by Lynne, Donya
-Arthur Christopher Benson
There was still so much Mark hadn’t told Karma about his past. Things he hadn’t thought about in years, some he hadn’t even remembered until the past few weeks.
Something about falling in love and wanting to build a life with Karma forced his tucked-away memories to awaken and leap to the front of his mind. It was as if he’d chosen to not only push what had happened with Carol into the shadows, but also all the affairs he’d sought out afterward to help him forget. And now, his desire to fully share himself made him remember everything. Even those things he simply wanted to let fade into the recesses of oblivion.
But he couldn’t undo what had been done. And he couldn’t completely stamp out memories that had burned themselves on his mind.
It had been eight years since Carol, and for the first six before he met Karma, he’d engaged in an endless stream of short-term flings. He hadn’t been shy about his sexual prowess. He’d pursued women with an unquenchable thirst, at least at first. He’d done things. Tawdry things. Crazy things. Even a couple of disturbing things. All in his quest to forget Carol.
Oh, sure. He’d said he wanted to better understand women and learn how to be an expert lover so he never had to suffer the same heartache again, but those were just excuses to give him a noble purpose. The truth was, all the shit he’d done during those six years had been about one thing, and one thing only. Forgetting Carol. The rest was just gravy.
Then he met Karma. From the moment he saw her tugging self-consciously at the hem of her red dress while sitting at the blackjack table at the fundraiser in Chicago, there hadn’t been room for anyone else. What countless women hadn’t been able to do for six years, Karma did in one night. He forgot Carol. Not permanently, because Carol’s memory still haunted him, but at least for a few hours. Karma had made him feel hope for the first time that night. Something no other woman had been able to do. Which was ultimately how he knew she was the only woman he’d ever want for the rest of his life, even if it had taken him a while to figure that out.
But he couldn’t erase all the shit he’d done in those six years, no matter how badly he wanted to.
He had become so good at his façade—so skilled as a lover—that if he didn’t end his affairs within a month or two, the women began expecting more. More time, more intimacy.
More commitment.
And commitment was something he hadn’t been able to give. After Carol, he’d become almost allergic to the concept. Just hearing the word wedding was enough to send him into a panic attack. Actually attending a wedding required a generous dose of Valium or Xanax.
To avoid commitment-centric complications, he’d begun warning women up front that he wasn’t interested in long-term relationships. Better to do that from the start rather than risk a misunderstanding later. Unfortunately, doing so had landed him a few women who took his affection to the other extreme. They’d wanted sex, and a lot of it. And sometimes the sex walked the line between socially acceptable and unconventional. Or maybe deviant was a better word. Because things he’d done a time or two had definitely been deviant. At least by the definition he eventually accepted for his own behavior.
But those first two years post-Carol had been a nefarious, perverted time.
Eventually, he developed his own brand of sexual behavior, choosing to focus more on the women he dated than on his own needs. He learned to forsake his own kinks to give women what they wanted.
But now, with Karma, he’d found a woman he wanted to explore his own desires with again, not just hers. He wanted to give himself completely to her, and he wanted to unlock the closet of his sexual fantasies again.
But he wasn’t sure how Karma would react. He was pretty sure she would be receptive to a couple of things he wanted to do, because they’d already played around with the ideas. But there were a couple she might shy away from. And then there was the one thing he wasn’t even sure he could do, anymore, simply because he was so fucking damaged. That one wasn’t even sexual, and yet it tortured his soul.
He was walking a very thin, extremely delicate line. One that he needed to cautiously guide Karma along. How far was she willing to let him go? How far was she willing to trust him? If he pushed her too far, he risked altering the entire dynamic of their relationship and driving her away. However, if he could take her just to the edge without crossing it, the increased intimacy could vault them to pure euphoria and a depth of trust that would bind them forever. But if he edged her even a millimeter past that line, the trust would be broken and shatter them.
The situation was even trickier because he wanted to marry her. But to marry her, he needed to tell her everything. He needed to confess not just the things he’d done, but also the things he wanted to do. He couldn’t do that until he knew how far she was willing to go.
Which put him in a tight place. Because he couldn’t know how far she was willing to go until he told her what he wanted to do, and vice versa. Talk about your rocks and hard places. There was no easy way out of this one.
And to make matters worse, he was still trying to overcome his anxiety over the thought of standing at the front of a church, waiting for her to walk around the corner and stride up the aisle on her father’s arm.
He was ready to propose. Ready to put the ring on her finger and make their relationship official after only one month back in her life. But he was scared shitless about all the rest.
What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he get past this? He seemed forever stuck in the middle, and that meant she was stuck there with him, neither of them moving forward.
This was getting to be familiar territory in their relationship.
The entire four months they’d been together two summers ago, they had flirted with commitment, but neither had let themselves or the other quite get there.
Middle ground.
Then they’d been apart for a year. But even apart, they’d both held onto hope they’d be together again someday. Hope had prevented either from embracing a life with someone else, even though Karma had tried with Brad.
Again, middle ground.
And here they were once more, finally together, but not really together, because he hadn’t thoroughly let go of the past and his fears. Something still held him back, despite his absolute belief Karma was it for him. The only woman he ever wanted to sleep with, kiss, hold, and love for the rest of his life.
Fucking son of a bitch middle ground. Still.
Even after the hell and strife he’d overcome to find his way back into her life, he still clung to shreds of the past, caught in the middle as he strived to reconcile the innocent young man he’d once been—pre-Carol—with the sexually enlightened man he’d become after she jilted him, as well as with the more tempered, balanced man he wanted to become with Karma.
This new feeling was both familiar and foreign, like it wanted to take him back to his innocence yet push him toward even greater depths of maturity. The problem was, he was no longer innocent, and yet he wasn’t as innocent as he wanted to be. He had engaged in some kinky shit on the initially destructive path he’d followed post-Carol, before he’d cleaned up his act with his best friend Rob’s help. But some of the perverted things he’d done in those first two years were things he wanted to share with Karma now, while others he simply wanted to let lie in the past, as they had already served their purpose.
And that was one reason for the trip he was taking her on for their one-month anniversary. He wanted to reveal more of himself. More of his past. More of his own desires. This trip wasn’t just for celebrating their relationship, or getting her away from the situation with her dad, or even for one very important question he intended to ask her. It was also for testing the waters. In the next week, he planned to share things with Karma he’d never told her—never told anyone. Not even Rob.
The limousine slowed, and Karma, who was still positioned on his lap, lifted her head off his shoulder and glanced out the window into the darkening
evening.
“Where are we?” Her eyes narrowed as she looked back at him.
“Where do you think we are?”
She tilted her head to the side, giving him her trademark exasperated look. “You simply can’t give a straight answer, can you?”
“Not when you’re so cute looking at me like that.”
She smirked and turned her gaze back to the window. “Is that . . .?” She squinted into the darkness. He hated how it got dark so early in the winter. “Are we going to the airport?”
Her thighs were slender and firm against his palms. “Yes.”
“Why are we going to the airport?”
“Because we can’t get to where we’re going by driving.”
“Oookaaay. So, where are we going?”
He shook his head. “It’s a surprise.”
She huffed. “Mark, I can’t go on a trip right now.”
“Yes you can. You don’t start your new job for two weeks. We’ll be back in plenty of time for that.”
“But—”
“It’s done. You’re going. End of discussion.” He grinned at the way her shoulders slumped in defeat even as her eyes lit with curiosity and excitement.
She snuggled closer, nibbling the inside of her bottom lip. “And you’re sure you can’t tell me where we’re going?”
He slid his hands around her hips, resting them on her firm bottom, giving a little squeeze before saying, “Positive.”
“Can you give me a hint?”
He thought for a moment, trying to decide just how much he should give away about their destination. “We have to fly over an ocean to get there.”
Her eyes flew open wide. “Really? Which ocean?”
He shook his head. “Nope. That’s all you’re getting. No more hints.”
“You’re no fun.” She giggled as she glanced back out the window, pulling another of the chocolate rosebud strawberries from the vase.
He watched her nibble through the chocolate petals and resisted the urge to lick strawberry juice off her lips as she bit into the center. The scent of strawberries and chocolate mixed so perfectly with the clean fragrance of her skin.
“Okay, I’ll tell you one more thing,” he said, brushing back her thick, auburn hair. He caressed her cheek with the pad of his thumb. Her pale-green eyes turned toward him expectantly. “We’re traveling in style.”
Her slim eyebrows sank into a frown. “We’re traveling in style? That’s it? What the heck does that mean?”
“You’ll see.”
She growled in frustration. “You’re infuriating.” She popped the last of the strawberry in her mouth and turned her attention once more out the window as the limousine slowed even more.
He couldn’t wait to see her expression when she saw what waited for them next.
* * *
Less than an hour after being kidnapped from Greek Tony’s, Karma got out of the car at the airport and shivered against the cold wind. Once again, Mark had outdone himself, and she didn’t even know where they were going, yet. What she did know was that he’d taken care of everything, which apparently included chartering a private jet.
She turned toward the Learjet being loaded with their luggage. Wherever they were going, Mark had been right about one thing. They were most definitely traveling in style.
She glanced from Mark to the jet and back again. Watching him give instructions to the steward loading their luggage, a passing thought stuttered to a stop in her mind. Just how big was Mark’s bank account? She’d never thought about that before, but now, with a private jet and a trip over an ocean to God-knew-where in her immediate future, and an expensive limousine ride behind her, his financial position seemed a bit more interesting. Not in a gold digger kind of way, but a why-haven’t-I-ever-thought-about-this? way.
He drove a hundred-thousand-dollar car, had lived in a luxury apartment in downtown Chicago before moving to Indianapolis, and wore suits from the top designers. Gold cufflinks, Montblanc pens, Italian shoes. Money never seemed to be an issue for him. And she’d seen a couple of impressive pieces of jewelry in his apartment once, but didn’t want to think about that now. The point was, in the face of all that materialism, how had she never pondered the state of his bank account?
Perhaps because it had never seemed important. Or maybe because she’d never seen him spend this kind of money in one pop. The limo ride was one thing, but chartering a private jet went beyond extravagant, especially since he seemed too familiar with how things were done for this to be the first time he’d traveled with his own personal flight crew.
Mark helped load the last of their bags then turned toward her with a smile.
One month with him felt like both a lifetime and a blink. In some ways, the time had blown by, and in others, it passed at a snail’s pace.
“You ready?” Mark took her hand.
She took comfort in the warmth his touch provided. “Given I have no idea where we’re going and haven’t flown in years, I suppose I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Come on.” He tugged her toward the jet. “Paradise awaits.”
Paradise? They had to fly over an ocean to get there? Her heart suddenly froze. “Wait! My passport. I don’t—”
“Taken care of.”
“But . . .” The last she remembered, her passport was in her files at home. She didn’t carry it with her everywhere she went.
Mark swept her toward him, his gaze reassuring and confident as he curled his hand around her neck and ran the pad of his thumb over her cheek. “Don’t worry. I have it.”
Relaxing, she sighed. “You do?”
He nodded and dipped down for a tender, chaste kiss. “I’ve taken care of everything.”
Taking another deep breath, she nodded then glanced from the limo to the jet. She should have known he wouldn’t forget her passport. After all, this was Mark. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”
“Every last detail.” The way he said it sent a ripple of awareness through her blood. Maybe it was the brief pause before he answered, or the quiet way he let the words flow smoothly from his mouth, or perhaps the way the skin around his eyes pinched then softened, but something about this trip was different.
Mark never did anything without a reason. She’d learned that during their sex lessons two summers ago. Every move Mark made had a purpose. And while this was their one-month anniversary, she had a feeling there was more to this trip than just that.
With a frosty wind biting her ears and nose, she followed him up the steps to the jet and was greeted by a pretty, dark-haired flight attendant dressed in a flattering grey suit. The gold tag pinned over her right breast read “Janie.”
“Good evening,” Janie said, waving her forward.
“Hi.” Karma looked from her to the interior of the cabin. There were only four seats—all upholstered in cream-colored leather like the seats in the limo—and each wide enough to comfortably fit a three-hundred-pound defensive lineman.
Janie gestured inside. “Please make yourselves comfortable. We’ll be departing shortly.”
Mark ushered her toward the two seats on the left, where they sat facing one another.
She glanced around at the light interior. Not only were the seats cream, but the walls were, too. And every panel, every cabinet, and even the ceiling of the cabin was trimmed in gold. The plush leather was a far cry from the uncomfortable, cramped, vomit-hued fabric seats she remembered from her last airplane trip.
This was how the rich and famous traveled, not the everyday common citizen.
“Have you ever flown on a private jet?” Mark crossed his ankle over his knee, eyeing her.
“No. Have you?” But she already knew the answer. And wasn’t it apropos that Mark would prefer to travel this way than on a crowded commercial jet? If you had money and means, why settle for less than the best? And it was becoming clearer by the second he had both.
His expression remained even, not giving much away. “When I
was a kid, my parents chartered private jets to fly to dance competitions. I traveled quite a bit with them.”
So, lots of experience flying on private jets. Noted.
Mark hadn’t told her much about his parents. She knew they were professional dancers, instructors, and choreographers, but that was about it.
“Did they win a lot of competitions?”
“Almost every one they went to. They were unbeatable in their day. Now they mostly choreograph and teach, although they still dance in exhibitions, even at their age.” He smiled fondly as he glanced absently—maybe even a little forlornly—out the window.
The pilot announced they were preparing for takeoff as she wondered about his reaction. Did he miss dancing?
“Why didn’t you follow in their footsteps?” Usually, children professionally followed their parents in families as prestigious as Mark’s. At least, that’s how it seemed to Karma. You only had to look at football to see the family legacies at work. The Mannings, the Longs, the Montanas. Typically, like father like son. So, how had Mark come to denounce dancing and turn toward business instead, especially when it appeared he still felt a pang of longing to cut a rug?
He fastened himself into his seat with a tense shrug. “Dancing just wasn’t in the cards for me.”
“There has to be more to it than that.” He’d told her that when he was a kid, he’d practically lived in the studio, as well as on the competition circuit with his parents. With all that exposure, it was surprising he hadn’t followed in their well-placed footsteps.
Mark looked out the window, the line of his brow tight. “I was good. I trained with them and could have competed if I’d wanted to. But then . . .”
This had to do with Carol. The reason he had walked away from dancing had to do with her, didn’t it? Maybe not entirely, but somehow Carol had been the one to clinch the deal and force him off the dance floor for good.
As the jet taxied toward the runway, he tapped his fingers restlessly on his armrests. “For a while I thought I might pursue dancing, but I was never as good as my parents. I knew competing would only be marginally successful for me. So I turned my attention toward earning my business degree. My grandfather was an Italian immigrant who built a fortune as a successful Chicago businessman. His success allowed my mother to follow her dreams of becoming a professional dancer. Between his money and her talent, as well as my dad’s, they’ve built quite an empire, drawing the best dancers from all over the world.”