He's the One

by Cat Johnson

  He continued to hold her close as he asked, “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Are you?” she asked.

  He let out a short laugh. “Yes. More than fine.”

  “You sure about that?”

  Gone was the man who threw caution to the wind and let himself get lost in the moment. The man who considered everything so deliberately and carefully was back. She could feel the switch. His arms were still wrapped around her, yes, but a polite distance, which the heat of passion had erased while they’d been tangled together, had now returned.

  “Carla, believe me, I wanted nothing more than to make love to you. And here, like this?” He shook his head. “It was as amazing as it was unexpected. And perfect. The dark night, a canvas for the moon and the stars above us. The sound of the lake lapping against the shore. The chill of the water, in contrast to the heat of your body surrounding me. The feel of you when you . . . God, I’ve never felt anything like it before in my life.”

  Damn, the man had a way with words. He was turning her on all over again just with his silken sentences, and the best part was, he didn’t even realize he was doing it. It was like poetry dripped from his tongue. Meanwhile, most days she was lucky if she could string two sentences together without a cussword in the middle somewhere.

  “Good. There’s no problem then.” Even though Carla couldn’t put it as eloquently, she felt the same.

  “Yes, good, but I thought I should get to know you better first. All about you. I guess I wanted to at least take you out on a date. Buy you a nice dinner before we . . . did this.” He glanced down between them to where she was still straddling his hips.

  “You cooked me a nice dinner. That’s even better than taking me out and buying one for me.”

  He smiled. “Yes, I guess so.”

  “No guessing about it.” Releasing the hold her thighs had on him, she let her feet touch the ground.

  She turned and leaned back against him. A low groan of contentment rumbled through her. He answered with a sigh of his own as he wrapped his arms around her from behind.

  They bobbed in the water for a while, him holding her close, her back against his chest as they stared into the night sky together. She felt weightless. Every once in a while he’d kiss the top of her head and squeeze her closer. His fingers traced light patterns on her skin, making her crave more. She wanted his body naked against hers. All of it. Dry and warm.

  Later. For now, this was perfect . . . until she heard the sound of a distant voice and was reminded they weren’t alone. “I hate to say this, but we should probably get out.”

  “I know. You’re right. Just one more minute.”

  If Mr. Cautious wasn’t worried, Carla sure wouldn’t argue the point. She felt too boneless and content.

  “Okay.” Leaning her head back again until it was cradled against his chest, she let her eyes drift closed. The movement of the water. The warmth of his embrace. It lulled her into a relaxation that consumed her until she heard him say her name through the darkness.

  “Carla,” he repeated it again. “You’re falling asleep, sweetie.”

  “Mmm. Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. I liked it, but you were right. We should get going.”

  Reluctantly, she stood on her own two feet and they waded to the shore. He gathered his things in one hand and held her hand with the other. Holding hands was foolish, she knew that. If Tuck and Logan were back, they’d see her and Mark looking like they’d just had sex, but she didn’t care. They walked hand in hand all the way back to the camp. Only then did she realize that in her enthusiasm to drag Mark swimming, she hadn’t considered how they’d dry off. “I don’t know where my towel is.”

  “Oh, sorry. I hung up all the wet towels to dry before I cooked dinner. Let me go get yours.” He trotted to somewhere behind his tent and emerged with a towel, which he wrapped around her shoulders until she was cocooned in dry terry cloth.

  “Thank you.” So sweet and kind and generous. She felt warm in spite of the cool air. “So, your tent or mine?”

  “Are you serious?” His eyes opened wide at her question, but his tentative smile told her he was interested in her offer.

  “Of course, I’m serious.” Little did Mark know, she never joked about things that were important to her, such as more sex with him.

  “My tent’s borrowed, so I guess yours. If that’s all right with you.”

  Mark didn’t want to have sex in his tent because it didn’t belong to him. How considerate could the man get? She liked him even more for it. “Yes. That’s very all right with me.”

  He shoved his glasses up his nose for the thousandth time that day. Carla vowed she would change that at the earliest opportunity. She wanted to clearly see the heat of his desire in his eyes without anything obscuring it. She’d get those glasses off Mark, even if she had to wrestle him to do it.

  “Good, then let’s go.” As she reached out to take hold of his hand, she half expected him to say they had to do the dinner dishes first.

  When he didn’t protest, or even take a second look at the mess they were leaving behind as they made their way to her tent, she smiled at the small victory. Moments later, inside her tent, they both stripped out of their wet suits. He lowered his head between her spread thighs, pausing just long enough to take off those glasses and set them aside.

  Carla took great pride in noting Mark didn’t look for his glasses again for the rest of the night.

  Chapter Five

  Tucker stumbled past the flap of his tent and sniffed the air. “Is that coffee I smell?”

  Mark felt a bit too self-satisfied that this morning he was up and about a good hour before the two ROTC early birds. Even after he’d been in Carla’s tent half the night doing things he didn’t dare think about now or risk the embarrassment of a hard-on.

  The memory of last night gave him even more satisfaction, while making him want—need—more with her. He forced his focus back to Tuck. “It is. Fresh brewed. Can I pour you a cup?”

  “God, yes.”

  Finally, something he could do that would impress the manly sportsmen at camp. Mark stood from his comfortable seat in the folding chair, grabbed an empty cup, and poured the steaming dark liquid. “Here you go. There’s cream and sugar and a spoon set out on top of the cooler.”

  “Thanks.” Tuck took his first gulp black and groaned. “Damn, Ross. We’re going to have to invite you camping with us from now on if this is the way I get to wake up.”

  “Or I could just loan you my French press and show you how to use it.” Making coffee, Mark was skilled at. Camping? Not so much. “So how was fishing last night?”

  “Good. I didn’t catch shit, but there was lots of beer, so how could it be bad?”

  Mark laughed. “Very true.”

  “What did you and Carla do here for entertainment last night?” Tuck’s question might well have been perfectly innocent, but Mark hadn’t been prepared for it.

  Mark realized it was his own mistake. He’d brought up the topic of last night by asking Tuck about the fishing. He and Carla should have talked about a cover story when they were alone, but they’d been far too busy doing other things. Many other things. A couple of times. For hours.

  And now Mark was starting to get an erection as Tuck waited for his answer to a casual question that should have been easy to answer. “Uh, we—”

  “Morning.” Logan emerged from his tent.

  “Logan, good morning. Coffee?” Mark could have kissed Logan for saving the day, or at least for saving him from answering when he had no good answer.

  “Yes, sir. I’d love some.” Logan nodded.

  Mark had never been so happy to see someone in his life, until the flap of Carla’s tent flipped open and she ducked out. Then he knew true happiness. Seeing her, all sleepy with her hair loose down her back in the early morning light, took his breath away.

  “Mark?” Logan’s voice dragged Mark away from his blissful occupation of
staring at Carla.

  As his heart battered the inside of his rib cage, Mark realized Logan was standing next to him, holding out an empty cup, waiting for Mark to pour the aforementioned coffee he’d forgotten he held in his hand.

  “Of course. Sorry.” Mark took the cup from Logan to fill it when he realized his hand was shaking. He didn’t trust himself to pour the hot liquid.

  Cup filled, though it had been more difficult a task than it should have been, Mark handed it back.

  Logan took it. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Glancing up, Mark realized he was the sole object of Logan’s scrutiny. Self-conscious, he tilted his head in the direction of the cooler. “Um, cream and sugar’s over there.”

  Logan glanced from Mark to Carla, and then back again. A small smile crooked up one corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I see it.”

  Mark was sure it wasn’t just the cream and sugar Logan saw. He always had been an open book when it came to his emotions, and Logan was more observant than the average man. The combination meant his friend, at the very least, suspected Mark was attracted to Carla.

  Attracted to her. That was the understatement of the year.

  One night with her had Mark, after he finally did sneak back to his tent, lying awake for long hours. His mind flew to crazy places as he considered their possible future together. Insane things such as property values and school districts and which cut of diamond Carla might prefer if things progressed that far.

  Not to mention the far bigger if—that he’d be able to get up the nerve to ask her out on a real date. That was a hurdle to get over before he could even consider being the steady man in her life.

  The prospect was unreal, but at the same time felt more real than anything had in a long time. He’d only known her for twenty-four hours, yet he wanted to know so much more. Mark was certain that learning everything about her would only reinforce what he was already sure of, that she was the most amazing woman he’d ever met . . . and ready or not, she was headed in his direction at that very moment.

  “Morning.” Carla looked at the carafe in his hand. “Mmm. Coffee.”

  Her soft groan cut right through him. “Ah, yeah. Hold on and I’ll pour you a cup. Oh, and, uh, good morning to you, too.”

  Jeez, he sounded like an idiot. Next to him, Logan chuckled, and in his peripheral vision, Mark saw Tucker grinning.

  The morning after was awkward enough without the added challenge of Logan and Tucker observing them as if he and Carla were two fish in a glass bowl. Mark had no hope of playing it smooth in this situation. He stifled a sigh and poured her the coffee.

  When she pressed the cup to her lips and her eyelids drifted closed, Mark couldn’t worry about Tucker or Logan anymore, because instead he had to mentally talk down his burgeoning erection.

  “Good coffee. Thanks.” Her gaze collided with his as he glowed with pride.

  “You’re very welcome.” Coffee. Poached fish. Mark had definitely kept this woman well sated in the food and beverage department.

  As he thought back to the number of times she’d trembled in his arms last night, he knew he’d satisfied her in another area as well.

  And damn, now he was as hard as a rock. Mark dropped into his chair, put the carafe on the ground next to him, and covered his lap with his hands wrapped around his own cup, hoping to look inconspicuous. No more thinking about last night. His hormones, which were acting like those of a teenage boy, couldn’t take it.

  He glanced up and caught Carla staring at him over the rim of her coffee cup. She yanked her gaze away, but he thought he saw the hint of a blush creep into the part of her face not hidden behind the cup.

  No, he wasn’t alone in this. Not the only one having problems juggling these feelings—a melding of doubt, embarrassment, and anticipation. Now, the only question remaining was, what did he do next?

  “So we’re just going to keep pretending nothing’s going on?” Tuck put the cooler he’d carried to the parking lot down next to Carla’s truck.

  Carla paused a second before she recovered and put the rolled sleeping bag she held into the truck bed. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. Thanks for carrying that.”

  “No problem, and don’t change the subject. You know damn well what I’m talking about.”

  “No, I don’t.” Denial seemed the only option at the moment. Carla had managed to get through the faculty group breakfast that morning by keeping her head down, concentrating on the food on her plate, and not looking at Mark. In the group, it had been easy. Now, alone with Tuck, it was much harder to act like nothing had happened.

  “Ross.”

  “What about him?” She shrugged.

  “Something’s up.” Tuck tried to catch her gaze, even as she worked to avoid his.

  “What could be up? We all had a nice time and now it’s over. End of story.”

  “Oh, really?” He cocked one brow up.

  “Yes, really.”

  “So you’re not into him?”

  She let out a breath of frustration. “When is Becca getting back from New York? Because you really do need her to keep you busy.” So he’d stop being a busybody.

  “And you need a few lessons in hiding your feelings. And your hickeys.” The focus of his gaze moved to her neck.

  She moved her fingers to her throat. “What? I don’t have any—”

  Tuck touched a spot just above her collarbone and a memory flashed through Carla’s mind. Mark in her tent, latching on to her throat as he tried to stifle the groan as they came together while he was buried inside her. Crap.

  “At least mine was under my shirt. Yours is right out there for all to see. Good color, though. A real nice deep purple.” He leaned his ass against the edge of the open tailgate and folded his arms. She supposed he was settling in to wait for her explanation or confession or whatever.

  If her face looked as red as it felt, there was no denying anything to Tuck. Carla sighed. “Please don’t tease me.”

  “I’m not planning on it.” Tuck shook his head. “Hell, I’ve been there, darlin’. I know what it’s like to do something you regret the next morning.”

  “I don’t, though.” She forced herself to look him in the eye. “I don’t regret it at all. I like him. A lot. That’s the problem.”

  “Well, I don’t see why. The way he looks at you, the feeling is mutual.”

  Yeah, the feeling was mutual. For now. But what about when Mark realized she was a high school dropout who’d only finally gotten her GED a year ago? Between helping around the family ranch and competing, there had never been time to finish her education.

  Thank God the assistant coaching position on the rodeo team wasn’t an academic one. She’d landed that with her rodeo experience. Otherwise, if they’d looked into her education, she probably would have been screwed out of that job. But there was no impressing Mark with her skills on horseback. Not when she was sure the man’s walls were papered in diplomas.

  She shook her head when she noticed Tuck still watching her. “Nah. It was just a one-night thing. Nothing serious. I’m gonna grab the rest of my stuff and git. Mama will need my help at home today.”

  As Tuck frowned, she turned and left him where he was. That was one way to end this conversation, because she really wasn’t in the mood to continue it.

  Chapter Six

  “Thank you very much, gentlemen.” Logan gathered the pile of poker chips from the center of the table with one sweep of his forearm. “About damn time I won, huh?”

  Mark leaned back in his chair, defeated. In that pile had been the last of his own chips. “I guess it was inevitable. No one can lose every single hand. Not even you, Logan.”

  “Har, har. Joke all you want at my expense. I can afford it, since I seem to have all of your chips, Mark.” Logan’s winning was so rare, Mark couldn’t blame him for his glee, even if it did clean him out and put him out of the game for the night.

  “That’s okay. I’m done for tonight anywa
y.” Harry, from the philosophy department, rose from his chair, stretching his back with a groan as he did.

  “Me, too.” Jamey, from the political science department, followed suit. He gathered the small pile of chips in front of him and stood as well.

  “Anyone want to hang around for a little while?” The game was over but Mark wasn’t ready to be alone quite yet. “I could put on a pot of coffee. I’ve got a bottle of Irish whiskey that would be real tasty in it.”

  “No, thanks.” Jamey shook his head. “Time for me to get back home to the wife. She was reading one of those steamy romance novels when I left. She should be nice and warmed up by the time I get home, if you know what I mean.”

  Harry laughed. “Lucky bastard. Mine will be awake and waiting for me, but only so she can smell my breath to see if I’ve been drinking, and then bitch that I get one night a week out with the guys away from the kids and she gets none. Thanks anyway, Mark.”

  That was it then, the party was over. Mark stood, too. “Sure. No problem.”

  An array of colored poker chips and dollar bills exchanged hands, Jamey and Harry left, and soon Mark was alone with Logan.

  “You staying? We can skip the coffee and go right to the whiskey if you want.” Mark reached for a short cut-crystal glass from the side table.

  “What’s up with you?” Logan asked.

  “Besides that you took all my money?” Mark joked while reaching for the bottle. “Nothing.”

  “This is not about the money, and you know it.” Logan shook his head. “You spent far more on that bottle in your hand than I took from you tonight.”

  Very true. Mark poured amber liquid into one glass. He raised a brow and held up the drink he’d poured, glancing toward Logan in silent question. Logan nodded and took the glass before sitting on the leather sofa.

  Mark poured himself a nice-sized shot and sat in the chair opposite Logan. This was good. Two single guys kicking back with some fine, aged spirits. Hanging out as long as they wanted. No need to talk, if they didn’t want to. No wife to nag if they got home late with booze on their breath.