Not fast, not rough, just certain. His hand braced the wall beside her head, the other catching her wrist gently. The same one Derek had grabbed the night of the diner incident. His voice came low, controlled. You think I did this to scare people?
I don't know what you're doing, she snapped, tears threatening again. You act like you own me, but you don't even know me. I know you work double shifts until your hands shake, he said, his tone rising for the first time. I know you give half your tips to your sister so she can pay rent. I know you skip dinner to make sure there's milk in her fridge.
I know you're too proud to ask anyone for help. And I know you went home crying that night, not because of what that girl did, but because you were used to nobody caring. Her throat closed. He leaned closer, voice rough now. So don't tell me I don't know you.
Lisa's back hit the wall. Her heart pounded so loud she could barely hear herself breathe. You think I'm helping you because I feel sorry for you? He continued. I'm helping you because you walked into that diner months ago with bruises on your wrist and didn't tell anyone who gave them to you.
Because when people like Bennett laugh at you, you stand there and still tell them, have a nice day. Because you don't see what I see. She swallowed hard. "What do you see?" His jaw clenched.
"A woman who doesn't know her own worth." And I'm done watching her pretend she's nothing. Tears finally broke free. "You can't... you can't just fix me." "I'm not trying to fix you, he said softer now.
I'm trying to claim what I already decided was mine. She shook her head. You can't just claim people. He exhaled slowly. "Watch me."
He stepped closer, just enough for his breath to touch her cheek, for his presence to drown out every thought she had left. Her pulse stuttered. Her hands went up to his chest, meaning to push him away. Instead, her fingers curled into his shirt. "Marco."
He didn't kiss her. "Not yet." He waited, eyes on hers, breathing controlled, giving her space to say no. She didn't. She rose on her toes and their mouths met halfway.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't careful. It was years of silence and anger and loneliness colliding all at once. His hand slid up to her neck, not choking, just anchoring her, keeping her from slipping away again. When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, she whispered, You don't even like people.
His thumb brushed her jaw. You're not people. A laugh escaped her throat, shaky and real. That's not a compliment. It is from me.
She looked up at him, dangerous, unshakable, impossible. And for the first time, she didn't see a man she should fear. She saw a man who'd already chosen her, long before she realized she'd chosen him back. Hours later, Lisa sat on the edge of his bed, wearing his shirt again, watching him by the window. He hadn't moved for a while, phone in hand, tie undone, expression unreadable.
You're thinking, she said quietly. He glanced over his shoulder. I'm always thinking. What about? Bennett, he said simply.