Christmas in Whitehorn (8 page)

She glared at him, unable to believe what he'd just said. At the same time, heat flared in her cheeks and she knew that she was blushing. The man could be really annoying … in the most charming way possible.

She turned to leave. He stopped her with a light touch on her arm.

"Why don't you bring me some pumpkin bread,
too.
I enjoyed it the last time I had some.
Even if it is made with vegetables."

She hated that he complimented her cooking, mostly because it made her go all soft and mushy inside.

"You're not playing fair," she protested.

"I know."

She walked off without saying anything else. There were more customers who needed her attention and she really had to get away from Mark before she said or did something stupid.

It had been a lot of years since she'd had to deal with the awkwardness of "the morning after." She remembered the time as being fraught with peril. Apparently her time out of the dating game hadn't changed that particular fact.

Darcy took orders from new customers, delivered hot food and avoided Mark right up until his breakfast was ready. Then she had no choice but to return to his table. She set down the plate with the omelette, along with two smaller dishes containing the bacon and pumpkin bread.

"Thanks," he said. "Everything looks great."

"I'll pass along the compliment."

"Especially you."

Her heart did a quick double beat. "Mark, don't."

"Why not?
It's true." He leaned toward her.
"How about tonight?"

Her insides quivered. Did she want this?
Him in her house … in her?
Heat poured through her at the thought. Impulses weren't a part of her current life, so why was she so quick to give in now? She wanted to tell herself that she was crazy. She felt crazy. But she also felt excited about something other than finding Dirk a good school for the first time in years. Was that so bad?

"Darcy?"

"I'm thinking."

"I didn't imagine the question would be so hard."

"Well, it is."

"Why?"

Because he represented temptation, she thought. The question was how would she pay for giving in? Darcy knew any relationship with Mark, even one primarily located in the bedroom, was going to cost her a lot.

Did she mind that? The problem was she'd been so lonely for so long. Mark made her remember that she was still alive and very much a woman. Shouldn't she be allowed to have a temporary diversion in her life?

A sound at the door interrupted her musings. She looked up and saw Homer Gilmore wander into the café. He glanced around fearfully, as if expecting someone to pounce. Darcy turned to Janie, who looked as concerned and undecided as she, Darcy, felt.

Homer was the town eccentric. Well into his seventies and losing his faculties, he often wandered around town, talking to himself. He was usually harmless, but with his long gray hair, slippers and bathrobe, he was just enough outside of normal to be scary.

Darcy squared her shoulders and
ap
-
proached
the old man. "Morning, Mr. Gilmore," she said cheerfully. "Can I get you something?"

Homer glared at her, muttering something she couldn't understand. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Janie heading for the phone, no doubt to call Homer's nurse to come and get him.

"I'll take care of this."

The familiar voice caught her by surprise. Darcy turned as Mark approached. He gently took Homer by the arm.

"Come on, Mr. Gilmore. I'm with the sheriff's office. Mark Kincaid. Why don't I see you home?"

Homer glared at him, then his wild eyes cleared slightly and he nodded.

"Can you wrap up my breakfast?" Mark asked. "I'll pick it up on my way back. I'll pay my bill then, too."

"No problem. It's not as if I don't know where you live."

He grabbed his jacket and shrugged into it, then ushered Homer out of the Hip Hop. Darcy watched them go. Her chest tightened, but with more than nervousness and anticipation. She could accept Mark being handsome, sexy and very good in bed. What she didn't want was for him to be nice. If she thought he was a decent guy, and charming, she would have a whole lot more trouble keeping her emotions in check and her heart on a very short leash.

She reminded herself that the last thing she needed was to fall for a guy. She knew what happened when she did. There was no point in wishing this time would be different.

*

Mark kept his finger on the channel button of the remote. He was clicking through stations so quickly there was no way he could see what was on. But flipping through the offerings was better than pacing.
Which is what he really wanted to do.

He glanced at his watch, then back at the television.
Five-forty.
When he'd returned to the Hip Hop to pick up his breakfast, Darcy had agreed to see him that night. He'd told her he would be over at six. As they lived in the same building, there was no way he could justify leaving early to beat traffic.

To think that the previous day he'd been dreading going there for Thanksgiving. He'd thought he would be bored and out of place. He thought she wasn't anything but a do-gooder with a plan to rule the world with tofu. He'd been wrong.

She'd been smart and funny, not to mention incredibly sexy. He hadn't planned on making love with her, but he couldn't be sorry that it had happened. Not yesterday or this morning.

His body stirred at the memory of their time in her shower. She had the ability to turn him on in a nanosecond. He'd never experienced anything like it before.

He leaned back in his chair, releasing the remote so the television stayed on a sports channel. This brief sex-only relationship with Darcy was exactly what he needed. With Sylvia he'd thought he'd found "the one." He'd wanted to settle down, marry her and have a couple of kids. She'd shown him that dreams like that were for idiots.

Without meaning to, he remembered Sylvia smiling at him the first time they'd met. He'd thought she'd been as taken with him as he'd been with her. With the distance and wisdom of hindsight, he realized that every movement, every touch, every word had been calculated. She'd had a goal when she'd "accidentally" locked herself out of her place and had used this phone to call the locksmith. He'd been the sucker to fall in with her plans.

He'd learned the lesson well. Love wasn't a part of his plan. But sex. That was something else entirely. For the first time since the shooting he felt himself anticipating something other than the absence of pain.

He was returning to life. That it was happening wasn't much of a surprise. It had been inevitable. The how was something else. Darcy was an unexpected pleasure. He would enjoy this while it lasted and then move on. Never again would he allow his heart to be engaged.

*

Darcy frantically hung discarded outfits back on hangers. She'd changed her clothes five times in the past thirty minutes and she was determined not to do it again. What did it matter what she had on? Mark wasn't coming over to see her dressed … he was far more interested in having her un- dressed. This was all about sex. She had on her best bra-and-panty set to prove it. She was having an adult relationship based purely on physical attraction. People did it all the time. It was very sophisticated.

It was also very not her.

Darcy sank onto the bed and covered her face with her hands. What was she doing? While she felt excited and quivery at the thought of Mark coming over in a few minutes, she also felt empty inside.
Empty and cheap and bad about herself.
The feeling was oddly familiar and it took her several seconds to figure out when she'd last experienced the sensation.

Before her parents had died, she thought sadly. Back when she'd been shallow and selfish, living only for the moment. Back when the kind of car a guy drove was far more important than something like honesty or compassion.
When looks had mattered more than character.
She dropped her hands to her sides.

She'd worked hard to change herself. While the initial plunge into the world of reality had come at the hand of circumstance, once she'd been forced to face her own lacking character, she had done her best to do better. Five years later, she could honestly say she was proud of who she was.

Was she proud after last night or this morning?

The lovemaking had been incredible. Darcy had forgotten what it was like to have a man touch her bare skin – to feel his body next to hers, entering hers. She'd been starved and Mark had fed her. But now what? Did she really want to have an affair with a man she barely knew? Or did she want something more?

She wasn't crazy enough to think she was searching for true love. She had her doubts about being lucky enough to find someone who would adore her and be willing to deal with Dirk. She knew her brother was an amazing person, but not everyone could look past his developmental issues to see the gentle heart inside.

So she'd given up on the fairy tale, instead resigning herself to a life alone. The move to
Whitehorn
had cut her off from her hard- won support group. She needed to make friends, finding people she could both like and trust.

But would Mark be interested in being a friend or was he only in it for what he could get?

*

Mark knocked on Darcy's front door at ex-
actly
two minutes before six. He'd wanted to wait until a couple of minutes past, but he'd been too eager, too aroused. He'd already imagined her opening the door and ushering him inside. He'd thought of gathering her in his arms and kissing her until they were both breathless with passion.

But reality didn't live up to fantasy. For one thing, Darcy wasn't smiling when she opened her door. For another, she wouldn't look at him.

Her whispered hello did little to alleviate the sudden ache in his gut.

"What's wrong?" he asked as she stepped into her living room.

"Nothing."
She brushed her hands against her black slacks and motioned for him to take a seat on the sofa.

He hesitated. While he appreciated the polite gesture, he couldn't help remembering that twenty-four hours before they'd been making love on that same piece of furniture.

"Darcy?"

She crossed to the window and parted the blinds to look out. "I'm fine, Mark. It's just…" Her voice trailed off. She glanced at him, then away. "You're not going to like this."

The bad feeling got worse. "Why don't you say it and let me be the judge?"

She nodded, still without looking at him. Her short, blond hair was a mass of curls. Lamplight brought out the shades of gold in the strands. One small hand lingered on the blinds.

"I can't do the sex thing," she said without warning. "I know it doesn't make sense to you. We've done it twice, so what's the big deal, right? I mean it's a new century and we're all contemporary single people. Ex-
cept
I'm not. I didn't mean to have old-fashioned values. I didn't even know that I had them. Suddenly they were just there." She glanced at him over her shoulder. "I'm sorry. You probably want to go now."

Mark tried not to think about the two condoms in his back pocket. He shoved his hands into his front pockets and stared at her back.

"What changed your mind?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I didn't like what I was thinking about myself. I'm not saying I didn't enjoy the sex … I did, it was great. But there has to be more."

He turned away and swore under his breath. This was just his luck, he thought grimly. He wanted sex and she wanted… He didn't know but he was sure he wouldn't like it. She was right – he should leave. Except, somehow, leaving seemed like the wrong thing to do.

"Mark?"

"What?"

"You can go.
Really.
It's okay. You didn't ask me out or anything. We have no emotional connection or hint of commitment between us. My inviting you here for Thanksgiving was entirely my idea. You don't owe me anything."

"I know."

He did know. Yet he couldn't seem to get his feet heading for the door.

He reminded himself he wasn't looking for a relationship. He couldn't ever trust her; he wasn't interested in falling in love.

"What do you want?" he asked before he could stop himself.

She turned slowly, until she was facing him. Something that might have been hope flared to life in her eyes.

"I thought maybe we could be friends."

Her voice was small as she spoke, as if she knew she was asking for the moon and she didn't doubt he was going to laugh at her.

He reminded himself he wasn't looking for entanglements and that she was a woman with secrets. Not that he'd cared at five-twenty that morning.

"Friends?" he repeated.

She nodded. "Nothing romantic," she added hastily, making him perversely want to know why not.
"Just friends."

He didn't say anything. Darcy swallowed. "I know that sounds weird, but I've been really busy since I moved here and I don't really know that many people. You and I seem to get along, even outside the bedroom."