Hearts Awakened (11 page)

“How can you say that? You don’t even know
what
happened, and you’re so sure—”

“Because.” She moved the pads of her fingers against his palms. They weren’t callused, not like Tick’s were and her father’s had been, but they weren’t pampered and smooth either. His hands were strong, experienced, a little rough around the edges. “I know you.”

“Awful damn trusting, aren’t you?”

“Actually, no. Like I said, I know you.”

He dropped his head, the line of his shoulders defeated. “You think you do,” he muttered.

Looking at the vulnerability of his nape juxtaposed with the strength of his broad shoulders, she hurt for him. She wanted to wrap him close like one of her nephews and stroke his hair, while whispering that everything would be all right. That worked for a skinned knee; maybe it would work for a broken heart too. She didn’t think he’d accept it from her, though.

A deep breath shook his sturdy frame. “I looked for them, even after the volunteers gave up. Every weekend for months. I didn’t give up.” Tugging one hand free of her gentle grip, he rubbed at his eyes. “Not until her due date. I knew if she’d been able to come home, she would have before then. That’s when I knew she was probably dead.”

The slight throbbing pain in her toes was nothing to the squeezing around her heart. Her movements awkward, she slid from the bed to sit with him. With the injured foot canted to one side, her knees brushed his. She touched his jaw, stubble abrading her fingertips. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.” One hand pinching the bridge of his nose, he laughed, a rough, humorless sound. “Know how sorry I am? The night I finally let myself believe she wasn’t coming back, I slept with her best friend. For all of fifteen minutes or so, I forgot about her and our baby and how much I hurt—”

“And you’ve been doing it ever since.” So much made sense now—the apartment that wasn’t a home, the dry, stinging wit that kept everyone at arm’s length, the nearly anonymous Angels of his life. The guilt at surviving was so heavy he’d punished himself by refusing to live at all. He existed in some dark hell of his own making. She wanted to dig her heels in and drag him back into the sunlight, wanted to experience that warmth and light with him.

Her toe pulsed with a sudden surge of pain and she winced, shifting her foot. He shrugged off her easy touch and looked at her leg. “We need to get you some painkillers. I think there’s some ibuprofen in that kit—”

“It can wait. You can’t.” She reached for him again, but he levered his head back, avoiding her.

“I’m not one of your clients, Tori. I don’t need to be
fixed
.” A hint of anger hovered in his voice.

She laid her hands in her lap. “I know you’re not one of my clients. I couldn’t treat you anyway. There are rules about personal involvement.”

Eyes narrowed, he shot her a look. “We’re not involved.”

“Aren’t we?”

“No.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Sure about that?”

“Tori. Stop.” The anger had retreated into defensiveness.

She rested her back against the bed, stretching out her right leg and placing her left foot flush against her thigh. The injured foot protested the movement, little darts of pain shooting up her leg. “You’ve turned denial into an art form for real, haven’t you?”

He scowled, confusion darkening his eyes. She could almost see the thoughts flickering behind that gaze as he tried to get a handle on her. “What are you talking about?”

She wagged a finger at him. “My turn to ask a question. How many people have you shared your past with?”

“Just Tick, which means Falconetti probably knows.” Color washed his cheekbones and he glanced away with a muttered curse. “And you.”

She brushed his knee with a single fingertip and the line of his body tensed. “You know more about me than any other man. You’ve made…” She closed her eyes, the words catching in her throat. The first step was confronting the fear. If she wanted this, she’d have to fight for it. She’d have to fight for him. “You’re the first man to make me feel anything physical since the rape.”

He darted a look at her, and she swallowed hard. “Tell me we’re not involved, Mark. Make me believe it, because from where I’m sitting, it sure feels like we are.”

“You deserve better.” The words emerged on a strangled whisper.

“So do you.” She held his gaze, her mouth dry, stomach lifting and falling in wild quivers. “Do you think Jenny would want you living like this?”

“I…” He closed his mouth, jaw tight. Dropping his gaze, he shook his head. “No.”

“What would she want for you?” Head lowered, he didn’t reply and she took his hand. “A normal life? For you to move on?” He nodded, still not looking at her. “Mark, what do you want?”

“You.” He lifted his head then. Torment lingered in his eyes and tension cut deep lines beside his mouth. “Damn it, Tori, I want you, and I can’t…I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Life doesn’t give us any guarantees. Everything has a risk. Yeah, you might hurt me. I might hurt you. But we might be able to make it work. If I’m willing to take that risk, why can’t you?”

He tugged his hand free and reached for the first aid kit. “You need to take a couple of these ibuprofen tablets.”

Frustration spread out from her chest. “Mark—”

Pushing to his feet, he held out a twin pack of painkillers. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

Mark tucked the kit back into his suitcase. Damn it, his hands were shaking. Actually, all of him felt shaky, muscles tense from fighting off the urge to reach for her, tug her close and hold on for dear life.

“Can’t or won’t?” Behind him, Tori’s voice held a distinct challenge.

On a harsh breath, he closed his eyes. He should have known she wouldn’t make this easy. There had to be a Calvert gene that coded them all to do things the hard way.

He didn’t turn around. “Go to bed, Tori.”

“No.” A hint of strain colored her voice. “Not until we’ve talked about this.”

“Fine.” He strode to the bed nearest the window, farthest from her, and flung the covers back. “You talk. I’ll go to bed.”

The sound she made fell somewhere between a growl and a sigh. “Mark, be reasonable.”

“I am. It’s late and I’m beat. You’re the one acting like a two-year-old who doesn’t want to go to bed.” He unfastened his watchband to lay it on the nightstand. The skin on his back prickled under her gaze.

“Does that make it easier?” The words dropped between them with deadly precision. “Treating me like a child, I mean? Like I don’t have the common sense to know what I’m doing?”

He closed his eyes again. Child wasn’t the word that came to mind. Shaking off the thought, he reached for his belt buckle. “All I want to do is get some rest. You should do the same.”

“Right. Go to bed, stare at the ceiling, pretend all this never happened. That’s the routine, isn’t it? I’ve been there. I fought like hell to face what happened to me and move on. Yes, I backslide and I have a long way to go still, but at least I’m trying.”

Meaning, of course, that he wasn’t. With irritation making his movements jerky, he unbuttoned his khakis and slid the zipper down, finally letting the pants fall and stepping out of them. He scooped them up, tossed them on the second bed and settled beneath the covers. Arms crossed over his chest, he stared at her.

Flushed, she stared back, her narrowed eyes glinting with anger. Weight shifted off her injured foot, she stood with hands on her hips. The camisole and low-slung pajama pants left a couple inches of skin exposed and the glittering belly button ring had to be the cutest thing he’d ever seen. A body piercing and a tattoo. What other little secrets was she hiding? God, he wanted to find out and he’d sell his soul to peel away her layers and defenses, discover the true Tori beneath the pain and the bravado.

If he still had one to sell.

He pointed at the open doorway behind her. “Good night.”

She limped farther into the room. The rhinestone dangle sparkled. She shook her head, a wry smile twisting her pretty mouth. “You know, I never pegged you as a coward, but that’s it, isn’t it? You’re afraid.”

“You need to go.” He fisted handfuls of the blanket.

Another slow, painful step. “You said you didn’t want to hurt me, but you’re more afraid of getting hurt again, aren’t you?”

He wasn’t going to lose his temper. She could push all she wanted, but he wasn’t giving in, wouldn’t let her or the irritation have its way. The memory of her crying when he’d raised his voice after their visit to the antique mall was too fresh. His whole aim was to
not
hurt her—no way would he make her cry again.

Folding his arms behind his head, he eyed her, his gaze trailing over her with practiced ease. “You really need to go to bed, honey.”

Limping forward, she stopped at the foot of his bed and crossed her arms over her chest. “So this is the way it’s going to be?”

“This is the way it’s going to be.” The way it had to be.

For a long, tense moment, she stared at him. She nodded, a short, terse movement. “Then I guess there’s nothing more to say. Good night.”

Turning her back on him, she limped back to her room. She closed the connecting doors behind her. She never looked back.

Mark closed his eyes. Relief should have been coursing through him. He’d finally made her see things as they were. Instead, a cold lump filled his stomach. He recognized that lump and the icy emptiness it brought to his chest.

Loneliness.

She was gone, and he was alone again.

This was best. He was doing the right thing for her. Maybe, if he kept telling himself that, sooner or later he’d believe it.

Tori leaned against the connecting door. Frustrated anger simmered in her body, mingling with the pain emanating from her toes. “Stubborn ass.”

They needed each other. Why couldn’t he see that?

She’d just have to find a way to show him. Maybe this was her catalyst—what she’d needed to jolt her out of her comfort zone. To convince him, she had to find a way over her fear of intimacy.

She could do that.

Oh, who was she kidding?

This wasn’t going to be like finding the perfect outfit for a party. She’d watched other women struggle with the same issue, had done everything she could to help them. She blew out a laughing snort. “Talk about the blind leading the blind.”

What had she been thinking? All the textbook answers hadn’t given her a clue. Now, faced with the same battle, none of those answers seemed to apply. Most of the women she’d counseled in terms of regaining sexual intimacy had the support of a loving partner.

The man she wanted had just thrown her out of his bedroom.

And she’d let him.

Calverts didn’t quit. She wouldn’t give up on them, would do whatever it took. Facing the fear was the first step. She could do that.

She flattened a palm against the door. Only silence came from his room, but somehow she knew he wasn’t sleeping. She pictured him, lying bare-chested against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. Hurting. Afraid. She refused to leave him like that.

“This isn’t over, Mark,” she whispered. “Not by a long shot.”

Eyes closed, she wrapped her fingers around the doorknob. “Just turn it, Victoria. Get in there and go after what you want.”

With a deep, shaky breath, she opened the door once more. The lamp by the bed didn’t burn, but light spilled through from her bathroom and silvered his room. He lay against the pillow, an arm thrown over his eyes.

She limped into the room, pain darting across her toes with each movement. He exhaled a rough breath but didn’t lower his arm. “What do you want now, Tori?”

Nervous fear grabbed her throat. She folded her arms over her chest, a tight, protective gesture, and swallowed hard. “You.”

He lowered his arm and sat up to stare at her, his eyes glittering in the dim light. “It’s late and I’m not in the mood to play games with you.”

She took a painful step forward. “I’m not playing. I’m tired of being alone, Mark. I want a chance with you. I can’t tell you it’ll be easy, any of it.” She rushed into the words, desperate to convince him before he could reject her. She lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. “Inside, I’m still a mess. When we…when we make love, I don’t know what’s going to happen in my head, what it’s going to trigger. I can’t even tell you when I’ll be ready to try.”

“Tori.” His voice emerged strangled. “You don’t—”

“Just a chance, Mark,” she whispered, as raw and exposed as she’d been that morning before seventy strangers. “Aren’t you tired of being alone too?”

Silence stretched between them and the tension in her body tightened until she wanted to scream. She’d offered him everything, including her pride. Why didn’t he say anything?

He reached for the lamp, and with a click, light flooded the room. Tori blinked in the artificial brightness. Mark stared at her, his eyes stormy. She swallowed again.

He opened his arms.

She fiddled with the rhinestone dangle at her navel. “Mark, I…” Her laugh came out shaky and hoarse. “I don’t know what to do next.”

“What do you want?” The possibilities in his soft question danced through her head.

“I-I want you to kiss me again.”

His lashes dipped. For a second, his head dropped then he pushed up from the bed. His gaze, darkened to the steely gray of a summer thundercloud, clung to hers. As he approached, her stomach shivered with anticipation while tiny tendrils of panic slid along her nerves.

He stopped, close but not touching, still holding her gaze. “Are you sure?”

She hesitated. Was she? What if this kiss led them somewhere she wasn’t ready to go yet? Cold fear tugged her stomach down and tied it in a huge knot.

He reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face. His hand lingered and he curled a stray lock around his forefinger. “What else do you want?”

Lord, she felt so stupid. She’d wanted a chance, and now that she had one, she had no clue what to do. She shifted her weight, renewed soreness pulsing in her injured foot. “I don’t know.” She tousled the back of her hair and gave him a lopsided smile despite the tears pricking at her eyelids. “How stupid is that? Maybe you were right. I can’t give you what—”

“Hush.” He stepped closer and wrapped her in a loose embrace. His chin brushed her temple. “You have no idea what you’ve already given me.”

One of his hands moved down her back in a slow, easy caress. She studied the texture of the skin at his shoulder, but kept her hands at her sides. Her mind and body needed time to adjust to being this close to a man wearing only black boxer briefs. Through her thin camisole, his fingers warmed her skin and that same heat emanated from the line of his body. A faint hint of cigarette smoke clung to his skin, mixing with his cleaner scent. An urge to move closer, press her lips to his shoulder, flitted through her. She settled for putting her arms around him, palms flat against his back.

He exhaled, a long, deep breath that stirred the hair at her brow. The sound held peace and relief, emotions mirrored within her, and she smiled. This was intimacy, being this close, alone in the night, the past banished for a little while. A finger skimmed the hem of her camisole, stroked her spine, and with a cautious movement, she rested her cheek against his shoulder. He tightened his hold, but didn’t pull her closer.

She flexed her hands on his back, experimenting with the feel of skin and muscles beneath her palms. The sense of panic had receded and a wary well-being trickled in to take its place. She sighed. “This feels wonderful.”

“Yeah, it does,” he murmured, his mouth moving against her temple. “Are you staying?”

She stiffened. “Mark, I’m not ready. I mean…”

He cradled her face and pulled back. “To sleep, Tori. I’m worn out and you have to be exhausted. Your choice, but I’m going to bed. I’d like you with me, but I understand if you want to go back to your room.”

When he walked away to flip the covers back, the loss of his warmth was stark and intense. Tori gripped her elbows and eyed the expanse of the bed. For the first year after her father’s death, she’d been unable to sleep alone—she’d shared a bed with her sister or climbed in with her mama. This was a whole different matter—she’d never shared a man’s bed before.

She wanted to share Mark’s, even if only in a literal sense.

He lifted an eyebrow at her. “I’m not going to bite you.” A roguish smile twisted his lips. “Not tonight, anyway.”

A laugh bubbled in her throat, even as the words sent a shiver of sensation over her. She gestured over her shoulder. “I probably should go back to my room.”

He regarded her with a suddenly solemn expression, his eyes dark and serious. “Aren’t you tired of being alone, Tor?”

With her stomach on a wild rollercoaster, she nodded.

“I just want to be close to you,” he said, his voice quiet. “No strings, no expectations. Just you and me, together.”

Tucking her hair behind her ears, she smiled. “I want that too.”

“Come on, then.” He tugged the pillows from the other bed and tossed them against the cheap headboard. He turned his back to arrange them and a spurt of gratitude warmed Tori’s chest. She’d never have been able to crawl into that bed with him watching her.

On her side, she huddled beneath the covers, intensely aware of the mattress shifting under his body. The lamp clicked off, leaving the room in shadows highlighted by the glow from her bathroom light. He moved, adjusting covers and pillows, the cotton sheets whispering with each movement. Her stomach churned and she closed her eyes, blowing out a deep, calming breath. This was Mark; she wanted to be here with him.

His thumb brushed her shoulder. “Do you want me to hold you?”

Her eyes burned and she blinked, staring into the semi-darkness. She wanted it more than anything, but his proximity already had nerves jumping beneath her skin. “I-I would, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. I need to get used to this first.”

“All right.” He smoothed a hand down her arm and pulled away. “Good night.”

“Good night.” She folded her fingers around the edge of the mattress, digging into the fabric. Pain gripped her chest and she pressed her other hand over her heart, seeking to soothe the anger and hatred brewing there. This wasn’t supposed to be so hard. Sleeping next to a man she cared for should be the most natural thing in the world. Damn Billy Reese. He’d taken more than her body that long-ago night.

Behind her, Mark shifted positions and his breathing settled into a deep, even rhythm. She blinked away another wave of tears. At least one of them would get some sleep.