by Jane Graves
“Give me your foot.”
Kari blinked. “What?”
“A few of your blisters must have already popped, and you don’t want them getting infected. Your foot.”
With a Herculean effort, she lifted one leg and held out her foot. He took it in those big hands and rested it on his thigh. He opened a Band-Aid, squirted antibiotic ointment onto it, and stuck it over one of her blisters, working slowly and diligently.
And Kari just sat there, staring at him with disbelief.
She remembered how she’d once asked Greg to rub her sore neck, and he gave it a halfhearted effort with one hand while he checked stock prices on his iPhone with the other. This was different. So incredibly different. Just the feel of her foot resting on Marc’s rock-hard thigh was sigh worthy, not to mention the care he took over every one of her blisters. They’d hurt like hell before, but now she didn’t even feel the pain.
“You’ve done this before,” she said.
“What?” he said, never looking up from his task.
“Fixed boo-boos.”
“Yeah. Once or twice.”
Big understatement there. Parenthood meant dealing with scraped knees and elbows all over the place. And as Kari thought about this big, tough man with his young daughter in his lap, drying her tears and putting on Band-Aids…
It seemed so out of character. Maybe that was why it gave Kari such a warm, squishy feeling inside.
With Marc so tuned in to his task, she could stare at him all she wanted to. And she really wanted to. She let her gaze wander from the short, dark brush of beard along his jaw, to the smooth bronze skin of his cheeks, to the tiny lines radiating out from the corners of his eyes, saying that he actually did smile once in a while. As she took another sip of wine, she started to think about other things, mostly those hands of his somewhere on her body besides her feet.
“What was so bad about the job?” he asked her. “Aside from the obvious.”
“Well, there wasn’t much I didn’t screw up. I messed up orders. I brought the wrong stuff to people. And the menu. There must be a thousand things on it.”
“Memorize it.”
“There’s no time for that.”
“Bring a menu home tomorrow night and study it. Being a waitress is no different from any other job. You just have to learn the basics. How are you getting along with Bobbie?”
Kari froze. “You know about her?”
“Everybody who eats at Rosie’s regularly knows about her. Tourists not so much, which is why she’s still there.”
“You might have warned me.”
“Just don’t take any crap from her, and you’ll be fine.” He stuck on another Band-Aid. “Speaking of burning those boats, have you had your mail forwarded here?”
That hadn’t even crossed her mind. “Uh…no.”
“If you’re living here now, you need to do that. USPS.gov. There should be a form out there to fill out.”
“I will.”
“So how are you feeling now?”
The ibuprofen, the wine, the heating pad, a sexy man putting Band-Aids on her blisters…what didn’t make her feel good?
“Much better,” she said.
Marc applied the last Band-Aid and removed her foot from his thigh, and she settled back with a sigh of pure contentment. Nobody in her adult life had ever done anything like this for her. On the surface, Marc was big and gruff and demanding, but beneath it all was a kindness and compassion she never would have imagined, and it drew her to him like nothing else. Now she hoped he would pour himself a glass of wine and stay for a while. After that, who knew what might happen?
“Okay,” he said. “It’s time for me to go.”
Kari’s eyes flew open. “Go? Why?”
“I’m finished here. I’ll leave everything. You’ll probably need all of it again tomorrow.”
No! She didn’t want him to go. She wanted him to stay there forever so this feeling would never go away.
“You don’t have to go,” she said.
“I have work to do.”
“After dark?”
“Accounting stuff.”
“Why don’t you forget that for tonight? Stick around? Have a glass of wine?”
“Can’t,” he said. “Things pile up.”
“Don’t you ever relax?”
“Not when there are things to do.”
As he rose to leave, Kari felt a rush of disappointment. But what was she supposed to do? Grab him by the arm and forbid him to leave?
“Wait,” she said. “I’ll lock the door behind you. Assuming you lock things all the way out here.”
“Always lock doors,” Marc said. “You never know.”
Of course he would say that. Mr. Practicality. And of course Mr. Practicality couldn’t stick around and have a glass of wine if there was an iota of work to be done. To say she was attracted to him was an understatement. To say he was frustrating the hell out of her was a bigger one.
Suppressing a groan of pain, she rose from the sofa and followed him. When he reached the door, she called out to him.
“Marc?”
He stepped back into the room. “What?”
She stopped in front of him. “Thank you for all this.”
“It was no big deal.”
“No. It was a big deal. Believe me. A really big deal.”
“A pair of shoes, a heating pad, a couple of Band-Aids—”
“No. You don’t understand. Nobody’s ever done stuff like this for me before.”
The words were out of her mouth before she really thought about them. Now she was stuck feeling just a little bit pitiful, particularly when a look of disbelief came over Marc’s face.
“Ever?”
“Yeah. Ever.”
“But when you were a kid, surely—”
“When my mother was alive, I guess.”
“How old were you when she died?”
“Eight. After that, my father’s staff was nice to me. But it wasn’t the same.” She shrugged. “You can pay people to do all kinds of things. Doesn’t mean they care.”
Marc just stared at her as if her words didn’t compute, and suddenly she wished she’d kept her mouth shut. She’d looked pitiful enough when she’d almost quit her job. The last thing she wanted to do was look even more pathetic now.
“What made you change your mind about the job?” Marc asked.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Thanks again for helping me,” she said, having a hard time looking at him. She nodded toward the door. “Go ahead. I’ll close it behind you.”
But he didn’t move. Instead, he continued to stare at her. It was just like at Animal House that night, when he hadn’t even blinked. He just stared at her stoically, as if he was feeling absolutely nothing. Zero. Nada. Zilch.
So why wasn’t he leaving?
He flicked his gaze to her almost-empty wineglass. “Now that I think about it,” he said, “they say people who drink alone have a drinking problem. You’re new in town. We wouldn’t want people jumping to the wrong conclusion.”
Kari’s heart bumped hard against her chest, her stomach quivering with anticipation. “Exactly. It’s like you said when we were at the inn. This is a small town. Word gets around.”
But he made no move to grab another wineglass and fill it. She held her breath, wondering what he was thinking. His gaze played across her face, then moved downward to her chest, then lower to the V of her robe where it dipped down between her breasts. It had fallen open slightly when she rose from the sofa, but the last thing she wanted to do right then was pull it shut. As far as she was concerned, he could look at anything he wanted to as long as he wanted to.
They both stood motionless, the air between them growing hot and heavy. Evening was turning to dusk, and the dim light from the single lamp gave the room a dreamy, otherworldly feeling. Or maybe it was the wine. Maybe she didn’t know. She only knew she loved the feeling and didn’t want to lose it.
Then his
attention turned to a spot above her eyes, and his brows drew together with concern.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Is that a bruise on your forehead?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“I came out the kitchen door. Unfortunately, it was the door you’re supposed to use to come in. I’ve learned that’s a felony when you’re working in a restaurant.”
He lifted the hair on her forehead to examine it more closely.
“It’s okay,” she said. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“If I’d known about it, I’d have brought an ice pack.”
“No need. I’m fine.”
He moved his fingertips downward, letting her hair fall back against her forehead. But to her surprise, instead of pulling his hand away, he traced those two fingertips all the way along her cheek to her jaw, then wrapped his callused hand around the side of her neck and stepped closer.
Oh, my God.
She couldn’t meet his eyes. Didn’t dare. She just stared straight ahead at that big, rock-hard chest and prayed he didn’t stop. She leaned into him, closing her eyes at the heavenly feeling of her body pressed against all that bone and muscle. All the sexy thoughts she’d been having about him since she came to his door two nights ago melted into a red-hot jumble in her mind until thinking wasn’t an option. She couldn’t have mustered up a single coherent thought if her life depended on it. Whatever pain she’d felt earlier had vanished. She only knew she wanted Marc. She wanted him here. And she wanted him now.
“This is a bad idea,” he whispered.
Kari felt a shot of desperation. “No. It’s a good idea. An excellent idea. In fact, it’s the best idea I’ve come across all day.”
He moved his other hand around to the small of her back to pull her closer, and her heart went crazy. But he still did nothing else. Good God. Did he have to have so damned much self-control?
“What’s wrong?” she said, barely able to breathe for the anticipation she felt. “Do you have a girlfriend I don’t know about?”
“No. No girlfriend.”
“And I no longer have a fiancé.”
“But you just left him at the altar two days ago.”
“Which was better than marrying the wrong man.”
“Okay, that’s logical,” he said.
And then he kissed her.
Chapter 8
Logical? Marc couldn’t believe he’d said that. There was nothing logical about this—not one damned thing—which was probably why he couldn’t keep his hands off Kari. If he’d been following logic, he’d have been out the door already.
That was where he’d intended to be. Out the door. But then she’d mentioned how nobody had ever done nice things for her, and then he’d seen that bruise on her forehead and realized what a tough day she’d just had, and now…
And now he was kissing her and loving every minute of it. She returned his kiss with a fierceness that astonished him. He loved the way she tasted—sweet and hot and silky smooth—everything he’d imagined she would be. It was as if he’d fallen into an alternate universe, one where a beautiful woman had appeared in front of him and all the restrictions he’d put on his love life for the past eighteen years had been blasted away.
Then her hands were on his shirt buttons, flicking them open with the enthusiasm of a prospector who’d spotted gold and was going after it. If he’d been in his right mind he might have called a halt to this. But not only had he lost his train of thought, it had veered off the track and plunged over a cliff.
It’s just you, this woman, and nobody else. What do you need? An engraved invitation? Go for it!
He ripped off his shirt and tossed it aside, then went for her robe. He loosened the tie and pushed it off her shoulders, and she gave a little shimmy and it dropped to the floor behind her. He saw what she had on underneath it and froze. Leopard print panties. And that was all.
Holy shit.
He felt like some kind of Pavlov’s dog where this woman’s panties were concerned. What could she possibly wear that didn’t turn him on?
His gaze rose to her breasts. It was just as he’d suspected. They were the Eighth Wonder of the World, clearly the ones God gave her, so he felt justified in deciding they were just about perfect. He spread his hands wide over them and rubbed them in circles, squeezing, releasing, kissing her deeply at the same time.
Just touching her made his jeans grow tighter by the second. He shifted, trying to take away the exquisite pain, but only one thing was going to cure that problem. He couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman this much. He was dying to make love to her, willing to walk through fire for it.
He pulled away and sat down on the sofa to yank off his boots. When he stood again, she pressed her hands against his chest and dragged them down to his belt buckle. In no time she had his belt off and then he was kicking both his jeans and underwear aside. She fell back on the sofa, and he stopped for a hard-breathing moment to stare down at her.
“My God,” he whispered.
“Don’t stop now.”
He sprang into action again, sliding those leopard panties down her hot, silky thighs. He pulled them all the way off and tossed them aside.
“Damn,” he muttered. “Sofa bed. Gotta pull it out.”
“Forget that,” she said. “Don’t need it. Right here. Just like this.”
Her eyes were alight with excitement, those green eyes that had messed up his mind in ways he’d never felt before. All he wanted to do was fall on top of her, slide inside, and make love to her until his nerves exploded.
Then he remembered.
Condom. Christ, he didn’t have a condom! What the hell was he supposed to do now? Think. Think!
Okay. Daniel stayed at the cottage whenever he was in town. And he never hesitated to entertain women. Lots of women. And that meant he needed lots of condoms. Marc only hoped he’d left a few behind.
“Wait,” he told Kari, pointing at her. “Don’t move. Do not move!”
He jerked open the dresser drawer and plowed through it. He shoved pens, notepads, paper clips, and other assorted junk aside. Come on, Daniel. Don’t let me down now!
Then he saw it. A whole freaking box of condoms. He opened the box and snagged one of the plastic packets. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Would she think it was weird if he kissed it?
He ripped it open. Rolled it on. Then he turned, fell between her legs, and slid inside her, groaning out loud with the sheer pleasure of it. She was so hot and tight that he damned near came on the spot. He wanted to go slow. Knew he should. But it had been too long. Too damned long, and now he couldn’t get enough. He had to move hard and fast. Had to. His brain was telling him to go slow, but his body was telling him to hit the gas. His body was winning. Kari’s fingertips dug into his back, and no matter how hard he thrust, she lifted her hips to meet him, urging him on, and that shoved him even closer to the brink. Her breath was fiery hot against his neck, coming faster and faster with every stroke.
Then she gasped, a single sharp intake of air. Then the gasp became a groan of pleasure. Her thighs tightened around him. She whispered his name between hot, heavy breaths. He whispered hers.
And then he was coming.
He plunged deep inside her, gritting his teeth against the indescribable sensations. Oh, God…this was it. What he’d wanted for so long, what he’d lain awake nights thinking about. Maybe any woman would have made him feel this way. Or maybe she had to have wild auburn hair. Electric green eyes. Breasts to die for. Long, tanned legs he could slide his hands up until they reached the promised land.
He lifted himself away from her, then sat down on the end of the sofa, his breath still labored, his body still a boneless mass of pure ecstasy. Kari sat up next to him, leaning in to kiss his neck.
“Hang around for a while,” she whispered. “You never know what might pop up again later.”
That sounded damned good to him. If there
was more of this in store for him, he’d move in permanently, and the two of them could have sex for the rest of eternity.
Then all at once he had a terrible thought. He froze, turning it over in his mind, trying to dismiss it, but he couldn’t. It had been a long time since Daniel had stayed in the cottage. Too long?
He grabbed the condom box. Blinked to focus. And there it was. The date. He groaned out loud.
The condoms were expired?
“What’s the matter?” Kari asked.
He had condoms in his bedroom back at the house. Nonexpired ones, because he was a man who was always prepared even though the chances of him needing them were nil. Why hadn’t he taken Kari up there? If he was going to do this, why hadn’t he done it right?
He tossed the condoms back into the drawer, went to the bathroom to clean up, then came back to the living room.
“Marc?” Kari said. “What’s the matter?”
“I was right before,” he said. “This was a bad idea.”
Kari blinked. “Huh?”
“I have to go.”
“Go? Why?”
He yanked his jeans on. Then his boots.
“Marc, tell me what’s wrong.”
“The condoms,” he said finally.
“What about them?”
“They’re expired.”
“Uh…okay…just how expired are they?”
“Two months.”
She let out a breath of relief. “Just two months? That’s okay. Those things are good for years. The manufacturers wouldn’t have cut it that close. It’s not like the clock hits midnight on the expiration date and suddenly they’re worthless.”
“We don’t know that.” He headed for the door, putting his shirt on as he went.
“Marc, wait.” Kari scrambled off the sofa and caught up with him. “You’re overreacting.”
Overreacting? He had news for her. When it came to defective condoms, there was no such thing as overreacting.
But he didn’t want to go into it. He didn’t want to talk about his pregnant teenage girlfriend who had their baby and then deserted them. About the crushing responsibility of a newborn baby. About the feeling of claustrophobia that had crept up on him in the past few years until it threatened to smother him. About how he’d seen that expiration date on those condoms and it had brought it all back to him, making him wonder if he wasn’t repeating the mistakes of his past like a horny teenage kid without a lick of common sense.