Page 20 of Wild Heart
Marcos, I’d realized, was fragile the same way fireworks were. He fizzled first, and then he blew.
“Ivan—”
“I thought I told you to hush.”
Thumb on his chin, I forced his head up until it was where I wanted it. The ends of his curls were tangled in the tops of his eyelashes, and I blew until the strands no longer shielded his eyes.
“You were going to walk away, Solnyshko. Is that what you wanted?”
His eyes fell.
I squeezed his chin. “Don’t you dare try to lie to me.”
“No,” he breathed. “But it was the right thing to do.”
“Who the fuck says?”
“Uh…” Lip between his teeth, he nibbled like he was embarrassed and avoided looking into my eyes. “Rational people, probably.”
“I’m not rational. Never have been. That bullshit you projected onto me? Iwantit.”
Brown eyes pierced mine.
“Good boy,” I muttered, playing with one of his curls. “Keep those pretty eyes on mine.”
Most men shied away from eye contact, but Marcos seemed to revel in it like the intimate, wordless action kept him from falling apart.
“Yours are quiet,” he said. “Soft. Like waves of an ocean.”
I smiled… and he smiled back.
The sight was a crack to the sternum.
Something warm and fierce surged through my bloodstream, growing hotter the longer I stared at him. Cupping his sweet face in my hands, I traced his smile with my fingertips.
“Rationality can get fucked,” I told him.
“I like it when you touch me,” he confessed. A yawn tugged at his jaw, and I watched as he succumbed to his exhaustion. “If I was an emotionally full human, I’d walk away and join a group or something. But I’m not. And I don’t wanna.”
“I wouldn’t let you.”
Lips curving, he turned his head just enough that he could press a kiss to my palm. His eyes were nothing but slits now as he nuzzled his nose against my skin and whispered, “I’m tired.”
Bloody hands reached for my beard and used it to tug me forward. Face in my neck, he inhaled my scent and ran the tip of his tongue along the dip in my collarbone.
“Tired,” he said again, and I knew right then I’d give him whatever the fuck he wanted.
ChapterSeven
Marcos
Cabrera & Co Accounting
The vinyl letters were muted, peeling at the edges. Wrinkled sections flopped against the glass whenever the door swayed open or shut. The awning above my head was torn, and the sidewalk beneath my feet cracked. There was a staleness in the air that had nothing to do with the weather.
Through a smudge in the glass, I caught my reflection. Shoulders slumped and face blank; I looked exactly the way this place felt.
Haunted.
