There wasn’t anything wrong with wanting it. Right now, that part of her she’d kept dormant wanted it too.
It was the losing it that she refused to let happen. If she didn’t havemore,then it couldn’t be taken away from her. Attachments were dangerous. She just had to keep reminding herself that what Marcus wanted wasn’t what she needed.
“Uno!” Grams shouted, her hands shooting into the air.
Marcus chuckled, tossing his handful of cards to the table. “You’re supposed to say Uno when you have one left. Not when you lay your last card down.”
Grams bopped her head from side to side. “Tomato, tomah-to.”
He chuckled again, and Grams glanced in Wynter’s direction, causing Marcus to do the same. He was the one to speak first. “Need some help?”
Wynter shook her head. “Just about done.” Even as she said it, Marcus got to his feet.
Grams made a show of yawning and stretching. “I’m pooped. It’s probably about time for me to head to bed.”
Wynter darted a look at her, then to Marcus. She was doing it again. Grams was meddling. “You sure? Maybe you’d like to frost some cookies?”
Marcus was at her back by this point and reached around her to grab a cookie. His arm brushed against hers and tingles rippled along her skin. “I thought you said you didn’t need help,” he murmured right next to her ear, making those tingles even worse.
Her throat went dry. “That’s because I… don’t.” Her voice was barely above a whisper as he reached around her once more to scoop some frosting onto a knife.
“Yes, I’m sure, sweetheart. I’m exhausted. It’s been a long day.” Grams got to her feet and headed for the hall that led to her room. “Don’t forget to lock up.”
Wynter opened her mouth to protest, but Grams had already disappeared.
And once again, Wynter was alone with Marcus.
They hadn’t been alone since that moment in the barn when she’d told him supper was ready. He’d been close. Too close. She’d wanted so badly to lean into him and give up the fight. Her arguments were continuing to grow hazy, which was why she had to keep reminding herself that she couldn’t allow herself to get close.
At some point, Marcus had put down the knife. He was at her back, and the warmth of his body enveloped her. His finger traced from her wrist up to where her sleeve had been rolled to her elbow. Goosebumps pebbled on her skin, and she inhaled sharply.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
She shut her eyes and put her knife on the counter. Shaking her head, Wynter murmured, “I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” Marcus lifted her hair from her shoulder and tugged it back. Cool air tickled the skin on the back of her neck before being replaced with his warm breath. “And I want to know why.”
“I’m not avoiding you,” Wynter whispered.
“Then what do you call it?”
She turned to face him but regretted it immediately. The counter dug into her lower back as she stared up at him. He stared right back, his gaze penetrating her to her core. “I call it living in the same house as my grandmother.” She tilted her chin upward, praying she looked more defiant than terrified.
The way he was smirking at her made it clear he wasn’t intimidated whatsoever. He gave a subtle shake of his head. “No, that’s not it.”
Wynter could feel the heat rising to her face. It started in the pit of her stomach and warmed her body all the way to the top of her head. “Marcus…” she whispered.
His eyes scanned her face, an adorable crease forming between his brows. “What I don’t understand is that we were doing great. You were opening up to me. We… we were getting back to where we were when we were friends.”
“Wearefriends,” she insisted.
Another shake of his head. “Not like we used to be.” He lifted his hand, and his calloused fingertips brushed her hair aside once more but didn’t stop there. He grasped a lock of hair and fingered it. His lips pressed into a thin line as his eyes found hers. “Is it because… Please don’t tell me that you’re withdrawing after that night.”
She closed her eyes, unable to lie. He was partially right with his assumption. Crying in his arms had felt more right than it should have. It was too easy to cling to him. Even if she hadn’t told him the root of her issues, simply letting him hold her had been cathartic.
“Wynter,” Marcus murmured. When she didn’t open her eyes, he repeated her name but with more force. “Look at me.”
Her lashes fluttered and she found his gaze. “What?”
