More than the Game by Jenni Bara

19

@CelebPeopleMag:Where is Marabeth? Haven’t seen them in days. Does this mean the end?

@ETWeekly:Rumors @HotShotDemoda is ring shopping already! Is it too soon to pop the question?

Beth lifted her hand and knocked on the apartment door. Trish answered right away. Not only was Trish Katie and Nate’s mom but, she was one of Beth’s closest friends.

“Hey, you look great,” Trish said as her brown eyes ran over her while Mandy and Steve pushed past her to get inside. Trish’s immaculate apartment was about to get torn up by the four kids. Knowing Trish though, she’d have it cleaned up before the kids were in bed for fifteen minutes. The single mom was always on top everything. “I love that white dress on you.”

“Thanks,” Beth said she wasn’t worried about the short white halter dress. Plus, Beth wasn’t prepared to admit the change in her relationship with Marc to any of her brothers yet. She didn’t understand why, after spending the day helping while she was sick, he had suddenly decided he wanted her, and she’d never be able to explain it.

Sitting in bed with Marc last night had been a weird experience. The second his weight had dropped onto the mattress, her stomach lodged in her throat. She rambled on incessantly, trying to forget about the heat of the attractive man next to her. The column of Marc’s throat, the strength of his forearms, the smell of his cologne—it all whispered desire into Beth’s ear. And then he’d said he wanted her.

But did he want her for one night? For one date? Was this purely the thrill of the chase?

Her pillows still carried the musky scent of him this morning, and her body shivered when she thought of him—but the questions mattered more. She wanted to know what was going on.

Marc had called her at lunchtime to make sure she’d found a babysitter, and told her he would be there around six thirty. She said she’d meet him at his house instead, since she was dropping the kids off with Trish. He reluctantly agreed.

“Beth?” Trish asked clearly not for the first time. She tucked her brown hair behind her ear as her head cocked to the side, the frown taking over her face.

“Uh—sorry what?” she asked.

Trish chuckled. “I just asked how you were feeling?”

She groaned. “Not you too. I’m fine, it was a cold, but Clayton and Danny hovered all day, Will even wanted to make dinner. They were all up in arms I’m going out with Marc tonight.”

“Yet you think they aren’t going to know what this sleep over means?” Trish asked with a knowing smirk.

“I’m not telling them about this,” she reminded her friend pointedly. Not that Trish would spill the beans, she was the steady silent friend Beth needed in life.

“I know them, and they will find out. But I’m happy to have the kids here,” Trish said, turning to watch the kids. Steve and Nate were already well into the LEGOS on the coffee table while the two little girls played with their babies in the corner of the small room.

Trish had been through a lot in her life, but she was one of Beth’s most dependable friends.

“Thanks,” Beth said.

“Anytime,” Trish assured her but her smile almost had Beth groaning again. “And I saw Marc last night, so I’m clear on the fact that anytime might mean this happens more often.”

Beth’s cheeks heated. “Marc’s not the type to look for something that happens often.”

“Just the type to be covered in pizza sauce cleaning up after seven kids so you can sleep?” Trish asked. Beth opened her mouth but Trish continued. “Beth, I owe you, you have Nate and Katie every day, I’m happy to have Steve and Mandy as often as you want. And I’m happy that you seem happy.”

“Do I seem happy?” Beth asked. Because she felt like a nervous wreck.

“Yeah, you do, so have fun,” Trish assured her and then turned.

“No Mandy, don’t touch my stuff,” Steve snapped.

“Go,” Trish said before Beth could intervene and Beth nodded.

She was a ball of nerves driving over. Since she had all day to think about tonight, she worked herself into a hot mess. She couldn’t sleep with him tonight without knowing what was going to happen tomorrow. They had to talk first.

“You look gorgeous,” Marc said, full of his typical sexy confidence. He glided out the front door to stand next to her on the porch. His hand ran up her bare arm to the crook of her neck. He leaned into her so she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. “Don’t overthink this. Just be here with me.” Every syllable bounced off her neck and ear, and she shivered as he placed a soft kiss, his lips barely open, on her cheek.

“Okay,” she said, feeling slightly off-balance. Marc’s eyes ran down her legs to her white platform wedges, and she saw him smile. “You have a thing about shoes, don’t you?”

“No.” Marc laughed when she gave him a look of disbelief.

“Are you worried I’ll wear two different shoes?”

“I can honestly say that’s never entered my mind,” he assured her. “Come on, we have a seven o’clock reservation.”

A reservation was good and bad. Dinner meant they would have time to talk, but the reservation meant a circus would probably be waiting for them at the restaurant. They had worked their way through the crowd once this week already, and she couldn’t say she was excited to do it again.

Beth had assumed they were heading to the city for dinner, so she was surprised when Marc didn’t take the highway to the tunnel.

“Where are we going?” she asked, turning down the radio—which was currently playing Taylor Swift, much to Marc’s displeasure. He never took control of the music, and he had given up commenting anything more than a raised eyebrow at her taste, but she could tell he didn’t much care for her choices.

“A little Italian place,” he said, and then his brow furrowed. “You like Italian, right? I didn’t ask.”

“You haven’t asked me if I liked any place you were taking me.”

Marc frowned. Something about him was different tonight.

They pulled into a small parking lot next to what looked like a house except for a sign that said ‘Caniro’s.’ He got her door, but there were no cameras anywhere. Even as he guided her forward with his hand on the small of her back, she looked for the jackals.

After the rumors of cheating had spread, their relationship had become a bigger deal. Marc’s demands for privacy hadn’t helped.

“They’re not here,” he said, realizing precisely what she was searching for.

She didn’t understand, but he said nothing more as they walked through the door. Hadn’t he said he made a reservation?

They entered a front foyer with rooms on either side. Each contained a few tables of couples or families, but the place wasn’t crowded. The hostess greeted them with a flash of recognition, but nothing else.

“I have a reservation—Marc Rojas,” he said, flashing his dimples and rolling his ‘r’ at the girl, who blushed, flustered. Beth might have felt bad for the poor girl if she wasn’t so shocked herself. Rojas? He hadn’t used his actual name—no wonder no one was here.

“Yes, right this way, Mr. Rojas,” she said and led them through the door to the right, into a windowless room closer to the back. She set the menus down on one of the four empty tables before turning back to them.

Marc helped Beth with her chair, then turned and said something she couldn’t hear to the hostess. The girl left the room, closing the door behind her.

“Rojas?” Beth asked as he sat down beside her, only the table’s corner between them.

“My mother’s maiden name.” She blinked. “If I had used my actual name, the place would be swarming.”

“Yeah, but I thought…” She shook her head, trying to understand. “I thought that was the point.”

The server came in with an open bottle of wine, introduced herself, and poured some into Marc’s glass. He took a sip and then nodded. After filling both of their glasses with the dark crimson liquid, she retreated, leaving the bottle on the table.

“Thought what was the point?” Marc asked, returning to the conversation.

“That we be seen together.” She picked up her glass and took a sip of her wine. The rich, heady flavor lingered in her mouth. She wasn’t a wine connoisseur, but knew enough to know it was an ‘impress me’ bottle of wine. Why was he suddenly ordering expensive wine?

“Not tonight.”

He ran his thumb slowly back and forth over the top of her hand before bringing it up to his mouth. His lips pressed into her palm and then the inside of her wrist before blowing slightly on the damp skin. Desire shot through her like a shock. She shivered as he smiled against her wrist.

“I thought you understood that this was a date. Not even Austin knows where we are, and no one here will call in a tip. I made sure of it. Complete privacy.”

Her comment about their dinner at Slush not being a real date flicked through her mind. This was an actual date?

“I thought you liked the attention.”

“But you don’t,” Marc said and set her hand back on the table.

Her stomach fluttered; he was thinking of her. “Thank you.”

“In the interest of full disclosure, I have to admit that part of it is selfishness.” Marc’s brown eyes sparkled as he leaned back in the chair.

“Why am I not surprised.” Beth rolled her eyes and shook her head. Familiar ground, at least. “What’s in it for you?”

“This.” His hand reached up to trace her cheek then flowed down her neck. His fingers danced along her collarbone before running down her arm. She swallowed hard when his thumb drifted along her bottom lip, which involuntarily separated from its mate. Awareness ripped through Beth again. It amazed her, his ability to turn her inside out with a simple touch. He leaned in slowly to brush her lips with his, and she sighed. He smiled against her lips before he leaned back. “See?”

“Huh?” Beth’s thoughts spun.

“You’re relaxed,” he said. “I can touch you, kiss you, and you can enjoy yourself.” He took her hand in his again.

She paused. “Does that take some fun away for you?” she asked, pulling her hand back. She started fiddling with the gold band on her thumb.

The server interrupted the conversation again to take their orders, which took longer than it should have because Beth hadn’t even opened the menu. Marc ordered without looking at his.

When the server left, Marc picked up his wine glass. Keeping his eyes on her, he spun his wine a few times before he answered her question with one of his own. “You think I prefer you to be nervous and uncomfortable with me?”

He took a slow sip, watching her over the top. Beth didn’t think he looked mad, exactly, but he also didn’t look happy with her.

“I don’t know.” Her eyes fell to the table. “I don’t understand your complete change of heart about this, Marc. Is it that it’s been too long, and I’m all that’s available?”

His eyes flitted shut. He muttered something before finally looking at her. “This is supposed to be a do-over for us.”

Beth shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

He swallowed, and his throat bobbed. “The morning I showed up at your house with a new iPhone? I let you assume I had come wanting to use you to change my image. I let you believe I thought I could get something from you.”

“You didn’t?”

Marc shook his head, “No. I came to get you to come out with me—to come here with me. After I got your phone, I came here for dinner. I wanted to test it out for a quiet, non-public date—with you.”

Beth glanced down, feeling her cheeks heat, but his finger forced her gaze up to meet his own.

“I wanted to get to know you, to spend time with you. And nothing about that has changed.” His eyes beat into her and the truth spread like a blush across her skin.

He leaned forward so that they were only a whisper apart; with each exhale, his breath brushed against her wet lips. She felt every single puff of air pound deep inside her.

“Beth, give me a chance. Get to know me as more than an obligation or favor,” he said, then closed the gap, brushing his lips against hers.

She wanted to give in, but she had questions. She pulled back. “And what happens to the agreement?”

“Nothing. We finish it, but we have a lot more fun doing it.” Marc smiled.

She paused at the simplicity of his statement—which wasn’t at all simple. “So basically a real relationship but with an expiration date?”

“A clearly delineated, well-understood, temporary relationship—because I don’t want to hurt you. I know you’re the kind of woman who wants forever, and I’m never going to be the guy who can offer that.”

“I realize that, Marc.”

“Do you? I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” he said seriously. But his face broke into a playful smirk. “I’ll give you a month of the best sex of your life, but that’s all I can offer.”

“You’re a little cocky, aren’t you?” Beth said, raising her eyebrows as he laughed. She narrowed her eyes. “Do you like to make it harder for yourself?”

“I like that you make me work for things, but I’d still want you if you threw yourself at me. Maybe we should test that theory.” His brown eyes sparkled as he teased her.

“In your dreams, hotshot. If you want me that badly, you’re going to have to work for it,” Beth sassed back. When their eyes met, they both realized the shift that had just occurred.

So he worked for it. All throughout dinner, he seduced her—with lingering touches and soft dimpled smiles, a brush of his leg, a gentle stroke of her arm, the touch of his hand until desire pulsed through every nerve ending in her body. His arm kept her close as they made their way to the car, and his hand crept up her thigh as he drove to his house.

She hadn’t been inside his place before, and although it was a typically beautiful Jersey Shore house, it wasn’t nearly as big as she had expected it to be. It was smaller than any of her own parents’ many homes. But it was the kind of house that you might be afraid to spill something in, or worried you might leave fingerprints. It was perfect, the type of home that didn’t fit in her life.

But that didn’t matter; Marc had been clear. He liked her, but he wasn’t looking for anything more than a friendship that came with some short-term bedroom privileges.

“You have great taste. It’s beautiful,” Beth said, looking around at the mix of stone, wood, and leather. It wasn’t feminine, but there was a warm feel to the furniture.

“I can’t take credit, since I paid someone to do it for me.” He tossed his keys onto the granite counter, then set her purse on the black wrought-iron stool.

She gazed out the back window. Every few feet, thick chestnut-colored columns held up vine-covered pergolas. Two hot tubs sat high on opposite sides of the pool, situated so waterfalls fell from each into the water below. Bushes, small trees, and a wrought-iron fence surrounded the area, offering privacy but not cutting off the view completely; there was still a fantastic vista of dunes and crashing waves. Although it was dark, the moon reflected brightly off the water, lighting up a picture-perfect view of the Jersey coast.

“I’ve redone the pool, but the view was the reason I bought the house,” Marc said. “Maybe we’ll bring the kids over tomorrow to swim.”

“They’ll love it,” Beth said, turning to the front.

An archway opened onto a cathedral-ceiling foyer, and her heels clicked on the tile as she moved into the room, stopping next to the curved double-staircase that led up to the second floor. This room was perfect too.

But the house felt empty. Not that there wasn’t enough furniture in it; it was the lived-in feel that was missing. There weren’t any photos of friends or family, no small touches that showed someone lived here. There were no books sitting on a table, no newspaper forgotten on the counter, nothing taped to the fridge. Marc had an apartment in the city, too; maybe that was home.

“Do you stay here a lot?” Beth asked, wandering into a dark office to the right, which also lacked any personal touch, and then an empty room to the left.

“Not until recently, but I’ve been living here for the last five months,” Marc said, moving behind her and wrapping his arms around her stomach.

She remembered what he’d said; he didn’t want anything to tie himself to one place. A home locked you down. She would bet his apartment in New York was as devoid of anything personal as this house was. She felt a stab of pity for the man. What made him so determined to cut himself off from anything permanent?

He interrupted her thoughts by nuzzling her neck. “I’m supposed to be turning this into a barroom. But much to my designer’s dismay, I can’t drum up the enthusiasm for it.”

“A barroom?” she asked. She tilted her neck to the side as he leaned down, brushing his lips against her. His soft, warm mouth pressed against the pulse along her jaw, and the heat of desire warmed once more inside her.

“Yeah. She wants to turn the room into a bar—with the stools, a mirror, crap like that. I’m not sure what I’d use it for,” Marc murmured, but all Beth could think about was his warm, smooth skin brushing across her shoulder, the musky smell of his cologne filling her every breath. The taut muscles of his arms held her close to his chest, every beat of his heart pounding into her.

Standing so close to him she felt unusually flustered and grasped for anything to say.

“I guess you wouldn’t want to cartwheel across it.” Beth’s heart stuttered at the random comment as Marc’s breathy laugh blew against her ear.

“I wouldn’t mind watching you do that,” Marc said, and she turned to meet his eyes. “Although I doubt you could in those shoes.”

Beth rolled her eyes. “Please.” She so could. Four-inch strappy platforms couldn’t stop her from being able to cartwheel.

She moved away from Marc to the center of the room while he crossed his arms, leaning on the door frame, shaking his head. She lifted both arms in the air, then kicked over two perfect cartwheels.

She thought she’d see a smile when she glanced at Marc, but the heat in his eyes took her breath away.

“Your shoes and your panties both belong in a strip club.” His voice was a deep rumble as he stalked toward her.

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment,” Beth said as he reached her. His hands started at her thighs and slowly slipped under the hem of her dress. Her stomach tightened as the tip of a hot finger traced the lace along her leg and hip.

“Okay, how about this: If I’d known these were under this dress, I would’ve made sure I got to see them sooner,” Marc said, and dropped his mouth to hers.

This kiss didn’t start slow. He jumped right in and took possession of her mouth with a hot urgency. His hand on the small of her back pressed her tightly against him so she could feel the hard contours of him against her. His teeth tugged on her bottom lip, and she gulped in a breath, light-headed. Suddenly there was only Marc—his lips, his hands, just him. She was swimming with desire.

“I want you,” his voice whispered against her ear before he trailed his lips down across her jaw. She moaned agreement. “I need to hear you say it, sweetheart.” Marc pulled back to look into her eyes.

It wasn’t a statement to feed his ego. It was him making sure he wasn’t pushing her too far. He was putting her above his desires, and that was sexy as hell.

“I want this too,” she whispered. And he claimed her mouth again.

Marc’s lips never left hers as his hands skimmed slowly down along her body,reaching her hips, and lifted her from the floor. He pressed her tightly against him, deepening the kiss. His groan came from deep in the back of his throat, and with her in his arms, Marc headed upstairs.