Mark (In the Company of Snipers Book 2)

by Irish Winters

  Libby reached for her water bottle, shaking with the extremely small effort it took to reach it. Even the room temperature water in her bottle tasted good. She took another breath and planned accordingly. If she took it slow and easy, she could make it to the bathroom and have her teeth brushed in no time, maybe run a comb through her messy hair, too. After all, there was a man in her room. It wouldn’t do for him to see her like this.

  At least the bed rail was already lowered, one less obstacle. She eased the covers off and pulled her hospital gown over her knees. Her plans came to a screeching halt. She pulled the blankets and sheet back over her legs, feeling foolish. A student nurse should’ve known better. Sick people have catheters. Darn. I’m not going anywhere.

  “Going somewhere?” Dark eyes smiled from across the room. Mark hadn’t moved an inch, but he was awake and watching, a definite smirk on his handsome face. Had he seen?

  “I need a toothbrush and,” she answered hoarsely, “I want to use the bathroom.” And a shower wouldn’t hurt. I reek.

  He arched his back and stretched, both hands over his head. Ah, that body. Yeah. She must be feeling better. The sight of him working the sleep out of his muscles and joints was just plain delicious. Sheesh. Flat abs, tight shirt across his muscular chest, dark mussed hair and sleepy eyes – the man was handsome down to his stocking feet.

  Her stomach gurgled. Oh, and I’m hungry too.

  “Step on it, Mark.” she teased with her raspy voice. “I want to get out of here. Today would be nice.”

  “You are feeling better.” He placed both hands on his knees as he pushed out of the chair.

  Now that she could see him better, she blinked, not sure what she was looking at. “What happened to you?”

  He crossed the room in a few quick steps and sat on the edge of her bed, winking through two black eyes and a strip of flesh-colored tape over the bridge of his nose. “I learned a very important lesson last night.”

  “Oh, my gosh. Who hit you?” She cupped his cheek in her palm.

  “You did.” He took her bandaged hand in his and raised it to his lips for a quick kiss. The smile on his face took her breath.

  “I hit you?”

  “You didn’t mean to, but yeah. You’ve got a mean left hook.”

  “Why? How?” She didn’t know where to start.

  “Forget it.” He grinned. “But now I know. When you want fudge, I’d better jump. You said to get a couple dozen roses while I was at it. Guess I was a little slow and—”

  “I didn’t do that.” She knew better. He was teasing. If there was one lesson the Clifton girls learned early, it was to keep their hands to themselves. She had never hit anyone in her life. Well, okay, maybe that mean rooster in the hen house, but he had it coming.

  “Oh, yes you did.” The smile on this handsome guy’s face drew her in. He leaned in for a kiss and her morning-breath alarm went off. She ducked her head into her shoulders and covered her lips with the edge of the sheet. No way was he getting any closer with her teeth still furry and her mouth full of halitosis. No way.

  Her heart stalled. He was irresistible, and she had punched him, and he did have two black eyes that made him look rakishly good, and—

  Oh, my gosh. Okay. Just this once.

  She met him halfway. His lips grazed hers, soft and incredibly tender. All her good intentions melted. She wrapped both arms around his neck and a nice, warm tingle invaded her chest, telegraphing sparks all the way to her toes.

  He smiled against her lips. “Yep. You’re definitely feeling better.”

  “I told you we should’ve knocked.”

  Libby pulled back, her arms still latched around Mark’s neck. Kelsey and Alex stood at her open door. They looked as surprised as she was.

  “Hi,” she offered weakly, but she didn’t let go of her man, and he didn’t let go of her.

  “We’re kind of busy here, Boss,” Mark said. “Could you two come back a little—”

  “No.” Libby bit her lip. Oh, my gosh. Her face had to be ten shades of red. It felt hot enough. “Come in. We were just—”

  “I’ve got eyes. I see what you were doing.” Alex smirked that cheeky smile of his and waved her explanation off.

  Mark still hadn’t moved. Instead, he bumped her with his hip, so she made room for him to sit. Wow. He was sitting on her bed; his leg stretched along the length of hers like it was no big deal. Sure, there were plenty of blankets between them, but, wow. He was sitting on her bed, and she was in it—with him. A vague memory flitted through her mind so fast she couldn’t catch hold of it. Had he done this before? Come to think of it, what day was it? How long had she been in the hospital?

  “Can you spare a few minutes to talk shop?” Alex asked Mark, one brow arched as he nodded toward the door. “Unless you kids are too busy.”

  “Sure.” Mark planted a quick kiss into her hair before he bounced off the bed and followed his boss into the hall.

  Kelsey came to her side. “My goodness. That new antibiotic did wonders. You look a hundred percent better.”

  “I feel good.” Libby ran a hand through her tangled locks. “How long have I been in here?”

  “A couple days.” Kelsey sat beside her. “You had a relapse. Scared the daylights out of us, especially Mark.”

  “And I hit him?” Libby still couldn’t believe she had really done that.

  “I think you bumped his nose by accident. He was trying to calm you in the middle of a nightmare. That’s all.”

  Libby blew out a big breath. Her memory had turned into Swiss cheese with lots of holes.

  “Would you mind if I brushed your hair?”

  “Oh, please. Yes.” Libby glanced at the bathroom door. “Do you think there’s a toothbrush and toothpaste around here?”

  “I’ll check. I brought some clothes for you when you’re ready to leave, too.”

  “I’m ready now.” Libby breathed out a big sigh. I’m so ready. My Mom needs me. I want to go home.

  By the time the men returned, her breath was minty fresh, and her hair was tamed within the braid piled high on her head. She was on her way to a full recovery. The minute a nurse showed up, that catheter thingee was a goner, and Libby would be halfway out the door and on her way home.

  Mark stood at the end of her bed with his boss, their eyes twinkling like they shared a secret. Kelsey sat in the chair next to her, and Libby had to admit, she was getting tired. The simple things she’d just done had worn her out. Her hopes were fading. Even without the catheter, her doctor would probably not let her leave yet. Her emotions were getting the best of her. I want my Mom.

  “I don’t know.” Alex studied her intently. “It may be too soon.”

  “No.” Mark beamed. “She can do it. Trust me.”

  Libby sighed. These guys were teasing, and she wasn’t up to it. All her previous energy had fled. She bit her lip. “What’s going on?”

  “Alex wants to take you home today,” Kelsey said quietly.

  “He does?” Okay, that worked wonders. Libby straightened. “Great. I’m ready.”

  “No, you’re not.” Mark came to her side. “You’re still sick, so there are conditions.”

  Libby looked to Alex.

  “You will have a full-time nurse,” he said evenly.

  She nodded. “Okay. What else?”

  “You’ll have to do what she tells you to do.” A smile tugged at his lips.

  “I can do that,” she agreed quickly, anything to get out of this place.

  There was that smirk again. The man could be so annoying. Something else was still unsaid, and she was too tired to play along. At last Alex spoke again. “Mark will stay with you.”

  Best plan ever!

  “Mom. I’m home.”

  Mark angled Libby through the completely restored front door of her parent’s home. Like the stubborn woman he was learning she could be, she had wanted to walk instead of him carrying her. He might not be the brightest bulb in the box, like Harle
y would say, but he was no dummy. A man didn’t pass up the chance to carry a pretty woman.

  Rosemary had her daughter in her arms in short order. He turned to view the restoration work, so they wouldn’t see his face and know that he was as emotional as they were.

  True to his word, Alex had stepped in and completely restored the Clifton home before Rosemary had a second to think twice. The porch was rebuilt with new wicker furniture exactly like Mark remembered. Another hundred-year old oak door barricaded the entrance, and somehow, Alex had managed to replace the brass doorknob with the exact same fixture that had been lost in the fire. Several rooms still needed painting, but for now, Jerry and Marie rested comfortably in their own beds. Two private nurses ensured Rosemary had plenty of help, and another followed to provide care to Libby.

  Libby’s father shuffled out of the kitchen, and before he knew it, Mark was shaking his hand. Jerry’s hand seemed thinner, his grasp firm, but not as strong as before. If Mark thought Rosemary and Libby were emotional, now he faced the man who’d thought he had lost two daughters.

  Jerry gripped Mark’s shoulder with his other hand and shook his head, breathing hard from his short walk.

  “Morning, Mr. Clifton.” Mark hoped that would be enough, but Jerry kept shaking his head. A single tear trickled down his cheek. Mark gritted his teeth. He’d done enough crying.

  “Son,” Jerry ground the word out.

  The battle was lost. Mark couldn’t hold back his feelings. Tears filled his eyes, too.

  Libby Clifton was home, safe and sound.

  Mark sprawled across the huge four-poster bed alongside Libby, the same as he’d done every day since she had come home from the hospital. Rosemary had set him up in his own room down the hall, but he was never far away. If Libby needed her curtains opened to let in the sun, he was the man for the job. He helped her walk down the hall to the bathroom, and made sure she was steady on her feet before he closed the door to give her privacy. Happy to help and willing to do anything she needed, he catered to her like she was queen and fairytale princess all rolled into one.

  Because—she was.

  They had just returned from a short walk around the yard. She’d wanted to see how everything looked since the painters had finished. By now, her parent’s home looked more like it belonged in the Better Homes and Gardens magazine instead of the rural town of Spencer, Wisconsin. Alex insisted it was the least they could do, and Mark was proud of his boss.

  As Mark lounged next to her with the latest copy of Field and Stream under his nose, Libby pushed her hip against him. She was getting stronger every day. Instead of needing a nap, the walk they had taken energized her. Her color was good, her breathing back to normal, and keeping his hands to himself was getting more and more difficult. Judging by the second hip-bump he just received, she had the same problem.

  “Are you trying to tell me something?” He looked up from his reading, trying and failing to look stern.

  She shot him that dazzling smile and promptly pushed him flat to his back. Hopeful anticipation lit her eyes. Before he knew what hit him, her lips covered his. This wasn’t their usual little kiss that he had settled for while she was recuperating though. No. She kissed him slowly and thoroughly, letting her tongue explore his lips before she pressed him for more. And then a little more. With each tender thrust of her body, she made her intentions perfectly clear.

  “Come here, you,” he whispered huskily.

  With her breath hot on his neck, he let his hands roam over her shoulders and down her back before they came to rest at her hips. Warmth surged through him when she arched into his touch. Even in denim jeans, his body was making his intentions clear, maybe a little too clear. His fingers strayed beneath the waistband to her jeans, and he groaned. So much fire sparked from her to his fingertips. He wanted her. Now.

  “We need to talk,” he ground out the words he didn’t really feel like saying.

  She didn’t seem to hear him. Instead, she pressed hot, moist kisses into his neck, her hands holding each side of his head as she pushed her breasts against him, and in the process, lifted her backside away. Mark cocked his head as her tender lips worked a sweet line of warmth along his collarbone.

  His mind automatically planned his next move, which had everything to do with what color bra and panties she wore underneath her Mickey Mouse sweatshirt and the zipper on her jeans. Well, at least the ones she wore at the moment, because very soon—

  He groaned again, torturing himself with the pleasant softness of her body. Libby was too tempting for his current level of control, which was pretty much zero spelled with a capital Z-E-R-O.

  “Do you hear me, babe?” he asked hoarsely. He needed to get a very important topic out in the open before he let himself fall over the edge. Once he fell, all bets were off.

  “I hear you,” she said the right words, but she still wasn’t listening.

  With a herculean effort, he untangled her prowling hands from his neck and pushed her gently up and away. Looking into those deep blues didn’t help. He was still falling.

  “No more kissing.” He kissed the end of her nose despite his words. “We need to talk.”

  “You want to talk? That’s all? Really? Now?”

  “Yes. I need to talk with you about something.” He smiled as he sat up with her, pulled her off his legs, and positioned her alongside of him. Everything about her worked against what he had to say, the smell of her perfume and the way her breasts totally enhanced that ratty sweatshirt. Never had Mickey Mouse looked so good, or so three-dimensional.

  “I’m listening already,” she said impatiently with a flounce of her blond head. “What?”

  “Do you know what I want most in the whole world?” he asked quietly.

  “To talk?” Now she was being petulant. Cute, but petulant.

  He grinned at this precocious woman. He’d loved her at a distance for so long. Now that she was healthy and in his arms, what on earth was he thinking?

  “I want you to know that I love you.” Mark chuckled at the wrinkly frown on her face. There was a solid ounce of brat mixed in with this womanly creature.

  She smiled and leaned into him, her fingers instantly searching across his chest to the buttonholes on his shirt. “I love you, too, Mark. You know I do.”

  “Remember when I told you that my mother died?” He snared her hands before she got the best of him.

  “Ah, huh.” She licked her bottom lip. The soft, sweet gaze of a honey-blond seductress glowed back at him, and Mark forgot what he wanted to say. He leaned in to explore the rest of this goddess at his side—breasts, nipples, thighs, backside, and—

  Arghhh! He caught himself just in time.

  “Libby. Stop it. Sit right here.” Mark pulled his knee onto the mattress and turned to face her. She reached her slender fingers to his knee, burning five little points of smoldering passion through his jeans and all the way to his groin.

  With a deep breath, he began again, rambling through the script before he forgot it. The whole thing made logical sense when he had rehearsed it before, but now it came out like crap. “Okay, so when my mother died, my dad had no use for me and it was like I turned into nothing. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

  “What does that have to do with us right now?” She whined like a little girl trying to get her way.

  Ah, he was smitten through and through. Every single thing about this woman was plain adorable. This was going to be a lot tougher than he thought.

  “What I’m trying to say is that this is the first time since I lost my Mom that I’ve been part of something wonderful, pure, and perfect. That something is you.”

  She cocked her head. Poor girl didn’t have a clue where this conversation was headed.

  “I don’t want to ruin what we have, Libby. I don’t want to rush this.”

  “What are you telling me?” she asked impatiently.

  “I’m trying to tell you that … I don’t think we should have sex
until we’re husband and wife.” He blurted it out. That did it. He had her full attention now.

  “Excuse me?” Those cobalt blues were wide, surprised, and maybe even a little hurt.

  “Libby, I want all of you. You’ve got to know that by now.” He hurried to explain. “But I don’t just want to just make love with you; I want to make a life with you. I want to make our life, and maybe someday, our baby’s life, too. Sex is a big deal. I guess what I’m saying is that I want to do this right, Libby. Once.”

  Her eyes were wide with shock, but then he made it worse. “In one year, Libby Clifton, will you please marry me—and make love with me—for the rest of our life together?”

  Anger flashed across her face. She hadn’t heard the marriage proposal at all.

  “A year? A whole year? Like next October?”

  He wanted to laugh. The poor girl wanted sex, and here he was, offering a year’s worth of celibacy instead, and making it sound like it was a good deal, too. Three hundred and sixty-five days sounded awfully long to him now that he heard it out loud, but he was just as sure it was the right thing to do.

  Mark wasn’t kidding himself. She’d loved Jon. She needed time to grieve for him as well as Faith. As much as he loved her, Mark wasn’t going to take advantage of her or her family. In a year she’d be in a better frame of mind. Besides, it would give them time to get to know each other better, to plan their life and their family. Maybe life would be more normal in the Clifton household in a year. That’s all he wanted. Normal. It had always seemed like an impossible dream, and now that it seemed within reach, he didn’t want to ruin it.

  He held his breath as the real specter raised its ugly head again. How could this delightful, feminine creature really be in love with him? How could anyone? He had given her an out.

  Would she take it?

  Thirty

  Libby looked deeply into Mark’s brown eyes. This crazy man was thinking way too much, but something else glimmered there too. Hesitation? Fear?

  “This doesn’t make me happy, you know.” She edged closer to him, one hand on his muscular thigh. Silly Mark. Did he think positioning that knee between them would stop her? She took her index and middle fingers and walked short little finger-steps up his inseam. “A year is a very long time.”