When Skye approached, the blond looked up, her impatience with the interruption evident in her clipped tone. “Do you need something?”
“Nope.” Snippy wench. Skye looked at Mark. “My sister wants to meet you, darling.”
Mark’s full attention turned to her, and the intimate way he smiled as if he’d missed her the short time they’d been apart, erased her annoyance and flare of jealousy.
“I’d love to meet her.” Mark picked up his jacket and said goodbye to the nurses, who drifted back to the nurses’ station. Waves of their envy buffeted her all the way to Faith’s room.
Skye pulled Mark aside and moved close before lowering her voice to just above a whisper. “Um... Faith doesn’t know how long we’ve been dating, and I’d like to keep it that way if you don’t mind.”
Mark’s curious look made her squirm. “Why? You ashamed of me?”
“Not you, per se. It’s just that I’m not sure how she’d feel about what you do. It’s...um... Faith’s Niki’s mom. And she’s pregnant—her hormones are all out of whack. I'm not sure how she’d react—” Skye twisted her fingers and rubbed her thumb across her palm before trying again. “If I was Faith, you would be a reminder of my ‘failure’ to find the stem cells to save my daughter’s life. Your presence would be like rubbing salt in a fresh wound.”
“So what am I supposed to say if she asks what I do?”
Lie. “You work in the family business. You run a research company.”
“And when are you going to tell her the truth?”
That assumed that they’d be together a while. Maybe Skye wasn’t just a conquest to Mark. “After she gets to know you better. After Niki’s death isn’t quite so fresh. Maybe after the twins are born and everybody’s happy and healthy.”
Mark looked her in the eye. “I don’t lie.”
“It’s not lying—it’s... Evasion.” Skye brightened. “Besides, you do run the family business which involves research.”
He sighed and looked away.
“Please?”
“I don’t like it.” Though Mark frowned, he acquiesced. He’d do it—for her.
Skye raised up on tip toes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
Mark knocked on the door and followed Skye in. Faith sat in bed like a beaming pregnant princess. She must have found a brush because her hair gleamed shiny gold, and pale pink lipstick covered her lips. All Faith needed was a tiara.
Skye introduced them, and Mark shook Faith’s hand. “Sorry to hear you’re ill.”
“Thank you.” She turned to Skye. “Stop looking so nervous and worried. The hydrolizine will control my blood pressure, and if it doesn’t, they’ll start me on magnesium sulfate to prevent seizures. It’ll be fine.”
Faith didn’t look fine. She looked tired and pale.
“Sit. Please.” Faith smiled. “So, Mark. How long have you known my sister?”
Skye sat in a chair and folded her legs under her. Mark pulled a chair from the empty half of the room and placed it next to Skye’s. He sat and crossed his ankle over his knee. “Uh... It seems like I’ve known her forever.”
Skye beamed at him, her mind frantically thinking of something to distract Faith. “Mark invited me to a black tie fundraiser his company’s sponsoring,” she blurted out. “Where should I go for a gown?”
Mark gave her an “is that so?” look. Skye flashed him an overly bright smile. She knew he’d be pleased.
“A formal? How fun,” Faith crowed. “Try Macy’s. They have some lovely gowns—or go to Sumerset Mall.” She sighed. “I’d love to go shopping with you.”
“You’re crazy. I don’t even want to go shopping. I hate trying on all those dresses.” She sent Mark a contrite smile. “No offense—I hate shopping in general.”
“None taken. You have my complete sympathy.”
“Well, not mine,” Faith said. “It’s fun. And don’t forget to make an appointment to have your hair and nails done.”
Skye scowled at her, pretending to be annoyed, when in reality she did enjoy the pampering of a manicure and having her hair done. Metal carts rattled in the hall, and they heard the clanking of dinner trays. “Sounds like dinner’s here. We’ll get going and let you get some rest.”
Skye pressed a kiss to her sister’s cheek, promising to visit tomorrow, and practically dragged Mark from the room.
* * *
Whistling an upbeat tune, Mark walked briskly down the sidewalk from Skye’s apartment to his car. Despite the tumultuous first half of their date, he’d had a great time. And that goodnight kiss. Shaking his head, Mark unlocked his car and opened the door. He rested one arm on the Audi’s cold roof while looking up at the illuminated windows of her apartment. Damn, that kiss nearly melted every last brain cell. And he wanted more—much more.
The slim shadow moved across the apartment, and lights went off in one room and on in another. Skye walked in front of the window and reached for the cord to close the blinds. Mark ducked inside the car and headed home. The last thing he wanted to do was get caught mooning outside her apartment like a love-struck sap.
Skye was smart and funny, fierce and protective, and passionate… He shook his head. Man, Skylar Kendall had passion in spades. Combustible was what she was. She’d light a man on fire, and he couldn’t wait to burn. Mark turned into his driveway.
He walked into the house and threw his keys on the counter. He just wasn’t eager to be on the receiving end of the dark side of that passionate, white-hot fury that’d painfully incinerate a man. When she found out about Ed, she was going to be mad—furious.
He’d intended to tell her after their first date, but he’d been enjoying himself too much. Then after her confession about her niece, Mark knew he had to tell her immediately. But she’d gotten that phone call, and she’d been so worried about her sister, it would’ve been insensitive to upset her further.
It wasn’t like he’s really lying. They just hadn’t gotten to a point where total transparency was necessary yet. They’d only had two dates…two incredible dates he’d wanted to never end. Just being with her made him happy. He’d have to tell her soon—before that damned banquet.
Mark pulled his coat off and threw it over a chair. He’d shocked himself with that invitation to the fundraiser. He hadn’t been thinking—at least not with the right head. He’d wanted to see her again, and at the time it’d seemed like the perfect excuse, but he’d forgotten Ed would be there.
Mark went to the refrigerator, pulled out a water bottle, and gulped the remainder of the cold water. He tossed the empty Nalgene in the sink. Turning his back to the counter, he leaned against it.
Things with Skye were great. He couldn’t wait to see her again. Why risk messing it up by introducing her to friends and family? Family and friends always equaled complications. He wanted to hide her away and lock out the world for as long as possible.
Keep it simple. Easy. Fun. And real. Cementing their relationship before stressing it seemed a solid game plan. Smart.
They had a promising foundation. He just needed a little more time. A few more dates to impress Skye and make her realize how good they were together. To peel away her layers and make her as crazy about him as he was her.
Ten days was not a lot of time to create a bombproof relationship. But it could be enough.
* * *
Putting the last glass in the dishwasher, Skye started it. She dried her hands, then headed back to her desk. Break time over. After spending several hours after work researching and coming up empty, Skye’d opted for a later dinner, praying a little food would change her luck. A lot to ask of scrambled eggs and sausage, but she was hopeful.
Skye sighed and rested her chin on her fisted hand as she opened page twenty-three of the Google search on Assistant District Attorney Edward Hastings. She scanned the first few entries, then her gaze froze on the third.
“Hastings Love Child: ADA Questioned in Babysitter’s Disappearance.” At last, something juicy—if it�
��s true. Even if it wasn’t true, it’s more interesting than most of what was written about Saint Edward. Skye clicked on the link and leaned forward.
A grainy black and white photo of a younger Edward and a teenage girl outside Starbucks dominated the page. They sat side-by-side, heads together, with his hand covering hers.
The story speculated that the ADA might’ve been having an inappropriate relationship with his son’s sixteen year-old babysitter, Emily Downing, but weeks later, Hastings was sighted checking into the Crowne Plaza late at night with the babysitter and an older woman. He’d checked them in under an alias.
Then a few days after that, Downing’s husband reported his wife and daughter missing and accused Hastings of having an affair with his wife. He even went so far as to claim that Emily was Edward Hastings’s and Mary Downing’s love child. Supposedly the Downings were old neighbors of the Hastings, and Mary Downing had been friends with Edward’s mother, Eve. Edward was brought in for questioning.
And… What happened? Skye printed the article, then returned to the original Google page hunting for further mention of love child or love affairs. Nothing. She searched Emily Downing, and still came up empty. What the heck?
How could something this intriguing be put to bed so quickly and quietly without an explanation? It couldn’t. There had to be something.
Skye picked up her phone. “Hey, Pete? I need a favor.”
Chapter 10
Mark climbed the Wimbledon Racquet Club stairs. He crossed the carpeted lobby to an orange plaid couch that’d give him a clear view of the stairs to the ladies locker room and the large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. He set his tennis bag down next to him. Slouching down into the cushions, he finger-combed his wet hair and waited for Skye to finish showering and dressing. Five minutes into the evening news, she joined him.
Skye stopped at the top of the stairs and scanned the lobby, giving Mark a few seconds to appreciate the way her tight jeans molded to her legs. She wore a blue-striped button-down shirt that nipped in at her waist with the top two buttons undone, giving him glimpses of the valley between her breasts. Eyes off her boobs, Dutton.
As Skye approached, Mark stood. Lifting her tennis bag off her shoulder, he slung it over his. “All set?”
“Thank you.” She smiled. “Yup. Hungry?”
Mark took her black leather coat from her and held it out. She turned into the coat. With her back to him, she freed her curly hair from the coat collar. Damp, soft strands momentarily clung to Mark’s chin. He inhaled deeply, savoring the flowery scent of her perfume mixing with citrusy shampoo, surprised the combination could be such a turn-on.
“Hungry? The way you ran me around that court? Absolutely.”
“Yeah, right. You were holding back on your serves.” Skye pushed the door open and headed out into the cold night. “Thanks for coming with me. I hated to waste a trial membership.”
“Anytime. It was fun.” Mark might have held back on his serves a bit, but he wanted to have fun playing with Skye, not beat her. Besides, his serve was about the only advantage he’d had over her—that and patience.
Skye had strong strokes, but she often went for the winner too soon. She’d looked cute with her curls tied back in that ponytail and her short tennis skirt showing off toned legs. Sexy, shapely legs. Yeah, that outfit worked to her advantage, too. “Going to join?”
“Maybe. I’ll have to wait for a raise first.” Skye unlocked the Prius, and he put their tennis bags in the backseat.
“Maybe I’ll join. I’d forgotten how much I enjoy playing.” Mark opened her car door then rounded the Prius and climbed in the passenger’s seat. “I’m glad you called.”
“Well, I owed you since Faith interrupted our last date.”
“You don’t owe me a thing.” He shifted, and his knees bumped the glove compartment. These small cars might be great on gas mileage, but they weren’t built for tall men. He reached for the front lever and pushed the seat back a little farther. Better. “In fact, I would’ve been happy to have driven tonight.”
“My invite, I drive.” She spared him a grin before pulling out into the street. “Why? My driving make you nervous?”
Skye stirred up a lot of emotions in Mark, but nervousness wasn’t anywhere near the top of the list. “No, just traditional about some things.”
“I think your manhood can survive one night of my driving.”
“As long as I pay.”
“Fine.” She stopped at the light. “Then I guess you get to choose. Where to?”
“How about Da Eduardos?” Good Italian food, soft music and lighting—the perfect romantic atmosphere.
“’Kay.” Skye turned down Mack Avenue and, within a few minutes, glided to a stop in front of the red brick building.
Mark frowned at the people standing outside the restaurant. Were they were coming or going? He’d never seen lines out the door, except at the Original Pancake House Sunday mornings. In the winter? Crazy.
“Don’t suppose you made a reservation?” Skye asked.
“Nope.” Stupid. “How about Chinese? There’s this place my sister raves about around Mack and Cadieux.”
“Let’s do it.”
They found his sister Serena’s Chinese restaurant; however, Mark’s heart sank at the plastic flowers in cheap white vases, square laminate tables, and metal chairs. Shit. Thanks, Serena. Mark swept a hand through his hair. How’s a guy to impress a girl with this? He paused outside the door.
“What’s the matter?” Skye asked.
“Uh... This isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
“Don’t judge a book by its cover. The food’s probably great.” Skye yanked the door open and breezed past him.
Mark winced at the bell above the door that tinkled, cheerfully announcing their arrival, and resisted the urge to hand Skye a napkin as she read a greasy, sticky menu.
“I love Lo Mein.” Skye’s stomach rumbled loudly. “Let’s get takeout.”
Relief swept him. Takeout was not a bad idea. “Do you want to go back to your place?” Women loved to show off their homes.
“Let’s go to yours. Mine’s…a mess.”
Mark didn’t miss her hesitation. A mess? So what? Skye didn’t seem like a neat freak; didn’t she want him at her place? “Okay.”
They got their food and drove to Mark’s condo. Walking up the path, he tried to remember the condition he’d left his place in. Opening the door, he stood aside for Skye to enter. She walked into the living room, looked and spun around. “Nice place. Where’re your pups?”
“They’re not mine, they’re my sister’s. I only watch them when she’s stuck.” Mark dropped his tennis bag next to the couch and saw the colorful leaflet advertising the fundraiser lying on the coffee table. The cover featured a large color photo of Ed as the awards presenter. Mark thrust the paper bag of food into Skye’s arms and turned her toward the kitchen.
“I’m starving. Why don’t you get things laid out while I straighten up a little?” He hustled her into the kitchen. “Plates are in the cupboard next to the sink. Check out the fridge and see what we have for drinks. Be back in a sec.”
Mark backed out of the kitchen and snatched the leaflet from the coffee table. He piled the mail on top of it, then swiped the framed photo of Noelle, Jeff, and Ed from the fireplace mantel and hurried into his study. He paused beside his desk, the frame and mail weighed heavily in his hand.
Maybe he should leave the things out and let Skye find them. Then when she asked about it, it’d be a natural way to admit his and Ed’s friendship.
“Beer okay or would you rather open a bottle of Merlot?” Skye called out.
“Either is fine.”
He had Skye in his home, she was relaxed, and they were having a good time. Did he really want to chance ruining that?
Skye appeared in the doorway of his study. “Coming?”
Mark nodded. Opening the desk drawer, he shoved the photo and mail in, and slammed it shut. N
ot yet.
Over dinner they chatted easily. Talking to Skye was effortless. It’d been his experience that women loved talking about themselves, but she answered his question then immediately directed the conversation back on him.
She even asked questions about his work—and listened to his answers—unlike previous girlfriends whose eyes glazed over when he talked shop. She was so refreshing. Skye had a way of making everything sound better, taste better, and feel better, just by being with him.
After dinner, Mark cleared the table. When Skye reached for the faucet to start washing the dishes, he grabbed her arm. “Absolutely not. Guests do not do dishes.”
“I’m not leaving you with this mess.”
He turned her toward the doorway. “Have a seat and I’ll be done in a minute.”
“Okay.” Skye pulled out her cell, selected a playlist, and placed the phone on the counter. Cheerful big band music filled the small kitchen. “Do you like the old standards?” She pulled a dishtowel from the stove handle and began drying a wine glass.
“Who doesn’t like Ol’ Blue Eyes?” Mark turned off the faucet, took the glass from her hand, then reached for the towel. “You don’t listen very well.”
Skye whipped the towel behind her back, out of his reach, and stepped backward. “I’m not a fan of being told what to do.”
“Really?” Mark advanced, then lunged behind her. She squealed and dodged to the left, but not before he ripped the towel from her hand. “Are you a fan of dancing?” He flipped the towel over her head and looped it around her waist, trapping her.
“That depends.” With a half smile, she peeked at him from beneath long eyelashes. “Are you any good?”
“Good?” He raised his eyebrows, as if insulted. He pulled the towel backwards, reeling her in ’til her hands rested on his waist. “Are you kidding?”
The Lives Between Us Page 10