Straightening, she frowned, her sympathy palpable. “I’m glad you were here. I’m not sure I could have given him the same sort of comfort. You really reached deep into the core, I think.”
Mark shook his head. “One of the psychologists we saw said Braden is suffering from something so traumatic and deeply ingrained even Braden doesn’t know what it is. What he’s going through here is his subconscious effort to work it out.”
“That sounds logical. He appeared to be trying to say something, but I couldn’t understand him.”
“I know. His stutter gets even worse under duress. It’s really frustrating. You want to help him so badly and all you can do is comfort him.”
She nodded. “I know what you mean.”
Her tone held a touch of irony. He was about to ask her to explain, when she took his hand and led him down the hall a few feet and into another room. “I’m tired and you look ready to drop,” she said. “How ‘bout a cup of cocoa?”
A stiff drink sounded more appropriate given the kind of day he’d had, but he’d sworn off alcohol eight years earlier. He wondered what Alex would say if he told her the reason why he’d quit. “Something hot and sweet sounds good,” he said, realizing a second too late how the words could be misconstrued. “If it’s no bother.”
Her grin told him she’d gotten the inadvertent double entendre. “Instant packets. No work. Have a seat,” she said, pointing toward a small nook that was separated from her bedroom by a freestanding curved bookcase.
“Your private abode,” he said looking around. Her four-poster bed looked puffy and inviting. A silk duvet in vibrant jewel tones that contrasted with her white sheets. Perfectly Alex. “Very you.”
She closed the door of the microwave and pushed a button. “Is that good or bad?” she asked.
“Beautiful. Lavish. Simple. Modern,” he said, pointing to the flat-screen television hanging on the wall opposite the love seat. “And traditional.”
From the recliner, he picked up the hand-crocheted throw that her mother had given them both as an engagement present. Without stopping to think, he lifted the quilt of vanilla-colored yarn to his face and inhaled. It carried Alex’s scent and took his emotions for another dip on the roller coaster.
“We’re all complex human beings,” she said, turning away to take a second mug from a shelf. “Accumulating baggage as we go through life.”
Some visible. Some hidden, he thought.
The bell sounded and she retrieved the cup. She stirred the contents. “Be careful. It’s hot,” she said, handing it to him. “I’ll be back in a second.” She smiled. “Or rather, a minute and forty-five seconds.”
Their fingers touched in the process of exchanging control of the mug, and her smile vanished. She practically fled back to the safety of her little kitchen.
“You’ve got a complete home inside a home, don’t you?” he observed. “I don’t remember this room being so big.”
“It wasn’t. I added on a couple of years ago. By extending the roofline out, I was able to pick up enough space for what my contractor called my master suite,” she said with a chuckle.
With a master bath and its big tub. He didn’t say anything, though. There was already something very intimate about this arrangement. He didn’t plan on taking it any further. Not that Alex would be interested in hanging out with a guy who’d just spent eight hours being questioned by the police.
When she joined him a few moments later, she settled into the recliner, which was obviously her chair, and pulled the knitted comforter over her bare feet. They sipped their cocoa in a companionable silence that Mark knew he could get used to. “I really can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for me and Braden.”
She looked at him over the rim of her mug. Her mumbled “No problem,” made him smile.
“My life is nothing but problems,” he said. “And I’m really sorry they’ve spilled into your lap. You have a business to run and thirty kids to teach tomorrow, and it’s after midnight. I should go and let you get to sleep.”
He took another drink of cocoa. The chocolate flavor was so rich and sweet it transported him to a blissful world and made him miss what she said to him.
“Wait. Back up. I’m a little punchy. Did you just ask me to stay here tonight?”
She nodded, a blush coloring her cheeks. “There’s a pullout bed in Braden’s room. Then you’ll be close if he wakes up again.”
A nice offer, but not the arrangement he would have chosen—if things had been different between them. “Trust me, he’s out for the count. I wish I could say the same in my case, but I’m usually awake for another hour or so after one of these episodes. It would be probably be better if I went home. That way you and Braden can both sleep without me bothering you.”
Alex knew his plan was the smart one. Let him go. Turn off the lights and crawl into her big empty bed and try to forget all the feelings that had been building between them. But she couldn’t.
She set her mug on the little table beside her remote control and curled her feet under herself. “Mark, what if you stayed…here…with me.”
There, I said it. Oh, God, I said it.
His dark brows rose in question. “Are you serious?”
His obvious disbelief did nothing for her self-confidence. She’d slept with other men since Mark’s defection, but there hadn’t been anyone in almost a year. Still, she didn’t remember the “I want to sleep with you” talk as this humiliating.
“We don’t have to have sex. We don’t even have to get under the covers. Well, I do,” she qualified. “You know I like to be warm and cozy when I sleep. But today’s been really horrible, and I think we both could use some comfort. Don’t you?”
“Comfort,” he murmured, his expression slowly changing to one of comprehension. “You want someone to cuddle with. I got it. Sure. No problem.”
He didn’t understand. Not really. Heck, she wasn’t sure she could explain the urge propelling her back into the arms of the man who’d once broken her heart so badly, but her Gypsy sixth-sense told her she needed to be with him tonight.
Chapter Fourteen
Mark watched the woman he’d once loved with all his heart rinse out the two mugs then turn to face him. “Besides, it’s not like we’re strangers. We used to sleep together all the time. Remember how scandalized my dad was when I moved in with you?”
Her impish smile sealed his fate. He remembered. He remembered carrying her over the threshold—even though she’d protested that she weighed too much and that he’d put his back out.
“Where’s the bathroom? I’d like to wash up.”
“Of course. The guest bath is across the hall from Braden’s room. I keep extra toothbrushes in the drawer in case my sisters wind up spending the night.”
Her sisters? Or men friends? Like I have any business asking, he silently scolded. He’d dated a few women after his divorce, but none of the relationships had led to anything. He was far too wary of being fooled again. Tracey had pretended to be one person, when in reality she was someone very different. Unlike Alex, he thought. With Alex, there was no deceit. She was who she was.
And she was already in bed when he returned. He’d removed his long-sleeved T-shirt, grateful for the white, V-neck undershirt beneath it. He took off his belt and undid the button on his jeans, then kicked off his shoes and sat down on the bed. “I could grab that throw and sleep on top of the covers.”
She’d turned off the lights in the sitting room and kitchenette, making it too dark for him to read her gaze. But he saw her smile. “We’re grown-ups, Mark. We can do what we want. If you want to sleep on top of the covers, you may. But I’d prefer to have you under here with me.”
Oh, God. He took off his socks then his jeans. Since the collar of her pajamas was visible above the edge of the covers she’d drawn up to her chin, he kept his underwear on and crawled between the sheets.
Cool enough to make him inhale sharply, but these were high-quality linens
. Soft and inviting. The featherbed mattress topper made him feel as if he’d slipped into a cocoon. A long, satisfied sigh followed. “I know this sounds strange, but this feels like coming home.”
Alex turned on her side to look at him. “I’m glad. Shall I turn the light off?”
“In a minute. Can I ask you something first?”
Her sigh held a curious note that startled him. “What is it about sleepovers that makes people share their deepest, darkest secrets? My sisters are the same way. Whenever we’d sleep together, we’d talk half the night.”
He smiled. “You can tell me your deepest, darkest secret if you want, but I was just wondering if I should set the alarm on my watch or will yours go off before seven? I’ll need to drive Braden to school since he’s not set up to ride the bus from here.”
Her chuckle turned into a giggle. “That’s funny. My mother would be appalled by my inability to read your mind.” Sitting up, she turned off the bedside lamp and said, “My alarm goes off at five-forty-five. Which is not very far away. Good night.”
He smiled and waited for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dark. Enough light angled through the slats of the blinds in her window that he could make out her profile. He turned on his side and inched a little closer. “I thought my purpose here was to provide snuggling. I can’t do that with you all the way over there.”
She made a happy sound and wiggled closer. The sheets shifted out of the way and suddenly they were touching. Their toes and feet were the only bare skin that met, but even that little bit of contact set Mark’s imagination on fire. When he breathed in, her scent filled his senses—indescribable in its subtlety but something uniquely Alex.
After a momentary awkwardness, he managed to get his arm out so her head could rest on his bicep. “Don’t flex,” she said. “You could put a kink in my neck.”
He laughed outright. “Was that a compliment?”
“Well, you are pretty buff compared to when we were dating.”
“Do you know how much a fire hose weighs?”
She shook her head.
“A lot. Actually, the physicality of the job is something I miss since I went into arson, although I still take part in trainings whenever I can because I could get called in to work a fire if we were shorthanded.”
“You probably never knew this,” she said softly. “But I’ve always had a thing for firemen.”
Her hair tickled his neck. When he brushed the errant lock aside, he accidentally touched her forehead. Her skin was velvety soft and once he started touching her, he found he couldn’t stop.
His fingertips traveled over her brow, her cheeks and her lips—which turned up. “Are you practicing Braille?” she quipped.
“Just exploring the terrain. Would you rather I didn’t?”
She didn’t answer right away. “Can I touch, too?”
The question was low and sexy and made his body respond like a teen on his first date. She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she turned all the way on her side and put her hand flat on his chest.
Knowing she could probably feel the thudding of his heart made him nearly as embarrassed as he was horny. “Alex, you’re starting something you might not want to finish.”
It wasn’t a question. It was an out, she realized. And she loved him for it. But her mind was made up. She wanted more than comfort, more than snuggling. She wanted escape.
She planted a row of kisses along the scratchy growth of his lower jaw. She’d forgotten to tell him about the disposable razors in the drawer. “We’ve talked enough.” Unless there was some other reason why they shouldn’t have sex. “I have condoms in the drawer, and I had a full range of blood tests done a few months ago when I was in the hospital. Is there something health-wise I need to know about?”
“No. That wasn’t what I meant. But given our histories—and your family—are you sure this is a good thing?”
She pushed herself up to rest her chest against his. Although the room was dark, there was light enough to see his features. He was worried. She didn’t blame him. Her father had once threatened to toss him to her cousins and let them beat him within an inch of his life. Not that Ernst would have done that, but he’d been furious on her behalf after learning of Mark’s cheating.
She outlined his lips with her fingertip. “If memory serves me correctly,” she said, going for seductive, “this was a very, very good thing when we were together.”
His chuckle stopped when he put his hand behind her head and drew her down for a kiss. A powerful, full-of-heat kiss that blocked almost every thought from her head. Fleetingly she remembered that she wasn’t taking birth-control pills, but that wasn’t really an issue. The pains she’d experienced off and on all day were the type she remembered as premenstrual. Besides, this wasn’t the right time of the month to get pregnant.
“I’ll mostly be working from memory,” he said, trailing kisses down the open neckline of her pajamas. “I haven’t been with a woman in six months or more, but I have the results of a recent AIDS test in my locker at work, if you’d like to see it.”
“Why’d you get tested?”
“Part of the new life-insurance policy I took out after Tracey died. For Braden.”
That gesture as much as anything made her dizzy with love. “You’re a good man, Mark Gaylord. Now, shut up and make love to me.”
And he did. No questions asked.
Well, one. “Do these pajama bottoms have a drawstring?”
“Oh, sorry,” she said, lifting her hips so she could pluck at the cotton ribbon she’d hastily tied hours earlier.
Once the knot was undone, she tugged down the voluminous flannel pants and kicked free of them. She was about to remove her top, which Mark had already unbuttoned, when she felt his hands on her waist. His fingers flayed in a fanlike gesture that covered her belly. Her poor scarred belly.
“Alex,” he said sharply. “What’s this?”
“Oh, um, I had an operation.”
He rolled over and reached for the bedside lamp.
“No, Mark, don’t. It’s ugly. Can’t you just pretend it’s not there?”
He paused but turned on the light a second later. “Why would I do that? It’s part of you.”
She yanked the covers up to her chin. One minute she’d felt sexy and wanton, the next ugly and deformed. “Not a part I’m proud of.”
Frowning, he pried loose her grip on the sheets. Instead of flinging them back, he said, “What happened? Were you in an accident?”
Just tell the man and be done with it, she told herself. “I had a laparoscopy procedure, which involves making two small incisions and looking inside my abdomen with a telescope thing. My doctor was removing a cyst on one of my fallopian tubes. Afterward I wound up with an infection and was back in the hospital on IV antibiotics a week later. Some of the tissue around the incision died, and I had to have another operation to fix that.”
He lowered the sheet and carefully, lovingly parted the two halves of her pajama top. “When?” he asked, gently running his index finger over the scars.
“About a year after we split up.”
“Poor baby. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault. I’ve always had ‘female problems,’ as my aunt used to say. I was in a lot of pain each month, so my doctor suggested surgery. When he got inside and looked around, he couldn’t believe such a small cyst was responsible for so much pain, so he poked around a bit more than necessary. This made my recovery more difficult.”
“Is everything okay now?”
How much to share…? “Pretty much. As long as I take high-dose birth-control pills so that my body doesn’t ovulate. That lowers the chance of new cysts forming.”
He didn’t say anything for a minute then he sighed. “After we got engaged, you went off the pill. You thought we should get pregnant right away—while we were young enough to be cool parents.”
He looked so troubled and guilty; she touched his cheek and sm
iled. “I could have started taking the pill again after we broke up, but I was so busy setting up this place, moving out of your apartment…I just didn’t pay much attention to my health. The pain was more an annoyance than anything else, and I honestly never thought twice about the pros and cons of having the cyst removed. I just wanted it done so I could get back to my life.”
“And it ended up nearly costing you your life,” he said. “Oh, Alex, I wish I’d known. I hate the thought of you going through that without me.”
He kissed her belly, tenderly tracing the raised white ridges with his lips. “But you know we all have scars. Some are just more visible than others.”
Alex’s heart discovered a healing truth in his words—and touch. She sat up and shrugged off her top. “You’re right,” she said. “I’ve shown you mine. Your turn, tough guy.”
Mark had to say something. But what? He had scars galore, but none that compared to the divot that been taken from her belly.
He flopped on his back and held up his right hand. He made a fist and cocked his wrist so she could see his skin.
“Remember this line? You asked me about it once when we first started dating. I told you I was teasing my pet dog and he scratched me. You believed me, didn’t you?”
She touched her finger to the thin white line. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
They both knew why she might not trust him now, but back then her love had been pure and uncorrupted—unlike anything else in his life. “Well, what I told you was a lie. I never had a pet dog in my life. My dad wouldn’t allow it. This scar and probably half a dozen others came from him.”
“Oh,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s so sad. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I thought you’d think less of me for it. Your family was perfect. If your dad would have known about the kind of man my father was, he’d have found a way to ship me off to Timbuktu.”
The Quiet Child Page 12