“Don’t play coy, darling,” Belvedere croons, sweeping toward me. He takes my hand, bows over it like a courtier, and kisses my knuckles so extravagantly I half expect him to sprain his jaw. Then he pretends to stagger back, clutching his chest. “That beauty! That aura! If I didn’t love this outfit so much, I’d fall to my knees.”
I flush despite myself.
And then his gaze snaps to Marcus. His eyes widen. His grin turns positively feral.
“Oh. My. Gods.” Belvedere clutches at his robe as if it can’t contain him. “Minerva, why did you not warn me? This one’s a full-course meal. Broad shoulders, brooding brow, jawline sharp enough to slice bread—no, darling, to slice diamonds.”
Marcus steps out of the car, towering over him, hand extended politely. Belvedere bats it away with a gasp. “Hands? Hands are for strangers. Come here, mountain man.”
Before Marcus can react, Belvedere engulfs him in a hug so enthusiastic his feet leave the ground.
“Gods above, he’s solid!” Belvedere croons, giving Marcus’s chest an appreciative pat. “All muscle and menace. I’ve died and gone to heaven. Tell me, darling, do you scowl like that all the time, or is it just for me?”
“Mostly for you,” Marcus deadpans.
Belvedere fans himself dramatically. “Oh, the wit. He broods and banters. Esmerelda, darling, I’m in love. If your husband ever gets tiresome, do call me. I’ll be waiting in silk sheets.”
“I’ll be sure to do that.”
“Or…if you aren’t willing to part with him, you could always join, darling.”
Marcus gives me a sharp side-eye.
Belvedere notices and gasps. “Ooooh! Is that tension? Delicious. The possessive glare, the territorial growl I canpractically hear. Oh, yes, he’s definitely the jealous type. Gods, I do love a man who growls.”
I cross my arms. “Belvedere, he’s mine.”
He winks, utterly unbothered. “Congratulations, darling. You’ve bagged the hottest man this side of the coast. If you weren’t so radiant yourself, I’d be green with envy.”
“Never mind me, I’ll just be standing here like a spare prick at a wedding,” Leonard grumbles.
Belvedere flashes his purple polished fingernails. “Forgive me, darling. Those two are quite the power couple. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t give you a spin around the dance floor. Come to Papa.”
Leonard grins as he gets his hug from Belvedere.
“Belvedere, leave my friends alone. We’re here on serious business.”
“Fine, fine. Come inside.”
Belvedere walks us inside. Every now and again, he looks over his shoulders and mutters something about Marcus’s hard body and how it would feel under him. Marcus shoots me a wink every time he hears something.
“Don’t let it get to your head.”
“Which head is what you should be concerned with,” Leonard mumbles.
The cottage is much larger inside than it appears from the outside. A small kitchen bursts with life. Copper pots hang from hooks, many of them filled with herbs and flowers. Shafts of sunlight pour through the skylights, and dust motes dance like glittering sprites. A stone staircase leads upstairs to what I assume are sleeping quarters.
Next to it, the dining room holds a cozy six-seater table dressed with bright pink and orange cushions—too cheerful, too warm for the weight pressing on my chest. Beyond that, a snug living area opens in a sweep of wide windows to the forestoutside, sunlight dancing over a trickling stream. The sound of the water is soft, soothing, and for the first time in days, something inside me loosens. A slither of peace.
I can almost see myself curled in front of the fireplace, a blanket over my knees, a book open in my lap. The scene slides unbidden into another. Marcus in the chair beside me, brow furrowed, nose buried in his own book. The firelight would catch the hard angles of his jaw, soften them into something dangerously intimate.
My heart skips. Heat crawls up the back of my neck.What the hell?
I shake the thought away. Stress, that’s all. My mind is a cluttered warzone, stray thoughts slipping through before I can shove them back into order. That’s all this is. Just stress.
Except… they keep coming.
Little flashes of Marcus and me. Crazy thoughts. Dangerous thoughts. Thoughts that feel less like stray sparks and more like fire catching.
