Hearts Awakened (23 page)

He eased back to sit on his haunches and took her with him, legs draped over his thighs. Erection nudging her, he cradled her face, his gaze locked on hers. “That okay?”

Experimenting, she lowered slightly. He entered her with excruciating care and she could feel her body adjusting, stretching around him. The fullness of having him inside her was exquisite. “More than okay.”

She settled more fully onto him and he groaned, surging into her. “Ah, Tor, you’re perfect.”

She’d have rather heard “Tori, I love you,” but then he kissed her, his tongue a warm temptation as he gripped her hips and set a rhythm of thrusts that soon had her writhing against him. Seeking. Wanting. She wrapped her arms around him and held on.

Loving him.

Mark’s hold on her hips tightened and he pulled her harder into him, his breath coming in harsh pants. Tori scored his back lightly with her nails and dropped her head, kissing his shoulder. Pleasure hovered in her body, but didn’t approach the explosive level his direct touch had given her earlier. He gasped, body tensing, pushing higher. She felt him tremble within her and exulted in the broken way he murmured her name.

He held her close, whispering her name over and over, hands stroking down her spine. Tori snuggled in, unable to remember anything in her life that felt this
right
. This perfect. This downright, who-cared-what-anyone-thought wonderful.

She giggled.

Mark sighed. “Tori, don’t you dare. Do not mention his name.”

The giggling grew, blooming into a full-blown chortle that bubbled from her throat, filled with all her giddiness. He laughed with her, a deep rumbling that vibrated all through her. Tori hugged him, face buried against his neck. She sighed, suffused with a glow of absolute joy. He was wonderful and he’d just given her the greatest gift she could ask for. Tears burned her eyes and she blinked them away. Her past held enough tears.

“You didn’t, um, that is, you…”

His voice trailed away in a discomfited cough. She smiled into his throat. “No, I didn’t, but that’s actually pretty normal, I think, from what I’ve read and heard from my clients. Climaxing from actual intercourse can take time and, er, practice.” She was rambling and, to stop herself, kissed the side of his neck, a light nip. “So let’s do it again.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Tor. I’m almost forty, remember? It takes a little while to recuperate.”

Pulling back, she traced the cleft in his chin. “I’ll wait for you.”

“Good.” He pressed a hard kiss to the corner of her lips. “Hold that thought. I’ll be right back.”

Disentangling, he tipped her onto the bed. Tori watched him go into the bathroom, happiness bubbling in her again. Yes, she’d wait for him.

How long, Victoria?

Long enough. Forever, if she had to. She’d already waited years for him.

Her stomach growled and she covered it with a hand. Earlier, passing time until he arrived home, she’d been too nervous to eat. Sitting up, she looked around for her clothes. She would convince him to cook them something while he
recuperated
. An irresistible grin tugging at her lips, she slid from the bed and started gathering scattered clothing.

“So that’s what it is.” Mark’s gleeful voice startled her and she spun, clutching her jeans and T-shirt to her chest. He leaned in the doorway, wearing nothing but a wicked grin.

“What?”

“Your tattoo.” He walked toward her and she glanced over her shoulder, craning her neck to see the inked area.

His hands settled at her waist, turning her back to him. A finger traced the picture and she drew a deep breath, knowing what he saw—a broken heart with a diamond emerging. She shook her head. His and hers tattoos, his eternity and her unbreakable strength.

She’d survived Billy Reese and Jeff Schaefer. He’d survived the unthinkable. Somehow, she finally believed they’d put together a future from those pieces. Right now, she felt like she could do anything. Like they could do anything.

“Mark,” she whispered, his mouth brushing against the tattoo, sending shivers up and down her spine.

“What, honey?” His thumbs pressed into the dimples above her buttocks.

“I’m hungry.”

His forehead dropped against the small of her back and he sighed. “Okay.”

“You can cook and
recuperate
at the same time.”

“Get your clothes on before I show you how quick you make me recuperate.” He swatted her rear end. Whistling, he tugged on his jeans and pulled his T-shirt over his head.

In the kitchen, he retrieved vegetables from the fridge and Tori perched on a stool at the bar. “Is it supposed to be like this?”

He stopped rooting around in the cabinet under the counter and glanced up at her. “Like what?”

She tilted her head to the side and lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. “This much fun. The laughter and everything.”

His slow, gentle smile warmed her. Rising, he laid a cutting board on the counter and leaned over to kiss her. “Yeah. It’s supposed to be like this.”

Was it like this with you and Jenny?
She bit back the question. It would have been different for him then. He’d loved Jenny. He still did. He had to, to have clung to her memory as long as he had. Did that leave room for her?

“Tori?” She looked up. He watched her with a quizzical expression. “Everything okay?”

“Sure.” She forced a laugh and pushed her hair back. “I was just thinking.”

He made short work of a red bell pepper. “About?”

“That this would explain why my parents had six children.” Hoping her doubts didn’t show, she shot him an impish grin. “And maybe why Tick always loses his train of thought when Cait walks into the room.”

He chuckled. “Yeah.”

She watched his hands move, the doubts stirring deep within her. She wanted them gone, banished. In his arms, there wouldn’t be room for the uncertainty anymore. She rested her chin on her hand. “Mark?”

“What?”

“Exactly how long does that whole recuperation thing take?”

He sighed and laid the knife aside, hands gripping the counter’s edge. She didn’t miss his easy smile though. “With you around, not that long. Why?”

She bit her lip and glanced at him beneath her lashes. “Because we’re in the kitchen. And it’s not my first time anymore.”

Insistent pounding. Mark murmured in his sleep and ran a hand down her hip. Tori reached for the comforter and pulled it higher, over her shoulders, pressed to her ear to block out the clamor.

“Cookie, wake up!” The front door and the distance down the hallway muffled the male voice. Mark startled, groaning. His fingers tightened on her hip.

Tori opened her eyes, pushing back her hair. “What time is it? And who is that?”

Blinking, Mark glanced at the clock. “A little after eight. Sounds like Chris…oh, hell!”

“What?” She sat up, holding the comforter to her bare chest, as Mark rolled from the bed, naked.

“I never locked the front door. Where are my damn jeans?”

“In the kitchen.” Where her own clothes remained, scattered on the floor with his. The realization sank in at the same time the front door opened down the hall. Mark jerked open a drawer and snagged a pair of jeans.

Running footsteps clattered in the hall. “Cookie, you’re not going to believe what I have—”

“Chris, hang on a sec…”

Mark tugged the pants into place and tossed a white T-shirt in Tori’s direction before he moved to catch the inward-swinging door. “Hey, man, don’t you know how to knock?”

Face burning, Tori dove into the T-shirt. Mark held the door at an angle, hiding her from Chris’s view, but still…

“I did.” Chris’s voice held a breathless excitement. “You didn’t answer.”

“Maybe because I was asleep.”

“I’ve got a lead.”

“What?” Mark’s body stiffened and Tori, edging toward the side of the bed, stilled.

“Our guy at the FDLE called this morning. He got curious after we talked the other day. Anyway, he remembered a cold Jane Doe case from the same time period and pulled the file.”

Mark dropped his head. “Is it a match?”

What was going on? Tori clutched the comforter tighter. This was more than a regular case they discussed. Mark’s tension made that clear. Foreboding shivered down her spine, dissipating the warm well-being in her body.

“Could be, but get this—the Jane Doe is alive.”

Mark’s shoulders jerked and Tori stopped breathing. His hand tightened on the door, fingers digging into the wood. “What?”

The rough whisper seemed torn from him.

“Alive, Cookie. This woman was found alive, alongside I-75, near Gainesville, about a month after Jenny disappeared. Doctors said she’d recently given birth.” Chris cleared his throat. “The baby wasn’t found though.”

“Oh my God.” Mark rested his forehead on his hand. Tori, throat aching, swallowed hard. Jenny, alive. Warring emotions tangled in her, her heart pounding out a nervous rhythm.

“Here’s the information I have.” Paper rustled and Mark, with the slow movements of an elderly man, took the sheet. “She’s in Chattahoochee. We can be there in a couple of hours.”

“A couple of hours.” Mark’s harsh laugh shook. “Florida State Hospital? The psychiatric hospital?”

A hesitation lingered and Tori closed her eyes. This wasn’t happening. Chris Parker wasn’t standing in the hallway, telling Mark Jenny might be alive.

“Yeah,” Chris said, his voice quieter. “I don’t know why. This was all the information he could give me.”

Mark clutched the paper and it crumpled under the force of his grip. “Okay. Listen, I…we need to get dressed. Then I can figure out…think about what I need to do.”

“We? Hey, I didn’t know you had someone with you. I’m sorry—”

“It’s all right,” Mark said, his words slow and clumsy. “Just give me twenty minutes or so.”

“Yeah. I’ll go get coffee or something. About eight-thirty?”

“Sounds good. Thanks, man.” Stepping back, Mark closed the door. A moment later, the sound of the front door shutting vibrated through the apartment. Mark remained, hand splayed on the wood slab, head bent. Tori clutched the comforter, her heart pulsing at an uncomfortable rate.

“Mark?” Her whisper trembled.

He straightened, his movements sluggish and jerky, and turned to face her. Shock dulled his eyes. “I need to get dressed. Chris…we have to go to Chattahoochee.”

“To see Jenny.” Tori brushed back her tangled hair.

“To see if it
is
Jenny.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “We…after you and I started getting closer, I had to find out what happened, to know I’d done everything to find her. Chris has been helping me.” He lifted the crumpled paper, confusion still plain on his face. “We have a lead.” He shook his head. “She might be alive.”

Tori hugged the comforter close. She wanted to go to him, but was unsure of her reception. “Then you have to go.”

He jerked a hand over his hair. “Tori, honey, I’m sorry. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have… God, what a mess.”

Her entire body went cold. She tangled her fingers, still hugging the comforter as some kind of shield against the pain twisting through her. “You should probably take a shower.”

“Yeah.” He passed a hand over his eyes. “I…we’ll talk later.”

“Sure.” She pointed at the bathroom. “Shower, Mark. Chris’ll be back soon.”

Still wearing that shell-shocked expression, he nodded and disappeared into the bathroom. Moments later, the sound of running water filtered through the door. Tori pulled up her knees and buried her face in her arms, rocking slightly. The tears pushed up in her throat and she willed them down.

She understood his need to know. The psychology major in her even recognized it for what it was—a sign of healing, readiness to move forward. A tiny, minuscule part of her held happiness for him that he might finally have his answers. The newly awakened woman in her, the one who loved him, was scared to death, quivering deep inside. She lifted her head and rubbed her eyes, feeling like a selfish witch for being so upset.

She slipped from the bed and to the kitchen, gathering her clothes. She dressed quickly and folded his T-shirt and jeans. Placing them on the bed, she glanced around the room. Memories of pleasure and laughter wrapped around her, deepening the sense of loss.

The bathroom door opened, a burst of steam surrounding Mark as he stepped into the room. A towel wrapped around his waist, he looked a little less shell-shocked, although his face remained grim. While he pulled clothing from his dresser and closet, Tori perched on the foot of the bed, nervous tension coiling in her stomach.

He stepped into khaki slacks and dragged a navy polo over his head. Tori watched him and a tiny curl of warmth unfurled in her aching chest. If nothing else, he’d shown her capable of loving, physically, emotionally, fully. An “I love you” pushed up in her throat, wanting freedom, and she closed her eyes. She couldn’t. Not now.

But she could be a source of support, of comfort. He sat on the edge of the bed to put on his shoes. Tori reached out a hand, but pulled back before touching him. She tangled her fingers in her lap. “Mark?”

He stilled, head bent. “What, honey?”

The distance between them tore at her heart. She swallowed. “No matter what, I’ll be here for you. As a friend, as…whatever you need me to be.”

He lifted his head to look at her then, the anguish in his stormy gaze an indication of the emotions he struggled with. Reaching out, he cupped the back of her head and pulled her close, his mouth taking hers. Tori tasted the desperation in his kiss and her eyes stung. She pulled her mouth away, but wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. A rough sigh shook his body and she held him tighter.

A knock on the door separated them. Mark ran a hand over his hair. “That’s probably Chris. I have to go.”

She released him. “I know you do.”

He stood, but after a brief hesitation, leaned down to kiss her again, if anything the desperation more intense. He pulled away, holding her gaze. “I’ll call you once I know something.”

Turning, he walked down the hallway. Moments later, the door opened and closed behind him. Tori touched her mouth, still able to feel the warmth of his kiss. “I’ll be here.”

The closer they got to Chattahoochee, the tighter Mark gripped the steering wheel. The shock of Chris’s announcement continued rebounding through him. Could this be Jenny? Alive after two decades. Doubt pounded in his head. It couldn’t be her. Glenn would have found her. And wouldn’t Mark have felt her if she’d been alive all this time?

He’d accepted her death. He had and he’d lived with the guilt. Hell, he’d stopped living himself as penance.

Until Tori.

Eyeing the semi in front of him, he rubbed his damp forehead. More than anything, he wanted to swing around, head back to Chandler County, return to Tori. He couldn’t. He owed Jenny. What about Tori? What did he owe her for rescuing him from the abyss?

She had too. With her sweet smile, big eyes and mischievous personality, she’d drawn him out of the past and made him feel alive again. He owed Jenny his loyalty. He owed Tori his life.

“Hell,” he muttered. How was he supposed to mesh those two realities?

Chris, leg bouncing, thumb tapping on the door panel, looked at him askance. “What?”

Mark shot him a glower. The fidgeting was driving him nuts. “Can you be still? You’re making me crazy over there.”

The leg froze and a sheepish grin crossed Chris’s face. “Sorry. This is like waiting for Santa Claus. Or losing your virginity.”

“You’re weird, Parker.” He was glad one of them was excited. Mark glared at the red Mustang that shot into his comfort zone between the Blazer and the semi. Tori was a better driver. Ah hell, what was he going to do about her?

“Guess it’s not the same for you, huh?” Apology laced Chris’s quiet voice.

“No. It’s not the same.” He wasn’t sure anything would ever be the same again.

“Was Tori upset?”

His arms jerked and the Blazer swerved. Chris braced on the dashboard. Cursing, Mark settled back into his lane and glanced at Chris. He’d made damn sure he and the door blocked Chris’s line of sight that morning. “How did you—”

“You had a woman in your bedroom. If it had been one of the Bimbo Squad, you’d have been at the motel.” Chris shrugged like it was the most obvious answer in the world. “It wasn’t that hard to figure out who was with you.”

“The Bimbo Squad?” Why did that sound like office gossip? He scowled. Cops were worse than the old-biddy committee.

Chris’s thumb took up tapping again. “The ones that don’t mean anything. Tori’s different and it shows. The way you feel about her is all over your face when she’s around. Heck, even when you talk about her.”

The way he felt about her. Chris’s observation silenced any reply Mark might have made. What did he feel? He slowed to make the right onto US 90, to take them into Chattahoochee. Already, he knew Tori made him feel alive again. Last night, what had been between them, the laughter and pleasure and sheer joy, had taken his breath a couple of times. After they’d made love the third time, a slow, languorous exploration, she’d lain in his arms and they’d talked in drowsy intervals about the future, everything in general terms. He’d seen opportunities opening before him—a new life, with Tori to share it with him.

He was three miles from facing the ghost of his past.

He’d left his future, everything he wanted, in Georgia.

With a muttered curse, he glanced in the rearview mirror and slowed, pulling onto the shoulder. Chris straightened, leg and thumb still again. “What’s wrong?”

Mark stared at Chattahoochee looming, its downtown a little battered in the bright sunlight. He switched off the engine. “I need a minute.”

A confused frown twisting his eyebrows, Chris nodded. Mark pushed open the door, the ancient hinges squeaking. Loose gravel crunched under his feet and he walked to the back of the Blazer, staring up the highway. A car rushed past, leaving a gust of exhaust in its wake.

He wanted to turn around, go back the way he’d come, and he couldn’t. He had to keep going, find the point where his past melded with his future. The past was important, Jenny was important. He closed his eyes against the sun’s glare bouncing off the white highway. Against his lids, images played—light playing off blonde hair as a boat skimmed across sparkling water, a bright loving smile over the top of a handmade pie safe, a cheerful wave as she walked away with her other hand resting atop the swell of their baby.

Behind him, another door squeaked. “Cookie, are you gonna stand here all day or are we going?”

Mark opened his eyes. The road shimmered before him, heat mirages flowing under the late-morning sun. “Yeah, we’re going.”

Nervous tension sat in Tori’s stomach all day, a huge, writhing ball of striking snakes. Desperate to relieve some of the energy roiling through her, she cleaned Mark’s apartment, not that there was much to do. The man was extraordinarily neat. Later, she tackled her own place, dusting, scrubbing, worrying. If she’d thought she could stand company, she’d have headed over to Tick’s or her mama’s next and cleaned bathrooms there too, but the idea of friendly chatter or Tick’s all-seeing gaze was untenable.