“Nope. My parents didn’t bring me.” I shrug. “I guess they’re not fans.” I can’t help myself. Anyhow, he deserves it and more. “So, do you work for the family business?” I slip another bite into my mouth, restraining the ecstatic moan as I chew. He may be an asshole, but his steak is grade A.
“Yes, I’m Vice President of Marketing and Sales.”
“Sounds like a lot of work,” I offer before devouring another piece of meat.
“You can’t even imagine. I work long hours and travel more than I’m home. Sometimes, I barely get to sleep in my own bed.”
My phone lights up.
Marshall: Poor baby.
“Are you on vacation now?” I question.
Marshall: Calling him out. I like it.
I’m actually not trying to call him out. I feel obligated to find something to contribute to the conversation and that’s what popped into my mind. It’s not much, but it’s better than uncomfortable silence.
“I am. I’ve got two weeks, and I’m spending every minute here.”
“By yourself?” I ask. Doesn’t he have any friends to spend time with?
He leans forward. “Is that your way of asking if we can spend more time together?”
Oh, crap.
I cram a mound of food into my mouth and gesture that I’m not answering because I’m busy chewing. My eyes reflexively drop to my phone screen once more and a message appears.
Marshall: You backed yourself into a corner, Lucky. Can’t wait to see how you get out of this.
Pretending to scratch the back of my head, I flip Marshall off. After I swallow my food, I can’t ignore answering any longer. “I’m just curious.”
“Well, rest assured you and I will be spending plenty of time together.” He winks, and my stomach turns. And I don’t mean in a good way. This is more like nausea. Dammit. I don’t want him ruining the rest of my meal.
Afraid to encourage him more, I stare at my rapidly clearing plate. I catch the flash on my phone’s screen, and as much as I don’t want to look down and see what’s no doubt a wiseass text, I can’t seem to help myself.
Marshall: Lucky you, Lucky.
I shake my head to let him know he’s not as funny as he thinks. In fact, that was decidedly lame. Was he even trying? I’ve come to expect more from him.
We finish eating, and after another pat on my head, Kent heads inside, carrying our plates and silverware.
“Lucky, give me a signal if you want me to step in.” I turn and find Marshall standing at the closest deck railing. His willingness to save me should be considered a nice thing, but with our history, I can’t help but suspect he has ulterior motives. It would be just like him to help me and then paint me as helpless and needy.
“Go away, Marshall. I’m a big girl. This isn’t my first date.” My words sound harsher than intended.
“Okay. Gotcha. You don’t need my help.” He moves toward the slider, and I almost tell him not to go, but I bite into my bottom lip, keeping the plea to myself. I’m an adult and I can handle Kent.
Facing forward once more, I rise and move toward the back edge of the deck. Leaning over the railing, my gaze sweeps over the unobstructed view of the Atlantic. Varying shades of orange, pink, and yellow swirl and streak across the sky, creating a striking canvas of texture and vivid color. Sunsets at the shore are always the most beautiful. Back in the city, with too many buildings blocking the view, I don’t get to see them as clearly.
My thoughts wander to a vision of a shirtless Marshall in the water earlier today. Every time he reached for the tennis ball, his muscles rippled and flexed under his skin. His body is as impressive as ever.
Arms unexpectedly slip around my waist, and a squeak of surprise slips from my lips. “Babe, it’s just me,” Kent says.
“Babe, huh?” I ask.
“You don’t like nicknames?”
“I like nicknames fine. Endearments from someone I don’t really know…” I shrug. “I’m not gonna lie, it’s a little weird.”
“Maybe we need to get to know each other better.” He spins me in his arms and lays his lips on mine before I can react. I gasp, and his tongue invades my mouth. My palms press on his chest to push him away, but his large hand grips the back of my head, keeping me hostage in the unwelcome kiss. His tongue is unrelenting, and fear strikes me. What if he doesn’t stop?
I push on his chest, but he’s so much bigger than me, he doesn’t budge an inch. I kick at his shins, but my sandals offer poor protection for my feet and inflict little to no damage to him. His tongue thrusts aggressively, and panic assails me when the realization hits—he’s not going to stop.
In a flash, Kent is gone and I’m free. My hands cover my mouth, wiping away the remnants of his kiss as Marshall grabs the front of his shirt, driving him backward across the deck. Kent crashes into the table and chairs, flopped on his back like a fish out of water. He groans, dangling awkwardly over the furniture.
Marshall stalks closer to loom over his groaning form. “Don’t ever fucking come near Clover again or I’ll make you regret it for the rest of your life. I’m sure you don’t want this pretty face fucked up.” Leaning over, he gives Kent two quick, cracking slaps on his cheek before hurrying toward me. Eyes connecting with mine, his expression morphs from blind rage to concern in an instant.
He cups my cheeks, gently framing my face for his perusal. “Are you okay?”
I nod, clutching on to his forearms. My legs feel like cooked noodles, all wiggly and weak beneath me. His worried orbs blur in front of me as tears well and overflow. Marshall’s thumbs swipe the wet trails from my cheeks before he pulls me to his chest. He clasps me tightly to the wall of sheer muscle, reassuringly stroking my hair. His heart beats in a strong, steady cadence beneath my ear, providing all the comfort and reassurance I need.
A groan and the sound of deck furniture shifting draws our attention. Kent struggles to his feet, as if Marshall beat the crap out of him instead of just shoving him. “I’m calling the police. You assaulted me.”
Marshall’s arms drop from my back and he ushers me behind him. My hands clutch his sides, still needing the contact as I peer around him.
“Go ahead. How do you think they’ll feel about you sexually assaulting Clover?” Kent’s mouth opens and closes, but he remains silent. “Yeah, that’s what I figured.” Marshall takes my hand and leads me to the stairs, making sure to stay between Kent and me. He pauses, glaring over his shoulder. “If you so much as breathe in Clover’s direction, I’ll make sure you never fucking do again.” Marshall squeezes my hand reassuringly and leads me down the stairs and back to our deck. We slip inside the sliding glass door, and he silently takes me up to my room. I don’t want to see Maddie and have to explain why I’m home so early, and Marshall seems to instinctively know this.
He closes the door to my room behind us but doesn’t release my hand. “Clover, are you sure you’re okay?” His use of my actual name tells me how serious he is.
I nod. “I’m fine.”
“I’m sure you’re feeling all kinds of things I can’t relate to personally, but one thing I’m fairly certain of is that you’re not fine. Don’t dismiss what happened as if it was nothing.”