Christmas in Whitehorn (12 page)

A familiar heat filled her. She reached for him, running her fingers up and down his back. As her desire grew, she became more insistent, pressing on the small of his back, urging him closer.

Finally he entered her. Slowly … so slowly … making her call out for him to hurry, then catching her breath when he finally found his way home. Once there, he began to move more quickly. His thrusts became frantic. He supported himself on his hands and gazed into her eyes.

She felt herself readying for another climax. With him looking at her so intently, she felt exposed. Yet she couldn't seem to close her eyes. Even as the first spasms swept through her, she stared into his soul. Perhaps this act would heal him.

He stiffened. His expression tightened. Still he didn't look away. They climaxed together, still staring at each other. The act of intimacy somehow became more of a connection than she'd experienced before. When Mark finally sank down on the bed and pulled her close, Darcy felt shaken.

Something had fundamentally changed between them. She didn't understand what, but the possibilities frightened her. Wanting to heal him was one thing – she was good at doing that. But engaging her heart was quite another. Not only did she sense that Mark wasn't a man looking for a relationship, there was still the issue of the secrets of her past.

"Thank you," he breathed against her hair.

"You're welcome."

They held each other in silence. Finally he kissed her mouth.

"Are you going to ask me about today?"

She knew he wasn't talking about the fact that they'd made love. Instead he meant the suicide of someone he had known.

"Do you think talking will help you?"

"No, but you have the right to get some answers."
Rights given to her by virtue of them both being naked.
Darcy sighed. Those kinds of rights were often complicated.

"Was he a close friend?"

Mark stiffened. In that second, Darcy knew she'd asked the wrong questions. She instantly felt stupid and used. The suicide hadn't been by a male friend. No, a woman had died.
Someone significant to Mark.

"Never mind," she said quickly.

He winced. "Darcy, I'm sorry. I thought I'd said 'she.' I wasn't trying to keep that from you."

Every cell in her body screamed at her to cover herself and run. But that would mean letting him know that he'd hurt her, and for some reason she wasn't willing to expose herself that way.

"I know you weren't trying to be sly. It doesn't matter."

She sat up and gave him a big smile. What she wanted to do instead was cry, but she was determined to keep her emotions to herself.

"On second thought, questions are probably a mistake," she said with a brightness she didn't feel. "We're friends. That's what matters. I want to be here for you." Al- though maybe next time it would be better if the "here" didn't include her bed.

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

Not "she didn't matter."
Darcy told herself she was overreacting. It wasn't reasonable to expect Mark to have not had a life before meeting her.
Which made logical sense but didn't explain the tears burning in her eyes.
She couldn't justify the tears … or maybe she could. Maybe they came from the unexpected heaviness in her heart.

*

"Morning," Mark said as he slid into his usual booth at the Hip Hop.

Darcy poured him a cup of coffee. It was Wednesday and the café was just starting to empty out.

"Someone is late," she teased, the light tone a part of her plan to act completely normal.

"I overslept."

She studied the dark circles under his green eyes. "Looks like you didn't sleep at all."

"I did great from about five until seven this morning."

She thought about asking what was wrong, but she had a feeling she knew.
His lady friend.
That's how she'd come to think of the woman who had killed herself over the weekend.

At first Darcy had tried to convince herself they were just friends, but Mark's reaction had been all wrong for that. He'd come to her house because he'd needed close, physical contact.
The loss of a friend re-
quired
a hug.
The loss of a lover needed much more.

Darcy told herself it wasn't her business. Mark's past was his problem. It's not as if she expected him to have been a virgin the first time they'd done it. When he'd come calling on Sunday she could have told him no. But she hadn't. She'd wanted to take away his pain – if only for the moment – and making love had been the only thing she could think of to do. The thing was
,
she wasn't sure she would have reacted the same way if she'd known the person in question had been a woman.

She didn't think Mark had kept the information from her deliberately, but the knowledge had changed everything. Unfortunately, their shift in relationship had left her unsure of what was going to happen next. He studied her carefully. "You don't look like you've been sleeping much, either. Any of that have something to do with me?"

"No. I'm fine," she told him, hating that his concern made her go all gooey inside.

"Really?"

"I swear."

He didn't bother picking up the menu she'd placed in front of him. "Then I'll have the usual."

"I don't think so."

He nearly smiled. "We've had this discussion before and I always win."

"Not this time. I'm tired of you trying to eat yourself into an early grave. One day this week you're going to have oatmeal for breakfast. I don't care what day and I especially don't care if you try to refuse.
It's
gonna happen. Now we can do this the easy way or the hard way. It's up to you."

She expected an argument, but Mark surprised her by leaning back in the booth and agreeing.

"Why not?" he asked.
"I might as well get it over with, so I'll have oatmeal today."

She was shocked enough not to do much more than blink at him for a full minute.

"Darcy?" He waved his hand in front of her face.
"Earth to Darcy."

"Does this mean you're going to have a salad for lunch instead of a burger?"

"Don't push it."

"A girl can dream."

She regretted the choice of words as soon as they passed her lips. Rather than try to explain she hadn't meant anything by them, she gave him a quick smile and disappeared toward the kitchen to write up his order.

Five minutes later she was back with a bowl of oatmeal, a small pitcher of two percent milk, brown sugar and raisins.

He gazed at his meal as if she'd offered him stir-fried bugs. "Does it have to be so gray?"

"It's not gray, it's kind of ecru."

"And that's more appealing how?"

His words were light, but she could still see the lingering pain in his eyes.

"
You
all right, Mark?" she asked, turning the tables and studying him.

"Sure.
Fine."
He glanced at her. "Okay, how about I'm putting it in perspective."

"That one I'll accept. I've been worried about you."

He raised one eyebrow. "Do you always try to save the world?"

"Not the world, just a few bits of it."

"How'd I get to be so lucky as to have you around just when I needed you?"

She studied him to see if he was being sarcastic, but she didn't think he was taunting her.

"We're friends," she said. "As for my desire to do the right thing – I have twenty years of being useless to make up for."

"You're wrong, Darcy. You were a kid for most of those twenty years. Your only re-
sponsibility
was to grow up and I'd say you did a fine job of that."

His compliment pleased her. She excused herself to check on her other customers and tried not to think about Mark while she worked.

She knew she was attracted to the man. She didn't want it to be that way, but it was too late now not to notice him.
Harder to ignore were the danger signs flashing in her brain.
He was dangerous to her – she knew it with every fiber of her being. They hadn't made love since Sunday and not an hour went by that she didn't think about what they'd done and wish they were doing it again. Worse, she found herself missing him when they weren't together, which was most of the time.

"Don't do this to
yourself
," she murmured quietly as she cleared tables and pocketed the tips. "Don't get involved."

Unfortunately, she wasn't listening.

"How was it?" she asked when she re- turned to Mark's table.

He pointed at the near-empty bowl. "I didn't gag, but I don't want it every day."

"Studies show that—"

He winced. "Spare me, please."

"Okay.
Just this once.
By the way there's going to be a great chicken-vegetable salad on the menu for lunch."

He ignored her comment. "There's a craft fair on Saturday. I thought you might like to go."

Her stomach turned over. Was he asking her as a friend or as something more? They had not redefined their relationship since last Sunday and she was afraid to bring it up now … mostly because she wasn't sure what she wanted his answer to be.

"I wouldn't have thought you were the craft-fair type," she said. "Won't all those knickknacks and homemade goodies give you hives?"

"I thought you'd have fun."

His green eyes were so beautiful, she thought suddenly. She could very happily drown in them.
Which only showed she was losing her mind.

"I can't," she said regretfully. "I already have plans."

"Anyone I know?"

It was a casual enough question. She searched for an edge to his voice – maybe a hint of jealousy. She didn't find any.

"Nope.
Just some stuff I need to do." Actually, she was going to visit Dirk and hear all about his trip, but Mark didn't need to know that.
At least not yet.
At some point in time she was going to have to tell him the truth. Tell him and watch him walk out the door.

"Maybe next time," he said, putting several bills on the table.

"I'd like that."

As he left, she wondered how much longer they would have as friends or whatever it was that explained their relationship.
And how much she would miss him when he was gone.

*

Mark drove slowly through town searching for a beat-up dark green import. There wasn't a single one in sight. Whatever Darcy's plans had been for the day, they'd taken her out of
town.

He circled through the main section of
Whitehorn
again, but couldn't spot anyone who looked the least bit like his blond neighbor.

He turned around and headed for home. As he drove, he told himself it didn't matter that she'd had other plans for the day. He hadn't really wanted to see her. Or had he? What exactly had happened between them the previous Sunday when he'd found out about Sylvia's suicide?

It hadn't just been sex. He wanted the intimacy between them to have had no meaning, but he didn't believe that was true. Something about Darcy healed his soul the same way the doctors had healed his body. He found himself thinking about her at odd times during the day and wanting to be with her again. In his bed, her bed, the shower, he didn't much care as long as they were both naked.

Worse, he felt badly for hurting her. He should never have involved her in the horror of his past. Darcy deserved better than that.

Was he entering into dangerous territory? He knew better than to care about anyone. More important, he knew better than to trust again. Darcy had her secrets. Her absence today proved that. Telling himself her life wasn't any of his business didn't change the fact that he still wanted to know where the hell she'd gone.

Chapter Eight

S
unday afternoon Mark settled in front of his desk, determined to catch up on paperwork. He wasn't going to think about anything but the cases he'd cleared and what he was going to do to finish up the forms required
to send
everything to wherever it belonged. He wasn't going to spend a single second thinking about Darcy.

So what if she hadn't showed up for his weekly basketball game? He hadn't invited her. They didn't have an understanding. They weren't even dating. They were friends – friends and sometime lovers. That kind of relationship didn't require an explanation of one's time.
Even when she hadn't arrived home until
10:05
the previous evening.

He opened the top file on his desk and reached for his computer keyboard. As he entered the necessary information, Darcy slowly faded from his mind until he was able to fully concentrate on his work. Two hours later, he'd cleared three cases and was working on a fourth when he heard footsteps in the empty office. He looked up and saw Sheriff Rafe Rawlings walking toward him. They were about the same age. Tall with dark hair, Rafe was well respected in town. Mark leaned back in his chair. "What are you doing here? Someone try to rob a bank on a Sunday?"