Dangerous Embrace (Embrace #1) (20 page)

She brought her other hand up to cover her eyes. God, she hated to let him see her cry. He pulled her close, held her against him, and let her cry. No words, no expectations, no advice, and no attempts to get her to stop crying—he simply held her.

Her tears slowed and when she looked up to thank him, their eyes met and then their lips.

When the kiss heated, Mark gently pulled back.

“Sarah, this isn’t a good idea.” Desire coated his voice.

She released her grip on him, lowering her eyes to the floor. She wanted to laugh at what a gentleman he’d always been, and now when she needed his touch, he wouldn’t give it to her.

“I’m going back to the couch,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

She looked up at him and tried to smile. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I don’t want to be another regret for you.” He backed up a step, letting their linked hands slip apart. “Good night.”

“Good night, Mark.”

She closed the door and crawled into bed after draining her glass of wine.

~

Sarah woke up to Mark shaking her and calling her name. “Sarah, wake up—it’s okay.”

She opened her eyes and met his. One deep breath wasn’t enough to relieve the pressure on her chest. Her body shook uncontrollably as she fought to relax and clear her mind of the nightmare. The blankets felt constricting and heavy. She pushed them off but trembled when the cool air hit her damp skin. Mark pulled the sheet away from the comforter and covered her with it, rubbing her arms to warm her.

“Take another breath.”

She closed her eyes and shifted over so he could lie down next to her. She inhaled a shuddering breath and curled into his chest, trying to relax.

“It’s all right,” he whispered.

Mark’s musky, sandalwood scent helped settle her. Even that didn’t stop the flashing images of her attack when she closed her eyes. Mark’s embrace didn’t relax. She waited for him to drift off to sleep, but his breathing never leveled out.

After another few minutes, she whispered, “Are you awake?”

“Are you having trouble sleeping?”

Sarah nodded.

“Do you want to talk about your dream?”

“No.” She lifted her head and tried to see his eyes. “Sorry I woke you up.”

“Yeah, you’re incredibly inconsiderate for sharing your bed with me like this.”

Sarah chuckled and almost hiccupped with the effort. When the room went quiet again, she placed her palm flat against his chest. He held his breath, his body tensing for a fraction of a second before inhaling deeply, forcing her hand to rise with his chest.

Sarah slid her hand up to cup his shoulder and caressed her way up to his neck. He was tight and so damn strong. He tensed again, and she couldn’t help herself from lifting up to meet his lips.

The kiss began tender, but when he pulled her closer, she grew hot and arched against him, moving her hands to his face.

Sarah pulled out of the kiss to touch him, to explore the texture of him. Her hand traveled to his forehead and then slid down his cheek and over his closed eyelids. The more she touched, the deeper his breathing became. Mark didn’t move or react, as if he knew she needed to discover him in her own way. She wanted to memorize his curves and the softness of his skin. The act of touching him, feeling her way around his body and growing intimately familiar with him was relaxing and she felt as if she could explore a little more every day and never get enough to be satisfied.

She sat up, pulling him with her, and he kissed her again as they knelt on the bed together. She pulled out of the kiss to trace his perfect lips and jawline with her fingertips, making him shudder as she moved her hands to his shoulders, sliding them down his arms, lacing her fingers with his, unlacing, and moving back up to his shoulders. Her hands moved to his waist and tugged at his shirttail. When he realized what she was doing, he reached down and pulled off his t-shirt.

Mark felt so good under her hands. His firm body trembled as the tips of her fingers traced the inside of his elbows and drifted up to his broad chest, caressing his muscles before tracing his abs with her thumbs.

When she lifted her gaze back up to his face, his stunningly blue eyes focused on hers intensely. She could’ve looked into them forever, longing evident in their expression. To be wanted by a man like Mark, someone so soulful and caring, she felt undeserving yet so lucky at the same time.

They stared at each other until she cupped his face and pulled him closer, wanting to lick his lips and taste him. Mark slid his hands around her waist and tucked them under her shirt. The skin-on-skin contact sent a fever rush of blood through her body, her heart pounding with anticipation.

He moved to her jawline, tasting her, nipping her chin, and caressing her face with his lips. His hands were gentle yet purposeful as they moved over her lower back and traveled under the waistband of her sweats, cupping her and pulling her toward him.

When his hands traveled down the bare skin of her hips, panic surged through her. A cry caught in her throat, and she tried to focus on his whispering breaths, but she went cold. She clamped her eyes shut and whispered, “Stop.”

“Did I hurt you?”

She gripped his shoulders for support, trying to steady herself. She wanted him—needed him. Why was she shutting down?

“No, I’m sorry...” Her head spun with dizziness.

“You look sick. What’s wrong?”

She stood up and stumbled to the bathroom, closing the door behind her, leaving Mark alone in bed. She leaned over the sink, splashed water on her face, and tried to slow her heart rate. When the door opened, she jumped in surprise.

Mark rubbed a hand up and down her back. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

She shook her head and tried to laugh. Still, it came out dark and sarcastic. “You didn’t hurt me,” she said. His sincerity made her want to crawl into a dark hole and hide. “I’m not sure what happened.”

“I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

“I’m the one that pushed.” She dried her face on a towel and turned to him. His face was flush with heat, although the crease between his brows showed his worry. She looked away to hide her embarrassment. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. You must think I’m an evil tease.”

“No, don’t say that...too much...too soon. I’m sorry.”

Sarah covered her face with her hands and leaned into his chest.

Mark led her by the waist back to the bed and sat her down, before kneeling in front of her. “I would never hurt you.”

“Mark, it’s not you, it’s me.” She reached out and touched his cheek. “You did everything right.”

“We shouldn’t have gone that far.”

“I feel awful, I hope you don’t think I’m—”

“The look on your face nearly stopped my heart. I know you’re not playing.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll go back to the couch.”

“No—do you want to? Will it be too hard to lie down with me?”

He reached out and cupped her face. “No, I want to be with you.”

She saw the sincerity again in his eyes and was thankful. His understanding meant everything to her. Nobody else would have been as forgiving. She crawled back into bed, and he lay next to her wrapping his arms around her.

Just before Sarah fell asleep, Mark said, “It seems like a lifetime ago, but thanks for going to dinner with me. I had a great time.”

On Friday, they picked Jamie up at Ali’s and spent the entire week at Mark’s house. Every time she brought up staying home alone, he insisted she stay with him. When he admitted that he wouldn’t be able to sleep through his worry, she knew she couldn’t—and wouldn’t—feel comfortable alone either. Not to mention, she loved being around Jamie. He had a kind spirit Sarah found irresistible. She thoroughly enjoyed being with him and his dad.

After an intense argument over sleeping arrangements, they’d settled in comfortably. Mark refused to give in and let her sleep on the futon. He insisted he worked late hours in his office, and if she slept in there, he wouldn’t get any work done. If he intended to ease her guilt with this argument, he failed miserably. She just felt worse for taking him away from his work.

In the interest of letting Mark keep his male pride, Sarah gave in. She happily slept in his king-size bed the entire week, smelling him and wishing he was there with her. With Jamie in the house, that was out of the question.

She found that the first impressions she’d had of this being the room Mark shared with his wife had faded. It was all him when she looked at it now. It was a reflection of his personality—masculine and strong, yet caring. Sarah felt a sense of possessiveness she knew she shouldn’t feel toward Mark, which excited her and scared her all at the same time.

Mark hadn’t kissed her since the night they’d almost made love. They kept their distance from each other. She couldn’t be sure if Mark regretted what had happened between them. She had mixed emotions about it. She feared getting involved with him, but was more afraid of how painful it would be if he walked away once the rapist was caught.

Mark drove her by her house a couple of times during the week to check on things. No new notes appeared in her mailbox. She had a couple of messages on her answering machine of heavy breathing, but nothing concrete to help Brian with his investigation. The phone calls reaffirmed Mark’s fear of her being alone, and Sarah couldn’t dispute it. The calls did their job and freaked her out enough to keep her from doing something stupid.

On Friday night, they dropped Jamie off at Ali’s and shared a bottle of wine in front of his big screen TV.

“I’m sorry for being in the way all week. I’m sure you’re irritated that I took up all your time with Jamie.”

“Are you kidding?” He looked at her bemused. “It went better than I expected. I thought it would throw his schedule off, but everything went really well.”

She leaned back in the overstuffed chair and brought her knees up to her chest. “I’m going to miss him. How do you do this every other week?”

“I’m thankful. Most dads only get weekends.” He inclined his head as he studied her. “You’re good with him. It surprised me, considering you don’t have kids.”

“I’m a teacher, you shouldn’t be surprised.”

“This was different, more...motherly. Have you ever wanted to have kids?”

She smiled. “I have kids, twenty-two six-year-olds. I get to spend my days with them and then I send them home to other people.”

“I’m happy you have the joy of being with other people’s children, but have you ever wanted to have kids of your own?”

“Have I ever wanted to have kids of my own?” She set her glass of wine down, stalling while she decided whether or not to answer the question. Finally, she nodded. “Yeah, once I wanted to...a long time ago.”

“You’re only thirty. What do you consider a long time ago?”

“In college, my early twenties.”

“Why the change?”

Sarah stared blankly for a few moments, not sure how much she wanted to tell him. Mark had been completely honest about his relationship with Ali. Maybe this was her chance to tell him the truth. Was it worth hashing up old memories? Could a man like Mark ever be with someone as damaged as her?

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I had a miscarriage at twenty-two. After that, I sort of gave up the idea of ever being a mother.”

He bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Sarah, that’s awful.”

She shrugged her shoulders, trying to ignore the heaviness she felt in her heart. “Technically, she was stillborn. I was six months along, it shouldn’t have happened.”

“Did the doctor tell you that you couldn’t have children?”

“They said it wasn’t likely I’d be able to get pregnant again. They wanted to do more testing to confirm, but I wouldn’t let them. I just wasn’t meant to have a family.”

“If you were pregnant at twenty-two...your child would be Jamie’s age.”

“Exactly Jamie’s age.” She looked away, trying to master herself. She didn’t want to be emotional. She had given up any dreams of having a family long ago, nothing had changed, and she knew she had to live with it now.

He leaned forward. “Why did you have a miscarriage so late in your pregnancy?”

Her smile faded, and his question surprised her. She expected him to ask about the father of her baby, but it didn’t matter. The answer would have been the same regardless.

She held up her index finger and pointedly ran it across the scar on her eyebrow. When his expression changed, she knew he understood.

“So”—he straightened his back and pointed a finger at her scar—“the same son of a bitch who gave you that scar caused you to have a miscarriage?”

She avoided his eyes at first, afraid of what she’d see. When he reached for her hand, she couldn’t help but meet his eyes. The pity she saw felt like a blow to her midsection. That’s not why she had told him the truth.

“Don’t, Mark, it’s not that bad.” She pushed his hand away. “It’s something I’ve recovered from. Just like I’ll recover from what happened a few weeks ago.” She shook her head. “It’s certainly not something I’ll ever have to go through again.”