From Now On (11 page)

             
“No, it’s fine,” Mark said from a few feet behind her.

             
Jo straightened quickly, surprised to find him there. She was suddenly aware of the cluttered nature of her kitchen, of the stacks of cookbooks in one corner, the shelves and shelves of spices in the other. She had so many pots and pans that the cupboards were overflowing. There was barely a bare spot on the counters. If not for the butcher’s block in the center of the room, there wouldn’t be a free spot anywhere.

“I have some wine, but it’s not cold,” she said, gesturing toward a wine rack hanging on the opposite wall.

             
“That might be nice,” he said.

             
Jo chose an expensive red that had been a birthday gift from Sandy the year before. She struggled with the cork for a few minutes before Mark came up behind her and laid his hands over hers, helping her maneuver the corkscrew. Even after the cork came free, he remained behind her for a long minute, holding her hands tight beneath his own before he finally stepped back and let her go. Just like before, the release felt sudden, unexpected, and Jo had to grab the counter to keep from falling over.

             
Jo’s hands shook as she poured the wine. Mark was wandering around her kitchen, then her living room, so she hoped he didn’t notice. He was looking at a picture when she walked up behind him.

             
“That’s Emily,” Jo said as she joined him, handing him his glass. “And my mother.”

             
“I can see the resemblance,” he said.

             
Jo snorted, quite unladylike. “Now I know you are just trying to be nice.”

             
“No.” Mark studied the picture a moment longer before setting it back in its place on the side table. “You are just as beautiful as your mother and sister, just in a different way.”

             
Jo settled on the couch, bunching up the pillows behind her back. “Don’t tell that to my mother.”

             
“Why not? She should be proud of you.”

             
“Should be, but isn’t.”

             
“What about your sister?” he asked, settling on the opposite side of the couch. “What’s your relationship like with her?”

             
Jo thought about that for a moment. “She’s my best friend,” she finally said. “She has certain expectations, and some things come much easier to her than they ever did to me, but she has never judged me like everyone else.”

             
“But she stole your boyfriend.”

             
Jo nodded. “It wasn’t like we had been together for long. Besides, I figured if Ryan and I were meant to be, he wouldn’t have been so easily distracted.”

             
Mark looked at her with disbelief clear in his expression. “You are a much more understanding person than I’ll ever be.”

             
“I’m not saying it didn’t hurt.” Jo took a long drink from her glass, remembering the weeks after Ryan left her and how lonely it had been without Emily’s near daily calls. “But she’s my sister.”

             
“It’s complicated,” Mark said, repeating what she had told him weeks ago.

             
“Yeah,” she said with a sad smile.

             
“Life tends to be that way,” Mark said sadly.

             
“It must be hard,” Jo said, studying his face. “Going through what you did with your wife.”

             
“I always felt that if I gave up enough for her, if I showed her how much she really mattered, that she would do the same for me.” Mark shook his head, his expression filled with loss. “She said I was in love with the idea of a family, the idea of what I wanted her to be. She said I never really saw her.”

             
“It couldn’t have been that bad, if she stayed for nearly twenty years.”

             
Mark shrugged. “I was hardly around the first ten years. The last eight were…complicated.” He grinned over the word.

             
Jo returned his grin.

             
Silence fell between them for a few minutes, broken only by the sounds of one or the other sipping at the smooth, sweet wine. It should have been awkward, but instead Jo felt like she was sitting with an old friend who didn’t need her to talk to make him feel accepted. It was a refreshing change from the many awkward moments in her past brought on by her lack of social skills.

             
It also gave Jo the opportunity to study Mark, to take in the little things that she had still to notice. Like the way his eyelashes were so long that they brushed his cheek when he blinked. Or how he had a nervous habit of licking his bottom lip whenever he was lost in thought. Or how the sight of his big, strong hands brought a tingle of memory to the nerve endings throughout her body.

             
Jo shifted and stood, trying to stop her head from going where she knew he did not want it to go. She needed to distract herself, so she walked to her CD collection and searched through it. She found a CD that had a collection of pop music on it, The Cure, Bruno Mars, Katie Perry, along with Foreigner and a couple of tunes the cast of Glee had covered.

             
Jo had forgotten how soft and romantic the first few songs were.

             
Mark smiled as she rejoined him on the couch, setting her glass beside his on the coffee table. “I love this song,” he said.

             
The words of the song floated over Jo. “I’m forever yours, faithfully.” She bit her lip, thinking of the level of commitment it would take for a man to pledge that to a woman.

             
“You’re a romantic at heart, aren’t you, Jo?”

             
She glanced at Mark, an embarrassed twitch playing at the corners of her mouth. “Is it that obvious?”

             
“You’re like an open book,” he said, moving closer so that he could reach over and stroke her cheek gently with his thumb. “I can see right through you.”

             
“I don’t know if that’s a good thing, or if I should be apologizing.”

             
“Never apologize for who you are.”

             
His gaze was so intense, his thumb on her cheek so erotic, that she couldn’t help the balloon of hope that bubbled in her chest. She whispered his name as she reached up and brushed her fingers against his temple, pushing away the few short hairs that had come to rest there.

             
“You are so not what I should want right now,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t—”

             
Jo kissed him before he could finish his thought, before she could talk herself out of it. She knew she was setting herself up for more hurt, but Jo couldn’t help but let go of logic and allow herself to flow with the desire bursting through her body. Her lips parted and he entered her immediately, his tongue so familiar to her it might have been her own. And yet, it was still so new that each touch, each flicker of movement, sent waves of electricity through her body, from crown to toe, until her whole body was alive with sensation.

             
His hands remained on her face for the first few moments, drawing her closer and closer until each breath she drew was his. But then they began to move, sinking into the tight strands of hair below her ponytail, sliding down the curve of her spine. She could feel his fingers drawing a line from her hip to her waist, feel his fingers searching for an access point to the lace covered prize under her conservative linen blouse, and could feel the intensity of his need as his tongue plunged deeper and deeper into the hidden mysteries of her mouth.

             
“Mark,” she sighed as his lips slipped away from hers, moved in a hot trail to her chin, across her jaw, to the soft nib of her ear. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her, pulling her onto his lap. Jo shifted her skirt, tugging it up so that she could straddle his waist comfortably. He helped her, sliding his hands under the rough cotton material, over her hips. Jo moaned as his fingers found the edges of her panties and slipped beneath, caressing the tender skin of her bottom.

             
His tongue explored her throat, her collarbone, as his fingers struggled to release the buttons of her blouse. Jo helped, untucking the blouse and undoing the buttons at the bottom. Their fingers met in the middle. Mark caressed the back of her hands and stared into her eyes as she released the final button and removed her shirt. Her silky baby doll top was the next to go, leaving her naked from the waist up except for her bra. Mark groaned as he buried his tongue in her cleavage, as he captured a nipple through the material with his teeth.

             
Jo wrapped her arms around his head, buried her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer to her. Her bra popped loose, she felt his hand slide under the soft material and carefully pull it from her sensitive skin, drawing a moan from between her lips when there was finally nothing between his mouth and her aching nipples. Jo threw her head back, pressing her chest closer against him as his hands again slipped beneath her skirt, searching for more. More skin, more pleasure.

             
Jo’s body had become nothing but a ball of sensation, a bundle of nerves, each standing up and begging for attention. There had been pleasure in her past, but never anything like the pure eroticism that was bursting through her now. Never had Jo lost the ability to think, the ability to reason. Never before had she not been the responsible one, remembering the consequences of such a moment of intimacy. But not tonight. Just at that moment, Jo couldn’t have told someone her name.

             
Mark’s name was the only one she could think of. And she moaned it, over and over, as his tongue slowly, so exquisitely slow, explored every inch of exposed skin. His hands joined the show, sliding along the length of her back, over her thighs, against that most intimate place until she thought she might scream. And then she was unable to mutter a single syllable as he stole her lips again, taking her so completely that her life would never be the same again.

             
How could it, after experiencing such complete passion?

             
She didn’t want the pleasure to stop. She didn’t want to ever leave this spot, this moment. She didn’t want to ever feel the touch of any other man, to ever again experience the mundane. This was what she had waited for her whole life, this was what she always knew was out there waiting for her.

             
Jo tugged at Mark’s shirt, broke a few buttons as she slipped it from his body. She ran her hands over his chest, broke their kiss so she could taste the salty skin of his throat, of his shoulder. She moved slowly down his chest, her hands exploring the territory down below in anticipation of following with her tongue. She wanted to bring him pleasure, she wanted him to feel what she was feeling, and the moans slipping from between his lips assured her that she was doing just that. He wanted her, she could feel it. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. His breathing was so quick, so harsh, his hands were shaking as he gripped her head, urging her further down. He wanted her and that filled her with a power that was earth shattering.

             
But then it all came crashing down.

             
Mark’s cell phone rang. It didn’t take but one glance at the caller ID for Mark’s passion to die. He stood up so quickly Jo fell to the floor in an undignified lump.

             
“I have to go,” he said, snatching his shirt up from the floor. “I’m sorry. I never should have let it go this far. I’m so sorry, Jo.”

             
Then he was gone.

             
Jo felt like everyone was staring at her as she walked into the office the next day. She knew from the brief glance she had made in her bathroom mirror that morning that her eyes were red, swollen. But there was nothing else unusual about her, nothing that would give away the truth of her heartbreak the night before. Just the same, she felt as though she had a scarlet letter the size of a football field on her chest.

             
In her office, Jo closed the door and fell into her chair, emotions sapping her of all her strength. She had lain awake most of the night wondering what it was that had made him leave like that. Surely it hadn’t been her. Surely she hadn’t done anything he didn’t like. He had seemed so completely lost in her, as lost as she had been in him. But that phone call…

             
His kids. It was the only thing she could think of that would make him leave like that. It had to have been his kids, or maybe the call had simply pulled him out of the moment enough to remind him that this was not something he wanted. He had made it pretty clear he didn’t want anything romantic to happen between them and yet she had done it again. She had been the first to kiss him, she had made this happen. Why, after all these years of being too afraid to take that first step, had she suddenly become some kind of nymphomaniac? Why couldn’t she just be, and do, what he wanted?