Waiting For A Girl Like You Part 7

The two people on the screen made a photogenic power couple. Yet, Lacey seemed brittle and not nearly as happy as she was in the picture where Mark kissed her ear. I'd never been in love but the emptiness in Mark's kitchen was palpable. He'd wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. I couldn't wrap my arms around that kind of commitment...to choose one person for a lifetime. It was all I could do to get from one month to the next.

Had living my life in increments stunted me?

Maybe for all my courage, I'd never been fearless when it came to love, never gave the emotion the time it deserved.

Signora Lacey Arcuri appeared to have moved on. The man beside her would set Jill aflutter. He was one hundred percent tall, dark, and handsome. The caption under the picture announced Lorenzo Arcuri as head of an Italian venture capital firm which invested heavily in software, semiconductors, and healthcare technology. He was taller and broader in the shoulders than Mark, his black hair slicked back from a face strongly Roman. This man was ready to conquer worlds, but if Mark leaned toward contempt, Signor Arcuri leaned toward cruel. His mouth verged on sneering.

Could he read women with the same consummate skill as Mark? I doubted it. He was too busy squas.h.i.+ng people with his polished designer shoes.

Great s.e.x with a hot man was one thing. A man understanding a woman? Pure gold.

"Okay. So she went for the millionaire."

Mark closed his laptop with a quiet click. "Her leaving me wasn't about money. It was about s.e.x."

My jaw dropped. I tried to process what he said but my brain short-circuited. Mark chuckled, the sound humble and endearing. Silence flowed between us more potent than words. I'd swear the tender light in Mark's eyes was him giving me the beautiful, broken pieces of his heart.

"You've got plum sauce here," he said gruffly, his thumb brus.h.i.+ng the corner of my mouth. Mark wiped his thumb on my napkin and proceeded to fold and refold the paper into a small square on the counter.

"You know, we only had one night together, but I'm pretty sure you're the Michelangelo of s.e.x."

Mark ducked his head, scrubbing his nape, laughing his low s.e.xy laugh, getting my girl parts going.

I leaned in and touched his knee. "And let's face it. No man wears jeans like you do."

His blue eyes glimmered, creasing at the outer corners. Smiling back, I meant what I'd said. Words sprang from me the way they usually do, but his beaming face reinforced an inevitable truth. Even hot guys needed sincere strokes, maybe more so for Mark since his ego took a beating when his fiancee left him for another man. Over s.e.x of all things.

Greedy for details, I wanted him to spill details. Something. Anything. He'd dropped a bomb, but we were the same as last night, when Mark was Surfer Man not giving a conversational inch.

"Intimacy is so much more than s.e.x," I said, trying to fill the void. "And s.e.x is much more than the mechanics."

That was bad. How awkward could I be? Mark braced an elbow on the counter, his pointed look saying, you're going to lecture me on s.e.x?

Cheeks heating up, I flopped back in my seat, a giggle easing from me. "Okay. That was...dumb. But you have to admit there's a lot more to intimacy, a meeting of the minds that transcends s.e.x."

"Like Abelard and Heloise."

"You know about them?"

Mark laughed -this time full laughter- at my shock. "Yeah. I do."

His smile curved white across his dark whiskered face. Wet tips of hair brushed his surf G.o.d shoulders. I rubbed both palms over my thighs to stop from caressing him. A brief touch to his knee was one thing, randomly stroking his bare chest was another. He wasn't mine to boldly touch, but my antsy hands didn't get the message.

Was it possible we headed toward something bigger?

"It's their love for each other," I said, my heart thudding. "The pa.s.sion and denial, the meeting of their minds..."

"I know," he said slowly. "They had a good thing going."

Like us.

Our gazes linked and Mark sucked in a deep breath. Conversation with him affected me as powerfully as skin to skin contact. The bond. The layers of awareness. Being with Mark changed me, and it was a safe bet he felt the same about me. Still, I couldn't bring myself to say dangerous two letter words like we or us.

He averted his eyes and picked up a half-eaten spring roll off my plate. "When you have a good thing going with someone, it's like this spring roll."

"A spring roll." Now it was my turn to laugh. When I did, my knee wedged between his legs and stayed there.

His smile wooed me. "Stay with me."

"Oh, believe me, I am. I'm here as long as you want me."

His eyes widened on my blatant offer. Mark was the professor of good food and great s.e.x, and I was his willing student. I couldn't remember the last time I enjoyed just being with a man. My laughter fading, I'd done it again -I put myself out there with another off the cuff remark.

Was it too much saying I'd stay as long as he wanted me? Or too desperate? I could put my big girl pants on and admit I was out of my depth with the experienced Mark Green.

"I, I meant I'm following your point. With the spring roll." I paused before adding lamely, "Not that I'd stay a long time at your house or anything." Exasperated, I blew my messy bangs off my forehead. "Feel free to stop me at any time."

"No, this is good."

His pupils expanded. The gold flare around the black circle became a thin ring in rich blue. Air stuck high in my chest. You'd think my heart doubled in size. Mark soaked me up, willing me to say whatever because it made him feel good. With the house quiet, I understood why a person could believe in hearing someone's thoughts when surrounded by stillness.

I planted my elbow on the counter, mirroring him. Our arms were close, the heat palpable as it bounced off his body to mine. I nearly burst wanting to know everything about him. About his family smiling from the mantle frames. How he became a great cook. How often he surfed and why he liked it so much. Or when did he know he loved lasers and physics? And most definitely I wanted to know about his black nylon bag with dust in the creases.

Instead I settled on the safe, "You like it when I start spouting whatever, don't you?"

"I do. You tell the unvarnished truth."

His friendly, blue-eyed concentration was heady, similar to the fathomless, discerning attention he gave me at Coffee Barn today. How was it this perceptive man couldn't see his way out of his own mess?

Whatever happened between Mark and Lacey Boudreaux Arcuri, he needed to know his impact on me. He needed to know the rare man he was. Not his sensual talents. Not his looks. Him.

"Mark." My heart stuttered. "You're the best Friday night. Ever."

Skin around his eyes softened. "What am I going to do about you?"

Mark grazed his finger on my bottom lip and chin. Arousal flooded my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. We sat in those inevitable seconds before a kiss, drawn to each other by an unstoppable force. Mark leaned in, his lashes dark crescents on his cheeks. Breathing got harder. I shuddered, impatient for connection. I couldn't take it anymore. I had to touch him.

Tanned skin pebbled under my hand sliding over his heart. Chest hair like coa.r.s.e silk tickled my palm the split-second before Mark kissed me. His warmth and nearness peeled back time, suspending me. Tender. Unhurried. The gentle caress of his mouth on mine was better than a hot, carnal lip lock. I couldn't move from the power of it.

Mark sat back, his ribs expanding and contracting. He tried for a cool grin. "Do you think Abelard and Heloise kissed like that?"

I saw the single kiss for what it was -a thoughtful lover's kiss- a gift bigger and better than l.u.s.t.

"I hope they did," I whispered.

His grin spread wider as if we shared a secret. With my elbow on the counter, my head rested on my hand. I willed my heart to stop the stampede in my chest. We both needed to come back to planet Earth.

The spring roll was still in Mark's hand. I nudged my chin at it. "You never finished your spring roll theory."

His chuckle rusty, Mark s.h.i.+fted on his seat, adjusting his fly. Was he more affected by the kiss than me? Feminine wisdom cautioned me to tread with care. I was falling for him and was fairly certain he nursed affection for me.

"The spring roll theory." He held up my half eaten roll, his voice rough. "You asked if intimacy has to involve s.e.x. No. It doesn't."

Mutely I played with a b.u.t.ton on my s.h.i.+rt. Mark's eyes flared like a blue flame when he said s.e.x. We were dancing around a minefield between his past hurt, and my weak-kneed inability to admit aloud bigger things were happening. It would all come in good time, but sometimes a girl has to wave a white flag and let her body do the talking.

With one hand, I slipped the first red b.u.t.ton free.

Mark's attention locked on my hand working the next b.u.t.ton. "But if you don't have it, it's like eating the spring roll with nothing tasty inside. Crunchy on the outside is good but only because of the flavors inside."

"What do you count as the inside?" I freed another b.u.t.ton on my s.h.i.+rt.

Mark dipped the spring roll in plum sauce, his hawkish stare on my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Understanding. Friends.h.i.+p-" a smile curled the corners of his mouth "-Fearless honesty. Complete trust."

He fed me the sauce-laden spring roll, the flavors exploding in my mouth. Crunchy vegetables. A mild oil, viscous on my tongue. And the plum sauce. The food was better than any restaurant spring roll, and he'd made it for me. Swallowing my bite, I undid the last b.u.t.ton.

I licked flaky crumbs off my lips. "And the plum sauce?"

Mark gave me his panty-melting smile. "o.r.g.a.s.ms."

I squirmed on my seat. Blissful heaviness flooded skin between my legs. I was painfully aware of my jeans' seam putting pressure on the same flesh he'd told me to touch in the red lit room. Last night was straightforward because he'd paid for s.e.x. Were we dancing around it now because it was free? Because no way would I accept his check. Not now.

"The theory of life, food, and s.e.x according to Mark Green." I gathered up my dishes, needing to move. "Next you'll explain how a woman o.r.g.a.s.ms without intercourse."

"It's possible."

"No it's not," I said, setting dishes in the sink and blasting the faucet. "It's a Black Swan Event."

A Black Swan. Unpredictable. Rare but a highly impactful event. Like being tied up last night and being intimate with Mark, because it was intimacy. Not just s.e.x. Or being here with him. I'd changed in twenty-four hours even though I couldn't put my finger on exactly how. Was Daisy right about women owning their s.e.xuality? Today would be painfully different if another man had showed up last night.

This difference was Mark. I had to own that truth.

Water cascaded down my plate. I put the stopper in the sink and squeezed lemony dish soap into the water. This was mundane. So normal. Mark was talking about Black Swan Theory while clearing food off the table and bringing it into the kitchen and loading it into the fridge. Maybe we both needed a break from the sensual haze. The heavenly moments of him opening up to me and the long soft kiss had pa.s.sed, yet doing kitchen ch.o.r.es with him was happiness...the togetherness of it.

He stacked dirty platters on the counter next to the sink. I'd guessed from last night he wasn't big on talking, but when he chose to, he conversed with ease, and he preferred to discuss bigger things. No small talk. Mark pulled me in, flowing, giving, and taking. I wracked my brain for everything I remembered about Black Swan Theory as I hand washed the dishes.

"You don't have to do my dishes," he said beside me.

I set a bowl on the drying rack. "It's the least I can do. Besides, you fed me twice today."

And now I want to taste you.

His bare arm brushed mine as he reached into the soapy water and pulled the drain. "It's late. You need to get home."

The finality in his voice made my stomach drop. Mark was soft and gruff at the same time, his voice laced with regret. The clock over his bulletin board read ten twenty.

"Sending me away before midnight?"

Mark handed over a dish towel, his smile a half-hearted effort. "Yeah, I need my beauty sleep, and you put in a long day. You need your sleep too."

"But..." I held the towel close. Mark didn't need it. He'd already wiped his hands down the front of his pants.

If I was completely honest, I wanted Mark and the check. Was it too grasping to ask for total freedom and the guy? I stood on solid ground but I was sinking, and my life preserver stood within reach s.h.i.+rtless in water-splotched jeans.

I get the feminist Save yourself. Don't expect a man save you c.r.a.p. Hadn't I been fighting an uphill battle to save not one but three women? I was tired of the struggle. I wanted a man, a partner, to fight my battles with me. Not for me. I wanted that man to be Mark. Was this thing between us too new for me to say that aloud?

Mark jammed both hands in his pockets. "Keep the check. I already put it in your purse."

"What?" I glanced at my floppy leather purse.

He really was sending me away.

Cold reality was the polite, distant blue eyes staring back at me.

"You asked earlier why I came here tonight. The check was one reason. I'm not proud of it, but it's the truth." I set a steadying hand on the counter. "My bigger reason was you, Mark. You."

I don't know who moved, but I smelled the beach on his skin, the imperfect joining of land and water where the ocean salted the earth with more take than give, the undercurrent stealing grains of sand bit by bit. He was giving me the money, not himself, and it felt like getting the short end of the stick. Mark's pupils darkened. When I ran my fingers from mid-chest to his waist band, muscles knotted up like tight blocks under his skin.

"You sought me out today," I murmured. "I'm not forcing myself into your life. I want a night with you. s.e.x or no s.e.x. It doesn't matter. And I'm pretty sure you want me too."

"Abbie."

His mouth flat-lined again. I was losing him and couldn't figure out why.

"You're still the best man I've ever met." I loosened the top b.u.t.ton on his jeans. "What's the big deal about one night?"

CHAPTER TWELVE.

"Because I'm leaving tomorrow. For Australia."

Teeth grinding, I braced myself for the worst. There was no best way to tell a woman you're leaving. Wanting a woman was the last thing I expected to happen. But, this wasn't any woman. This was Abbie.

Mascara-smudged eyes rounded. "For how long?"

"A year. I have a subcla.s.s six hundred Visa." A bout of silence pa.s.sed before I explained, "I'd planned a long time ago to meet up with friends, but after what happened I applied for a longer stay."

"To do what? Surf?"

I sucked in a deep breath. "And talk to some people about a job."

Abbie put some s.p.a.ce between us. She stared at the island counter top like she was about to crumble. The hurt on her face gutted me. I'd planned to tell her about Australia when we had lunch. I was convinced that I'd chased her down to talk her out of going back to Mrs. Smith's. All my good intentions drained away the moment I saw her outside the shop window. She walked proudly in her discount store clothes with that d.a.m.n plastic nametag hanging from her neck. Her long blonde hair s.h.i.+ned, but there was no sun with all the clouds. It was Abbie. She glowed, and I wanted to bask in her light.

"I can't take your check," she said weakly, bringing me back to the present.