Hearts Awakened (4 page)

He arranged the food on the bar with a minimum of fuss. As long as he didn’t build this into more than just a simple thank-you, he’d be fine. After tonight, Tori would go back to her life and he to his. To watching over her until she didn’t need him anymore.

Yeah. A plain simple dinner between two friends. No, less than that. Acquaintances, one of whom needed to pay back a favor. He was simply making dinner for his best friend’s sister, who’d done him an ordinary kindness. That was all.

The doorbell rang. The scared-he-was-going-to-get-shot feeling in his chest got worse. He ran a hand over his face. “Just a simple, ordinary dinner, right, Cook?”

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door. Tori faced him and he took a long look at her, from her sleek ponytail to the little pink T-shirt with its bubblegum logo, jeans that hugged her hips and thighs, and finally her pink-tipped toes wiggling in beaded flip-flops.

The oxygen whooshed from his lungs. Oh yeah, he was a dead man.

She waved a hand between them. “So do I get to come in?”

“Oh, yeah.” He stepped back, holding the door wider.

Inside, she fidgeted with the hem of her T-shirt. “I know a good guest is supposed to bring dessert or something, but I didn’t think you’d be really impressed with the half-carton of Ben and Jerry’s in my freezer.”

“I didn’t expect you to bring anything.” He didn’t smile. Where was the easy grin he always wore? Why couldn’t he smile at her the way he did everyone else? “Dinner’s ready if you are. Hungry?”

She had been and the wonderful aromas beckoned to her. Now, she didn’t think she could eat anything, her stomach tied in nervous knots again. She nodded and glanced around. His apartment was neat, tidy…and bare. A leather couch, an entertainment center holding a television and stereo, a couple of tables. No pictures, no knickknacks, nothing to personalize the room.

“Your place is nice.” Fingering the edges of her ponytail, she looked around at him. “Just not what I expected.”

He moved away, to the bar, and began placing salad on two plates. “What did you expect?”

A love nest. She’d expected…what? A cushy couch, black velvet floor pillows, scented candles and every romantic cliché her naïve mind could devise. Except for the plush sofa, this Spartan place was as far removed from that as possible. She laughed, trailing her fingers across the smooth leather of his couch.

“What?” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “What did you expect?”

The leather warmed under her touch and she slanted a look at him, using her lashes for cover. “I don’t know. A swinging bachelor pad where you bring all your women.”

“I don’t bring anyone here.”

“Not even Angel?” His shoulders stiffened and she cringed. Now, why had she asked that?

He straightened and turned to face her, his practiced smirk in place. “Nope. You’re the first.”

Any pleasure at being the first dissipated with that leering grin. She knew that expression too well, knew that when it was in evidence, a woman shouldn’t believe anything he said. Being the first implied being special, and she’d been around Cookie long enough to know no one could hope for that. She crossed her arms over her midriff. His bedroom was probably equipped with a revolving door for convenience. Just being here, she was out of her league.

“Hungry?” he asked once more.

She lifted her gaze to his. Somehow, she’d find a way to choke down what he’d cooked, but any appetite she’d had was gone. “Can’t wait.”

Clearing his throat, he pulled out a stool from the bar. “Well, come on and let’s get started.”

Let’s get this over.
He might as well have muttered the words, they hung that plainly between them. Her battered Calvert pride lifted its head. “You know what, Cookie, forget this. I offered you a ride home. Big deal. You don’t owe me anything.”

She spun and stalked to the door, as much as the flip-flops would allow. When she reached for the knob, he pressed a hand against the door. She jumped. Did he always move that quickly, that quietly?

“Tori.” His voice held layers of confusion, but no anger. “What the hell?”

He was too close. Heat seared her back, and with his arm over her shoulder, holding the door, the spicy scent of a sport soap filled her nose. Her stomach muscles clenched, loosened and tightened up again. Taking a deep breath, she concentrated on fitting her body into the smallest possible space and turned to face him. Her gaze, level with his chin, fixed on the cleft there. She couldn’t get a word out.

He swallowed, the muscles in his throat moving. A smattering of dark hair showed at the open collar of his shirt. “Tori, what’s going on?”

“Why did you ask me here?”

His thick brows, a shade darker brown than his hair, angled downward. He glanced between them, his gaze measuring, and jerked away, dropping his arm. “You can’t think I brought you up here expecting—”

“Oh, please.” She pushed all the scorn and anger into her voice. Hating him for not wanting to be near her, she heaved a contrary sigh of relief to have her personal space back. “Of course I don’t think that. Who would? We’re talking about me and it’s not like everyone doesn’t know why you wouldn’t…”

She swallowed the remaining words and they stared at each other. Mark shook his head. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Her ears buzzed with a rush of blood and her vision blurred. For a moment, the fury took her breath. “You…you’re unbelievable.” The anger and humiliation wouldn’t let her stay in his presence, not one more second. “Thanks for the invitation.”

Spinning, she yanked the door open. Tears burned her eyes, and she blinked them away. With her luck, she’d fall, blinded by stupid tears. She rubbed her fingers across her eyes and bounded down the stairs. What had she been thinking? She’d known better. The best thing would have been for her to stay in her own little world, surrounded by her books and her work.

She sucked in a shaky breath, her nose stopped up. Her chest hurt, but she refused to give in to the sobs. No crying. Her flip-flops slapped against the asphalt with an angry rhythm.

A gentle hand on her shoulder stopped her headlong rush. She froze, brain shutting down, nothing but pure adrenaline fueling her movements. Hands going into a defensive posture, she rotated away from that touch. She faced Mark and he stared at her, his face set, his gray eyes serious.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, his voice a low rasp. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Why are you doing this?” The words came out as a wild tremble.

“Why are you running?” He took one step closer. “Why wouldn’t I?”

How could he ask that? “Because of who I am. Because of what…happened.”

He shook his head. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“What does that have to do…” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Everything. It affects
everything
. How I view the world, how people view me. It’s a small town. I might as well have ‘rape victim’ tattooed on my forehead.”

He laughed, the sound harsh and a little rusty. “Trust me. I don’t see that when I look at you.”

“Right. Then what was all that mess about walking rather than getting in the car with me? Would you have acted like that with anyone else?”

“So I’m a jerk because I considered your feelings.” Another slow shake of his head. “Man, that’s a new one. Freakin’ priceless.”

“Maybe I get tired of everyone being so
considerate
. Maybe I just want someone to treat me like a normal human being.”

“Then come back upstairs with me. Give me—”

“Tori?” Sarah Bolinger’s voice broke between them. She stood a few feet away, arms laden with groceries, her features pinched with concern. She glanced from Tori to Mark and back again. “Is everything okay?”

Tori shoved her hands in her back pockets. “Everything’s fine, thanks. I was just going home.” She wasn’t looking at Mark now, but his frustrated sigh filled her ears. Ignoring him, she smiled at Sarah. “Thanks for checking, though.”

“Okay.” Sarah still sounded dubious and she focused a hard look on Mark. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” Tori struggled to keep an irritated edge from her voice. “Good night.”

Sarah shifted her grocery bags. “See you later.” She walked to her building, her blonde hair bouncing against her shoulders. She cast a couple of backward glances at them before disappearing.

Tori edged away from Mark. “Thanks again for the invitation. I’m going home, though.”

“Tori, come on.”

She shook her head, throat tight and painful once more. “There’s no point. Good night.”

She hurried across the parking lot. He called her name once, but she didn’t look back. She didn’t want him to see the tears she could no longer blink away. Inside her apartment, she locked the door and leaned against it. She wanted nothing more than to slide to the floor, bury her face against her knees and have a good cry, but closets and hiding places waited to be checked. Holding back a sob, she moved slowly to begin her ritual.

The tears could wait until later. The need to satisfy the demons of fear couldn’t.

Damn it all.
Mark scraped chicken and pasta into a plastic container and tossed it in the fridge. He couldn’t have screwed that up any better if he’d set out to do it. Stacking plates in the dishwasher, he shook his head. She actually believed no man would look beyond the rape to see her, to desire her.

A harsh laugh escaped him and his mouth twisted. If she only knew. Before he’d thought about what he was doing, when he’d put his hand against the door, the heat of her body had hit him hard, his senses filled with a blend of citrus and warm skin, pure Tori. All he’d wanted to do was get closer, find out if she tasted as sweet as she smelled, and she couldn’t stand having him near her.

With the dishwasher running, he stalked down the short hall to his bedroom. Staying here, surrounded by quiet, would drive him crazy. He tugged his T-shirt over his head and tossed it in the hamper. A few hours in a patrol car, his mind in cop mode, would give him perspective. He donned a department polo and tucked it in, pulled off his belt to attach his holster, radio and handcuffs case.

Outside, the late-October evening remained warm and balmy. He glanced up at the dark sky. Maybe winter would actually get here by January. On the sidewalk, he stopped and stared at his empty parking space. A curse trembled on his lips. His truck. Tori had his mind in so many knots he’d forgotten about the disabled truck.

He sighed and pulled the radio from his belt. It squawked as he adjusted the squelch. “C-3 to C-5.”

“Go ahead, C-3.” Chris Parker’s smooth drawl crackled over the radio.

“You busy?”

“Oh yeah. I’m watching Miss Jeanette close up the Tank and Tummy. Much more excitement and I won’t be able to stand it.”

Mark ran a hand over his hair. “Can you swing by and pick me up when you’re done?”

“Sure thing.”

The radio fell silent. Mark leaned against the stair railing, his gaze drawn to the lit windows across the parking lot. What was she doing, behind those blinds, surrounded by light? He passed a hand over his face. He didn’t need to think about that, about her. Especially, he didn’t need to think about showing her how desirable she was. A picture flashed through his head, her mouth under his, his hands shaping the full, rounded breasts outlined by that damnably cute bubblegum T-shirt.

Like she’d ever want his touch on her.

Like Tick wouldn’t shoot him where he stood just for thinking about it.

The best thing he could do, for both of them, was forget about her. She was the kind of woman a guy built forever around and he’d already had one forever. Anything less would hurt her and another one would kill him. Moot point, definite catch twenty-two. He was done. Because he had to, he’d work with her, be polite when they were together, but nothing more than that. No more dinners, no more “favors”. And absolutely no desire or thinking about how to prove to her that any man would have to be crazy not to want her.

Headlights swept the lot and the department’s K-9 unit cruised to a stop before Mark. The tinted window lowered and Chris Parker jerked his chin toward the empty parking slot. “Hey, where’s the Blazer?”

“It died.” Mark ambled around to the passenger side and sank into the dark interior. A black nose snuffled around the cage between the front and back. The German Shepherd’s tail thumped against the seat and he whined, long and low. Mark eased his fingers between the openings in the cage, rubbing the dog’s snout. “Hey, Hound.”

Chris shifted into drive and circled around the pool. Mark glanced up at Tori’s window once more. It glowed with artificial brightness. Chris pulled onto the deserted street. “You’re off tonight. Nothing better to do than hang out with me? Figured you had a hot date or something, since Angel Henderson’s been calling the station looking for you.”

Mark groaned and dropped his head against the seat. “How many times?”

“Two. Steve Monroe wrote her a ticket this morning. Bet she wants you to fix it.” Driving with one hand, Chris dug in his shirt pocket. He passed Mark a trio of message slips. “And Tick called a little while ago. Said you weren’t answering.”

Probably because he’d been in the parking lot, making Tori cry. Mark slumped in the seat, the memory of those chocolate eyes glinting with unshed tears haunting him. Maybe he deserved to have Tick come after him. He held the message slip to the window and read it in the dim illumination flitting in from the streetlights.
Call cell, ASAP.

He flipped open his phone and punched in Tick’s number. It rang twice before the other man answered. “Calvert.”

“What do you need?” Mark watched the sleeping business district crawl by outside. Chris shined the spotlight into each doorway and alley.

“A favor.” Rustling paper filtered over the line. “I messed up big time.”

Under the spotlight beam, a stray cat froze then darted behind a trashcan. “What?”