by Lynne, Donya
“This is the rumba’s basic side-to-side step.” He smoothly flowed with her, turning her as they continued repeating the series a few times.
“This is pretty easy.” She smiled up at him.
“Wanna try the box step?”
She beamed and nodded. “Sure.”
“It’s the same slow, quick, quick step but instead of stepping to the side first, you step to the front as I step backward, then follow with two quick steps like this.” He showed her then led her through the steps. The only tricky part was making sure when she made her first quick step, she didn’t move straight forward but more at a diagonal. After a few times through, though, she’d mastered it.
Mark applied pressure against her back, securing his hand farther around her so they inched closer to one another.
“And this is what I meant by wanting to dance again,” he whispered, pulling her even closer until they were almost cheek-to-cheek. He sighed. “God, I’ve missed this. This closeness. This incredible feeling of intimacy and trust. Not that we don’t have that off the dance floor, but this . . . this love in motion . . . it just feels like I’m whole again. Like there’d still been one tiny piece of me missing until this very moment, because you and I had never danced together . . . like this.” He turned his face into the side of hers and kissed just below her ear. “God, I’ve wanted to hold you like this for so long.”
She knew what he meant, because sometime during the last five minutes, the last pebbles of the wall he’d kept erected around his heart for so long finally disintegrated. She’d actually felt the energy shift around them.
As close as they’d come in the last few months, she felt even closer to him now. Probably because she’d never seen this side of him. And now, she wasn’t just seeing it, she was experiencing it with him. Bearing witness as a participant rather than just an observer in his reawakening.
She smiled and kissed his cheek before whispering, “You can hold me like this any time you want for the rest of our lives, Mark. I’m marrying you. That entitles you to covet my body any time you want to, any way you wish.”
He pulled her closer as the music changed to a song just as slow, just as sultry, but with a different beat. He stopped leading her through the rumba and instead fell into more of a dirty dancing style. Lots of hips. Lots of slow thrusting. And lots of his arms holding on tight and the front of his body making love to the front of hers.
If she’d thought the rumba was hot, this was even hotter, and smoldering cinders kindled into flames between her legs as the top of his thigh rubbed her right where it mattered.
She was wearing barely anything, and it was forty degrees outside, yet the temperature inside had just spiked to balmy. Mark pressed her backside against the island in the center of the kitchen, did some Magic Mike Chippendales Channing Tatum hip roll thing between her legs that sent a bolt of fuck-me through her thighs, and then he tugged her kaftan down her shoulder and laved the tender stretch of skin at the base of her neck.
She closed her eyes and let her head fall back. God, he was giving her her own private all-male review in their kitchen. She made a mental note to add strip shows to her list of fantasies she wanted Mark to act out.
“I want to dance the rumba with you at our reception.” He spoke against the side of her neck and sounded as sidetracked as she was.
She nodded. She could rumba. She could soooo rumba at their wedding. Absolutely.
No, wait. Huh? Rumba what? When?
Her eyes snapped open, and she brought her head back up.
“I don’t . . . I’m not . . . at our reception?” Shit. She couldn’t even talk right now.
“I’ll teach you.” Kiss. “Every night.” Lick. “Lessons.” He lifted her then set her on the counter before easing her knees apart and filling the empty space with his body. “You’ll be fine.” He peppered tiny kisses all around her mouth before claiming her lips in a fiery blaze.
He could be very persuasive when he got like this.
So, okay. Lessons. Rumba at the reception. Got it.
Right now, there was only one thing she wanted to think about, and as he dragged his tongue down her body, sank to a crouch between her thighs, and pulled her panties to the side, she knew she was going to get it.
And, later, when he put those dancing Italian hips to work while she was still in the throes of the orgasm he’d given her with his mouth, she knew sex would never be the same again.
Praise the dance.
Chapter 40
The best times in life are usually random, unplanned, and completely spontaneous.
-Author Unknown
Three weeks before the wedding, Karma returned to Chicago for her final fitting, leaving Mark alone for the weekend.
Two stacks of pale-pink RSVPs lay on the dining room table, alongside cartons of tiny Belgian chocolates wrapped in blush-colored foil. A stack of decorative, coral boxes with dark-brown trim were stacked beside them. That had been last night’s job. He and Karma had spent three hours folding those boxes from the flat sheets they’d arrived as. And now it was his job to fill each with the prewrapped chocolates to set on the tables at the reception as party favors.
Karma had settled on blush with chocolate accents as the colors for the wedding, which was fitting, given how chocolate had figured into their relationship from day one. The two colors created a stunning palette.
Rolling up his sleeves, he sat down at the table and had just begun to fill the first box when his phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Uh, Mark.” Karma’s dad cleared his throat. He sounded much stronger than he had a few weeks ago. “This is John Mason. Karma’s dad. Uh . . .”
He was surprised that her dad had called him, but he smiled at John’s hesitant formality. “Yes, I know.”
“Of course you do,” John muttered. “Well, yes, I was wondering if you had dinner plans. I know Karma is in Chicago this weekend with her mother, and you and I haven’t had much opportunity to talk, so, uh . . .”
“No, I don’t have any plans, Mr. Mason.”
Mark had hoped to speak to John before the wedding, but he’d wanted to give him a chance to recover from his heart attack first. Dinner was a great opportunity for them to spend some time together.
“Well, what say you come on over for some baked chicken and steamed vegetables. They say I need to eat healthier, so I can’t promise you much in the way of taste, but this’ll give us a chance to get to know one another, being that you’re about to become my son-in-law.”
Mark pushed away from the table and headed for the stairs. “I’d be happy to join you for dinner. But how about you leave the cooking to me. You should be resting, anyway.”
“Uh, well, there’s really nothing to it.” He sounded surprised at the offer. “Just throw the chicken in the oven, and steam the broccoli.”
“All the same, I’d be honored if you let me cook for you.” A little schmoozing could go a long way toward smoothing things over, but, more importantly, John needed to take it easy for a few more weeks. “I’ll pick you up and bring you over to our house. Give you the tour and let you relax.”
John still wasn’t allowed to drive, so he had to be going stir crazy being cooped up in the house.
“That’s not—”
“I insist.” Mark entered the walk-in closet and flipped on the light. “Please, Mr. Mason, let me do this for you.”
Silence stretched across the connection for several seconds.
“Well, okay.” John still sounded wary, but at least he was willing to let Mark wait on him.
“Great. I’ll pick you up in forty-five minutes.”
He changed out of his sweats into a nice pair of jeans and a dark-grey pullover. It was a chilly evening, so the long sleeves were a good choice. Then he shut off the dining room light, vowing to fill the boxes tomorrow, and then headed out.
As he drove, he built a spur-of-the-moment menu then swung by the store to grab everything he needed before pickin
g up Karma’s dad.
“You really didn’t have to do this,” John said, buckling into the passenger seat.
Mark backed out of the driveway.
“I know, but I want to.”
They drove in silence for a couple of minutes then John said, “This is a nice car.”
“Thank you.”
“Karma tells me you’ve done pretty well for yourself.”
He shrugged. “I get by.”
John gave a dubious snort. “I’d say you do more than just get by. This is a damn fine automobile.” He scanned the dash and tan, leather accents.
“I spend a lot of time in my car, so I wanted something comfortable.”
John made another derisive noise, but it packed little punch, sounding more like he was forcing himself to be standoffish when he really didn’t want to be.
Small talk was in short supply for the remainder of the drive, but when Mark pulled into their neighborhood, John whistled.
“This is where you live?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t, uh . . . I didn’t know that.” John gaped at each large, custom home they passed, but when he noticed Mark glance at him, he sat back in his seat and tried to look less impressed, which lasted all of thirty seconds until Mark pulled into their driveway.
“Wow.” John unbuckled and climbed out, staring up at the three-story home he shared with Karma.
Mark retrieved the groceries from the trunk and led him inside through the garage.
“We would have had you over sooner, but with things the way they’ve been . . .”
John waved him off, shaking his head. “It’s okay. I know I haven’t been your biggest fan.”
Mark chuckled. “That’s putting it mildly.” He held the door open with his elbow since his hands were busy clutching grocery-filled plastic bags. “Come on in. I’ll give you the tour.”
After setting the groceries in the kitchen, he led John through the downstairs, then to the basement, which he and Karma were waiting until after the wedding to finish furnishing, and then upstairs before returning to the kitchen.
John took a seat at the breakfast bar across the immense center island while Mark set out preparing more of what he referred to as a sampler than a meal. He wanted to show John that healthy food didn’t have to be tasteless.
“Would you like to watch the game while I prepare dinner?” Mark asked after a couple minutes of silence. “Karma tells me you enjoy sports.”
He got the feeling John was trying to take everything in and figure out how to talk to him. Maybe giving him a reprieve and distracting him with sports would help.
“Okay . . . yeah, sure,” John said distractedly. He followed Mark through the open floorplan to the recessed living room on the other side of the room from the kitchen.
Mark clicked on the flat screen. “Can I get you something to drink? Water? Iced tea? Coffee?”
“Iced tea would be nice if it’s decaf.”
“It is.”
Mark returned to the kitchen and poured two glasses, taking one into the living room and setting it on a coaster.
“Karma always has a pitcher of iced tea in the fridge,” he said as he walked back to the kitchen. “I have a feeling she gets that from you,” he called over his shoulder.
“She does.” John sipped his tea.
Mark sprayed nonstick spray in a skillet that had been heating on the stove. “She’s told me that you two go fishing a couple times every summer and that you always bring iced tea in Ball jars.”
“Yep.” John set his glass back on the coaster. “Although we might not make it to the lake this summer.”
“Why not?”
“My heart attack for one thing. Her marrying you for another.” That sounded a bit like resentment.
“Oh, I don’t know. She’s pretty fond of those fishing trips.” He tossed diced chicken in the skillet. Steam hissed from the pan as the meat sizzled.
John nodded but didn’t say anything further. Just kept his eyes on the TV while Mark cooked.
A little while later, John surprised him by coming back to the kitchen and taking a seat on one of the barstools.
Mark was slicing a zucchini for the last dish.
“Okay, so what’s on the menu?” John lifted his nose and sniffed, eyeing the skillets and dishes of food.
Mark tossed the zucchini in a bowl with diced red onion and a quarter cup of low-fat feta cheese. “I’ve created a bit of a sampler platter for you. He squeezed lemon juice into the bowl of zucchini and tossed in some fresh dill. “This is a zucchini salad, and that . . .” He pointed to a casserole dish filled with rice, chicken, and red and green bell pepper. Turmeric had turned the chicken and rice vibrant yellow. “That’s chicken paella.” He pointed to a platter of chicken-filled lettuce cups. “Those are Asian salad cups, and this is Thai chicken broccoli salad with peanut dressing.” He lifted a rectangular platter filled with chicken, broccoli, and mandarin oranges. A bowl of peanut dressing sat on the corner.
John stared in wonder at the spread as Mark put the finishing touches on the zucchini salad. “You did all this in . . . what?” He checked his watch. “A little over thirty minutes?”
“They’re all pretty quick dishes to make.” He checked to make sure the burners were all turned off.
“And all these recipes are heart healthy?”
Mark gave him a sideways nod. “Every single one.” He grabbed two plates. “The zucchini salad will taste better after a couple hours in the fridge, but I figured you could at least try it. I’ll send the rest home with you.” He spooned some onto a plate. “And I made these lettuce cups a bit on the mild side, but you can make them spicier if you want.” He put one on John’s plate then added some of the paella and chicken broccoli salad.
“Thank you.” John appeared lost for words as Mark set the plate in front of him.
“You’re welcome. I wanted to give you some tastier options to replace bland chicken and steamed vegetables.”
John smiled appreciatively then took a bite of the paella. His eyes opened wide. “I think you’ve succeeded. This is good.”
Mark filled his plate and sat beside him. “The trick is to use other seasonings to replace the salt.” He dipped a piece of chicken in the peanut sauce. “You can come up with some fabulous flavor profiles with a little experimenting.”
“Karma mentioned that you like to cook.” He ate a forkful of the chicken and broccoli. “But this is far and away above anything I expected.”
Mark speared an orange segment. “Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.”
John took another bite then set down his fork, studying Mark for a long moment. Then he sighed and bowed his head. “I’ve terribly underestimated you, Mark.” He looked up, remorse in his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance before.”
Mark dabbed his napkin on his lips then set it back in his lap. “The situation didn’t exactly lend itself to chances. I’m sure you know by now how our relationship started.”
John uncomfortably cleared his throat and picked his fork back up. “Karma’s told me enough. And I remember how she was after you left. I can only imagine—now that I know what I know—that things weren’t any easier for you.”
“No, they weren’t. I was pretty devastated without her. Your daughter’s a very special woman, Mr. Mason. I was an idiot to walk away.”
John stabbed a piece of broccoli and dipped it in his peanut sauce. “It’s clear you two love each other.”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve obviously taken excellent care of her.” He gestured to the food and the house.
“I’m trying.”
John gave him a stern glance. “You’re succeeding, Mark. You’ve made Karma very happy.” He ate another bite of chicken.
A few seconds later, a troubled expression fell over John’s face. “When she was a little girl, she would cry in her room after school.” He frowned and looked like he was recalling old, painful memories. “S
he would come home, shut herself in her room, and cry. She didn’t know I knew, and I never told her. But I could hear her quiet sobs through the door.” He glanced down at his plate. “She had this notebook she wrote poetry in, and one day she left it sitting on the kitchen table. I opened it and read some of what she’d written. Beautiful stuff, but sad. Really sad. I actually worried about her quite a bit, which was one reason I devoted so much time to doing things with her, trying to make her happy. And being that my son was part of what upset her, I tended to take my frustration out on him.” He shrugged. “Something I’m trying to rectify now.” He straightened as if getting his thoughts back on track. “At any rate, I remember this one poem Karma wrote where she was wondering if she would ever meet her Prince Charming. I can’t remember the exact words, but she wrote about being carried away on the wind to a magical land where she wasn’t this gangly, long-haired girl who got made fun of every day and was instead a beautiful maiden who captured the eye of a handsome prince.” He met Mark’s eye and gave him a knowing smile. “She finally got her wish.”
Karma had never told him that about her past, but in light of everything else she’d told him, this certainly sounded like her.
“I’m no prince, Mr. Mason. I’m not perfect.”
“You don’t have to be perfect, Mark. Karma doesn’t need perfect. She just needs someone who loves her. And clearly, you do. Oh, and uh . . . call me John.”
Mark inhaled thickly, cleared his throat, and then lifted his glass of iced tea. “Okay, John. Here’s to being Karma’s prince. But not even a prince can replace a girl’s father. So, here’s to dads, too.”
“I can toast to that.” John clinked his glass to Mark’s. “Welcome to the family, son.”
Chapter 41
When I attained a certain advanced intimacy with a man—and I don't just mean sex—I married him.
-Hedy Lamarr
Karma took a deep breath and glanced around the table at all their friends and family. Rob and Holly were there. And Daniel’s sister, Sonya. Their parents. Everyone who was anyone in her and Mark’s life were with them for their rehearsal dinner.