Possessive Alpha Cop: An Instalove Possessive Alpha Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 179) by Flora Ferrari

Author:Flora Ferrari
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2020-07-12T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

Mila

I walk down Miami beach, my heels in my hand and the sand between my toes. Marston walks beside me, but he doesn’t try to get me to talk, just places his hand on my shoulder with the quiet patience of a man who is one day going to make the best father imaginable.

The high tide licks at the sand, making soft lapping noises, and I try to hold onto it and let it calm me.

My frantic heartbeat is more like the wind, though, which blows hotly past us and whips up sand before settling and disappearing, only to riot again moments later.

I walked out of the restaurant onto the street, but of course Marston was right behind me.

“Mila, wait,” he growled, jogging after me.

I’ll never stop being impressed by how agile he moves for a man of such intimidating, giant like size.

I turned to him with tears streaking down my face, ruining the makeup I had so painstakingly applied at my new, shiny vanity unity before Marston’s driver came to pick me up for dinner. The moonlight caught his hair and made it an even deeper silver shade.

“Oh, Mila,” he whispered, brushing my tears away with a surprisingly soft touch.

“I’m fine,” I lied. “Can we just walk?”

He frowned, but then his penetrating eyes went deep within me and he knew that I couldn’t talk, not yet. I would in my own time. All of that passed between us in the space it takes to suck in an anxious breath, and then he nodded.

“The beach is nearby,” he said. “We can walk there, if you like.”

Now, I walk to a beach hut, isolated and abandoned for the night. The lights of Miami shine behind us and what seems like a million stars shine reflected in the sea. Marston lets out a growling sigh and turns to me, his face receptive, ready to accept whatever I have to say.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice sounding odd after so much silence. My throat itches with sobs. “I didn’t mean to ruin dinner.”

Marston grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me close to him, stroking his hand through my hair, sending reassuring tingles down the back of my neck and over my spine.

“You never have to apologize to me,” he says. “And I don’t give a damn that we cut dinner short. I only care about you, Mila. So tell me what’s wrong.”

“I haven’t talked about it with anyone,” I mutter into the rock hard security of his chest, his cologne and his just Marston scent filling my nostrils.

“But you’re not just anyone,” we say, at exactly the same time.

I lean back in his embrace and smile through my tears, his lips twisting into a smirk and his blue eyes twinkling in the semi-light.

“Okay, that was weird,” I giggle. “Are you reading my freakin mind or something?”

“We’re just so connected,” he snarls, smoothing down to my shoulders, holding me tight, as though nothing in this twisted world can harm me anymore. “Why did you leave the restaurant, Mila?”

“You were talking about my art,” I murmur.

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