Solid Heart (Unseen Enemy Book 7)

by Marysol James

  He nodded.

  “Anyway. I’d always wanted to live in Denver, since we used to come here to ski when I was a kid, and I loved the city. I interviewed at four different mental health centres, and was offered a great job at the one I’m at now. I said yes.” She gave him a tiny smile. “And that’s when I got on the airplane that I first told you about.”

  Mark laughed. “So that’s where the airplane comes in to the story, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “Nice to know the story’s come full-circle.” He gave her an affectionate kiss on the tip of her adorable nose. “Now, I’d better get back to the pasta sauce.”

  “For sure,” she said, releasing him reluctantly. “It smells amazing.”

  “Thanks.” Mark turned the element up again, tasted the sauce. “It’s my Mom’s recipe.”

  “She taught you how to cook?”

  “Yeah. She said that no son of hers was gonna live off takeaway and Kraft Dinner after leaving home, so from the time I was about six, she had me help her out in the kitchen whenever possible. I love it, though, you know? I find it relaxing.”

  “You cook even when you’re alone?” she said.

  “I do. But I prefer to cook for other people.” He tasted the sauce again, nodded. “Almost done. You want to go to the table?”

  “You need me to bring anything with me?”

  “Nope. I got this.”

  Francine slid off the stool, wandered over to the dining room table. Mark’s apartment was masculine as hell when it came to the colors – it was all dark browns and forest greens – but it had a surprising elegance and fluidity in its lines, furniture, and artwork. The man clearly respected aesthetics, and she looked around, liking the warmth and welcome of his home.

  “OK, babe. Dinner is served.” Mark appeared at the table with her plate. “Let me refill your wine glass.”

  “Oh, no, thanks. One glass is my limit.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I mean, when I’m driving, it is.”

  Mark looked at her, a teasing grin on his sexy lips. “So you think I’m letting you go home, huh?”

  “You mean you aren’t?”

  “Hmmm.” He set her plate down. “Let’s just say that I’m working on keeping you here as long as possible.”

  “Mark…” She stopped. “Ummm…look. I don’t want to feel like I’m teasing you, or leading you on, so maybe now’s a good time to tell you that I don’t stay over. Not on the first date.”

  Mark sighed theatrically. “I keep telling you, sugar… it’s our third date.”

  “God, you’re picky,” she said. “Technical, too, and fond of semantics.”

  “Yep.” His green eyes danced. “Guilty as charged, though I only do all of that when it drives people bonkers.”

  “Well, I don’t stay over on the third date, either.” She shrugged. “I’m – I’m slow to get in to bed with men, Mark. Even men that I really like.”

  “So you’re saying that you really like me?”

  She laughed, charmed and taken by him, all over again. “Yeah, handsome. I’m saying that I really like you, but I’m also saying that I’m not going to sleep with you tonight.”

  “Message received loud and clear, babe.” He smiled down at her, loving that she knew her own mind, loving that she respected her own body. “But I’d just like to point out that if you really want to get picky and technical, we’ve already slept together.”

  “Oh, mon Dieu.” She rolled her eyes. “Really? You’re gonna go there?”

  “I am. We slept together, you in my arms, all night.”

  She huffed. “OK, well, yeah… technically. But it wasn’t all night. It was maybe three hours.”

  “So you admit that we’ve already slept together?”

  Francine knew that this was one battle that she wasn’t going to win. “Yes. I admit it. We’ve already slept together. For just three hours, mind you.”

  “Ha!” He grinned, then turned serious. “If you want to wait awhile before we sleep together again, I’m good with that, sugar.”

  She paused, unsure. “You mean it?”

  “Of course I mean it. No rush. I can wait.”

  “You sure? You won’t feel like – like I’m playing with you?”

  “Are you playing with me?”

  “Non.”

  “OK, then. So we take this as slow as you want.” He held her chair out now. “Sit and eat before it gets cold. We’ll talk, we’ll flirt, we’ll have dessert, and I’ll make sure you’re out of here at a decent hour. You’ve had two long nights sitting up in a chair, two long days with a woman who needed you desperately. You’re done in, and you’re wiped out, and you need to get a good night’s sleep, in your own bed.” He kissed her, so tender and slow, her knees went wobbly under her. “That was always my intention, by the way. To send you home to your own bed. You need rest.”

  “Thank you. “ She gave him one of her stunning smiles as she sat down. “Mark, thank you.”

  “No problem.” He went back to the kitchen to get his own plate. “Now, dig in, babe. If you like it, I’ll invite you back tomorrow night for my famous homemade pizza.”

  “Yeah?” Francine was breathing a bit more easily, now that the ‘no sex tonight’ talk had taken place. “For our second date?”

  “Fourth date!”

  **

  Denver was beautiful, he supposed. The looming Rockies with their snow-capped peaks; the huge, open sky glittering with millions of stars; the fresh, crisp mountain air.

  He had no fucking interest in any of it. He was here for one reason, and one reason only.

  He followed the GPS directions, parked a few buildings down from the clinic where she worked. Seeing as it was now going on midnight, she wouldn’t be there, of course. But she would be there, he knew. Soon. Hopefully first thing in the morning.

  He grabbed his suitcase from the trunk of the car that he’d stolen back in Québec, locked it up, crossed the street. The hotel that he’d booked was way below his usual standards, to be sure, but a damn sight better than a prison cell.

  It was also right across from the mental health clinic. He’d specifically requested a room facing the street, and the woman on the phone had assured him that was no problem to accommodate. It seemed that most guests asked for rooms in the back, away from the busy intersection less than ten feet from the room windows.

  After he checked in, he walked up the three flights of stairs to his room, unlocked the battered wooden door. Stepping in, he was hit by the smell of cleaning products, and he was relieved that at least he’d have a scrubbed toilet. He was fastidious about such things, and he shuddered as he recalled the toilet in his prison cell. It had been daily torture to have to use that goddamn thing.

  The window beside the bed was surprisingly large, and he opened the drapes wide. He surveyed the front door of the clinic, admired the clear, unimpeded view that he had. It was good… it was better than he could have ever hoped. It was perfect.

  He backed up, sat on the bed, his eyes still fixed on the clinic door. He imagined her walking in, walking out. He imagined her blonde hair gleaming in the winter sunlight, her hot little body encased in a snug, belted coat, her pouty pink lips sipping a takeaway coffee.

  As always, as soon as he thought about her mouth, his dick jumped to attention. He undid the fly on his jeans, pulled out his cock. He shut his eyes, imagining her in this room with him, on her knees in front of the bed. Yeah, he’d make her choke on his cock, he’d fuck her mouth until she had no breath left to scream, or even to protest.

  His hand was moving now, moving up and down, faster and harder. When his favorite part of the fantasy took place – the part where he throttled her as he fucked her from behind – he came. Thick semen spurted up and out, coating his hand and stomach. He groaned, panted, shuddered.
r />   It was going to happen; it was all going to happen.

  After his shower, he lay back down on the bed, turned to face the window. He couldn’t see the clinic door from this angle, but it didn’t matter. He knew the door was there, and he knew she’d be using it soon.

  He had time. He’d waited five years to see Francine Cabot; he could wait a bit longer.

  He’d wait as long as it took.

  Chapter Six

  Five days later

  “So.” Griff glanced over at Mark, one blond eyebrow raised. “You’re dating the good Doctor Cabot, huh?”

  Mark glared at Dallas. “You told him?”

  Dallas put on his best mock-innocent look. “I didn’t tell him, exactly.”

  “No?” Mark said, longing to strangle Dallas.

  “Nuh-uh. I just mentioned it. Like, in the context of why you haven’t been joining us for a quick coffee before starting the night shift for the past five days. I just said that you’ve been cooking dinner for Francine. At your house. Alone. That’s all. If Griff assumed that you two are dating, well… that’s all on him. Ask him how he reached that conclusion.”

  Mark glared some more. Goddamn, he hated working with ex-special-ops types sometimes. They were so fucking nosy.

  “I think it’s great,” Griff butted in. “I really liked her when I met her at Dallas and Liv’s wedding last summer. I thought she was funny, and smart, and God knows, she’s gorgeous.”

  “Oh, yeah?” As always when another man noted Francine’s beauty, Mark felt his possessive hackles rise. “You think she’s gorgeous?”

  “Uh, yeah. But only because she is.” Griff grinned at the look on Mark’s face. “Relax, man. I ain’t gonna make a move on your girl, OK? I’m just saying that she’s amazing, and if you’re seeing her, then I’m happy for you.”

  Mark uncoiled. Marginally.

  “Well, yeah,” he said. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together. I mean, as much as we can, seeing as she’s at the hospital with Alexandra about ten hours a day, and I’m covering extra shifts overnight. But we’ve managed to see each other every evening for a week for dinner.”

  “She’s taking Alexandra to the safe house tomorrow, right?” Dallas asked.

  “Yeah. The doctor said that he’ll release Alexandra around noon, so Francine will be able to bring her over then.”

  “How’s Alexandra doing?” Griff asked quietly, all joking gone from his tone now. “After her cheek surgery and everything?”

  “Honestly?” Mark said. “Way better than I thought she would, and I don’t just mean physically. I mean, she’s strong and steady. She’s even happy. She’s been smiling and laughing like crazy the past couple of days.”

  “Francine’s a miracle worker, man,” Dallas said. “What she did for Olivia, after what happened to her? The way she talked to her, and got her to open up and trust herself again? To trust me to touch her, and see her scars? It was – it was incredible. I never knew that just talking to someone could change everything, you know? I never thought that talking had that kind of power.”

  “If it’s done right, it does,” Mark said.

  “Yeah,” Dallas said. “Anyway, man. You seeing her again tonight?”

  “I am.”

  “In that case, I have some good news for you.”

  “What’s that?” Mark asked warily.

  “I won’t need you overnight.”

  “You – what?” Mark stared at his boss. “But what about Kent?”

  Dallas waved his hand. “He’s not feeling well, so he’s skipping the VIP party at the club, staying in tonight. Oz and Boomer can handle things at his hotel, and then Carter and I will relieve them in the morning.”

  “So… so I’m free. All night.”

  “Until noon tomorrow, man.” Dallas grinned, his dark blue eyes dancing. “Make the time off count, huh?”

  **

  “Is Alexandra happy about going to the safe house tomorrow?” Mark asked as he dried the last plate and put it in the cupboard. “She must be so damn ready to get the hell out of that hospital.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Francine sipped her wine, wiped the counter clean. “She’s so ready to get on with her life, though she’s still trying to figure out exactly what that means. She was studying to be a nurse before she met Rick, so she’s thinking about maybe getting back to that.”

  “Really?” Mark said. “Well, if she needs any help with anything in the medical field, I still have a few contacts locally. I can’t get her a job, but I can maybe give her a leg-up with getting in to a program.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Of course I would.” Mark neatly folded the dish towel, hung it up. “I said I’d do anything I could to help her, and I will.”

  “I know you did,” she said softly. “You’re a man of your word.”

  “Damn right.” Mark grinned at her. “And guess what?”

  “What?”

  “I don’t have to rush off to work at nine o’clock tonight.”

  “No?” Francine cocked her head at him. “You can go in a bit later?”

  “Yeah. Way later. Like, not at all.”

  “Huh?” she said. “You’re not working overnight?”

  “Nope. I need to show up at the office at noon tomorrow… and between now and then, I’m all yours.”

  Francine looked over at him. He was standing there in jeans and a white t-shirt, so impossibly relaxed and gorgeous, it sucked the breath right out of her lungs. He was the sexiest, kindest, most incredible man she’d ever known – and he was the only man that she wanted anywhere near her.

  Tonight was their sixth date, by her count; their ninth date by his. Whatever the number of dates, Francine was sure about one thing: she was done waiting. She wanted him, here and now… and she wanted all of him.

  “You don’t say,” she said softly. “All mine, huh?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She walked over to him, and he watched her approach. The way she was moving, the way she was looking at him… he could practically see, hear, and even feel her intentions. She was a woman on a mission – and he hoped hard that that mission involved her getting in to his bed at long last. And not to sleep.

  She stopped right in front of him, holding his heated gaze. Her scent drifted over him, so light and fresh, and he responded helplessly to her. Everything about this woman turned him on: her sparkling intelligence, her warm smile, her generous curves. Arousal crashed over him like a wave, and Mark gritted his teeth as his erection pushed up against his zipper.

  She got up on her tip-toes and touched her mouth to his, her kiss so damn sweet, it almost knocked him over backwards. Yeah, this is what turned him on the most about Francine: this shining sweetness. It was a strong sweet, though, a knowing sweet. It wasn’t sappy or immature, nothing fluffy about this woman at all, and Mark was grateful for that. He had no interest whatsoever in a brainless, simpering plaything – give him sweet, and strong, and smart.

  Give him Francine.

  When her small hands moved to the snap on his jeans, he actually stopped breathing for a few seconds. When she smoothly unbuttoned and then unzipped him, he shut his eyes, praying hard for her touch. And when Francine answered that silent plea and slid her fingers inside his boxers, circling the tip of his cock, he almost fell over at the shock of pure, hot sensation.

  Gracefully, making him wait, Francine sank to her knees in front of him. She tugged his jeans and boxers lower, low enough for him to spring completely free. She smiled now – a smile of satisfaction, of want – and took his length in her hands. She licked her lips, and that sexy, wet movement unfroze his brain and loosened his tongue.

  “Francine.” Mark barely recognized his own guttural rasp. “Babe… you sure?”

  “You kidding me?” She gazed up at him, her hand moving now, up and dow
n, torturously slowly, from tip to shaft. “I’ve been dying to do this for ages, Mark, dying to take you between my lips. I’ve fantasized about making you come in my mouth, about tasting you, about swallowing you… about just taking everything that you want to give me.”

  “Oh, fuck.” His brain damn near short-circuited as a burst of electricity shot through his massive frame, ending in his rock-hard cock. “Yes.”

  She smiled again, but it had an edge this time. It was a smile fused with hot lust and dark need, and it just made him harder, hungrier. He fought down a groan, and his cock twitched in her grasp.

  Francine moved closer, close enough that he felt her breath on him. The anticipation was killing him, and Mark gripped the kitchen counter behind him. He stared down at her, and realized that as she moved to take him in to her mouth, he saw nothing but the top of her head. That was wrong, all kinds of wrong, and he reached for her now, pulled her back to her feet.

  Startled, afraid that he’d changed his mind, she stared up at him. “You don’t want me to –”

  “Oh, I do.” He kissed her now, hard enough to push away her insecurities. “Can’t you feel that I do?”

  She smiled and rubbed herself against his erect cock, slow and heated. He groaned.

  “Not on your knees, babe,” Mark said, his voice and breath rough as he hauled his jeans and boxers back up. “Never like that with me.”

  “Why not?” She wondered if he had some kind of Madonna/Whore complex going on, where women on their knees were cheap or supplicant, or where he thought of some women as good girls who were too ‘pure’ to be ‘dirty’. If he thought any of that, then he was waving a whole series of big old red flags right in her face.

  “Because.” He kissed her again. “I want to watch, and when you’re kneeling, I can’t see a damn thing. I can’t see your perfect pink lips moving up and down. I can’t see your drop-dead gorgeous face, your incredible bedroom eyes. And I can’t see or feel your every naked curve as you work me in your mouth. I need that, sugar. If you give me all that, it’ll be as good as it can possibly get.”