Okay, maybe he cared a little bit. He’d been her first, and to be honest, the idea of anyone else being her second didn’t set well on him, no matter how much he wanted to deny it.
“You’re being awfully quiet.”
He finished chewing his bite of salad before answering. “My mama always insisted it’s rude to talk while eating.”
Marabella nibbled a sliver of salmon from her fork. “What’s your mother like?”
“Hell if I know. She dumped me on my dad’s doorstep practically the second I popped from her womb.”
“Then how—?” She blushed. “Oh, you were only kidding about talking with your mouth full.”
“Shit, that’s no joking matter. People choke to death on arugula every day. It’s damn near epidemic.”
She gaped at him for a long moment before laughing. The sweet, girlish sound tripped along his spine, provoking pleasurable tingles. His grin broke free before he could corral it.
Her mirth fading, Marabella stared at him in wonder. “That’s the first time you’ve smiled like that.”
“Like what?”
She tapped the tines of her fork against her lips. “Like you’re almost happy.”
Happy? No, that was impossible. He didn’t do happy anymore. Easier not to be disappointed when the inevitable shit started piling knee-deep.
“So you were raised by your father? The opposite of me.”
“Yeah. The old man pretty much taught me everything I know about being a soul collector.”
Marabella lowered her fork and pushed around the greens on her plate. “So he’s a soul collector too?”
“Was. He died several years back.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. That must have been rough for you.”
The compassion in Marabella’s eyes left him with an odd and unfamiliar sense of vulnerability. He wasn’t used to anyone caring about him. Yeah, Cass and Nikki had always been there for him in ways no one else was, but there was a soft gentleness to Marabella that called to him on an elemental level he’d never experienced. She exuded so much light and sweetness, he wanted to dive into her until he was thoroughly drunk on all that sunshine.
She’s not for you. Over time, you’d take every ray of her inner light and twist it into something ugly and black. The voice in his head might have been taunting, but it spoke the devil’s truth. His darkness was no haven for someone like Marabella. That reminder hung like a two-ton elephant over his head during the remainder of their meal.
When it became clear the strained silence that’d descended on them wouldn’t be disappearing anytime soon, Marabella straightened from her seat and gathered the dishes from the small dining table. “I don’t have anything in the way of dessert, but maybe later we can watch a movie and I’ll nuke popcorn.”
He wanted to point out that this wasn’t some cozy date, but she looked so damn hopeful, he didn’t have the heart to tell her otherwise. Soon enough she’d remember what a son of a bitch he was. Might as well enjoy this façade of getting along while it lasted. “Sure. Why the hell not.”
Her smile dazzling, Marabella gathered their plates and carried them to the sink. “I’ll take care of everything in here if you want to go pick a movie. All of the DVDs are in the rack by the TV.”
He nodded and scraped his chair back. In the living room, he found her stash of movies. A quick rifle through them verified his worst nightmare. All chick flicks. Shit. Maybe if he was lucky, he’d slip into a spontaneous coma before the opening credits finished rolling. He settled on what he hoped was the least horrible of the bunch and straightened.
Marabella walked into the room. She’d removed the apron, awarding him a generous sighting of the ample cleavage that’d tormented him for the past six hours. “Did you find one?”
Somehow he tore his gaze from her breasts. “What?”
“A movie?”
He suddenly recalled the disc in his hand. Feeling immensely slow on the uptake, he held it out for her inspection.
“Oh, Dirty Dancing. That’s a good one.” Taking the movie from him, she stooped and flicked on the DVD player. Her hair tumbled in a soft cascade over one shoulder, exposing the vulnerable arch of her neck. He stared at her pale flesh, overcome by the fierce desire to sink his teeth into that tender spot while he pinned her to the floor and fucked her from behind. Hard and deep. Like a mindless animal intent on conquering its mate. Or a demon claiming his moyet.
Fuck. There was that damn word again. Moyet. He didn’t believe in that bullshit. Sure as hell didn’t need the complications that came along with that line of thinking.
Tunneling a hand through his hair, he crossed to the oversized leather chair and took a seat. He didn’t trust himself on the couch with Marabella. His decision to keep his distance became reinforced when she dimmed the lights and snuggled on the end of the couch nearest him. Even though she modestly tucked her skirt beneath her, every time she moved, he caught a flash of her creamy thigh. Three quarters into the movie, he had no idea what the plot was, or if there even was one. There seemed to be a lot of dancing, though, for some reason. Hence the title, no doubt. Regardless, his mind had become fixated on Marabella’s legs. Particularly the spot right behind her knees. He imagined nibbling and licking it.
Okay, he imagined nibbling and licking a lot more than the backs of her knees. His overactive imagination wandered into the vivid fantasyland of rucking her skirt up around her hips and burying his mouth in her pussy. He knew from their night together that she enjoyed being eaten out, even if she didn’t necessarily want to like it.
Correction, she probably just didn’t want to like it with him. The recollection of how she’d gasped his name while her clit pulsed beneath his tongue shot a thrill through him, as well as a spike of hunger. Making her come despite the resistance she’d valiantly tried to cling to—it’d been fucking tantalizing. Then and now. Unlike others of his ilk, he’d never felt the need to take something that wasn’t freely offered to him, but he’d be lying if he said Marabella’s sweet capitulation hadn’t stoked his inner satyr.
Shit. Maybe he was looking at this the wrong way. Why deny the natural sexual chemistry between them? It’d only condemn him to a constant hard-on. They could fuck each other’s brains out and leave it at that. It might even kill his obsession with her once and for all.
He slid a glance toward her and noticed she was sniffling. Aw hell. He’d been cock-blocked by a damn chick flick. Shifting his focus to the TV screen, he attempted to deduce what sappiness had her all misty-eyed, but damn if he could figure it out. In the movie, the big guy who apparently liked to dance a lot—but redeemed himself by driving a ’57 Chevy—said something about not putting Baby in a corner before dragging his girlfriend away from the table. From the looks of things, they were going to dance again.
Bloody fuck. Who danced this much? It was abnormal.
Marabella blotted her eyes with a tissue and gave another sniffly sigh. “Now that’s true love.”
“You’ve got to be shittin’ me.”
She jerked her head and blinked at him like she’d forgotten he was there. “Sorry?”
“It’s a movie, babe. Nothing real or true about it.”
A frown wrinkled her brow. “Just because it’s a movie doesn’t mean there’s not some truth in it. Despite the odds stacked against him, Johnny came back for Baby. Because he loves her. And love happens to be a real emotion, you know.”