Page 42 of Pas de Don't
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked, more concerned this time.
“Yeah,” she nodded, “I just, I, um ...” She paused, avoiding his eyes by looking at the hollow of his throat, trying to choose the right words. She suspected there was no combination of words that wouldn’t disappoint him. He waited.
“It’s been a really long day. Rehearsal with Peter was hard, and the spider...I’m tired. And I know you probably don’t want to hear this right now but can we just, could we...not? I mean, can we stop for tonight?” She winced apologetically. “I’m sorry,” she added quickly.
Marcus looked confused, and she instantly regretted saying anything. He’d just made her come, and he was clearly very revved up, so she should just return the favor.
“Sorry,” she repeated into the silence.
“Please don’t apologize,” he said quietly. “Of course we can stop.” He shifted uncomfortably.
“Are you sure?” With difficulty, she raised her head and searched his face for annoyance or frustration. To her surprise, she found none.
“Uh, yes?” he said slowly, as though she was missing something very obvious. “You don’t, like, owe me anything.”
For a moment, Heather didn’t know what to say. In her experience, men—well, Jack—expected to get off in a situation like this, especially if she already had.
“Okay. Do you want to go?” She knew what he was going to say, but she wished he wouldn’t say it. Obviously this could never happen again.It shouldn’t have happened at all, she scolded herself half-heartedly. But once he left, it would all be over.
He took a step toward her, put his hands on her hips, and pulled her against him. “Not really,” he murmured into her hair. “I mean, what if that spider did make some friends?”
A relieved giggle escaped her mouth. Apparently she didn’t know what he was going to say. She didn’t know him that well at all. But, she thought, taking his hand and leading him out of the kitchen toward the stairs, she really wanted to.
Chapter 11
The next morning, Heather woke to the sound of a door snapping shut. Her eyes flew open, and she was greeted by weak morning sun creeping into her bedroom. Squinting and screwing up her face, she listened hard. Was that the front door? Had Marcus...left? She sat up quickly, dread swimming in her stomach. His side of the bed was warm but empty, and his clothes were gone.
“Damnit,” she muttered, disentangling herself from the sheets. What an unbelievable mess to have made for herself. Twenty-four hours ago, she’d been doing a perfectly fine job at keeping her distance from Marcus. Now she’d accidentally had dinner with him, and very deliberately kissed him, and—she shivered at the memory—come hard against him and felt his rock-hard cock through his jeans. Then, most intimate of all, she’d spent the night sleeping soundly next to his still, warm body. In the space of just a few hours, she’d managed to endanger their jobs, her reputation, and any hope of a normal, professional friendship with him. And now he was gone, vanished before she could even wake up.
“Damnit,” she said a little louder, flopping onto her back and scowling at the ceiling. Last night had been...well, in hindsight it had been stupid, and embarrassing, and clearly not worth the risk of anyone at ANB finding out. But while it had been happening, while he was touching her, kissing her like he was starving and her mouth was a feast? That had been something else entirely.
“Damnit, damnit, damnit,” she chanted under her breath. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
“Everything all right in here?” Marcus appeared in the doorway, holding a cardboard tray with two to-go coffee cups. Heather froze, then sat up slowly. His hair was damp, and raindrops sparkled on the shoulders of his wrinkled shirt.
“Hi,” he said slowly, frowning at her. “You okay?”
“I’m fine ...” Heather trailed off. “Um, I thought you’d snuck out.”
“I did, but only to get us coffee.” Marcus shrugged. He sat on the bed and held a cup out to her.
“Oh, thanks,” she said and smiled up at him, suddenly wishing she’d used his absence to brush her hair and wipe the sleep out of her eyes. Marcus looked perfectly tousled and handsome, but she was pretty sure she looked disheveled and sleepy. Heather took the cup and stared down at the lid. In blue pen, the barista had scrawled, “SF +1.” A skim flat white with one sugar. He’d remembered her coffee order.
“Anyway, why would I sneak out?”
“I don’t know.” She fiddled with the plastic lid, brushing off raindrops and flipping the flimsy lip back and forth with her thumb. “Isn’t that a thing guys do?”
She thought of the time, a year after they’d joined the company, when Carly had woken up in the apartment of a guy she’d been dating for a few months and found him gone. His roommate, who she’d found sitting on the kitchen counter eating cold mac and cheese right out of a crusty-looking pot, had told her the guy hadleft on a three-week vacation. It was the first Carly had heard about it. She never heard from him again.
“I’m sure there are some guys who do that, but I’m not very sneaky right now, and I probably wouldn’t get away with it.” He gestured down at his foot. He lifted his cup up and bumped it lightly against hers. “Cheers.”
Heather took a fortifying sip and sighed. Two weeks in Sydney and she was already addicted to whatever Australians put in their coffee.
“Speaking of getting away with it,” she said quietly.
“Nice segue.” He smirked, and she suppressed a smile.
“Last night,” she tried again, “things kind of got out of hand.” He raised his eyebrows and smirked harder in reply.
