Samantha wiped the already clean prep counter a second time, needing to focus her nervous energy before she burst into tears of relief.
I’ll be seeing you, Trina. And don’t do anything stupid like tryin’ to slip out on me.
But in the end, it was Lenny who had slipped away. It still seemed impossible that just like that, he and his threats were gone. By all appearances, Samantha had won the proverbial lottery at the same time her adversary had run out of luck. She wondered if his body would ever be identified. She’d been keeping an ear out for mention of the incident, her heartbeat quickening at any little fragment of news. It had been reported a day ago that police had checked the victim’s fingerprints against the FBI’s national database, but hadn’t gotten any hits. The canal had also been dragged, but no wallet—nothing, in fact—had been recovered. Although it could have been swept away by the current, the lack of identification had created speculation that the victim was a homeless person who’d been camping out under the nearby expressway.
And, at least based on the news reports, no one from the Sea King had come forward to say that someone fitting the dead man’s description had been staying there. Perhaps no one there had taken much notice, especially if Lenny had been keeping a low profile? Not to mention, if police were checking hotels in case the deceased was a vacationer, chances were they were focusing on Charleston, where the body had been found, and not the much farther away Rarity Cove township.
Samantha also wondered where Lenny’s Crown Victoria was, since there had been no mention of an unclaimed car being found near the canal. Nor had she seen it in the motel parking lot that night. She wondered about the possibility of a drunken Lenny simply falling into the brackish water somewhere, his body drifting until it got hung up in the canal and was spotted.
The night he’d broken into her apartment, he had reeked of liquor.
Straightening, she let the dishrag fall to the countertop with a wet plop, then massaged her neck muscles in an attempt to ease the ever-present tension. As she did, she heard the bell on the café’s front door chime.
“Want me to see about that?” Denise, one of the workers who was also in the kitchen, asked.
“That’s okay. I’ll take care of it.”
Samantha went into the storefront. It was early evening, and a family—parents with two children—had arrived with an insulated picnic basket they planned to fill with the trimmings for dinner on the beach. She recommended a variety of cold salads and sweet cornbread, as well as lemon bars for dessert. Throwing in paper plates, plastic utensils and a gallon of complimentary iced tea, Samantha rang up their order. Then she waved good-bye and watched through the window as they loaded the basket into the back of their minivan. On the other side of the street, Samantha noticed a silver Volvo station wagon parked in front of the palm trees. Her heart lifted involuntarily as she wondered if Mark was nearby.
Busying herself with tidying up, Samantha kept an eye on the Volvo, hoping for a chance to glimpse his broad shoulders and sun-kissed hair when he returned to his car. But a mother with an infant on her hip and another small child in tow arrived at the vehicle instead. It wasn’t his, after all.
Deflated, she stepped forward to lower the blinds on the window. She reminded herself to be grateful for the miraculous gift she had been given. Despite Lenny’s horrifying arrival in town, by some stroke of fate she still had her freedom, her life.
But it was Mark and the way things had been left between them—including the money she’d taken from him—that Samantha couldn’t get out of her mind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I shouldn’t be here. Samantha bit her lip as she stood on the bungalow’s porch. The lights were on inside, and she could hear the faint sound of music playing. She knocked uncertainly, then considered just shoving the check under the doormat and leaving. But that thought evaporated as the door opened and she found herself staring into Mark’s surprised blue eyes.
He appeared tired and somewhat disheveled. It was Tuesday night, the sun just beginning to set over the dark plane of ocean, yet he was still dressed in suit pants and a dress shirt that had been tugged loose at the waist. He frowned slightly at her. “How’d you get past the gate?”
“I followed another car in,” she explained, aware the question wasn’t a greeting. “One of the resort guests. If I came at a bad time…”
“No.” Dragging a hand through his hair, he opened the door wider and took a step back to allow her to enter. A glass of red wine sat on the end table next to the sofa, and on the television, CNN showed a computer-predicted path of the slow-moving depression in the Atlantic that had recently been upgraded to a tropical storm. The sound was muted, however, so as not to compete with the music.
“You look exhausted, Mark,” she said in concern.
He laced his fingers behind his neck. “There’s a physician conference at the hotel all week, and Emily had another therapist appointment this afternoon. There’s also Tropical Storm Gina to consider. They named it today.”
She’d been keeping up with the reports from the National Hurricane Center, but it was still much too early to gauge the real threat of the storm or where it might make landfall, if at all. For now, it remained basically stalled hundreds of miles away, over a landless stretch of the Atlantic. When she looked at Mark again, he had reclaimed his wineglass and taken a sip, his features impassive.
“Where’s Emily?” she asked, noticing her absence and missing her sweet face. She hadn’t seen her since their beach outing more than a week ago.
“She’s out with my mother and Mercer. The Charleston Symphony’s doing a children’s production tonight.” His eyes were somber as he regarded her. “Why are you here, Samantha?”
“I…wanted to give you this.” She reached inside her shoulder bag and nervously withdrew a folded check made out in the amount she had borrowed. She held it out to him. “It turned out I didn’t need the money, after all. The café’s doing better than I realized.”
“That’s good news.”
She nodded. He took the paper and, without looking at it, placed it in his shirt pocket. “But I don’t understand. You went to the trouble of asking me for a loan, then realized you don’t need it?”
“I miscalculated,” she said, feeling her face heat.
Mark peered at her. Then he took another long sip of wine, draining the glass and replacing it on the coffee table. He shrugged, his shoulders appearing tense under his dress shirt. “I’m surprised, is all. I’d figured you for someone who knows her business much better than that.”
The brooding challenge in his voice—the bare hint of harshness—was disconcerting, something Samantha hadn’t expected, despite her recent behavior. Her initial instinct had been right; she shouldn’t have come here. But with Lenny now out of the picture, she had been anxious to repay Mark. The other truth, the one she had been fighting for some time now, was that she’d also wanted to see him.
“I should go,” she said, not acknowledging his probing comment. Despite her scrambled nerves, she forced lightness into her voice. “I just came by to return the money and thank you again. The gift baskets for the shop will be delivered next week—”
“Why not just mail me the check or give it to Mercer?” he asked. “You could’ve saved yourself the trip and avoided me altogether.”
Samantha felt a pang. “I-I don’t want to avoid you, Mark.”
He moved closer, his features strained. “Who were you meeting at the Sea King last week?”
A coldness fell over her skin. “You followed me?”
“What did you expect? You came into my office looking like you were about to shatter into a million pieces. Then you give me some lame excuse for needing eight thousand dollars, right away, and you walk back out. I was worried.”
She closed her eyes, embarrassed he’d followed her there. “You had no right.”
“Who were you going there to see?” he pressed. “Did it have to do with why you really neede
d the money?”
She bowed her head, unable to speak. Once again, she said a prayer of gratitude that despite the mention of the birthmark, no one from the motel had identified the drowned man in the canal as one of its guests. If Mark had heard any of the newscasts, he would likely make a connection.
“You’re angry with me. I understand, and I don’t blame you.” Holding her purse against her chest, throat tight, she turned for the door. She could only imagine what ideas were running through his head about her. “I’m sorry for the intrusion, Mark. Good night.”
“Sam,” he whispered into the air, still sounding irritated. He spoke louder as she walked out. “Samantha.”
She had nearly reached the Camry when Mark caught up to her. He took hold of her arm and whirled her around to face him, causing her to gasp.
“I’m not letting you walk out on me again without giving me answers.”
“Please. Just let me go. It doesn’t concern you—”
“Like hell it doesn’t,” he ground out, his jaw hard. His hoarse words washed over her. “I care about you, Samantha. I might even be falling in love with you, if you’d give me half a chance.”
Her heart squeezed at his admission. Staring at him in the graying twilight, the roar of the ocean behind them, Samantha saw sincerity, as well as the pain she’d inflicted, in his eyes. She felt something break loose inside her. She was so tired of running. Of keeping herself closed off from everyone. The terrible thing she’d always worried about had finally happened, but somehow, she’d managed to come out of it relatively unscathed.
“I went to see someone I used to know,” she confessed in a frayed voice. “But he’s gone now. It’s over. He won’t be back.”
“That’s the truth?”
“Yes. Please…don’t ask me anything else.”
He appeared frustrated and doubtful. Their eyes held for several long moments, until her vision slowly began to blur with tears. She couldn’t help it. In Mark, she saw everything that was missing in her life. Things she could never have as long as she kept the walls up around herself. The unfairness of it constricted her breathing and made her chest hurt.
Before she knew it, she’d put her arms around him, her face pressing into the warm curve of his neck, seeking forgiveness for the things she could never tell him. Mark stood rigid and motionless until, finally, she felt him relax against her. He released a weary sigh of resignation. Then he gently cupped her jaw with his fingers and, tipping her head back, crushed his lips onto hers. His kiss was forceful, seeking. Samantha clung to him, her fingers curling into his shirt. She molded her body to his and felt her last defense against him scatter into the salty ocean breeze.
For a time, they simply kissed, made out like two teenagers, trying to satiate the shared hunger that had been building in them both for weeks now. Then Mark took a labored breath and briefly leaned his forehead against hers.
“I want you. No matter what. I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you. God help me, but I can’t stop the way I feel about you.”
She touched his face, her fingers stroking his jaw.
“You can tell me everything or nothing,” he uttered. “But you can’t tell me we shouldn’t give this a chance.”
She closed her eyes, leaning into him.
“Don’t go. Come back inside,” he whispered huskily.
They walked hand in hand into the privacy of the house, their mouths joining again once Mark had pushed the door closed behind them. Samantha let her purse drop to the floor. His masculine hands on her banished the lingering fears she held and the bad memories that for too long had controlled her. She wanted him, too. She reveled in the miracle of it. Sexual desire was something Samantha had believed Devin’s abuse had extinguished inside her forever. But Mark managed to rekindle a flame. With him, she felt protected. There were no threats or coercions.
Lenny was gone. Samantha had managed to dodge that bullet. Didn’t she deserve to feel love like a normal human being, at least for a little while? But at the same time, she knew if they consummated their feelings, she might never be able to let him go.
His tongue parted her lips, his mouth tasting hers more deeply. With trembling fingers, Samantha began unbuttoning his shirt. Her lips grazed the horizontal line of his collarbone as her fingers splayed through the light sprinkling of chest hair, making him release a shaky breath.
“What you do to me,” Mark murmured. Already, his hands were pulling at the hem of her top, and he drew it over her head. His gaze traveled over her simple satin bra, his face flushed with need. His lean fingers trailed down the side of her throat, between her breasts. Breathing shallowly at his touch, Samantha felt an acute awareness of her body, her female core.
Despite the things she had done in the past, this all felt new and pure.
Leading her down the hallway and into his bedroom, Mark slowly caressed the remainder of her clothes away, until she was naked in his arms. Soon, his clothes joined hers on the carpet, and they found themselves entangled on the bed. His mouth traced a hot path down her skin, giving careful attention to the hardened peaks of her breasts. He sucked them, his teeth gently abrading her sensitive nipples as his fingers expertly stroked the wetness between her legs. Samantha undulated under him, suddenly desperate to feel him inside her. To give herself over to him.
He left her only long enough to remove a condom from the drawer of his nightstand.
It had been years since Samantha had experienced sex, and the first time in a very long time that she truly wanted it. Through heavy-lidded eyes, she studied Mark’s face as he concentrated on preparing himself. Then he gently held her hips as he guided into her. She wrapped her legs around him, feeling him bury his hard length inside her. Her body—unused for so long—stretched to accommodate him. The sensation of him filling her made her moan, sending thoughts of anything but their lovemaking from her mind.
Slowly, they found their rhythm, taking their time, their bodies moving together as their mouths and tongues mingled again. The friction of his thrusting felt like liquid heat. Samantha memorized the elegant planes of his face and the thick, slightly rough texture of his hair. Some time later, Mark caught her hands on the pillow above her head as he began to drive harder, deeper, his urgency increasing.
The orgasm that hit her sent waves of pleasure crashing through her body. Mark soon followed with a throaty cry, his eyes squeezing closed as he came. His forehead dipped, and his lips pressed against her shoulder as he murmured his adoration against her damp skin.
She’d never imagined it could be like this.
“That was Mercer. They’re on their way back.” Mark disconnected the phone and replaced it on the nightstand. Samantha’s head rested on his chest.
She rolled over slightly to look up at him. “I should leave—”
“No. I want you to stay. It’s late, and Mercer offered to keep Emily at the hotel for the night. It’ll be like a sleepover for her.”
“What about Olivia?” Samantha bit her lip worriedly. “She was with them in the car, Mark. She probably overheard you telling Mercer I’m here—”
“I don’t care. I’m an adult and so are you. We have no one to answer to but ourselves.” He paused, aware it was high time he started considering his own happiness, too. “The hotel’s having an oyster roast for the guests this Saturday. It’s a late-summer tradition. I’d like you to go with Emily and me.”
The sheets barely concealing her curves, Samantha sat up and gazed at him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea—”
“I do. You have a date Saturday night.” He brushed her hair from her soft-brown eyes. “And if we do some time management, maybe a few more between now and then.”
They stared at one another until she pressed her mouth sweetly against his. The light weight of her breasts against his chest and the feel of her long, cool hair spilling over his heated skin caused him to instantly harden. He surprised himself by being ready to make love again so soon. Aware of his aroused
state, Samantha smiled shyly. Her lips returned to his for another long kiss and then left them again to trail leisurely down his chest and lower still. Mark felt his heart beat harder.
“Samantha,” he half-groaned in a mix of protest and ecstasy. Throat dry, he gripped a fistful of bed linens as every nerve in his body responded to what she was doing. She took him into her mouth, her dark eyelashes forming sooty half moons as her tongue did incredible things that threatened to send him over the edge. He let himself enjoy it for a while, then, shakily whispering her name, Mark reached for her, bringing her back up beside him.
“You keep doing that and I won’t last long,” he confessed. His thumb stroked over her cheekbone as he gazed into her eyes. “I want to be inside you again, Samantha. To make love to you.”
He prepared himself for her again, glad for the condoms that had remained in his bedside table all this time, but a little worried about their expiration date.
It had been a long time for him.
Slowly, he filled her. She closed her eyes, her lips parting in pleasure as she wrapped her legs higher around him. Outside, the night had grown dark, although a perfect white moon poured light through the window, casting a pearly glow over their shared bed. Thrusting into her, Mark kept his eyes fastened on her face, unable to look away from her sensual beauty.
Secrets remained between them, he thought a short time later as Samantha slept like a boneless rag doll in his arms. Too many troubling things he still didn’t understand or know about her. He had also seen the surprising, intricate tattoo on her lower back. He hadn’t asked about it, not wanting to ruin the mood or make her self-conscious, but at some point he would.
Mark sighed softly. They both came with their emotional baggage, he understood that. His was out in the open, while Samantha kept hers closed off and hidden, as if it were too painful to deal with. But she’d sworn to him that whoever had been holding power over her life was gone. For now, that had to be enough.
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