Strip Search (37 page)

"We'll start easy," she assured. "How about your birthday?"

"October twenty-sixth. Yours?" He turned to face her.

"February third. Don't change the subject," she chastised. "We're talking about you."

Then she reached for his hand. This time, he didn't fight her; he let her touch him and wrapped his fingers around her in a death grip in return.

"Any siblings besides Kerry?"

He shook his head.

"Do you like her husband?"

"After a rocky start, yeah. He finally won me over when he married her. Before that ... Hard to like a guy who's broken your baby sister's heart."

"True. So how did Kerry meet her husband?"

A grin eased the tension of his face. It was so sudden, the expression took Nicki by surprise.

"She kidnapped him."

Kidnapped?! "What? That's how they met?"

Mark nodded. "Rafe is an electronic security expert, with a background in hacking. I'd been accused of electronic embezzlement at the bank I worked for, and Kerry knew the charge was crap. Before my trial started, she tried to call Rafe and get him to help me. When he refused ... she took matters into her own hands."

That blew the sweet schoolteacher image Nicki had of Mark's sister all to hell.

"So Rafe figured out that a coworker framed you?"

The smile slid from his face. "More or less."

"Which is it? More? Or Less?"

He sighed. "More. My coworker knew that Kerry was working to uncover the truth and tried to kill her. Thanks to Rafe, the police were there to save the day and overhear the confession."

"Wow, what a story!" She squeezed his hand. "Thanks for telling me."

"You're welcome." His strained voice suggested otherwise. The tense line of his shoulders had returned. "What else do you want to know?"

"You told me once that both your parents are gone. Are you up to telling me how your parents died?"

"Can we sit?"

Without waiting for an answer, Mark crossed the room to the lone, battered couch in his apartment. Nicki followed.

He sat, then looked across the scant inches separating them with sad eyes in a wary face. "My dad died in a car accident shortly after I turned six. I don't remember much about him, except that he was a tall man and he smiled a lot." He paused. Sighed. Struggled with the words. "My mom was shot and died in a convenience store robbery three days before my fifteenth birthday."

Nicki gasped and leaned over to wrap her arms around his neck. He didn't reciprocate, but he buried his face in her neck and eased his body against hers. It was enough of a sign for now.

"Oh, that's terrible. I'm so sorry, Mark. I can't even imagine how awful that was." She stroked the golden silk of his shoulder-length hair.

"It was," he whispered in her ear before he backed away enough to look into her eyes. "What about your mom?"

"Living in London. I haven't seen her in probably four years. She calls on Christmas day and on my birthday, most of the time complaining about the latest man to rip out her heart." Nicki couldn't help but wonder if trying to open Mark to her wasn't a lost cause and if she would follow in her mother's footsteps.

Not a comforting thought.

"Don't change the subject," she chastised again.

"But I'm good at it." He wrapped a hand around her nape, a smile tugging at the comer of his mouth.

"So I've noticed."

The smile slid into a serious line. "You ought to make up with your mom. You never know when something might happen."

Nicki nodded. He was probably right. She'd thought the same thing a time or two. In truth, her mother had coped as well as she knew how with her life. Being treated like a commodity in her profession had clearly affected her thinking in relationships. She was forever looking for signs of being important to everyone. It couldn't have been easy to be a model and have a baby out of wedlock, especially when the man came from a traditional Italian family and married a good Italian virgin shortly after she'd birthed his child. Mom had always been bitter about that. She'd never gotten over Nicholas DiStefano.

In the past, Nicki had never had much empathy for her mom's behavior. Now that she was pretty sure Mark was going to break her heart and getting over him seemed as likely as her becoming a gourmet chef tomorrow, she understood much more.

"I'll think about it," she whispered. "But we're talking about you."

"Damn, you're like a bulldog with Dracula's teeth. I just can't keep you from sucking all the blood out of this topic."

"I've barely scratched your skin." She sent him a give-me-a-break stare.

Mark sighed. "All right. What else?"

"What made you pick accounting?"

"I'm good with numbers. I like solving puzzles." He shrugged. "It seemed to go together for me. Besides, it was the business-related major that got me out of school the fastest."

"That's fair. I'd be all for getting out of school fast. What's your dream job?"

A thoughtful expression furrowed his brow. "Hmm. I'd have to say being your personal sex slave."

She rolled her eyes. "Seriously."

"Who says I'm not serious?"

Nicki swatted his arm. "One that doesn't have anything to do with sex."

"Well, if you want the dull answer ... I think someday I'd like to be self-employed. Keep people's books. Do their taxes. Maybe some financial planning."

"You'd be good at it."

Sunlight slanting through Mark's apartment window and highlighting the golden strands that brushed his shoulders made her remember something Mark had told her long ago. "You want to talk about your bout with cancer?"

He drew in a deep breath. "Not a lot."

"Will you talk to me about it at all?"

He tried to shrug it off. "I never used sunscreen as a kid and it caught up to me just before I turned twenty-one, when the doctor told me the growth on the back of my neck was stage two melanoma."

"You must have been shocked."

"And then some."

"I can only imagine that diagnosis felt like a punch to the stomach. What was your treatment like?"

"Uncomfortable. Shitty." He sighed and turned to rest his elbows on his knees. "I had surgery to remove the tumor and nearby lymph nodes, followed by the chemo and all kinds of other crap. It took a good three years, but I beat it."

"I'm not surprised." She sent a gentle smile his way. "I've always known you're brave and strong."

A flush crept up his face as he turned to her again. "No, just too stubborn to give up."

Nicki laughed. "I believe that, too. You told me once that you wore your hair long so no one would see your scars. Would you show me?"

Immediately, he tensed. "Why?"

"Since I wasn't there, I'd like to understand what you went through. Will you share them with me?"

"They're not pretty."

That sounded like an excuse to Nicki's ears. "Hey, I'm not too happy with the shape of my thighs, but that hasn't seemed to bother you yet."

"You have great legs," he assured her, anchoring a hot, heavy palm on her knee--and inching upward.

The warmth of his touch seeped into her. It would be easy--so easy--to let go of difficult topics and let him deep inside her body again, deeper inside her heart.

But it would only give him more opportunity to hide-and hurt her.

She splayed her hand over his and clamped down. "You're trying to distract me again."

Mark merely shrugged, not even having the good grace to look sheepish. But he didn't move his hand.

"Look if you don't want to show me ..."

Nicki knew she should say she was fine with it. He hid his scars from the world because he didn't want to show everybody. But she wasn't everybody. She loved him. And somewhere deep down, she was pretty sure he loved her, even if admitting it gave him a Ripley's-sized case of the hives.

Then again, his not sharing this only told her what she needed to know: He wasn't ready to share anything--a life, a love, a future.

"If you don't want to show me, I'll understand," she finally whispered.

He said nothing. Absolutely nothing. He stared--didn't even blink.

Nicki bit the inside of her lip so hard she nearly drew blood. His silent refusal shouldn't hurt. It certainly didn't surprise her. The only thing that did was how crushing her disappointment was.

Crying in his face wasn't an option. If he wasn't ready for more between them, no amount of crying would change that. And she might have lost her heart, but she could at least hang on to her pride.

"Look, I should go. I have paperwork..." She stood.

Mark latched on to her wrist. "Don't."

With a deep sigh, he eased her back down to the sofa. He turned away and gathered his hair in his hands.

Hope flared bright in her. Maybe he would share. Maybe he was ready for more.

His hands covered the back of his neck. And then ... he hesitated.

The hope that in her belly flickered and began to die.

"This is harder than I thought," he admitted. "No one but Kerry has ever seen them."

Not even Tiffany?
She wanted to ask him that. Now wasn't the time.

"What's the worst that can happen?" she asked.

That made him pause. "I don't know. Nothing. I'm not afraid of you running and screaming. I guess ... I'm afraid of letting you in my life."

"I would never hurt you."

Nicki waited, tension coiling in her belly. The ball was in his court; she couldn't answer the volley for him.

"I believe you'd never mean to."

Before Nicki could ask what he meant by that cryptic statement, he turned to face her again. Mark took her face in his hands and stared deep down into her eyes. He frowned, the furrow between his brows conveying regret, torment. His endless hazel eyes looked glossy with unshed tears and rife with pain.

Suddenly, he covered his mouth with hers. Not harshly. He made no attempt to overpower her. Instead, he gripped her tightly against him, tasting of sweet desperation.

Nicki's heart wilted even as it answered his needy call. He wasn't ready for her, for them to be an "us." A year wasn't a very long time to recover from a divorce. Even as she understood, she mourned.

But she couldn't let go of him just yet.

"Stay with me tonight," he whispered against her mouth, eyes silently imploring.

It was reckless, crazy, sending her straight into heart-break. Yet she needed him now, for closure, to say good-bye.

"Yes," she whispered.

Mark stood and lifted her, supporting her shoulders under one arm, tucking the other under the crooks of her knees, as he carried her to his bedroom like a man carries his bride. And he kissed her. Despite being long and eloquent, his kiss didn't offer the promise of tomorrow. Nor did it ravish. Instead, his lips offered an apology wrapped in tender seduction as he brought her over the threshold to their last consummation.

Soon, Nicki found Mark's bed at her back, the rumpled white sheets soft and comforting as he set her down and closed the blinds to the sinking afternoon sun. He approached the bed again, peeling off his shirt to reveal the body that had first attracted her to him. But now he was so much more.

He was her heart.

Nicki felt her throat close with emotion at the stark look of longing and tangled regret in his features. He wanted her--more than sexually. But his heart, which had endured a beating at Tiffany's hands, wasn't willing to risk, would not let himself be a part of them.

Thinking about that now was only going to make her cry. And there would be plenty of time for that later... after he had gone. Instead, she tried to focus on his slow saunter to the bed.

"You know I want you, Nicki." He lowered himself to his hands and knees, hovering over her, hazel stare penetrating. "I've never wanted any woman the way I want you."

Yes, he wanted her... just not enough.

She held tears at bay as he molded his lips to hers. The soft kiss caressed and worshipped. A sigh, a gentle brush of his mouth over hers, and Nicki opened under him, inviting him into her mouth. Slowly, he sank down into the kiss, laving her lower lip in sober acceptance.

Like honey, like ambrosia, the sweet flavor of his kiss lured her. He'd never been so tender, cajoling with his mood and his mouth. She wanted to stay here forever, lock her arms around him, filter her fingers through his silken hair, and convince him of her love, of their rightness together.

Even as a distant part of her mind screamed at the futility of her desire, she looped her arms around his neck, parted her thighs so he could sink between them, and poured her heart into the kiss.

With a desolate moan, he swirled his tongue around hers, stroking the inside of her mouth, building her need.

His trembling hands smoothed back the hair from her face as he adored her with another silken kiss. Gentle fingers skated down her shoulders, leaving a trail of tingles in his wake.

Then he rolled to his back, bringing her above him, without disturbing the inescapable connection of their mouths. His hands skimmed her back, grazing her skin in the lightest caress. Nicki moaned, arched. He encouraged her with a more soulful kiss. And he plucked at the ribbons holding up her dress--the first at her neck, the second across her back--beckoning her to succumb to his tenderness.

His touch down the line of her spine was like a secret whisper. Nicki answered by pushing the straps of her dress down her arms.

Mark sat her up so she straddled his hips. Their gazes connected. Soft yet conflicted, alive but so hopeless, his stare drew her in even as his smooth fingers drew her white dress down her body. Slowly, he revealed her breasts as he eased the garment down to pool about her waist. Then he cupped her breasts in reverent hands, brushing their tips with his thumbs. Pleasure swirled with her love and sorrow, thick and inexorable.