Page 42 of Little Fury

“What? Why are you smiling at me? I've made you dinner before.”

“I know. I sometimes forget how good a cook you are. I'm smiling because every single man I’ve ever spoken to has a solid, if not odd, love affair with grills.”

He lets out a loud laugh.“It's the whole‘I cooked this with fire’thing.”I chuckle at his answer and dig in.“Symphony Number 7”by Beethoven is playing overhead.

“You found the sound system,” I say.

“I did. It's a nice one too. The whole house is wired, including outside.” We fall back into silence as we finish eating. When I’m done, Marcus takes my plate and rinses it, placing it in the dishwasher. I stay seated at the island, pulling one of my legs up onto the seat and resting my head on my knee.

Marcus places a beer in front of me. I turn my head towards him.“Thanks.”

He nods at me and opens his beer, taking a swig. His eyes are on me as he does. I grab my bottle and mimic him.

The air in here is charged. The music above us is heavyand frantic in its pace. Marcus puts his beer down and lays his hands flat on the island. He drops his head between his shoulders, pushing against the counter. His muscles strain under his T-shirt. He lifts his head his eyes locked on mine. I watch his jaw flex, whatever he is thinking about showing there.

I don’t know what the fuck is happening between us. I mean, I do know, but I don’t understand what changed. When did it change, or did I even want it to?

Removing his hands from the countertop, his eyes never leaving mine. His green eyes are burning into me, causing a stir in my stomach not there before. I look away from him. The intensity of his stare is too much for me. He steps towards me, grips my chin, and tilts my face back up to his. I feel the energy radiating off him.Is he going to kiss me? Do I want him to kiss me?He doesn’t, though. Instead, he stares at me, his thumb finding my bottom lip dragging across it.

My tongue darts out tasting his skin. The action almost involuntary. His eyes darken, and I feel his grip on my chin tighten. He leans closer, my eyes closing, anticipating his lips on mine. My breath hitches but it doesn’t happen. I feel his breath on the shell of my ear.

“Not yet, Ava, we’re just getting started.” He whispers against my ear, his teeth nip my earlobe. I suck in a breath, at the whisper of a touch. “Goodnight, Ava,”he saysquietlyagainst my ear, releasing my chin and heads to his room.

I sit at the island for a while after he leaves me, my brain unsure of what to do with what just happened. This morning in the hotel could have been chalked up to morning confusion. Bodies can respond to things without it being intentional. But this. His mouth, his words–those were intentional. And I have no idea what to do with that. I wasn’t trained for this situation. Miss Bennett never prepared me to live alone with my best friend. She didn't run a scenario with me thathad my best friend telling me we were just getting started. Innuendos and all received.

My body responded to his so quickly, but my brain is fighting it. My brain cannot wrap itself around the fact that my best friend just bit my earlobe, and I didn’t hate it.

The first week goes faster than I want it to. We both enjoy the house and the ocean. There’s a hammock out back that is the best place to read and nap. Week two is busier. I have a lot to do at the bank, sorting out my trust funds, investments and properties my parents left me. I decided to sell most of the properties, not wanting to own so much.

I kept a couple of buildings, one in New York, because I remember how much I loved my parents' penthouse there. The building is very profitable because of its mix of commercial and residential spaces. I kept the house I grew up in and my grandfather’s estate in Ireland. I instructed my lawyer to sell everything else.

Even before the sale of the properties, I was a very wealthy woman. After the sale of things, I’ll be even more so. I have no idea what I’ll do with all this money. I could live, travel, and not work. I could, but I won’t. I'd be bored in weeks. Harry, The Ranch, and my biologicalmother put a lot of time and money into creating me. I don't want that to go to waste.

Sure, that’s why you want to work.

I’m sitting in one of the loungers on the deck on my computer, going over a few things—currently, any jobs I take come from Parker. I haven’t accepted any, and I won’t until Marcus and I have dealt with Enzo, and he’s in place as the new head of the Rossi family.

After that, things are a little muddier. We always said we would run things together, but I have come to learn over the last couple of years I despise the Mafia. I dislike every single aspect of organized crime families. I hate how they flaunt themselves, how they treat women and the queer community. I hate the racism they all spew. I hate the use of brute force they employ in most situations.

If the Rossi and Sokolovs were like the Campbell organization, that would be a whole other story. The Campbells seem to be a new type of crime family. Liam Campbell doesn’t do things the way his grandfather did. He doesn't hold the same values as Enzo and the others. I have faith that Marcus will be better than Enzo in all the ways that matter, but I also wonder how much pressure and influence he will withstand. Will his familial obligations overtake the other influences in his life?

Marcus is on a run on the beach, and I can see him on his way back. He’s tanned, and his body has a layer of sweat that makes his muscles glisten. He smiles at me as he steps onto the deck and removes his headphones.

“Good run?” I ask.

“It was. I’m going to shower quick,”he replies.

I nod and go back to my computer. Instead of going inside to shower, Marcus, heads to the outdoor shower nestled in some trees back here. It offers breathtaking views of the ocean, especially in the evening after a late swim. Steppinginto the shower, he turns it on. I watch as his muscles move under his skin while he sets the water temperature and grabs the toiletries from the cupboard.

With his back to me, he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts, sliding them over his trim hips and then over his trim hips and then his ass, letting them drop to the ground, and stepping out of them into the water. I watch him.

His movements are controlled and graceful. During training, I loved to watch him stalk his prey. Marcus is silent when he moves when he wants to be. He has always been light on his feet, silent in his approach with excellent control of his body. He’s a sight to behold fully dressed, naked? Naked Marcus makes my mouth water.

He grabs the shampoo, washing his hair. The water rinsing the shampoo down him, over every dip and ridge of muscle in its path. I know I should stop looking, but the sight of him wet and glistening is intoxicating, I bite my lip to stop a groan from escaping.

I should look away, but no one would look away from him, soapy and wet.

Marcus is male beauty personified.

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