Kept (2 page)

Klutzy closed his eyes, his head lolling back a bit.

“Why not.” Mark held out a hand for paper and pen, the gesture friendly but irritation clear in his voice. “Then we have to go.”

As Garrett searched his pockets, he looked at Miska as if seeing her for the first time. “Oh. Right. Didn’t mean to hold you up. Or knock you down.” He grinned and elbowed his brother.

Miska mashed her lips together.

“Dude, I don’t have any paper. And none in the condo. We’re moving in. Guess it’ll have to be next time. You have a place here, I take it?”

Klutzy glanced her way as if he knew all about them.

But how could he? “Mark’s just visiting. Actually, we’ve got to run. We’re meeting someone.”

Garrett nodded. “Of course. It was nice meeting you, Mark and…”

Mark grabbed her elbow, sending the men a clipped nod. “Let’s go.”

“No name?” Garrett turned to his silent brother as they passed. “Did I hear that right?”

Mark mumbled beneath his breath.

They walked down the hallway and turned the corner into the floor’s lobby where the elevator doors waited. Mark pressed the call button and stepped back, his face and neck flushed. He adjusted the hat again and glued his gaze to the floor.

“You okay?” she asked. “Did that guy hurt you?”

He let a huge rush of air escape, shoulders slumping. “I’m fine.”

Really? The way he kept staring at the floor? She slipped an arm around his waist just as the Foster brothers walked around the corner.

Mark pushed her arm down.

Garrett flashed her a smile she wasn’t even beginning to buy. “Off to bring up more boxes. Dillan says you’re our neighbor.” He stuck out his hand. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Miska Tomlinson.” She shook his hand, feeling Mark seethe beside her. Easy for him to be rude. He didn’t have to live next door to these guys. “Nice to meet you both.”

A ding announced the arrival of an elevator.

As the doors opened, Mark held her back. “I think I left my phone at your place.” He glanced at the brothers as he pulled her toward the hallway. “Have a nice day.”

“Same to you, man,” Garrett called to their backs. “See you later.”

Miska followed Mark down the hall. What was he doing? Just regrouping? Or…

At her door, he fumbled with his keys. She gave him a moment before pulling out her keys and unlocking the door. Their first time in public, and they hadn’t even made it to the street.

Mark shoved his way inside.

She followed and eased the heavy door closed, leaning against it while he emptied his pockets, phone included, onto the island. He dropped his bag by the barstools and walked past her dining room table and white leather couch until the wall of windows stopped him. He stood there, hands on hips, staring toward the lake.

So. No breakfast date. No taking that first step in front of the world. Her jaw clenched. If only they hadn’t run into those men.

In the kitchen she opened the refrigerator and grabbed eggs and milk. She could still make pancakes, still finish their days together on a good note. But next time he was in town, she’d make really bad French toast and they’d—

His phone buzzed.

Out of habit, Miska glanced at it.
Darcie
flashed across the screen.

The name numbed her brain, freezing her where she stood.

Again the phone buzzed.

Miska couldn’t move, couldn’t take her eyes off it, even though Mark’s footsteps approached. He snagged the phone and walked away before answering. “Hey, babe.” He entered her bedroom.

Hey, babe
.

The door banged shut.

Silence swarmed her.

Somehow she managed to swallow. The motion freed her body but not her mind. She set the milk down and opened the egg carton. Scrambled eggs sounded good. Or maybe sunny-side up. She cracked an egg against the counter, then threw the whole thing into the sink.

Mark could get his own breakfast.

She eyed her door. What were they talking about?

Wiping her hands on a dishtowel, she tiptoed toward the bedroom. She really shouldn’t listen. But she was already there, waiting for her pounding heart to quiet, ears straining.

“Aw, babe. I’m sorry.”

Amazing how he sounded sorry and loving, as if whatever Darcie was going through was his pain too. But she knew what he thought of Darcie. He’d told her.

He sighed. “I know, I know. We’ll keep trying, okay?”

Keep trying?

“Darcie, hon, it’s not your fault. It’s just one of those things…”

Oh. Her throat tightened. So he was lying to her
and
Darcie.

“Look, I don’t blame you.”

She needed breakfast. Eggs. Pancakes. She marched back to the island. Hash browns and bacon. Maybe she’d hunt down that diner herself. See what kind of company hung out there. She passed his duffel bag and kicked it.

Kicked it again.

She rested her elbows on the island and buried her face in her hands. Maybe she should call Darcie and tell her how her husband had hit on her last spring. How he’d pretended to be single long enough for her to lose her heart to him. If only she knew how Darcie would react—and whether or not Mark would return.

He had to return. No, he had to leave Darcie. She couldn’t live like this forever. He had to make a choice. It was long past time for that.

Her door clacked open, and Mark’s footsteps sounded.

Miska pulled herself up, wiped her cheeks just in case. She faced him, fighting the tension in her jaw. “How’s Darcie?”

He studied his phone. “She’s fine.”

“Not pregnant again, huh?”

He met her eyes.

“But you’ll keep trying, right? That’s good.”

“Miska—”

She smacked the granite. “It’s been a year, Mark. A year of you waffling on whether you’re going to commit to me or not. To your wife or not. You need to decide.”

He pulled the cap off and eyed it, mouth tight. “Is this an ultimatum?”

“No.” Of course he loved her. He would choose her over Darcie once he thought it through. “Nothing’s keeping you with Darcie except your wedding band. If she were your girlfriend, you’d have been done with her as soon as you found out she’d cheated.”

He said nothing, just watched her.

He would choose her, wouldn’t he? He and Darcie—he’d said they were done. “Mark, we can’t even go outside these four walls without you freaking out over being seen together. How do you expect—”

“Maybe you need to choose. Either take me like this or don’t take me at all.”

She shook her head, her voice locked in her throat. He couldn’t mean it. “You said—” She pressed her fingers against her mouth. “When I found out about Darcie, you said the marriage was dead already. That you’d give it a few months.”

But twelve months wasn’t a few. What an idiot she was to let it drag on this long.

She turned her back to him. Did he really expect her to keep waiting? For what? To see if his wife got pregnant? What kind of disgusting relationship was this?

Mark’s hands settled on her shoulders.

Miska flinched, but he said nothing, did nothing. She swallowed, the weight of his hands increasing. What kind of a woman was she? She hugged herself, her hands sliding up to her shoulders and knocking his fingers away. He turned her, and she folded into herself, nose tucked into the crook of her elbow.

“Miska. Baby.”

A tear slipped free and vanished down her arm. She squeezed her eyes shut. This wasn’t what she’d planned to be—or do. This was
not
who she was.

Mark tugged her arms free and pulled her close.

She pressed her face against the soft cotton T-shirt and took him in—his faint cologne, his broad chest, the feel of his arms tight around her. Was she strong enough to risk losing him? Could she survive without him?

His cheek rested on top of her head, and he toyed with the ends of her curls. “Miska, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Then stay.”

“I need more time. I promise. Just a few more months.”

She pulled back enough to see his eyes. “When?”

“A few—”

“
When
, Mark?”

“Will you trust me?”

“Haven’t I?” Even after he’d lied? “Give me an end date. July? August? When?”

He searched her face, eyes softening. His mouth worked, and finally he spoke. “The end of August. By then…” He shook his head.

Four months of waiting and wondering. So many days home with Darcie. So few here with her. But she’d take it. “I’ll wait through August. And not a day more.”

Mark nodded, releasing her.

She took a step back, arms wrapped around her middle. He adjusted his hat and tucked his phone, wallet, and keys into his pockets.

So he was still leaving early.

He picked up his duffel bag and settled the strap onto his shoulder. He pushed the bag behind his back, then stood beside the island and fingered the counter’s edge.

When he looked up, his smile was heartbreakingly tender. “You know if I could do things over…”

He’d have married her. That’s what he’d said when she’d confronted him about the wife he’d failed to mention. His words had melted her. She’d known he’d choose her soon.

But he hadn’t.

If she could go back to that day, she’d throw him out of her condo before her heart was too far gone to think straight, before he kept her a prisoner in this messed-up relationship.

But it was too late. She was vested in Mark, in the beauty he brought her each time his team came to Chicago. There had never been anyone like him before, and there could never be anyone like him again.

As she walked him to the door and whispered good-bye, she vowed to do everything in her power to make Mark choose her. Everything.

Darcie’d had her chance.

Now it was Miska’s turn.

Dillan Foster pressed the lobby button as the elevator doors closed on his view of the baseball player and woman retracing their steps.

Behind him, Garrett’s head thumped against the elevator’s paneled interior. His brother chuckled. “Wow, that was fun.”

Dillan shot him a look. “If by fun, you mean awkward.”

“Come on, dude. It’s not every day you find your neighbor’s messing around with a pro athlete. He wasn’t happy about being seen here, was he?”

“Can you blame him?”

“I don’t know—she’s pretty hot. I wouldn’t complain.”

Typical Garrett. “You remember you’re engaged, right?”

“Uh, yeah. But the eyes still work, you know?”

Yes, he knew. And Garrett was right. The woman was hot. Stunning. Long black curls, silky skin, the perfect shape— Dillan glanced at his brother.

Garrett grinned back. “Good to see your eyes still work. I wonder sometimes.”

“He’s married—and not to her.”

“How do you know?”

“Remember last spring when he threw that perfect game? Remember his wife was there afterward and you said she looked just like Tracy?”

“Oh, right.” Garrett straightened. “She was something. That guy knows how to pick ’em.”

The doors dinged open.

Dillan grunted and walked out.

The last pile of boxes sat at the end of six bronzed Art Deco elevators. Tracy, Garrett’s fiancée, leaned against the wall, safeguarding boxes while she messed with her phone.

Garrett spread his arms. “Tracy, my love.”

She smiled and looked up.

Garrett wrapped her in his arms.

At least Garrett had picked his fiancée right. A guy couldn’t do much better—unless a quieter version was out there.

Dillan ran a hand over his hair. For the next five months he’d get an up-close view of their relationship. Garrett’s suggestion that Dillan move in with him until the wedding, rent-free, had seemed perfect at the time. He could handle anything for five months, right? And by the time he moved out and Tracy moved in, he’d have enough to buy a fixer-upper of his own. How bad could it be? He picked up his boxes of books and called an elevator. Today he had a really sick feeling he’d find out.

“One last trip up, some unpacking, and we can eat.” Garrett filled Tracy’s arms and then his own with boxes. “Or maybe we can knock over the celebrity couple again. What do you think, Dill?”

“What couple?” Tracy flashed him a grin. “Do we have famous neighbors?”

An elevator opened. Dillan stepped inside and elbowed number eighteen. “Just a ballplayer having a fling with our neighbor.”

“Oh.” Tracy’s face fell. “Poor girl. I can’t imagine how she must feel.”

Poor girl—right. “Her name’s Miska.” He focused on the elevator’s buttons. Why had he volunteered that?

“Miska? That’s different. But pretty. What’s she like?”

Different. Pretty. He replayed their meeting. The woman’s soft hand in his, her big dark eyes with all that makeup women wore. Her hair falling around her shoulders, toned arms bare beside the snug, white shirt—

“Dillan?”

He could see how Scheider could get lost in a woman like her, a woman so opposite the blonde beauty at home. But he couldn’t remember anything past how she looked. Had she been angry they’d been caught? Ashamed?

Did she even care?

As the elevator slowed, he banished the mental picture. “Didn’t have time to tell.”

“Well, I can’t wait to meet her. Maybe you guys are next door to her for a reason. Wouldn’t that be something?”

Garrett followed her off the elevator, shaking his head.

For once Dillan agreed with him. She was just a neighbor—a neighbor he’d never see again five months from now and probably wouldn’t see much in between. What reason could there be for living next door to her? Because clearly she was a temptress, a woman who made men lose their minds and souls. Mark Scheider had to know all about that.

Inside the condo, Garrett and Tracy carried their boxes to the living room while Dillan entered the smallest bedroom by the front door, the room that would be his office until the church addition was finished. Next time he moved his not-so-small library, he’d get a dolly. He lowered the boxes and let them go inches above the ground.

They caught his big toe.

The instant he closed his eyes against the pain, the exotic beauty of the woman next door filled his vision. He jerked his foot from beneath the boxes and grabbed his toes with one hand while he leaned against the wall with the other. Great. Too late. She was already in his mind.