“Why?”
His brows draw together a little as he repeats the word, as if he’s surprised by the question. Then he shifts his grip on my wrist, pressing my palm against his chest and resting his own over mine, trapping my hand between us.
The skin of his chest is warm and solid beneath my palm, and I can feel the rhythmic thud of his heart. It’s beating fast, just like mine is.
“You saved my life,” he murmurs.
“It was an accident.” I say the words by rote, out of habit, but I can’t even muster up any fake conviction in them this time.
Marcus gives me a look, tilting his head a little as if asking whether I’m really going to insist on playing this stupid game.
“You saved my life,” he repeats more emphatically. “Every day since then, every fucking heartbeat, I owe to you.”
The vibration of his low voice begins in his chest and travels up my arm through the place where our skin touches, making my own pulse skyrocket. The intensity of his tone sparks my fight-or-flight instinct, and I tug hard on my hand. But he doesn’t let go. Doesn’t let it budge.
“For two and a half years, my heart has continued to beat because of you. Do you know how many heartbeats that is, Ayla? One hundred million.”
I lick my dry lips, and his gaze zeroes in on the movement. “That’s a stupid way to measure time.”
Marcus chuckles, sending another vibration through my palm. “I think it’s the only way.”
“So, what?” I shake my head, feeling almost dizzy. My fingers flex against his chest, digging into his pec like they did that day in the library. Except now, no t-shirt separates us. It’s just bare skin against skin. “You’re here to repay the debt? Is that it? How? How can you pay back a hundred million heartbeats?”
“I can’t.”
“Then what do you want?” There’s an edge of desperation to my voice. I have to know. I need to know.
His expression shifts again, and for the first time since he crashed into my life in a flurry of violence and chaos, I see something like vulnerability in his eyes. His free hand moves to my face, his knuckles dragging down the side of my cheek.
“You, Ayla. I want you.”
Chapter 8
My breath catches.
My whole body responds to his words, electricity zapping through my veins.
He wants me.
But I knew that already, didn’t I?
Why else would he have spent the past two years and several months stalking me? Why would he have done what he did in the library? Why would he have gone after Natalie just because of some cruel, stupid shit she said?
Right before he yanked his hands out of my pants and stalked away at the library, he told me he wants everything.
I just didn’t realize that “everything” was me.
Marcus is watching me steadily, the air and earth of his eyes churning like a hurricane. His knuckles continue their path downward over my cheek, then his fi
ngertip and thumb slide over my jaw, catching my face in a light grip.
In this moment, I can’t remember what I came here for. The fury and panic that infused my body is a distant memory, replaced by something hotter but no less violent. I can’t think straight, and I can’t remember who this man is to me. Or who he’s supposed to be.
No one.
He’s no one to me. A fucking stranger.
But that’s not what it feels like.