A lot had happened between the time she first entered the club and now. She needed a moment to process all of this Francois-Kara crap. She felt a presence next to her and turned her head, almost groaning out of frustration when she saw that it was Francois.
He moved closer to her, his body confining hers at the wall.
He took a moment before he spoke.
“Saturday…I have a confession to make. I’m plain crazy about you…and I always have been.
I know some of the people at the gallery thought that I might have been interested in Kara…but that was never true.”
Francois took a deep breath.
“It’s you, Saturday. It’s always been you.”
Saturday stood, agape, unable to form words to respond, when another figure appeared behind Francois.
“May I cut in?” the figure asked.
Francois moved out of Saturday’s line of sight…and Mark appeared, dressed casually in jeans, t-shirt and leather jacket.
If she thought Mark’s eyes were blazing before, she was mistaken. She could almost feel the heat from his gaze. Most of it was directed at Francois, and when he saw her dress, his eyes glazed over.
Saturday thought she might swallow her own tongue, she was so overwhelmed.
She figured it best to wipe the shell-shocked look off of her face and introduce the two staring men in front of her.
She looked up at Mark first. “Francois used to work with me at the gallery. He’s a good friend of mine. Francois…this is Mark, my…”
“Boyfriend,” Mark said, his face a stone mask.
Saturday looked just as surprised as Francois.
“Can you excuse us?” Mark said to Francois, reaching for Saturday’s hand.
Francois nodded shyly, bowing slowly out and away from the two of them.
“Hey, no problem. I’ll just…uh….get myself something to drink.” He tried a casual shrug. “I’ll see you later, Saturday,” he called, turning to walk to the bar.
Saturday turned on Mark.
“You’ve embarrassed him.”
“No, I didn’t,” he responded. “I merely stated what’s mine.”
“What’s yours?”
“Yeah… mine. Are you not?” he said, giving Saturday an inquisitive, yet cocky look.
He put his hands on her waist, pulling her into his body.
Mark looked into Saturday’s eyes, reading thoughts she believed she had buried. But her eyes couldn’t lie.
“I wasn’t down there the whole time,” he explained as if he were simply picking up where a conversation had left off.
“I came back upstairs and you were in the shower so I went back down to negotiate another time with Geraldine so she could just leave,” he said, a look of disgust on his face.
“She’s so scatterbrained that she couldn’t remember her own schedule. We spent most of the time downstairs arguing over when we could get the damn piece done. She’s involved only in the pieces that Marie and I create. She’s Marie’s friend, not mine.” He tucked Saturday’s hair behind her ear.
“Hear me when I say this… she will never matter more than you do.”
Mark’s penetrating green eyes searched hers for understanding.
Saturday wanted to stay mad; she really did… but when he puts his lips on her neck and began to nestle his head above her shoulder, she melted against him.
Saturday wanted to smack the hell out of him… and kiss him at the same time… because when she looked at Mark, she knew it was and would never be a competition between him and any other man.
Mark won… would win. Every time.
Right now, there was only one guy on her mind and in her heart.
And right now, that guy was holding her gently against the wall in the secluded part of the bar. With him so close to her, Saturday tried to keep her brain from turning to mush so she could talk to him. She nodded in agreement to his unstated question.
“How’d you get here?” she asked. “Why’d you come?”
Mark lifted his head from where it was nuzzling Saturday’s neck.
“It’s the new bar in town. James wanted to come.” He pointed at the bar.
Sure enough, there was James Ellis, famous photographer, famous prick, at the bar with a flock of girls surrounding him, including Kara. Funny thing was… James seemed to only have eyes for Kara at the moment and Kara clearly for him.
Well, well, well.
It seemed like whatever flicker of feeling Kara may have had for Francois was gone. She was currently looking at James like a kid in a candy store.
Saturday’s attention was drawn away from the scene at the bar when she felt Mark rocking his body against hers, moving to the music.
His dancing was actually way too slow for the music, but for the first time, tonight she didn’t mind at all. She knew what he was doing; he clearly had no intentions of being on beat, just of driving her crazy.
She moved her body in unison, as he gripped her hips, holding her close to the wall. He placed his thumb lower to brush against the slit in her dress.
Her head screamed: Goddamn you, Mark. Damn you for leaving me hanging last time. Damn you for keeping secrets. Damn you for hijacking my brain… and my heart.
And her body? Well, her body just would not fall in line, either.
She let Mark’s fingers tickle the slit of her dress, his lips resting near the top of her right ear.
“I’ve been wanting to do this since that little stunt you pulled at Marie’s…” he growled.
Saturday practically sagged against the wall as his fingers explored the slit and then slipped beneath it. And just when his fingers were reaching her spot… his phone rang.
Mark removed his hand from Saturday’s body, retrieving his phone with Saturday sighing in frustration beside him.
“I think this is a call that I’ve been waiting for,” he said. He glanced at the phone’s screen and answered.
“Yeah?” he said. “No, no. You tell them I don’t want them there… yeah… No, now. Do it now.”
Mark the Boss was here now, and Saturday could just imagine the person on the line leaping to action at Mark’s words. He just seemed like the type of man to have that effect. When he spoke, she believed that people, whoever, wherever jumped. It wasn’t so much what he said, but how he said it that did the trick. He wasn’t exactly mean, per se, but forceful… powerful with his beautiful voice that could turn to fire or ice, depending on his will.
Mark then looked at Saturday in the eyes, gave her chin a light squeeze and walked to the front door of the club to carry his conversation outside.
Ugh. This is so like him.
Just when she was warming up again, BAM!...he turned on the chill.
Saturday struggled to pull herself from “hot and bothered” to neutral when she realized that she had to use the little girls’ room. She made her way around the periphery to head to the back hallway where the bathrooms were located.
She twiddled her fingers on the walk back, still trying to determine what she should do about Mark.
God, he could touch her, make love to her, and speak to her like no one ever could. But he was so on and off: loving, caring, endearing and then shut-off and evasive moments later.
Could she deal with all the hot and cold?
She could practically see her thoughts jockeying for position into the forefront of her mind.
Saturday didn’t have to wait long for an answer, however. It came to her almost immediately.
Yes. Yes, she could and would deal with all of Mark’s ups and downs and roundabouts because what she felt was much stronger than anything she’d ever experienced before. What she felt was lo…
OH!
Saturday stumbled backwards and nearly off of her feet, when she collided with a figure heading directly toward her.
She straightened herself up, rushing to apologize to the person when she found herself staring straight into the eyes of Cristiano, Vicky’s husband.
&
nbsp; You could pick Cristiano blindly out of a line-up if you used your hands; he was almost always covered in some sort of grease, from his slicked, black hair to his even slicker black shoes. He was holding a drink and swaying lightly as he grinned at her.
SHIT. Of all the people in the world that she could have run into, it had to be him.
What were the chances?
It sure was turning out to be a very, very strange night. Between Francois’s return, Mark’s appearance, and this Cristiano sighting, this evening would definitely go down in history for her. She must have done something terrible in a past life to get this type of karma coming back at her.
“Well, what do we have hereee?” Cristiano slurred.
“Nothing much, Cristiano. Just trying to go to the restroom, is all.” She glanced anxiously behind Cristiano. “Where’s Vicky?”
“At home. Where she’s supposed to be. This is a boy’s night out, Saturday, baby.” He smirked boozily. “No bitchy wives.” He was practically inhaling the drink in his hand.
This effin’ douchebag. He never did seem to appreciate having someone like Vicky. Vicky deserved so much better than this slimy bastard.
Saturday cast a stone cold glare at him now, wishing it were enough to vaporize him.
“Whatever, Cristiano. Good night.”
When she went to move towards the restroom doors, however, Cristiano moved to block her path.
“What’s the rush, sweetheart? Let’s talk for a bit. You and me.”
“No, thanks. I really need to be going.”
Instead of moving away, Cristiano stepped closer, grabbing Saturday’s left arm with his right hand. If Saturday didn’t know any better, she’d swear that the boozy smell coming off of him was enough to make her drunk as well. Cristiano had always been a creep, but with the alcohol in his system, he was behaving like a practiced predator. Danger sirens went off in Saturday’s head.
“Awww, come on, Saturday. Quit being such a goody-two-shoes. We’re alone now. You don’t have to pretend.”
And they were alone. They were much too alone.
The hallway before you reached the bathroom was pretty empty, with the only people there standing on the side from which she came. But the music was loud on that side, and nobody was paying attention to the little convo that was taking place between them.
Panic was starting to set in for Saturday. I’ve got to get out of here.
“I’m not pretending anything. I’m leaving, Cristiano. NOW.”
Saturday tried to shrug out of his grasp, but he just held on tighter and enclosed her body with his against the wall.
To her shock and dismay, he was attempting to kiss her, using his one free hand to try to pin her arm to the wall.
Saturday twisted her head to avoid his mouth, trying to maneuver herself into a position to knee him right where the sun doesn’t shine. But he was placing his weight on her against the wall. And he was heavy…and strong…much stronger than she would have guessed for his moderately sized frame.
Saturday was preparing to claw and scrap her way out of Cristiano’s grasp when she saw his head jerk back suddenly and his drink go flying from some force she couldn’t yet ascertain.
Saturday whirled around to find that Mark was literally picking Cristiano up by his dirty collar, his face a mask of unrestrained rage. Cristiano’s feet nearly dangled as Mark hoisted him up and against the opposite wall.
“Who is this guy, Saturday?” Mark growled, his eyes never leaving Cristiano’s scared shitless face.
Saturday, out of breath and infuriated, nearly snarled the answer.
“Cristiano. He’s my boss Vicky’s bastard of a husband.”
“Ohhhh, so this is the skunk that you’ve mentioned before?”
Indignant and embarrassed because of the insult and position in which Mark had him, Cristiano tried to voice a retort.
“Hey! I don’t have to take this shit from you! Not from anyone, especially a prick like you and a prude bitch like…”
The punch Mark delivered to Cristiano’s stomach happened before Saturday could even blink. Cristiano whimpered in pain, his body falling in a rumpled heap on the floor.
Disgusted and enraged by what Cristiano had done, Saturday nearly kicked him as he lay there. Sadly, Cristiano was spared, as Mark grabbed Saturday’s waist to tug her away from the scene.
They left Cristiano there in that hallway, gasping for air.
Mark tugged Saturday through the rest of the hallway and led her towards the front of the bar. When they reached the front, they did a quick scan for James and Kara. When they found James and Kara, the two actually appeared to be canoodling (?!). James had even taken it upon himself to be Kara’s personal chauffeur for the night and proceeded to make rather fruitless attempts to convince Saturday that he could be the one to get Kara home safely. Skeptical and newly frightened by her encounter, Saturday urged Kara to return home with her, but to little avail.
Mark finally had to pull Saturday to the side for a chat for any headway to be made.
Sensing the fear in her eyes, he told Saturday that James was definitely a “ladies man,” but not someone who would force himself on anyone; although, he had a reputation as a party animal and wild child, Mark stated that James was actually a really good friend and someone who could be trusted.
Saturday eventually relented, letting Kara know that she was only a phone call away if she needed her. Saturday didn’t want to push her luck. Whatever Kara had felt earlier when she stared at Francois and Saturday had clearly passed, and honestly, Saturday didn’t want to ruin Kara’s mood. Saturday promised herself that she would reach out to Kara in the morning, make sure that everything really was ok between the two of them.
Kara, oblivious to Saturday’s inner turmoil, gave her a peck on the cheek, reassured her, and skipped happily out of the bar with James practically stowed in her back pocket.
Shortly thereafter, Saturday, feeling suddenly short of breath, rushed out of the bar to get some cool air, with Mark worriedly on her heels. She deeply inhaled the brisk night breeze as she walked to the curb outside of the Thrill.
She stood there for a few moments when she felt a funny feeling in her hands.
She was shaking, her hands wavering back and forth as she held them out in front of her. The incident with Cristiano had swamped her senses with a scary combination of fear and anger that was giving her tremors from head to toe. She tried to numb herself, stop the trembling, but the effort had only created fresh tears in her eyes that threatened to fall.
Mark, noticing her trembling, put his arms around her to stop the chill, when he realized what was happening.
Without hesitation, he swept Saturday in his arms, supporting her shoulders in one arm while her legs draped over the other.
“C’mon, baby,” he softly whispered to her.
A few helpful bystanders helped Mark grab a taxi and enter it, still holding Saturday, as he coaxed her into telling him her home address.
When they arrived at her apartment’s front door, Saturday said nothing, but just handed Mark the key to enter.
He deftly held Saturday and maneuvered the key to enter her apartment, where he walked towards the back until he spotted her bedroom. Once in the bedroom, he placed her caringly on the bed and removed her high heels. As he grabbed the sheets to pull them over Saturday, he heard a muffled sound coming from her mouth.
He leaned over the bed, removing her fallen hair from her face. With her hair off of her face, he now looked into her eyes; they were wide and glassy, but the tears had never fallen. She was shaken by her attack, but not beaten by it.
“Stay,” she said softly, her voice full of longing and hope.
Mark shook his head sadly at her request. She frowned at his rejection.
She knew what it was that she saw in his eyes, could practically smell the pity coming off of him. Maybe Mark thought she was too fragile right now, too vulnerable.
She wasn’t. She knew what she wan
ted. And it was him.
Cristiano was a far-away thought now; Kara, James, Francois, too; all of them. No one mattered but the two of them right now.
She had wanted him all night, and now he was here alone with her. Right now, she didn’t care about his secrets, about his aloofness, about his need to distance himself from her every time they got too close. All she knew was that part of her… needed him.
Saturday pushed the covers off of her body, and began unzipping her dress down its side.
Mark’s eyes followed her fingers as they slid, but he didn’t say a word.
She removed the dress completely now, tossing it to the side along with her lace underwear. She pulled her knees in closer to her chest and sat, watching him.
From the look in his eyes, Saturday thought Mark might turn around and walk away, but then he removed his jacket, sitting it on the nearby chair. Next came his shirt, and shortly after his jeans, until he was standing beside the bed with nothing but his boxer briefs on.
He climbed onto the bed, moving closer to Saturday. Saturday reached out, her hands ready to pull him on top of her when he bypassed her body and lay on the side of the bed beside her.
Mark pulled her into the nook underneath of his arm and wrapped his hands around her waist.
She could feel the breath of his whisper glide across the top of her hair.
“You don’t need that right now,” he said. “You need this.”
He reached down to grab the quilt on her bed, covering them both with it. He placed kisses on top of her head, and rubbed his fingers down her side.
He spoke softly to her. “It’s ok. It’s going to be ok. Get some sleep, love.” Saturday relaxed at the sound of his voice, touched by his gesture.
A lone tear escaped one of her eyes and rolled silently down her cheek.
She made no move to wipe it away, instead choosing to pull Mark’s arms tighter into her body. Yes, she had wanted Mark to sleep with her, at first, but the sort of “sleep” she initially wanted required no actual “shut-eye.” She had wanted him to make love to her, to take her away from her thoughts…make her forget what happened earlier in the bar.
Behind the Blindfold: A Sexy Mystery Duet Page 7