Page 48 of Reckless Hearts

I turn on the bedside light.

“Marcus.”

With a gasp, Marcus’s eyes fly open. His gaze is wild and unfocused.

Then his eyes lock onto mine and recognition slowly seeps back into them.

“Are you okay?”

Tears clump his eyelashes.

“Just a nightmare,” he says hoarsely.

I move closer to touch him, and he buries his face in the crook of my neck. I run my hand tentatively down his back.

“What was your dream about?” I ask softly.

“It’s nothing. I always have nightmares.” He lets out a shuddering breath. Against my neck, his skin is clammy, his shoulders rigid.

He pulls back slightly, running a hand over his face. “Can you tell me some biology facts to help me sleep?”

“Should I be offended that my biology facts put you to sleep?” I ask.

His mouth turns up at the corners. “I just want my brain to think about other things. I just want to forget.”

And so Marcus snuggles next to me as I tell him about how some species of jellyfish are considered biologically immortal. TheTurritopsis dohrniican revert to its juvenile stage after reaching maturity, potentially living forever if it avoids predators.

Marcus’s eyes flutter shut and his breathing starts to even out as I tell him how octopuses have three hearts and their blue blood is based around copper and is more efficient at transporting oxygen in cold environments than our iron-based blood.

I let my voice trail off and he doesn’t stir. He looks peaceful now, the furrow between his brows smoothed out. The dim light turns him into something almost ethereal, his dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks.

I stare at this beautiful man, the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.

But his beauty is only the top layer. And I’m continuing to learn exactly how much more there is to Marcus than who he pretends to be.

The next morning,I wake to find Marcus facing me, our legs tangled together, his hand resting on my hip. When I open my eyes, he’s watching me with an expression I’ve never seen before.

Fear pulses through me. Was last night too much? Has he decided he doesn’t want me to sleep over anymore?

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey, you.” Marcus’s voice is still raspy from sleep.

“Did you sleep okay?” I ask hesitantly.

“Yes.”

“No more bad dreams?”

His expression is inscrutable. “No.”

He leans forward to kiss me then. Something about how Marcus’s lips meet mine feels like a circuit completing. His hand moves up to the dip of my waist, fingers splaying wide as if trying to touch as much of me as possible. In return, I trace the ridge of his collarbone. It’s incredible how familiar his body is becoming to me.

When we pull back from our kiss, Marcus’s eyes don’t hold their usual spark of mischief. Instead, he watches me intently, like nothing else matters but touching me.

I brush my thumb along the curve of his jaw, feeling the slight roughness of his morning stubble. He closes his eyes, leaning into my touch with a soft exhale.

Our hands continue gently wandering. Marcus traces the curve of my shoulder blade, his touch as light as a whisper, while I map the contours of his chest, feeling the steady thrumof his heartbeat beneath my palm. I run my hand down his arm, marveling at the contrast between the softness of his skin and the firmness of his muscles underneath.Biceps, triceps, brachioradialis. I’m pretty sure anatomy has never been as sexy as it is when it’s Marcus’s muscles I’m labeling.