Renewed, page 14
part #1 of Chance Brothers Series Series
His predicament resonated with me; delays were a nightmare, escalating costs, imposing bank fees, and slicing profit margins. As the one flipping the house, the brunt of the disappointment fell squarely on him.
“Here I am, unloading all of this on you when you're dealing with your problems,” he said.
“I appreciate your concern and wish to make things easier, too. Especially for my daughter's sake,” I confessed, an unexpected surge of honesty bubbling up within me. “Warren keeps saying he wants to mend things, to build a relationship with her, but actions speak louder than words. And his past actions, well, they haven’t exactly been reassuring. I fear the heartache he could cause her if he suddenly decides that being a dad is too inconvenient.”
Marcos seemed moved by my confession, nodding in understanding. “Your concerns remind me of my mom—the woman who adopted me, my real mom. She was always worried about the impact our abandonment might have on us. Mama Chance knew the foster system inside out; she had been a part of it herself but had been lucky enough to be adopted by a loving family. She knew not every kid was that fortunate.”
His candidness pulled at my heartstrings. The thought of a child unable to count on a parent's love was heartrending. A protective instinct surged within me, a desire to comfort him. Yet, I knew he wasn’t seeking sympathy. He recounted his past with an air of acceptance as though he had long since made peace with it. The love he had found in his adopted family seemed to have more than compensated for his early adversities—at least, that's how it appeared.
“Thank you for comparing me to your mother, but I think you're giving me more credit than I deserve,” I said, my fingers massaging my temples as if I could physically erase the torrent of doubts and fears plaguing my mind. “You have no idea of the chaos inside my head. I've consulted child psychologists, lawyers, and my daughter's pediatrician. It's daunting to be responsible for a tiny human, let alone the potential reason they need therapy later in life.”
“Kids are more resilient than you give them credit for, I speak from experience. Amelia’s luckier than most.” He countered.
The words felt like a dam, ready to burst. As I spoke, I could feel Marcos’ eyes on me—intense, yet sympathetic. My voice grew in strength and volume, the crescendo of my anxiety reaching its peak. I wanted him to see the cracks in my facade and recognize how close I was to shattering into pieces. But for now, his presence and understanding provided comfort. It was enough to share this space with him. Taking a deep breath, I finally uttered, almost in a whisper, “I don't feel extraordinary.”
With each confession, my voice seemed to grow louder, the crescendo of my anxiety and fear reflecting the weight of the reality I carried. Maybe Marcos would see the cracks, see how close I was to breaking. But for now, it was enough to share this quiet space with him, listening to his challenges and successes and knowing I wasn't alone.
He squeezed my hand gently, his thumb drawing comforting circles on my skin. “And that's what makes you extraordinary,” he responded, locking his gaze with mine. “You're dealing with everything so gracefully, even when it's tough. Even when you're scared, you're putting your daughter first. That's courage, and it's more than extraordinary. It's…” He paused, his eyes searching mine. “It's inspiring.”
A rush of heat rose in my cheeks, his words enveloping me like a soft wave. His hand moved up to cradle my cheek, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. “Marcos,” I murmured, lost in his mesmerizing gaze.
Suddenly, his lips were on mine. Our kiss was a mixture of sweetness and raw passion that left me breathless. We'd kissed before, but this was different—it was real. We were crossing a line, and there was no turning back.
We pulled back slowly, our breaths intertwining in the quiet intimacy. His forehead rested against mine as I tried to organize my chaotic thoughts. Was I ready for this? Were we ready?
“I sound pathetic, don't I? And self-centered, sorry about that. I’m here to cheer you up, offer solutions, not dump my problems on you,” I said, lifting my glass to my lips, my throat suddenly dry.
His smile was genuine as he pulled me into his embrace. I melted into him, wrapping my arms around his waist. His cologne mingled with a scent distinctly his own, a comforting aroma that enveloped me.
He whispered into my ear, “Look at us being supportive of each other. We need your alter ego to show up here because that woman would kick your ass for feeling sorry for yourself. You’re an amazing mom, daughter, and businesswoman coming to my rescue. That’s how I see you.”
He gently kissed my forehead, then on the tip of my nose, before finally meeting my lips. Our kiss deepened, the minty taste of his mouth intoxicating. The energy surging through me, the tingling in my body, reminded me that if I didn’t stop this, we’d end up with him between my legs again. But did I want to stop? After all, being with him had been the most fulfilling and satisfying I’d felt in a long time.
His kiss was passionate and raw. His tongue danced around mine, exploring my mouth like we’d never kissed before, but we had kissed like this. I pull away long enough to ask, “What are we doing?”
He pulled back, a half-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His gaze held mine for a long moment, the warmth in his eyes nearly melting me. “I'm not just into this. I'm into you,” he finally said, his voice a low rumble that made my stomach flutter. “And as for crossing barriers…” he trailed off, his lips finding mine in a soft, lingering kiss. “I think we crossed those a long time ago.”
I lifted an eyebrow and cocked my head, giving him a saucy grin. Marcos' dark eyes twinkled with amusement as he smiled back at me.
He pulled me close, his arms wrapping around my waist like a warm blanket. His warmth seeped into my skin, making me feel safe and secure in the moment. “Let’s just take it one step at a time,” he murmured in my ear.
My tongue snuck out to run over my bottom lip, and I felt heat igniting between us as I gazed up into his face. Marcos seemed to feel it, too, and his hand moved from my waist up to push my hair away from my forehead before trailing down behind my ear and onto my neck. His voice was low and melodic like he was singing a lullaby. “I like the sound of that,” I said softly, leaning into his touch. “No more pretenses or made-up names – just you and me.”
A shiver of anticipation traveled down my spine, igniting a spark that seemed to light my whole body aflame. My hands buried themselves in his thick, dark hair. I could feel the power of his body beneath me, the heat of his skin through his clothes. His scent, a mix of his cologne and something uniquely Marcos surrounded me, pulling me deeper into the moment. The world beyond us ceased to exist.
The journey from the living room to his bedroom was a blur, though I’m sure I wasn’t missing much regarding the decor or lack of one. I could only focus on the man carrying me, his touch, scent, and taste… He pushed the door open with his foot and gently set me down on the bedroom's hardwood floor.
“You're sure about this?” He asked, tenderly brushing a loose strand of hair off my face.
There was a mixture of desire and concern in his gaze. I reached up, caressing his stubbled cheek. “I've never been surer of anything in my life,” I assured him.
His lips were on mine again, roaming my body with a hunger that had me reciprocating with equal enthusiasm. The taste of him, the feel of his body against mine, all of it felt intoxicatingly right.
His lips trailed from my mouth to my neck, sending me into a blissful trance. His touch was electric, sending a wave of fire coursing through me, leaving me yearning for more. As our bodies intertwined, his hands slowly undressing me, I could only think of Marcos, his touch, his kiss, his everything.
I reached for his shirt, fumbling with the buttons until the fabric slid away, revealing the sculpted muscles underneath. His body was a masterpiece, warm and inviting under my touch. My hands traced a path from his chest to his waistband, anticipation building with each passing second.
As I moved to unbuckle his belt, he gently grasped my wrists, his gaze filled with unspoken desire. “Wait,” he murmured, his breath hot against my ear.
I paused, meeting his gaze with a questioning look. His fingers tightened around my wrists, a plea reflecting in his eyes. “I want this to be perfect,” he said in almost a whisper. “I've been waiting for you to give me the green light on this relationship since I saw you again. So, we're crossing that line all the fucking way.”
And so, I replied, leaning in to whisper against his lips, “Then green light… go. Don't stop on yellow, and there are no stop signs.” I assured him, “It's perfect, Marcos, because it's you and me.” Pushing his hands away, I continued where I left off. As I unbuckled his belt, his hands found my hair, fingers threading through the strands while a low groan of pleasure escaped his lips.
As we moved together, lost in each other, I knew I had made the right choice. This was where I was supposed to be, in Marcos's arms. It was home. And I was more than ready to explore every inch of it.
His hand moved to cup my shoulder, and I instinctively leaned into him, stepping closer and resting my head against him momentarily. Then, I lifted my gaze to meet his. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pulled him closer, our lips meeting in a passionate dance. His strong arms cradled me as he led us to the bed, our bodies intertwined without breaking our embrace. Our groans of pleasure and low growls of desire confirmed we both wanted this.
For the rest of the afternoon, we were lost in a world of passionate kisses, deliberate caresses, and whispers of appreciation and desire. Our bodies responded to each other with an intensity that left us spent and entangled in each other's arms.
Exhausted but fulfilled, we lay tangled in the afterglow, my head resting on his sculpted shoulder, my fingers lightly brushing against his. The touch sent a wave of tingles through me despite the recent climax. Marathon sex was a new experience for me, one I could get used to.
But reality has a way of asserting itself. The clock's glow on his nightstand read 3:15, snapping me back into the present. I sat up suddenly, panic seizing me. Marcos mirrored my actions, his eyes wide with alarm.
“What’s wrong?”
“Marcos…I have a meeting with a client. It’s important. I had to pull so many favors to get it, I can’t brush it off. Do I smell like sex?” I sniffed myself as I scrounged around the floor, picking up the clothes that were strewn all over the floor.
“Jenni, you smell sexy as fuck,” Marcos replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
I couldn't help but feel a flush of embarrassment as I sniffed myself, hoping desperately that I didn't give off any lingering scents from our passionate encounter. I scrambled around the floor, gathering up the clothes that had been strewn about in our fervor.
As I buttoned up my blouse, my back turned toward him. I silently wished it didn't look too wrinkled from being carelessly thrown among the rest of my discarded garments. I struggled to appear composed and put-together while dressing, aware of his gaze fixed upon me with open admiration. The desire to lose myself in his arms was overwhelming, but I knew I had to resist.
“Mm… maybe I should shower then?” I suggested a hint of uncertainty in my voice. “Those aren't exactly the vibes I want to send out into the world.”
In response, Marcos rose from the bed and positioned himself right behind me, his arms enveloping me in a warm embrace. The scent of his cologne filled my senses, stirring up a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. It had been so long since raw attraction and primal needs had played a part in my life. I was hesitant to let go, but I knew I had to.
Reluctantly, I extracted myself from his arms and resumed dressing. “I've got to go,” I murmured, my voice laced with regret. “As much as I would love to continue this, I can't. Places to go, people to see.”
With a heavy sigh, I gathered my belongings and stole one last glance at Marcos, his eyes filled with unspoken longing. The chemistry between us was undeniable, a magnetic force that defied rationality. But duty called, and I had to honor my commitments, no matter how much my heart yearned for more.
8:00 PM
My daughter was finally asleep. I had a moment to share my exciting news with someone who wasn't on my payroll. Nestled into my chaise with a glass of Merlot in one hand and my phone in the other, I drafted a text, my fingertips faltering over the keys. Was I doing this right? It'd been too long since I'd navigated the uncertain waters of dating, balancing between no promises and potent attraction.
You remember what happened before that big client meeting?
Marcos
Why, of course.
Well, your 'technique' worked wonders. I was so relaxed I dazzled them all with my presentation.
* * *
So… you nailed it?
I landed the job. :)
My heart danced as his FaceTime request popped up on my screen. A giddy excitement zipped through me as I accepted the call, my breath catching at the sight of him lounging on his plush, cloud-like sofa. Deep and resonant, his voice rolled through the phone like a warm wave.
“I'm thinking dinner to celebrate your win,” he suggested, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I'm also more than willing to lend my 'services' before any future client meetings.”
I chewed my bottom lip, mentally shuffling through my calendar and potential babysitters. “I'd love that, truly. I need to arrange something for Amelia…”
He cut me off before I could finish my sentence. “Jenni, I get that you're a package deal. If you can't find a sitter, Amelia can come along.”
A pause hung between us. As much as I appreciated his understanding, our relationship was new and delicate. Involving my daughter might muddle things more. “As considerate as that is, I don't want to confuse her. We're still figuring out what we are to each other.”
His next question fell like a hammer, shattering the silence. “And what exactly are we to each other?”
Was that a note of annoyance I detected? No, surely not…
18
Marcos
I waved farewell to the last remnants of the Renovation set's crew, my mind already focused on the simple pleasures of a hot shower and some much-needed downtime. Day in and day out, I immersed myself in the intricate supervision of bathroom installations and the secretive establishment of a hidden pantry concealed behind an innocuous cabinet door. As Marisa had put it, this particular feature, an ostentatious necessity, had become the latest trend, leaving me wondering how homeowners had ever managed without such a luxurious addition.
Levi stood nearby, in deep conversation with the landscaper and house painters. I couldn't help but feel grateful that he could play the role of the public face for all these projects. Although a part of me had doubted his commitment to the endeavor when he had first presented the family the idea. The Home Design Network's insistence on his presence had seemed far-fetched until Marisa entered the picture. I could practically see the gears turning in Levi's head when he met her, and within a month, he was fully invested in the renovations, with Marisa by his side.
We faced the challenge of completing this house renovation in six weeks—a tight deadline imposed by the demanding TV network. The rigorous schedule grated on our nerves, but the allure of substantial profits and the social media exposure offered by popular home design shows proved an undeniable temptation. This project fueled what I affectionately called my real estate empire, a culmination of flipped properties and lucrative short-term rentals.
As I settled into the seclusion of my truck, my attention was drawn to two missed calls and a cryptic message from Jenni. She requested a meeting at the William Street property after the filming. Despite my numerous attempts to return her call during the drive to Havens, each one ended in the frustrating abyss of voicemail. Jenni's career as a home designer was undeniably thriving, with her uncanny ability to create spaces that resonated with potential buyers. I greatly respected her, even as I struggled to decipher her enigmatic message and the subsequent radio silence.
The absence of Jenni had become increasingly noticeable, as our chaotic schedules left us with little room for anything beyond swift phone calls and occasional texts. We even had to postpone our scheduled night out, which seemed unlikely to change anytime soon. She had landed a high-paying client—a couple desperate to sell their home amidst a bitter divorce. Their urgency had added a substantial sum to Jenni's bottom line, effectively ending any chances of our date.
Approaching the cul-de-sac, my confusion shifted to surprise as my gaze fell upon a transit van emblazoned with the Stage This! logo. More than a dozen people buzzed around the property, urgently unloading furniture and decor. And at the center of it all was Jenni, orchestrating the chaos like a seasoned maestro. I made my presence known with a polite cough, causing Jenni to swivel around and face me.
Caught off guard, Jenni turned to me, weariness etching her features. Her smile was weary but welcoming. “You came,” she greeted, pressing her cheek against mine in a surprisingly intimate gesture that surpassed professional courtesy.
I retorted playfully, “Couldn't ignore your mysterious text,” teasing her for the cryptic message and subsequent silence.
A silent apology flushed her cheeks as she retrieved her phone from her cargo pants pocket, realizing it had been in sleep mode the whole time.
Inside the house, Jenni's transformation was nothing short of awe-inspiring. A symphony of neutral tones and vibrant accents had turned the interior into a stunning masterpiece. Overwhelmed, I murmured, “Fuck me,” in sheer astonishment.
Jenni, clutching her clipboard like a shield, responded, “Is that a 'Jenni, you've created a masterpiece and I'm sold' fuck me, or an 'I hate this' fuck me?” The anticipation hung in the air, my answer teetering on the precipice of this unexpected crossroad.
