“Gramps, he can’t just tell you that,” I chide when my grandfather first gets on the topic. “That’s like insider trading or frontrunning or something.”
“Only if I’m disclosing material nonpublic information or telling him about a trade my fund’s about to make,” Marcus says, smiling at me warmly. “There’s nothing wrong with your grandfather asking my opinion on various investments.”
“Oh, okay. I wasn’t sure,” I mumble, forking a piece of pancake into my mouth. “In that case, carry on.”
And they do. By the time breakfast is over, I feel like I’ve sat through an hour of CNBC, only with vastly smarter talking heads. My grandfather must’ve gotten even more into investing in the past year, because he seems to know all the right things to ask. Or maybe it just feels that way to me because Marcus answers all of his questions without the slightest hint of condescension. Either way, all the stock talk leaves Gramps so pumped up that as soon as we get up and thank Grandma for the delicious pancakes, he runs straight for his laptop—presumably to buy some of the investments he and Marcus have discussed.
“Thank you for that,” I tell Marcus as we walk back to our room. “You made him so happy.”
“Did I?” He gives me a sidelong look. “What about you, kitten?”
“Me?”
“Did I bore you with all the investment chatter?”
“Oh, no. Not at all.” And to my surprise, it’s true. Though the topic isn’t something I’m interested in, observing Marcus in his element had been fascinating. Not only does he possess bottomless knowledge about the stock market and many publicly traded companies, he has a way of conveying it that makes the normally dull-to-me subject come alive. Partially, it’s the way he speaks, with a kind of quiet authority that commands attention. Mostly, though, it’s how he seamlessly weaves the human element into the numbers, talking about investor psychology and CEO personalities in the same breath as profit margins and valuation metrics.
Listening to him, I understood why my grandfather and so many others fall into stock investing as a hobby—and why Marcus himself is so passionate about what he does.
He smiles warmly. “I’m glad. You didn’t look bored, but you were very quiet.”
“Nope, not bored at all.” Entering the guestroom, I stop and turn to face him. “So, what are your plans for today? I mean, do you have some ideas for what you want to do before our Thanksgiving dinner?” Marcus’s gaze instantly strays to the bed, and I clarify, “Besides that.”
He grins down at me, blue eyes gleaming. “Well, this is Florida, so I was thinking we could go to the beach. Unless you have other suggestions? I’m open to whatever.”
“You don’t have other work calls or anything?” Before he showed up, I planned to spend most of my vacation hanging out on my grandparents’ lanai with my laptop, getting ahead on edits—and maybe even working on the first chapter of my own super-secret story. Now, however, all of that is out the window… unless Marcus also plans to work part of the day.
He lifts his eyebrows. “You sound disappointed. Do you want me to work?”
“No, of course not—unless you have to. I’ll totally understand if you have to.” And yes, maybe a part of me wants him occupied with something other than me, so I can catch my breath and try to maintain some equanimity. I’d been the sole recipient of his attention for most of last weekend, and it had been beyond heady, so much so it had nearly crushed me when he left and subsequently disappeared for three days. If he’s going to be here until Sunday—and I suspect he will be, as despite my ultimatum last night, he hasn’t said a peep to my grandparents about flying back to NYC tonight—I need to find a way to protect myself, to keep at least a portion of my heart shielded in case he flips the switch from hot to cold again.
His lips curve wryly as understanding glimmers in his gaze. “How about we bring some folding chairs and our laptops to the beach? We can swim if the water is warm enough, and if not, we can just enjoy the ocean breeze while catching up on some work. I’m guessing you have something you need to get done, editing-wise?”
“Well, kind of,” I admit sheepishly. “It’s nothing urgent, but—”
“Say no more. If there’s anything I understand, it’s wanting to have a productive vacation.”
I smile up at him. “Okay, great. Let me just grab my things and—”
“Wait.” He catches my arm. “Before you do that, there’s something I’ve been meaning to do all morning.”
“Oh?” I say breathlessly, my head tipping back as he grips my hips and draws me against his tall, hard body. “What’s that?”
His voice turns husky. “This.” And dipping his head to kiss me, he maneuvers us toward the bed.
9
Marcus
It’s official.
I’m an animal when it comes to Emma.
We had sex less than a half hour ago, yet as my hand glides over the smooth skin of her back, covering it with sunblock before we exit the car, all I can think about is how much I want to run my tongue up the indentation of her spine—and how much I love seeing the red, hickey-like marks on the junction between her neck and shoulder, where I sucked and nibbled on her tender flesh a little too hard last night.
It’s wrong, and completely Neanderthal of me, but I want everyone who looks at her at the beach today to know that she’s mine.
“Please don’t forget to spread it under the bikini straps and the waistband of the shorts,” she murmurs, glancing at me over her shoulder. Her gray eyes are bright
