Hearts Awakened (6 page)

She’d believed that once, but the loss of control left her shaky, tears pricking at her lids. She blinked them away. Damn if she was going to cry in front of him. She reached for the gearshift. “We should get going. I wasted enough time—”

“Wait.” His hand covered hers and she stared at his tanned fingers. The warmth of his touch should have been comforting, but every nerve in her body was crawling, screaming for space. “Tori, I—”

“Please don’t touch me.” She pushed the words out between numb lips.

He released her immediately, returning his hand to his lap. “Tor, listen to me.”

“Don’t call me Tor.” Her voice trembled, but she straightened in her seat, stiffening her spine. Face the fear. The first step in recovery was facing the fear. “You don’t get to call me that.”

“Okay.” He subsided into the seat, staring out the window again, jaw working over his gum.

With a deep breath, Tori shifted into gear, careful not to touch him. Three days. She had to get through three more days in his company. A shudder traveled along her skin. She didn’t want to. She wanted to go home, cry on Tick’s shoulder…no, not Tick. Not while he was caring for Caitlin. Her mother. She wanted to curl up under a quilt and cry on Mama’s shoulder.

Yeah well, you’re not going to.
Frightened little girls ran home to Mama and she wasn’t a little girl anymore. She’d handled worse than this.

A tear slid down her cheek and she sucked in a harsh breath. Nerves continued jumping in her chest and fine tremors shook her. She blinked away a blur of tears and tried to focus on the road. Her concentration was shot and she needed to stop and get herself together before she got them killed.

Just ahead on the right sat a sad-looking convenience store. Without speaking, she pulled into the parking lot and scrambled from the car. Fighting against sobs already burning her lungs, she hurried inside.

“Do you have a restroom?” she asked the teenager working the register.

“Through there.” Popping her gum, the girl pointed toward an archway at the back of the store.

“Thanks.” Brushing away tears, Tori found the tiny room and locked herself in. Avoiding the mirror, she leaned against the wall, wrapped her arms around her midriff and gave in to the sobs. She cried until the postadrenaline crash passed, until the heaving lessened to harsh breaths and finally to sniffles.

Pulling toilet tissue from the roll, she blew her nose and dared to look at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red and swollen in her blotchy face and the little mascara she’d worn now streaked her cheeks. She grabbed a handful of paper towels, dampened them and scrubbed. The water kissed her skin with coolness, offering relief from the hot tracks of her tears.

A light tap at the door stiffened her body. “Tori, are you all right?”

All right? Suppressing a hysterical bubble of laughter, she pressed the back of her wrist to her forehead. She swallowed hard. “I’m fine.”

Fabric whispered against the cheap wooden door and an image of him leaning close to the door flickered in her mind. Humiliation burned her throat, heat flushing her face. She’d acted completely insane, going off the deep end because he raised his voice. Maybe she should have just left his “nothing” alone. She blew out a long breath. Some psychologist she was turning out to be. She’d seen the signs something was bothering him, and she’d stomped all over his personal boundaries.

She rested her forehead against the cool mirror. He had to think she was an unstable flake. Oh, time to face facts—unstable flake was right. She gulped back a fresh wave of tears.

“Tori?” Another soft tap.

She sighed, a shaky exhalation of breath. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry I lost my temper, sorry I raised my voice at you.” He cleared his throat. “I shouldn’t have—”

She jerked the door open, stopping the words. Sure enough, he stood close to the doorway, his face drawn, eyes a darker, stormier shade of gray. She clutched her damp paper towels tighter. “I’m the one who needs to apologize. I pushed past your personal boundaries and then I acted like a…like a…”

“Someone who got yelled at?” he offered, a hint of humor tugging at his mouth, although his eyes remained serious and concerned. “Although Tick would use the term ‘spoiled brat’.”

Glad he was back to normal, she gave his upper arm a light smack. The muscle didn’t give under her touch. “Be nice.”

“Listen, I…this town makes me tense. I shouldn’t take that out on you and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“If we keep this up, we’ll never get to St. Augustine.” She brushed her tangled hair away from her face. “No more apologizing. We’re both guilty and we’re both sorry it happened. So we move forward. Deal?”

She stuck out her right hand. He looked down at it a moment and nodded. “Deal.”

His hand engulfed hers. A rough palm slid along hers, warm fingers moving across her skin. The contact set off a tingle that traveled from her hand into the deepest part of her. She wanted more. She wanted that hand on her upper arm, her shoulder, her nape, pulling her in.

She looked up at him. In his somber gaze, the concern shifted into an emotion she didn’t recognize. Her mouth went dry, stomach taking a slow somersaulting fall.

He was still holding her hand and she didn’t want him to let go. Instead, she wished he’d draw her closer.

After a long moment, he dropped her hand. “Come on, let’s get something to drink and hit the road.”

Silence coated the trip into St. Augustine, but at least the awful tension had receded. Mark slumped in the seat. He was low, lower than Jed Stinson. Knowing she didn’t react well to sudden loud noises—he’d been at Tick’s one day when a ladder had crashed to the ground and scared her close to tears—he’d yelled at her. Wanting time to come to grips with an overload of memories wasn’t an excuse either.

As they entered the nation’s oldest city, Tori rested her elbow on the open window, head on her hand, her eyes round as she eyed the scenery. Mark tried to see everything with her fresh insight: the mishmash of styles, Spanish-inspired homes, ornate Victorians in vivid colors, ultramodern hotels. Moss hung from massive live oaks like the bushy beards of ancient old men. Tourists in bright clothing roamed the sidewalks.

She slowed behind a red tourist train. He tapped his fingers against his knee, a half-empty bottle of water resting on his thigh. The quiet crawled around them. He needed to break that silence, but she’d already told him she didn’t want another apology.

“The woman at the antique mall was really nice,” she said, the suddenness of her words startling him.

He didn’t look at her. Her voice was too bright, like she was trying hard to make things normal. “Yeah?”

“She gave me a ton of brochures for the sites and tours here.” She patted her purse.

“There’s a load of them.” Brilliant. She was sure to be impressed by his conversational skills.

A light turned red ahead, slowing traffic further. In the park next to the intersection, children played on swings and rode an elaborate merry-go-round. “I bet it would take days to do everything here.”

“Probably.”

Sighing, she ruffled her hair. “The only thing that didn’t sound interesting was the ghost tour. Walking in the dark, waiting to be frightened to death, isn’t my idea of a good time.”

His, either, although he could get into the idea of a nice moonlit stroll with her on the bay front. Whoa. He reined in that stray.

Traffic crawled forward. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

Hard not to, when he had enough of them to last a lifetime. Down here, they lay around every corner. He shrugged. “Never thought much about it.”

“Why does this area make you tense?” The soft question jolted through him, and he straightened. Damn, this was like being in the interrogation room with Tick—a series of smooth, idle questions lulling a suspect until the deadly inquiry came out of nowhere.

He crossed his arms over his chest. So she wanted to play twenty questions. He could do that. “When did you get a tattoo?”

Lips parted, she stared at him. “How did you—”

“Do you plan to take out that car full of little old ladies on vacation or would you like to hit the brakes?” He pressed the invisible brake on his side of the car. It didn’t work.

Muttering a word he didn’t know she knew, she jerked her attention back to the road and slammed a foot on the brake pedal. The seatbelt pulled tight across his chest, and he gave into an irresistible grin. He was right; it was a tattoo.

She eased around a curve and the Castillo de San Marco loomed on their left. She glanced at the centuries-old fort. Brushing her tangled hair back, she flexed her fingers on the steering wheel. “You didn’t answer the question.”

Surely she didn’t think he’d fall for that. “You’re right. I didn’t.”

Her pretty lips lifted at the corners. “Mark, come on. I’m curious.”

That flash of red and black on her smooth skin flickered in his mind again. “So am I.”

A horse-drawn carriage clopped by in the opposite direction. Her gaze scanned the street signs as they neared the Bridge of Lions. “Then we’ll trade. For every one of your questions I answer, you have to answer one of mine.”

Red flags tried to wave in his mind, but all he could think of was uncovering her secrets, getting to the real Tori under all the protective layers. “All right. I get to go first.”

She didn’t like that. He could tell because of the way her mouth firmed, but finally she nodded. “Okay. First question.”

An irresistible smirk stretched his mouth. “Does your brother know about that tattoo?”

She sighed. “No. And you don’t have to tell him either.”

Tell Tick? No way. Not when he could relish the sweetness of knowing something his partner didn’t. “Your turn.”

Eyes narrowed, she tapped her short nails on the wheel. “Give me a second. I’m thinking.”

Nerves jerked in his gut. She was smart, too smart for his good and there was no telling what question she’d come up with. He swallowed a groan. No matter what she asked, honor would bind him to answer.

“And waiting.” Boredom laced the words.

She twisted in the seat, better to see his face. “What did you lose down here?”

He stilled, the line of his body stiffening, but after a moment, he relaxed, a practiced smirk playing around his mouth. “My virginity.”

Irritation crawled through her, followed by a tendril of disappointment. “Mark, come on. Answer the question.”

He chuckled. “I did.”

“With a serious answer.”

“How much more serious can I get? You asked what I lost and I told you.”

She wrapped her fingers around the steering wheel. Too bad it wasn’t his neck. “You knew what I meant.”

“No, you asked a question and I merely made an interpretation.”

A completely wrong one. She narrowed her eyes at him. “All right, fine. Ask me another one.”

Admiration flared in his gray gaze, but she refused to squirm under his long, slow assessment. “Are we checking in?”

She pushed her door open. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but I’m fun.” His low laugh slid over her as they walked to the office.

When he held the door, she caught a whiff of that spicy soap he used as she passed. Lord, he smelled good—clean and warm, no overload of aftershave. Her stomach flipflopped and she sighed. She was hopeless.

Outdated shades of country blue and mauve decorated the small office, but the area gleamed, the scent of cleaning solution hanging in the air.

“Welcome to the Bayview.” The dark-haired young man behind the front desk smiled. His black tie contrasted with a stiffly starched white shirt. “May I help you?”

“We have a reservation.” Tori dug in her purse for the slip of paper with the confirmation number scribbled on it. She had to stop throwing all her grocery-store and gas receipts in this thing. Triumphant, she grinned and slid the paper across the desk to him.

He looked at it and turned to the computer, sliding glances her way as he did so. His assessment made her uncomfortable and she shifted, pulling out her wallet and extracting her credit card. The guy was staring now, probably because her hair looked like it hadn’t seen a brush in days. Lord, did she have something in her teeth? She ran her tongue over them, hoping to dislodge whatever it was.

Cheeks burning, she laid her credit card on the desk. “Both rooms on this, please.”

“Right.” He swiped the card, still eyeing her.

Sheesh, she couldn’t look that bad. Tucking errant strands behind her ear, she cast a surreptitious glance at the large round mirror hanging behind a huge fake flower arrangement. She swallowed a groan. She did look that bad. Actually, she looked worse, her hair a tangled mess, her skin pink from wind, sun and crying. Afraid to see anymore, she turned away.

Paperwork in hand, the clerk continued staring. Her cheeks burned. No telling what Mark thought about her, appearing in public like this. Bet Angel’s hair never looked like a bird’s nest.

Behind her, Mark sighed, the sound heavy with exasperation. “Hey, buddy, just check us in, would you? It’s been a long drive.”

To Tori’s intense relief, the younger man pulled his gaze from her face and laid the registration on the desk. “Sign here, please.”

She scrawled her signature and passed the pen back to him. He handed her two key cards in tiny folders and pointed to the laminated map on the desktop. “You’re in room 112, Ms. Calvert. Mr. Cook’s in 114. Let me, er, us know if you need anything.”

“Thanks.” She picked up the folders and offered Mark the one marked 114. The hard lines of his face and the coldness of his eyes made her falter, her fingers trembling a little as he took the card from her. She clutched her own tighter. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” He pushed the door open with a tight, frustrated movement and waited for her to precede him.

Her face still hot, she walked to the driver’s side and sank into the seat. Mark folded himself into the passenger seat. She stuck the key in the ignition, but didn’t start the car. Instead she flipped the vanity mirror down and bared her teeth. Nothing.

“What are you doing?” Irritation lingered in Mark’s voice.

“Checking my teeth.” She glanced at him. He frowned at her, his eyes a stormy gray, his jaw taut. “That guy was staring and I thought maybe I had something from lunch caught between them.”

His barking laugh filled the tiny interior. “You can’t be that clueless.”

“What?” She looked at her reflection again. Did he see something she didn’t?

“He wasn’t looking at you because you had something in your teeth.”

With a sigh, she snapped the mirror closed. “Probably my hair. It’s a mess.”

Mark reached for the mirror and opened it. Cupping his hand under her chin, he tipped her face up so she confronted her reflection. “He was looking at that.”

Trying to ignore the little shockwaves his gentle touch sent over her skin, she looked at herself. Eyes, nose, lips. Nothing remarkable, the eyes a little red-rimmed from crying. She shrugged, displacing her chin from his hand. “Why?”

His index finger skimmed over the curve of her cheek, a soft brush that left a trail of fire. “Because you’re flippin’ gorgeous.”

This time she laughed, to cover the hard lump in her throat. She couldn’t meet his gaze, couldn’t stand to see the mockery she was sure would be there. “Right. Be serious, Mark.”

“I am.” With tender pressure, he forced her gaze up to his. No mockery glinted in his. Instead, a steady glow burned there, kicking off an answering fire in the pit of her stomach. She swallowed, unable to look away. No one had ever looked at her like that, and heaven help her, she was glad it was him doing so now.

“Listen to me,” he said, fingers moving against her skin in a slow caress. The already small interior seemed to grow even smaller, the air disappearing, until there was only him and his warm touch. “You’re so beautiful it hurts and any man would be crazy not to want you.”

Even him? The question scorched her tongue, but she couldn’t get the words out. His answer would mean too much, could hurt too much.

One strong finger tilted her chin up. He leaned closer, the cotton of his shirt whispering against the car’s cloth interior. Her heart pounded out a painful rhythm and the fiery ache in her stomach grew hotter, more intense. A slow smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

“Any man,” he whispered and lowered his head.

At the first tentative touch of his mouth on hers, every nerve in her body jumped. He kissed her, a feathery brush. His firm mouth was warm and smooth, and elusive traces of wintergreen and spice filled her nose. Her eyes drifted shut and he lifted his head, nose grazing hers before he met her lips again.

This second kiss was different, his mouth molding to hers, coaxing her to respond. Fire danced through her and she sighed. High school hadn’t been like this, and when she’d dated after her rape, she’d avoided anything other than a peck to her cheek. But, oh, kissing Mark was different, like eating her mama’s cheese straws straight from the oven, hot and spicy and melting all at once.

She shifted closer, relishing the feel of his mouth on hers, wanting more. Her hands settled on his biceps, hard and firm under her touch, his polo shirt soft against her palms. A strangled groan vibrated through him and he pulled back.

Filled with instantaneous loss, she stared into gray eyes brimming with stormy desire. Desire. Chilling awareness filtered through her and she dropped her hands. This was Mark. She was sure the women he usually dated took desire a lot further than simple kisses and they probably didn’t feel sick at the mere idea of going beyond that. She was so out of her league with him.

“We’re in a public parking lot.” He rubbed his palms over his thighs and a rough laugh escaped him as he jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the office. “We probably just made that guy’s day.”

She couldn’t speak, so she swallowed hard, reached for the key and fired the engine. A couple of deep breaths and she cleared her throat. “We should clean up and go get something to eat.”

“Yeah.” His voice remained a little rough around the edges and his gaze lay like a weight on her. “There are some great places on the bay. We can walk and I’ll show you the sights.”

The idea of walking with him, being alone with him, set flutters off in her stomach again. Besides, if they were sightseeing, she didn’t have to worry about disappointing him. Shifting into drive, she cast him a sidelong look. Maybe the desire didn’t mean anything. He’d been with lots of women. Most likely, he felt the same thing with all of them. The flutters sank like stones tossed off the dock into Mama’s pond. He didn’t want
her
. He’d just been trying to prove a point.

She angled the Miata into the parking spot in front of room 112. Beautiful. He’d called her gorgeous. The flutters tried to lift again and she squashed them. No telling how many times he’d said the same thing to some other woman. It didn’t mean anything.

“Let’s unload the trunk.” She swung out of the car, trying to shrug off the silly depression pressing in on her. Lord, Tick was right. She needed to grow up. With shaky hands, she unlocked the trunk and reached for her bag.

“I’ve got it,” Mark said and lifted both overnight bags. His arm brushed hers, the brief contact jolting her.

Slamming the trunk a little harder than necessary, she walked to her door and slid the card through the electronic lock. She glanced down the walkway, assessing possible threats. No trees, no shrubbery for anyone to hide in.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside, swamped by the institutional smell of the hotel room. A table and two chairs sat in front of the large window, and a pair of beds rested beneath cheap ocean prints. Across from the beds, a television and clock radio took up the top of the dresser. Tori moved into the room, using her foot to see if the beds were on a platform or frame. A platform. No way anyone could hide under them.

The bathroom sink was in an anteroom outside the actual bath, and she glanced into the tiny room. Glass shower door. No shower curtain for concealment. No window to be used for entry. A connecting door with deadbolt stood outside the anteroom. If Tick had been with her, they’d have left the connecting doors open, the way they always did when they traveled together. He complained about her leaving the lights on, but his presence was always a comfort.

Somehow, she didn’t see herself leaving that door open with Mark in the other room.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, still standing in the open doorway, watching her assess the room. Heat swept her face. He had to think she was crazy. She lifted her chin with a hint of defiance. So what if she was? At least she was safety conscious.

“Thanks.” She crossed to take her bag from his easy grasp. She wrapped a hand around the door’s edge. “What time do you want to meet for dinner?”

He shrugged, his gaze dark and a little cool. “Take your time. Call me when you’re ready.” He stepped outside then turned back to her. “And remember, I’m just next door if you need anything.”

“Sure.” He thought she was paranoid. And why not? She was.

He walked away and she closed the door, throwing the deadbolt and sliding the chain. Making sure the curtains were shut, she laid her bag on the bed. She should have asked him where he intended to take her to dinner, whether she should dress up or not. Not that it mattered. She’d brought a suit to wear for her presentation, but everything else was casual wear.

Jeans and a shirt. Nothing fancy. Nothing to make him think she was trying to impress him. Her lips tingled and she ran a finger over them. Who was she kidding? He’d said she was beautiful and now she did want to impress him.

“You’re crazy,” she chided, shaking out a white buttondown shirt. “He was being nice. It didn’t mean anything, Victoria Jean. Remember that.”

Remembering the warning was hard, though, when the sound of his voice and the feel of his lips occupied all of her memories.

Mark fell back on the hard motel bed, an arm over his eyes. Sensations from that kiss continued to strum through his body and a rough sigh shook him. Damn, he’d lost his mind. Letting temptation get the better of him, then getting more satisfaction from that one kiss than he ever had from a night of sex with some woman he wouldn’t see again.

The reality of kissing her far surpassed what he’d imagined. Her mouth had been full, hot and moist, and her tentative touch on his arms had set him on fire. Great. He groaned around a harsh laugh. The semi caused by that kiss had finally receded while he’d watched her check that room, and now simply thinking about her had him halfway-to-hard and bothered again.

He’d offered to take her to dinner and on a personal sightseeing tour. This place wasn’t a honeymoon Mecca for nothing. Around every corner, it seemed, lurked romantic little spots begging to be used for stolen kisses and hidden caresses.

He was freakin’ nuts.

Through the wall came the sound of her shower running. Oh, hell. Mere feet away, she was naked, water sluicing over those curves, maybe beading on that tattoo he hadn’t seen yet. More blood and fire rushed south of his belt. At least she’d have plenty of hot water. For the next three days, he’d only need the cold.