one another, but I must admit that I don’t really know what he does when we’re apart. We are together much of the time, but there are some evenings and weekends where we only get together for a short while to have sex before he takes off and heads for home. Sure, we have nights where we can’t get enough of one another, but every single time when he opens his eyes and looks at me the next morning, I see the doubt and fear clearly written on his face.

  “You may kiss the bride.”

  Through my watery gaze, I see Cruz smile down at his beloved, take her face gently in his large hands, and press his lips to hers. She’s such a lucky girl and never has there been someone more deserving of happiness than my best friend. Seeing her and Cruz together gives me hope. Hope that one day in the future Marco might be open to the possibility of something similar.

  Our eyes meet once more and this time his smile is less cocky asshole and more the man who feels something for me, warming me in all the places it probably shouldn’t. When Cruz and Mia start down the aisle and we turn to follow, his fingers grasp mine tightly as we move to the back of the church and he shoots me a look that says thank God that’s over. Isabella and Roman follow, and baby sister, Sophia, who I met for the first time at last night’s rehearsal dinner, brings up the rear, escorted by their cousin Esteban.

  We’re a lively group when we gather around the newlyweds. Mia and I share a long hug, and when I start to step away, we each whisper “I love you” to the other. A heavy weight settles on my chest when I realize I’m the only person here without family. Thank God for Mia and her sisterly presence in my life, but even she can’t replace the woman who I lost at such an early age or the father I never had. Even she can’t replace the blood family I no longer have.

  “You okay, babe?” Marco whispers in my ear when I once more move up next to him.

  “Yeah.”

  Pulling me against his chest, he asks, “Thinking about your mom?”

  My eyes fill again with the knowledge that he really does know me well. “Yeah.”

  He drops a sweet kiss onto my lips, for once not a bit concerned that we’re standing around his family and that someone might get the wrong impression. “You look gorgeous today.” His eyes drop down to my considerable cleavage accentuated by the cut of the dress. The deep green satin is the perfect complement to my olive skin and dark hair. Without him saying so, I can tell he’s anxious to get me alone.

  Grinning up at him, I reply, “Thank you. So do you.”

  He smirks. “I do wear a tux well.”

  Rolling my eyes, I deadpan, “And you’re so modest too.”

  Threading his fingers in mine once again, he chuckles. “Oh yeah, I am that, without a doubt.”

  A few hours later we finally finish up with pictures at the church, then pile into limousines and head to the swanky wedding reception, which is being held in a ballroom located high in one of the Moran skyscrapers. Cruz and Mia have gone all out with china at each place setting and numerous crystal glasses for wine, champagne, and water. Vases filled with vibrant flowers sit in the middle of each large round table and candles of all shapes and sizes are scattered around the room to give it a soft, romantic feel. A guitar duo is set up on the small stage, playing sultry Spanish music to set the tone for the evening. It’s classy and elegant and exactly what my two beautiful friends deserve.

  Taking my seat at the head table between Mia and Marco, I feel slightly out of place. Their families make up the majority of the people in attendance, but of course there are the token business acquaintances and long-time family friends. I’m nothing more than a college bestie who has somehow wormed her way into this extraordinary family and into the arms of the most uncatchable man.

  Melancholy washes over me at the stark realization that this is about as close as I’ll ever be to true love and to forever. I would never want to begrudge my friend her happiness, but I do wonder what happens now. Do Marco and I go on as we have been … week after week, continuing to use one another for sex? Do I continue to be this odd person at family get-togethers, a person with no real place in the family but more like an annoying tag-along that they feel obligated to invite?

  As much as I love my independence, I long for a real family and for people to call my own. I do treasure whatever this is between me and Marco, but I’m not naïve enough to believe he’ll ever be anything real to me. He is a right here kind of guy. As soon as the next opportunity shoves her boobs in his face, I’ll be sent out to pasture. It’s a painful reality, but one I constantly remind myself of.

  I manage to shove my worries and heavy thoughts aside and somehow make it through dinner, although my appetite disappeared long ago. There are the toasts: first mine, which is very brief, then Marco’s, which is just this side of raunchy; then both fathers stand to say something about the couple. Like many in attendance I’m a weepy, blubbering mess. Hearing the love they each express, not only for their own children, but for the families in general, makes me long for all that’s missing in my life. My mom would have loved meeting the Moran family, though what she would have loved the most was their considerable wealth. My mom was raised poor and that continued all during my childhood. I know what it’s like to eat cold beans in a can because the power had been shut off. I know what it’s like to burrow under a thick layer of covers on a snowy New York night and never ever feel like the warmth permeates my skin. I know what it’s like to complete over a hundred scholarship applications, only to be awarded just enough so that I could skate through college with only a small personal loan. I know what it’s like to lie in my dark room each night and dream about a better life, one with a man at my side who loves and adores me, one who will give me the family that I’ve never really had.

  Mia has that better life, the same life I can only hope to have with Marco, if all the planets align accordingly and he somehow forgets that he’s been running from commitment for the majority of his adult life. But since that’s not happening, I need to force mysel
f to be happy with what I do have: a beautiful apartment, a decent job, and good friends who are there when I need them. I may not have everything I used to dream about way back in New York, but I am lucky. That I know.

  “Want to dance?” Marco asks, wagging his brows at me suggestively.

  “Sure. I’d love to dance.”

  We stroll hand in hand to the dance floor, and he pulls me into his arms, effortlessly beginning to lead me into what I assume is a waltz. Since I have no clue, and the only dancing I’ve ever done is the grinding kind, I do my best to keep up before I slam my heel down onto his foot and he settles for a basic slow dance.

  “Nice party,” I comment, grinning at Mia as she and Cruz waltz by us.

  “Yeah.” His fingers slide into my hair and he leans down to press his lips against mine. A kiss that starts out innocently and quickly turns another direction the moment he adds his tongue to the mix.

  Lifting my head, I breathlessly whisper, “Behave.”

  He tucks my hair behind one ear, leans down, and asks, “Why?”

  Our eyes meet and I have a brief case of verbal diarrhea. “Because you don’t like to give people the wrong impression about us, that’s why.”

  One dark brow lifts in question. “What impression would that be?”

  “You know, that we’re together.”

  “Aren’t we?”

  Speechless, my feet stop moving and I stare up into the eyes of the man who has made it his mission to keep me just off kilter. “Uh, no?”

  He looks at me like I’m speaking another language. “We aren’t together, is that what you’re saying?”

  I shrug. “Well, not really. We hang out a lot and…” I glance around to the other people in close proximity of where we’re dancing “…and we, you know … a lot.”

  Marco smirks. “You know? That sounds fun.”

  “Knock it off.” Grabbing his hand in mine, I tug him back to our seats where we’re bound to have a little more privacy. Once settled, I pick up right where I left off. “We’ve never talked about whether or not we’re officially an item. I just assumed we weren’t.”