Page 11

Marty

She’s kidding, right?

A huge ask to kiss one of the most beautiful women in the world?

Jesus, I feel like I should play the lottery or something.

But the look on her face is so sincere, so worried, I know I can’t crack a joke.

She’s serious.

Like this is something inconvenient.

I can’t even wrap my head around that.

We almost kissed once before, and we both handled it badly.

I don’t think I should bring that up, though.

“You want me to kiss you?” I ask instead. Just to make sure. To be a hundred percent positive she didn’t blurt it out and then change her mind.

“I know we’re just friends but I think?—”

“Shh.” I don’t want her to overthink things. “We almost kissed once … remember?” Maybe it is a good idea to remind her. Let her know that there’s been chemistry between us for a while now.

“I…remember.” Her eyes start to close, and I’m immediately drawn in.

What man in his right mind wouldn’t want to kiss her?

I lower my mouth to hers, slowly, gently, nuzzling her lips.

She may not realize it, but it’s my first time kissing anyone since separating from my wife. I haven’t had the energy to deal with one-night stands and though I’ve been tempted a few times, it didn’t feel right.

Kissing Stevie feels perfect.

Like coming home even though we’ve never done this before.

I brush my lips back and forth across hers a few times, savoring the softness of her skin and the way she moves against me, her body warm against mine. I slide an arm around her waist and pull her closer but continue to just tease and nuzzle. If this is the one and only time Stevie Marchand lets me kiss her—I’m sure as fuck not going to rush it.

She tastes like cinnamon and margaritas, which is an oddly satisfying combination—in this scenario at least. Her mouth yields to mine, waiting for me to take it further, and I coax out her tongue. That first slide is tentative but then we find our rhythm. She’s sweet and feminine and sensual, lips and mouth fused to mine. I’m not sure how far I’m supposed to take this, how much of a gentleman I need to be, so I’ll let her guide us.

As wonderful as it is—no matter how much I’m enjoying it—I have to remember that this isn’t real.

Would it be a huge ask for… you to do it?

This is a favor.

Helping her get past an emotional hump of some kind.

I’m happy to kiss her—more than happy—but I can’t allow myself to imagine something that isn’t there.

A soft moan brings my thoughts back to the task at hand, and I deepen the kiss. My hands are staying above the waist—in fact, I’ve got one on the side of her face, cupping it gently as my tongue dances with hers.

Stevie is breathtakingly beautiful and kissing her is…heaven.

Maybe it’s just been a while, but I don’t remember ever enjoying a kiss this much.

And when she winds her arms around my neck and presses her body fully against me, I’m fucking lost.

My dick is so hard it’s painful.

It would take an act of congress to get me to pull away.

If the kiss is going to end, she has to be the one to do it; I’m physically incapable.

“ Marty .” Her breath is hot against my mouth when she finally pulls away, and I can’t tell if there’s hidden meaning in that one word.

If she wants me as much as I want her.

I swallow, wondering if she can feel how turned on I am.

“You…okay?” I ask, since I can’t think of anything else to say and I’m afraid if I move she’ll feel my erection. Maybe she already does but I don’t want to be blatant about it.

“Oh, yes.” Her eyes are a little glassy as she gazes up at me. “That was…incredible.”

I think so too.

And I want more.

So much more.

But this can only continue if she encourages it.

Gentle, fragile Stevie isn’t the kind of woman who can be claimed. Her past has left her more vulnerable than any other woman I’ve ever been with, and the last thing I want to do is scare her off.

I don’t know if she’s interested in more than a few practice kisses and platonic dating, but I can’t be the one to push us in any direction.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her lips so close to mine I can feel her warm breath.

“You’re welcome.” I stroke my knuckles across her cheek. “You think you’ll be okay now?”

“I hope so.” One side of her mouth quirks up playfully. “The only problem now is disappointment.”

Ah, shit. What does that mean?

“Uh, disappointment?” I’m momentarily confused. She didn’t seem disappointed.

“Li’l Barracuda has a lot to live up to.”

Fuck yeah.

She liked it.

Score one for me.

Why do I feel like a teenager all of a sudden?

“I’m glad I could…help you with this.”

“It means a lot to me, Marty. Really. I owe you one.” She leans up and brushes her lips across my cheek. Then she turns, staring out at the view again.

And once again, a tender moment between us is gone.

I’m frustrated, especially since I know she liked it, but what else can I do? I asked her out, then took her for a romantic drive, and now I’ve kissed her. If that doesn’t show her how much I like her, this might be her way of telling me she’s not interested.

I guess I could man up and tell her I’d like to take her on an official date, but what if she shoots me down? I come with a lot of baggage, and she has plenty of her own. I don’t know what either of us brings to the table for the other one. Her disastrous past coupled with my messy custody battle—it’s got disaster written all over it.

Maybe she’s doing both of us a favor.

* * *

I see the light on in the den when I get home and figure my mom is probably up reading. The den is cozy, with a reading nook built into the bay window that Brenna insisted on even though she never once used it. And I’m not much of a reader. It’s a nice place to relax, even if you don’t read, so I sit there sometimes with my coffee. Or a late-night glass of bourbon.

As expected, she’s sitting there reading.

“Hey, Mom.”

She looks up with a smile. “How was your date?”

“It wasn’t a date, but it was fun. I really like Stevie.”

She cocks her head. “You really like her? Because the kids certainly do. Emma talked of nothing else but Auntie Stevie braiding her hair and Auntie Stevie’s bow… who, exactly, is Auntie Stevie?”

“Stevie Marchand.” I pause. “The supermodel.”

Mom is quiet for a minute and then her forehead wrinkles as she squints. “That Stevie Marchand? Like Victoria’s Secret Stevie Marchand?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You’re dating her?”

“We’re friends. No benefits.”

“Oh.” She looks momentarily shell-shocked. “I had no idea. How come no benefits? Whose rule is that?”

I chuckle, leaning against the back of the sofa. “It’s not a rule, per se. It’s just that she’s coming out of an abusive relationship and I’m in divorce hell. We decided being friends would be easier.”

“For whom?”

“I don’t know. Probably for both of us.”

“But you like her.”

“Yeah.”

“The kids like her.”

I smile. “They do.”

“Kids usually know.”

“What do they know?”

“The good, the bad, and the ugly.”

“That’s giving them a lot more credit than I think they deserve at five, three and one.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not a conscious thing—children simply sense good and bad people. They know instinctively whom they can trust. And if they trust Stevie, that means something.”

“She’s great. What’s not to like? Beautiful but also a bit fragile, like she needs someone to handle her extremely gently.”

“And do you?”

“Of course.”

“And she just wants to be friends?”

She didn’t kiss me like a woman who just wanted to be friends, but I also don’t know the depth of her ex’s abuse so it’s hard to comment on that.

“She asked me to kiss her tonight.” I explain about the music video.

“How was it?” she asks.

“The kiss? It was great.”

“But you wanted more and she didn’t.”

“I think she did, but for whatever reason, she’s not allowing herself to want that kind of thing. Like I said, she suffered a lot of abuse.”

“It was all over the papers,” Mom says, nodding. “He threw her over a second story landing and she had a miscarriage.”

Why didn’t I know that?

Shit .

“I didn’t know that,” I admit. “I knew he pushed her down some stairs or something and it resulted in surgery, but I didn’t know she lost a baby… she doesn’t talk about him much.”

“She sounds lovely,” Mom says thoughtfully, “but the timing may not be right, son. You’re still married and she’s still…struggling. At least, that’s how it sounds from the outside looking in.”

“You’re probably right. Which is why I didn’t let her know I wanted more than just a kiss.”

“Are you going to see her again?”

“I’m sure I will. We don’t have any specific plans, though.”

“You didn’t ask or she said no?”

“Neither. When I asked her out tonight she was clear that it wasn’t a date-date, and despite sharing what I thought was a great kiss, I don’t think she wants it to be anything more.”

“If you put everything else aside—your divorce and her trauma and all of it—would you want to date her?”

“Absolutely.”

She smiles. “There he is—my strong, confident son.”

“I’m not strong or confident because I’m trying to respect a lady’s wishes while navigating an ugly divorce and custody battle?”

“My strong, confident son wouldn’t let those little things stop him from going after what he wants.”

“Didn’t you just tell me that the timing wasn’t right?”

“That never stopped two people from falling in love.”

“No one said anything about love,” I protest.

“You were never the one-night stand type. Why would you start now?”

“Maybe I need to be,” I mutter.

“Don’t change the man you are because Brenna turned into someone else. She changed—it happens—but you don’t have to.”

“But did she change because it just happened or because of something I did? Did I drop the ball somewhere as a husband?”

“Only you know the answer to that, but I think you do know. It’s just easier to blame yourself for some specific thing you did rather than put the blame where it belongs—on Brenna. If she was unhappy, there were a dozen ways she could have handled it that didn’t include having a third child and then almost immediately having an affair with your teammate. That’s on her. Stop taking the blame. I know it’s been rough but regardless of what went on, you’re only half responsible. The other half is all her.”

“I don’t want to make the same mistakes again. Especially not with Stevie, after all she’s been through.”

“So, you know, tell her that.”

I grimace.

Can I tell her that?

Are we in a place where I can bare my soul that way?

I don’t think so.

But it’s something to think about.