Marco took a long drink, then reached into the dish of nuts, snagging one and tossing it into the air, then catching it neatly in his mouth before he looked at her again. “Isn’t it obvious? I want to see you, Sophie.”
“What about what I want? I told you I didn’t want to go out with you. Last time I looked, the letters n and o spelled no.”
“We don’t have to date,” he said.
“What?” It was the strangest thing he’d said yet. “What else would you call it?”
He hesitated. “Sophie ... I need a friend. You and I, we could always talk. I don’t have anyone else to talk to.”
“Oh, come on.” She made an impatient gesture. “You have four sisters. Your parents. My brothers. And you’re telling me you have no one to talk to?”
He hesitated again, and his hand swept down, indicating his leg. “Not about this.”
She glanced down at the leg awkwardly positioned before him, and a wave of sad emotion crashed over her head. She knew she was going to drown if she wasn’t careful. And yet ... he looked defeated, hopeless, and she ached for the vital man she’d known before. How hard this must be for him!
“Well,” he said, reaching for his cane. “I’d hoped maybe we could salvage a friendship out of the past, but I guess you’re right. It was too much to hope for.” He pulled himself slowly to his feet. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
“Marco—wait.” She rushed around the love seat and took his arm, putting herself between him and the door. “I’m sorry, too, for being so prickly. Stay. Please.” She tugged at his arm but it was like trying to budge a giant redwood.
His face was remote and he didn’t look at her. “No, you were right. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”
“You’re not bothering me!” Hah. Beneath her palms, she could feel powerful muscles flex. Touching him had been a mistake. She was far too aware of the warm, rough scent of man, of the strength in the arm she still held, of the heat his big body gave off. Hastily she pulled her hands away. “Sit. Finish your drink.”
He looked down at her then, and his eyes were full of warmth. “Thank you.” His voice sounded hoarse, but she barely noticed as she watched him maneuver into a careful position on the couch again.
As he picked up his mug, she perched a discreet distance away from him. “So. How long is it this time before you fly off to the next assignment?” She was proud that her voice was steady and impersonal.
His eyes shot to hers, and he assessed her over the rim of his beer mug. “I’m not.”
“Semantics.” She waved a hand dismissively, trying to smile as if he’d made a joke. “Drive, then.”
“I’m not driving away, either. I’ve come back to stay. I have a temporary teaching position at Purdue, which will give me time to figure out where I want to settle. Since I’m not likely to get asked to join any expedition teams that go anywhere rougher than a parking lot, I won’t be doing much traveling anymore.”
A fierce hurt slapped her at his last words. He was home to stay. But not because of her. The only reason he was settling down was because he couldn’t manage the physical demands of his former occupation anymore.
Six years ago she’d have taken him no matter what the reason. But she’d grown up. She’d been loved once, and she had cherished it, though she hadn’t returned it as she should have. She knew what it was to be loved, and she knew Marco didn’t love her. He needed her, as much to help him forget his limitations as because he really cared for her.
No, he probably needed her for the former much more than the latter.
She wanted to send him away and indulge herself in a good, long cry, but she told herself she’d shed enough tears over him. He needed a friend, and as much as she’d like to kick him out of her life, a craven little part of her couldn’t bring herself to deny herself the contact. “You’re going to miss traveling.”
“Yeah.” He paused. “But life goes on. I’ll survive.” A crooked smile twisted his lips. “A fact that wasn’t a certainty for a while.”
She couldn’t help it; the thought of him lying helpless and hurting in a jungle somewhere, and even in a strange hospital in a strange place, brought tears to her eyes.
“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” he said. “What a stupid thing to say—I forgot about your husband—” He lifted a hand as if he were going to touch her cheek, then let it fall away.
“It’s all right.” She wiped away a lone tear that trickled down her cheek. He thought he’d reminded her of Kirk, and that was fine with her. Better than letting him think she was shedding tears for him. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
He shrugged. “Our plane had engine failure. We went down not far from the Amazon. The pilot didn’t make it and the other guy with me died shortly after we hit. I spent about a day alone before I was rescued.”
She was horrified, and without thinking, she reached out and laid her palm atop his. “You lay there with two dead men and a broken leg for twenty-four hours?”
“It could have been worse.” He was looking down at their hands; he turned one over and threaded his fingers through hers almost absently. The action sent racing streamers of heated awareness up her spine, but he seemed totally unaffected, and she forced herself to breathe normally. Just because the touch of his flesh against hers sent her body into a tailspin didn’t mean she wanted to act on it. They were only going to be friends.
“How much worse could it be?” she asked. “Sounds pretty horrible to me.”
He turned his head and slanted a smile at her. “Did I ever tell you what the rain forest is like at night? It gets dark. I don’t mean the kind of dark in your bedroom, where your eyes adjust and you can make your way around. I mean pitch-dark, totally black. So dark that you literally cannot see a hand held in front of your face.” He shook his head, still smiling. “A night can be a damn long time when your flashlight batteries are dying and you’re wondering if a jaguar has been attracted by the scent of your blood.”
She stifled a gasp.
“Fortunately,” he went on, “the big cats must not have been hungry. But let me tell you, I was grateful that I didn’t have to repeat the experience a second night.” He absently rubbed his thumb back and forth across her palm and goose bumps exploded all over her.
“So then you went to a hospital.” She prompted him without really thinking, too preoccupied by her body’s reactions to his touch to consider her words.
“And then I went to a local hospital.” His voice went flat and dead, and his hand around hers suddenly stilled. “And if a good buddy hadn’t been with me, I’d probably be walking with a prosthesis right now.”
It was she who squeezed his hand this time. “I guess you were lucky to have him, then.”
“I guess,” he said reflectively. He gave her hand a final squeeze and set it back in her lap, then reached down to thump a fist against his thigh. “Although sometimes I wonder if I wouldn’t have more mobility with a prosthetic limb than I do with one that’s about as responsive as a two-by-four.”
“It hasn’t even been a year yet, has it?” she said. “Have the doctors told you what to expect?”
He nodded, and the black curls at the back of his neck whispered over his collar in a manner that made her want to smooth them down. “Supposedly I’ll regain more flexibility than I have right now.” He grinned, but she could see the effort it took. “But my dreams of playing for the Bulls have been dashed.”
Accepting his obvious need to lighten the discussion, she chuckled. “Your dreams of playing for the Bulls were dashed by Tiny Kniecki in high school. Wasn’t he the one who beat you out of the all-state trophy?”
His eyebrows rose. “I can’t believe you remember that. Yes, sorry as I am to admit it, ol’ Tiny had some great moves.”
“So did you,” she said loyally, realizing as the words came out that they probably hadn’t been the smartest thing she could have said.
There was a charged silence. Marco picked up his mug. “So
you’re a...what? A social worker ... now?”
She nodded, grateful that he hadn’t pursued her conversational faux pas. “That’s what my degree is in. I work at a clinic for mothers and babies.”
He grinned. “Which explains the baby you had the other day.”
“Ana. Her name was Ana.” Sophie shook her head. “She’s in a foster home now, until her mother gets out of the hospital.”
“Sounds grim.”
“It has its grim moments. But it has many more rewarding ones. I really enjoy helping young women to get education and job skills, and to become better mothers.”
Marco smiled. “I’ll bet you’re damned good at it. You always were a soft-hearted little kid.”
They fell silent again, the implications of the last words echoing through the room. She hadn’t always been a little kid to him.
“Um, Sophie?”
“Yes?” She looked at him again, and was surprised by the diffident expression on his strong features.
“Would you like to go to a movie or something? Just as friends?” he added.
She had to say no. She knew it, but she also knew that when Marco turned those dark, intense eyes on her, she turned into the biggest sucker in a lollipop factory. He always had been like that, she lectured herself, with those warm eyes promising a woman the experience of a lifetime, those beautiful, full lips curling into a confident grin that told her he knew exactly what she liked most. Once, she’d taken that look seriously, but now she knew it meant nothing, and there could be nothing between them. It was best if she didn’t see any more of him than family courtesy demanded. But...
“All right,” she said. “A movie would be fun.” About as much fun as leaping off a cliff in a dense fog, having no idea where or what you were going to hit when you landed.
“So shoot me,” Sophie said to her sister two weeks later. They were knee-deep in buckets of fresh flowers, and she reached for a sprig of babies’ breath, gently pushing it into the green oasis. She picked up the finished flower arrangement, eyed it critically, then sighed and set it in the shallow pan of water at the far end of the table. “He needs a friend.”
“Friend, my fanny,” said Violetta. “He wants you, Soph. A man who looks like that does not need women to be his friends. Anyhow,” she continued, gesturing across the room with the pink carnation she held, “it looks to me like he has plenty of friends.”
And Sophie had to admit that it did. Marco, her brothers Vince and Tom and one of his brothers-in-law were setting up tables for the evening’s anniversary party for her parents. Coming along behind them, opening the folding chairs and placing them along the rows of tables, were her other two brothers.
Marco’s sister Camilla stood in the middle of the floor, directing her husband as he struggled to attach crepe paper streamers and wedding bells to the big overhead light in the parish hall. Arabella and Marco’s two youngest sisters followed along behind the group of men, covering the tables with pink paper, taping it securely as they worked.
“I mean, with the size of these two families, why doe: he want to talk to you?” Violetta asked. Then her face reddened. “That wasn’t an insult.”
“Gee, thanks,” said Sophie dryly. “I feel so muct more...valued now.”
“You know what I mean.” Vee aimed another carnation at her. “He grew up with our brothers.”
“He and I share some history, too,” Sophie remindec Violetta. “And I guess he’s used to talking to me abou most anything. Stop worrying. We’re just friends.” Anc they were. Twice in the past two weeks they’d gone to the movies; once they’d driven over to al Gelato on Harlen for delicious homemade ice cream. In the past they would have walked, but Marco’s leg wasn’t up to a hike of many blocks yet.
They’d gotten along well together, she thought. She’d enjoyed telling him about recent events at work, and he’d entertained her with descriptions of the apartments he’d looked at. They’d argued about the Bulls’ chances of beat ing the Bullets, and whether or not the Sox had a deep enough bull pen to draw on throughout the baseball season She’d caught him up on the doings of mutual friends anc old neighbors; he’d regaled her with previously untold stories of her brothers’ wild escapades from high school Of which he hadn’t taken part, naturally.
And if her heart beat a little faster every time he casually took her hand, only she knew. After the movie they’d seet on Thursday evening, he’d driven her home. It was the one point on which Marco was completely, ridiculously inflexible.
“We can take turns driving,” she’d suggested. “Fifty-fifty. That’s what friends do.”
“I don’t care.” His air of lazy amusement and good humor had fallen away abruptly, and she’d caught a glimpse of the iron will that hid beneath. “Men drive women. I drive you.”
“You Tarzan, me Jane?” she’d teased, trying to regain their former compatible conversation.
“Call me whatever you like. I won’t have you driving around the city alone at night.”
“Oh, so you’d let me drive if we went somewhere, say, on a Saturday afternoon?” Hah. She had him there.
But he hadn’t turned a hair. “Nope. My father raised a gentleman. No lady ever gets behind the wheel when she’s with me.”
Sophie had stared at him across the confines of the car as he’d parked in front of her building. “That’s a pigheaded, chauvinistic attitude.”
“Yeah.” As fast as it had fled, his good humor had returned. “Oink, oink.”
He’d stopped the car and walked her to the door as he had each of the other two times they’d gone out. On each of the other occasions, he’d done little more than touch her elbow when he said good-night, so she wasn’t prepared when he looked down at her and said, “I like being with you, Sophie.”
Then he’d cupped her elbows in his big palms and bent toward her. As his head had blocked out the streetlight behind him, her eyes had fluttered closed and she’d tensed, her whole body focused on the coming kiss.
But to her surprise, he’d only brushed her cheek with his lips, a quick, almost impersonal peck, before wheeling and heading back to the car. “See you Saturday,” he’d called over his shoulder.
“See you Saturday,” she’d echoed, exhaling a long breath of what she told herself was relief, before she’d let herself in to her cozy, comfortable condo.
But once inside, she couldn’t seem to get Marco out of her mind. They were only friends now, she reminded herself as she brushed her teeth.
But you were more than friends once.
For the first time in a very long time, she allowed herself to think about the first and only night they’d been intimate. Marco had come home that morning. He was leaving the next day and when he’d asked her out to dinner, she’d dropped any plans she’d had to spend the evening with him....
After the meal he took her to see a new movie starring two of the young, hot properties of that time. Unfortunately, the suspense thriller also had several scenes where the hero and heroine burned off their sexual tension together.
Initially she was acutely embarrassed to be sitting with Marco, watching two people make love. Then, on the heels of embarrassment, came arousal. Her body felt overheated and her skin so sensitive she could hardly bear the places where her clothing clung. Her breasts felt heavy; she struggled to keep her breathing even; between her thighs throbbed an unfamiliar sensation that slowly drew her abdomen into a taut knot.
Halfway through the scene, Marco suddenly shot to his feet. “C’mon,” he muttered. Grabbing her hand, he all but dragged her out of the theater.
Neither of them spoke a word as they went back out on the street, walking toward the car, which was parked two blocks away. He took her out of the city, toward Elmwood, but a few minutes before their exit, he turned off the freeway and drove a short distance to a small park.
When he stopped the car, he came around to her side and took her hand, leading her down a path to sit on a bench by the side of a little lake. His arm was
around her; her head rested in the curve of his shoulder. It felt as if it had been made for her, and she gave a quiet sigh of contentment.
Then he shifted, turning her into his arms and seeking her mouth, and her contentment changed instantly to a breathless sensual state in which she was his to do with as he liked, his to caress and kiss and fondle.
His hands tightened at her waist and he lifted her into his lap, pressing her backward over one hard arm while his lips continued to ravage hers, his tongue seeking hers and drawing it back into the hot cavern of his own mouth. One big hand slipped beneath the short sweater she’d paired with her skirt and she jolted against him when she felt his warm palm on her bare skin, smoothing over her ribs, a finger slipping stealthily in a circle around her navel. She jolted again when the palm moved upward and he covered one breast and explored the soft mound with his hand, using his thumb to tease the aching tip until she was squirming and writhing in his arms.
“Sophie,” he murmured against her lips. “Tell me to stop.” But his thumb continued its steady caress even as he spoke.
“No.” She still clutched his shoulders as his touch made her shudder with pleasure. He’d touched her like this before, petting and stroking her until they were both panting like they’d run a five-minute mile, but always, always he stopped. She didn’t want him to stop this time.
He shuddered, his big body shaking with his efforts at control. “You’re no help at all.” There was amusement in his voice, but it was rough with suppressed desire.
Then, so slowly that it was torture, he withdrew his hand from beneath her top. His lips made shallower forays over her mouth and finally, he lifted his head and set her gently on the bench beside him, though he kept her closely snuggled against his body.
When she risked a glance at his profile, she saw he was frowning. All she wanted was to be somewhere private and dark, somewhere where he could continue to enthrall her body with the magic of his caresses, but the look on his face concerned her.
“What’s wrong?” she’d asked.
Marco had shaken his head. “Us. Me. All these years, you’ve been sweet little Sophie, the girl next door. And now all I can think about is how soon I’m going to get my hands on you again.”
Lovers' Reunion (Silhouette Treasury 90s) Page 5