Waiting for a Girl Like You (7 page)

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Marc crouched with her to help pick up the broken glass. “Crazy day, huh?

“You could say that. I’m glad Ida is okay.”

“I’m not sure what this town would do without her.” Marc lifted the plates out of her hands. “I came in here today to talk to you.”

“Why?” Alex focused on dusting up the last retrievable shards with her cloth so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

“Sorry I missed you yesterday. My buddy called with a new song. He wanted to finish it up right away. That’s why I didn’t call to let you know I was running late.”

“Oh.” Jeanie was right. She was being a bitch. “That’s okay. I wanted to go to Dolly Sods after work anyway, and then I decided to go with the star-watching group. There are a lot more stars here than at home.”

“I know what you mean.”

She stood up and he followed suit.

“I sent you a text.”

“Sorry. I forgot my phone at home.” Intentionally.

“So are you busy tonight? It’s early. We could still make the movie. Then ice cream after? I’m shooting for a do over.” He smiled, so she returned it.

Ice cream the other night had just been getting-to-know-you, but the movie made it a date. He probably would have taken her to dinner first if they hadn’t just spent all day working in a diner. Wow. A date. He wanted to go on a date, in public, with her. Very standard. A movie and ice cream. No pressure, but her stomach still wanted to cower around her spine. “Okay. I just have to finish up here.”

“I’ll get these to the kitchen while you wipe down the table. How’s that?” He lifted the unharmed glass and the broken glass-filled towel out of her hands with just the lightest touch of his fingers.

“Thanks.”

The movie was the original
Frankenstein
with Boris Karloff. Marc draped his arm across the back of Alex’s chair and sat with one ankle resting on the other knee, taking up as much space as he could. By the end of the movie, her butt was numb because she didn’t know how to sit, but didn’t want to move out of fear that he would think she was uncomfortable. That made no sense because she
was
uncomfortable. She was turning into Jane Eyre, riding backward in the carriage even though it made her sick because she didn’t want to cause trouble. And what did that win Jane? Nothin’.

But then on the way to ice cream several people stopped them to get his autograph and take pictures. Of both of them. Together. Why they wanted pictures of her with him she didn’t know, but he wasn’t hiding the fact that they were together.

Refreshing. Maybe Jane had something with that backward carriage riding.

“Strawberry, right?”

“Please.”

“Go ahead and find a place to sit.”

Alex settled in the shadow of a tree. It wouldn’t take more than five or ten minutes for him to get ice cream. Not enough time to sort out her thoughts. He was nice. He’d waded into the mess this morning without thinking twice and straightened it out like a master. Now, a real date. If he only wanted to get into her pants, he didn’t have to do this much.

Not that she intended to jump into bed with any man who wandered by, but Marc could get female companionship much easier than all this. That implied that he wanted her, in particular. Which made no sense at all. Unless Paul and Ida had convinced him that she was the perfect woman.

She should have skipped Google and interrogated Ida and Paul.

“Here you go.” Marc held out a strawberry ice cream cone.

Great, just in time to leave her with more questions than she’d started with.

“This is intimate.”

Damn, she should have picked a brighter spot. “It seemed like it would be quiet.”

“Yeah, sorry about the fans. They pay my living so I try to be nice to them.”

“Good idea.” The shadows were not helping her figure out whether he had coffee or butter pecan. “Good ice cream.”

“It is.”

“Ida says they make it right here and get all the produce locally.”
And we had this conversation the day before yesterday.
“So tell me about this song.”

“My buddy has a talent for coming up with good starts, but he’s not strong on finishing things. He dreamed something up the other night and sent it to me, so I had to follow up before he lost interest.” He licked his ice cream. “I miss the days before Garageband when Jason had to record what he’d come up with and mail it to me or come to my house in person. It gave me a little time between his genius brain farts.”

“What’s Garageband?”

“It’s a computer program that lets you record right on the computer, and then you can attach the file to an e-mail. It’s a nice program. Makes it easier for us to work together when we’re not all in the same state. What about you? You said you were working on a master’s degree on a writer?”

“Poet. Eliot. T. S. Eliot. I use Word.”

“Word?”

“The word processing program.” None of that made any sense at all. Her mouth was running and the
off
switch was stuck. She needed to fix that before she did too much damage.

“You’ll have to introduce me to some Eliot. I’m always willing to learn.” He grinned.

Or he could be into the idea. Alex leaned against the tree and crunched into her sugar cone. He didn’t really want to know about Eliot, regret, and lost opportunity at a Victorian garden party. But this didn’t feel like a line calibrated to get her into bed. He really wanted to get to know her, and unless she could invent some kind of bimbo character to protect her real identity fast, she was going to be herself.

“What did you think of the movie? Have you seen it before?”

And he tried again. Points for that. “I have, but it was a long time ago. It’s nothing like the book.”

“Really? How was the book different?”

“Lots of ways. Most importantly, the monster in the book was the doctor, not the creature.”

“So the creature wasn’t built of dead people?”

“Yes, but the creature had a good heart. Dr. Frankenstein was the bad guy. Kind of how the tool is not evil, but how it’s used can be.”

“Guns don’t kill people, people kill people?”

“Yeah.” Not a bad insight considering he hadn’t read the book.

“Really? I might have to read it.”

Maybe she could break out the poetry with him. Be a little more Jane Austen than Jane Eyre. “There’s a movie version with Kenneth Branagh and Robert DeNiro that was very true to the original book.”

“Maybe we could watch it together.”

“Maybe.” She scanned the square. The band concert was winding down and people were drifting away. On the far side, in front of the bank, stood a stocky man with dark hair. His face was in shadow because of the streetlight behind him, but he had to be staring at her.

Roger.

That bastard. He’d followed her. Well, he was going to get an eyeful.

“I love a man who’s willing to learn.” Alex chucked the remains of her ice cream cone on the grass, swung her leg over Marc’s lap, and planted her lips on his. Butter pecan. One question answered. Not an important one, though, not straddled across him, enveloped in his scent. In that instant, she had no idea why she hadn’t done this before. The sensation of his fingers on her arm earlier was nothing compared to the touch of his lips on hers.

Marc took all of a nanosecond to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her tight to his body. Disorientation swept through her. As revenge sex went, this was not going to suck.

“We can’t go to my place. How’s yours?” she murmured, unwilling to lean back far enough to take in his expression.

“Let’s go.” He stood, carrying her with him. When he set her on her feet, he pulled her tight against his side. Her shoulder fit under his arm like they were designed as a matching pair. She couldn’t help but put her arm around his back. “I parked at the diner.”

“Great.” That path led them right past where Roger was skulking right at the edge of the light cast by a street lamp.
That’s right, you bastard. Just watch and remember because you can’t have your cake and eat it, too. This cake just got picked off the bakery shelf by someone who wanted to take her home for real.

None of that made any sense either, but Roger’s expression of mingled horror, desperation, and lust canceled out her own disgust with her wordsmithing. He followed them to Marc’s car where Marc pressed her against the passenger door before he opened it. Heat at the soft touch of his lips swelled through her. Roger was watching. The best revenge.

Then they were headed up the mountain, and she realized she was going to have to have sex with him. She could say no, but that wasn’t her normal brand of stupid. She’d been specializing in saying yes, and this yes could be the best one ever. Alex studied Marc. He was focused on the road, giving her a window to observe. The only man she’d ever made love to was Roger. Marc was younger, fitter. It would be interesting to compare them. And women did this. It wasn’t humiliating or shameful to go home with a man on the second date. Even if it was, she’d already done worse, and it wasn’t like anyone was going to pin two scarlet letter As on her chest.

In front of a huge house, halfway up the mountain, Marc parked the car. Fumbling with keys, he opened the front door of the house and turned to her the second she stepped through.

He pressed her against the wall, lifting her to her toes as he nuzzled her neck. Everything about him was hard. Alex drew her fingers down his back. He didn’t remind her not to leave evidence on him. Oh, yeah. “Marc?”

“Where do you want to go, baby? Here, there?” He lifted his face enough to let her see the couch in the sunken living room.

Wow, this house was amazing. “Everywhere?”

He laughed and scooped her off her feet.

Alex grabbed for his shoulders as a wave of dizziness rattled her. Rock hard shoulders. There wasn’t a soft spot on the man. He carried her to the couch and laid her down.

“I’m glad you decided to extend the evening.” Marc stroked her cheek with the back of his finger.

“I wasn’t doing anything with it.”

He kissed her, stealing her breath.

Alex didn’t think she’d ever want to do anything else ever again. His fingers searched under the hem of her shirt, calluses dragging across her skin like molten heat. She arched to draw him farther in. He groaned. The vibration settled in her belly. She hooked her fingers inside the waistband of his jeans, trying to work her way to the button, but his body pressed too tight to hers. Getting closer was going to require separating. “We’re overdressed.”

“What?” His voice had a very rewarding groggy quality.

“The clothes. There are too many of them.”

He growled and leaned back to pull off his shirt. When he started to lean in again, Alex slithered away.

“Where are you going?”

She smirked. Positioning herself in front of him, she toyed with the hem of her white T-shirt. That clued him in. Marc sat up on the couch, kicked off his sneakers, and stretched his long legs out on either side of her. Undulating, Alex drew the shirt over her head. For an instant, she was blinded by the material. The sound of the wind soughing through the trees competed with Marc’s husky breaths. Then she shook her head free of the shirt and caught sight of his face. The fact that it wasn’t Roger, and this wasn’t his crowded office in the English building, surprised her for a split second. Marc reached for her so she danced backward a step.

“Still too many clothes.”

“We can take care of that together.” He leaned forward and caught one of her belt loops. Before he could reel her in, she opened the button, so he could slide her jeans and underwear down her legs before pulling her under him.

“My feet are stuck in my shoes.” That didn’t hinder anything. Why the hell had she brought it up?

Marc sat up and shook his head. “Are you always going to be this difficult?”

“Difficult? I only made you buy me two ice cream cones before I’d have sex with you.”

“Fair enough.” He slid off the couch and untangled her feet from her shoes and jeans. “To be honest, I prefer to have a woman’s legs wrapped around my hips when she’s screaming.”

“I’ll work on that.”

Marc shucked his own jeans, affording her a moment to drink in the sight of him as he slid on a condom he had produced like a magic trick. Everything about him looked as hard as it felt. Velvet over steel. Fine, high quality velvet over the kind of steel used to build skyscrapers. Then everything was obliterated by the sensation of him on her and in her and all around her. Alex caught the wave and held on. Her fingers sunk into his skin as the tension rode up and down her body until it tightened, then broke in a rush.

“Good. Good,” Marc murmured. “Nice touch with the legs.”

Alex pried her eyes open. When had she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his hips? Better question, how the hell was she going to get loose? Her ankles had knotted together in some kind of complicated maritime knot that would require a dozen Eagle Scouts to undo. Not that she was letting any scouts see her in this condition. “Thanks. I thought you’d appreciate it.” She flexed an ankle. Maybe they would unravel on their own.

“Am I crushing you?” He started to slip sideways.

“No, not at all.” It felt good. Alarmingly good. Crushed into this very soft couch by this very strong man.

Dear God, what was she doing here? Her ankles unwrapped themselves like someone had spoken the magic words.

Marc rose up on his elbows, sliding down her body a few precious inches and lifting the bulk of his weight off her, which both relieved and disappointed her. “So listen, it’s just you and me here if you want to stay the night and we can work on that here, there, and everywhere thing. Or I can drive you back to town if you want.”

“Town?” The last place she wanted to be was down in the valley. She wanted to be here. Right here. For the rest of her life. Hiding and letting herself be used by this man however he wanted. Commitments always got in the way. Job, classes, wives. “I have breakfast in the morning.”

Marc cupped her breast, stroking her nipple through the bra they’d never bothered to remove. “I’m pretty sure there’s some form of breakfast food in the house.”