Somebody to Love: Sigh With Contentment, Scream With Frustration. At Time You Will Weep. (32 page)

But then, once someone’s feelings had moved on, there was no going back. He knew that. When Emma had walked away, she didn’t look back. That was okay. Mark didn’t need her to. He could cope, he’d told himself, on his own.

Just like Donna claimed she could cope. Well, not tonight. Love him or hate him, tonight she was stuck with him.

Thereafter… he folded the letter from the hospital cytology department and placed it back on the microwave… if she was going to let him in, he was going to have to work a hell of a lot harder at gaining her trust.

Chapter Twenty-One

Donna lay, pleasantly untroubled. She liked this time of day, when there was no sound in the world, other than the birds’ dawn chorus. And, um, the heavy breathing of someone else in the room?

Oh, God?! Donna blinked grainy eyelids against the semi-dark. Slowly, she turned her head to one side, then almost died as whoever it was stirred and rolled over, draping one sleepy arm heavily over her body.

Her heart thudded manically against her ribcage. It was Mark. She could smell his reassuring aftershave, mingled with the comforting scent of freshly washed sheets. Relief oozed from her every pore, swiftly followed by panic.

What was he doing here? In her bed? What was
she
doing in her bed, with
him
?

Her mind was a blank. A complete and utter blank.

Donna eased her head from the pillow, then froze as he stirred again, rolling onto his back, raking his hand through his hair. In his sleep? Did the man’s worries haunt him even in his dreams?

Carefully, not wanting to wake him, she eased around to study his profile, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest in the growing light through the window.

She was in her bedroom, she knew that much, but she had no clue how she got into bed. Got out of her… Donna scrunched her eyes shut… good-time-girl’s outfit complete with polystyrene cups.
Oh, no
. She gulped, then tentatively traced the contours of her own body.

Perfect. She was wearing a shirt. Just a shirt. Which meant that Mark had seen her. All of her. Parts of her she would have possibly died trying to hide. Donna groaned inside, absolutely horrified.

What happened!? Had she… slept with him? Naked?! And not even remembered? How?! Her stomach churned. Her head swam. She must have been very, very…

Drunk. Yes, she’d been drunk.

Something hadn’t been right. Something had happened. Something… bad? She flopped back on her pillow and concentrated hard above the nauseating throb in her temples. Eventually, hazily, the pieces started to click into place.

Sadie? She wasn’t here. Donna tried to swallow against the constriction in her throat. Was she out there, somewhere in the unfriendly night? Please, God, don’t let her be in pain all on her own.

The photographs. Donna remembered those. Remembered Mark holding her. Holding her tight. Beyond that, nothing, bar a fleeting image of Mark brushing her hair from her face, his face dark and angry. Had she done something awful?
This
was awful. She needed to move. Get up. Get dressed. Matt was due home and …

Sh… ugar!

She couldn’t be here. In bed. With a man! Donna eased a toe from under the duvet, followed by a foot, then a leg.

Gingerly, she glanced back at Mark. Had she dragged him here? Begged him to sleep with her? Passed out?! In which case, what
was
Mark doing lying next to her? She must have consumed a whole distillery, because, beyond a certain point, Donna could remember absolutely nothing at all.

She inched her other leg out, twisted around and slithered the rest of her-wanton-self out, thankful for Mark’s shirt as she stumbled to the door.
Mark’s shirt
? She turned back to look at him and very nearly did pass out. He was extremely fanciable. Temptingly gorgeous. And naked.

Oh, dear God, she had.

Mortified, Donna made her way to the bathroom on very sore feet, where she dispensed with tradition and sat in the shower, allowing the water to cascade over her, hoping it might wash her awake, or wash her away. She’d had sex with him. A once-in-a-lifetime never to be repeated experience, now he’d seen her in all her naked glory, no strategically placed lingerie, risqué or otherwise. Nothing apart from soggy plasters on the soles of her feet. How awful.

She couldn’t even remember how they’d got there. What
was
the matter with her? No complications?! Hah! This was probably as complicated as it got. And she’d no functional brain with which to even try to unscramble any of it.

‘Donna?’ Mark called as she sat shivering, wondering what her next move should be. ‘Donna, are you okay in there?’

‘Donna?!’

‘Yes!’ Donna shouted urgently as he knocked on the door. She couldn’t even remember whether she’d locked it. She killed off her brain cells, tossed her last shred of dignity out of the window and turned into an actual floozy. And what a sad old floozy she must be. One she certainly didn’t want him to see, wet.

‘Yes, yes, I’m fine,’ she redressed her tone, lest Mark come in on the basis he’d seen everything anyway.

‘Sure?’ Mark didn’t sound convinced.

‘Yes. I’m just, you know,’
drowning myself.

‘Right, I’ll make some tea, then,’ Mark offered. ‘I’ll be downstairs.’

Donna’s mouth twitched into a smile. She never would have guessed.

Well — she sucked in a breath and blew out a soap sud, whether she remembered or not, it had happened. She couldn’t undo it. And, whatever had happened, she had things to do. Her dog to find. Her son to explain to. The mess to clear up. Including the mess she’d obviously made with the off-duty policeman currently making tea in her kitchen. Donna dragged her hair from her face and got unsteadily to her feet, still feeling extremely nauseous.

Served her right. She was old enough to know better.

She towelled herself and reached for a tub of moisturiser in the absence of a handy bag she could wedge on her head. She’d have to go back out in his shirt, she supposed. She couldn’t hope to compete with Julia Roberts without surgery, but at least she might look slightly more attractive adorned in a shirt than a faded old towel.

Mmm. It did smell nice. She slipped into it, had a good sniff of it. She’d remember that, when he’d gone, how the smell of Mark had been so lovely to wake up to. Next to the smell of freshly washed sheets, she could think of nothing nice…

Hang on a minute. Donna blinked. The sheets!? They
were
freshly changed. And, if she was too inebriated to remember getting into bed — with Mark, she would hardly have been capable of changing the bed linen beforehand. Which could only mean that Mark had changed it.

Why? When?

It made no sense. She was going to have to ask him. Admit — whatever it did to his ego, or hers — that she couldn’t remember any of it.

Donna steeled herself, tugged up her shoulders, tugged down the hem of her shirt, and headed nervously back to the bedroom.

Mark was back. Tea made, as promised. She smiled wanly, wishing her hair was still Madonna not Medusa, and that she at least had on a scrap of make-up.

‘Better?’ Mark smiled warmly from where he sat on the bed, his uniform on now over his bare torso, which helped Donna’s bewildered state of mind not one iota.

‘A bit.’ Donna nodded, glancing away from him and around the now debris-free room. Her personal things… Donna recalled, with another bout of nausea, how they’d been touched, defiled, strewn about like so much garbage. Mark had obviously tidied up.

‘Good,’ he said, standing up and patting the duvet. ‘Come back to bed.’

Come back to?
‘What?’ Donna croaked.

‘Bed,’ he repeated. ‘You’re probably pretty exhausted after last night.’

Exhausted?
Donna felt the blood drain from her face to pool in her feet. ‘No,’ she squeaked and clutched at the doorframe, ‘thank you, but I, um.’

‘Donna, what’s wrong?’ Mark was across the room in a flash.

‘… feel faint.’

‘Hey, hey, steady. I’ve got you,’ he assured her, sweeping her off her feet. ‘Come on, doctor’s orders.’ He hoisted her high in his arms. ‘You need to lie down.’

She did. Absolutely did, but please don’t let him lie down with her, she thought woozily, as he carried her across the room to lower her gently onto the bed.

‘You’re going to have to stop this, you know?’ He smiled, sat down next to her and smoothed down the hem of her shirt. His shirt.

‘Stop what?’ Donna asked guardedly.

‘Passing out on me.’

‘Is that what I did last night?’ Donna wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

‘Eventually,’ he said, brushing her damp hair from her face, then bending to plant the softest of kisses on her forehead, her eyelashes, her mouth.

Donna hesitated, sensation returning, everything tingling. What was she
doing
?

‘Mark,’ she mumbled, pressing her hands to his shoulders, pushing him away, ‘please don’t. I can’t. I…’ Donna trailed off, hoping he’d understand she hadn’t a clue what to do, or what she’d already done.

‘Sorry, that was insensitive. I shouldn’t have.’ Mark looked immediately guilty.

‘I shouldn’t have.’ Donna levered herself up on the pillows. ‘Look, Mark, about last night,’ she said quickly, before the embarrassing situation could get any worse, ‘I’d had a lot to drink.’

Mark looked at her bemusedly. ‘I know. I —’

‘Too much, and I, um… Mark, what happened between us last night, I… I shouldn’t have.’

Mark stared at her now.

‘I’m not sure when I passed out, but… It shouldn’t have happened, Mark. Not like that.’

‘Right.’ Mark ran his hand over his neck. ‘So, you think that you and I… That I…’ He trailed off, shaking his head. ‘Jesus, Donna!’

He looked back to her, his expression one of utter bewilderment.

Oh, Lord, she hadn’t meant… She didn’t
know
what she meant. She didn’t know… Donna glanced down, wished she could slide down. Crawl under the duvet, curl up and die.

Mark stood up, slowly, his hand going through his hair, a sure sign he was upset. He looked at her, disbelief in his eyes, swiftly followed by anger. ‘Donna, do you actually remember what happened last night?’

Donna shrugged, wove her fingers together and studied them. ‘Some, yes.’

‘Do you recall the doctor coming?’

Doctor?
‘What doctor?’ Donna’s head shot up.

‘I’ll take that as a no.’ Mark searched her face. ‘Do you remember coming into the bedroom, Donna?’

Donna nodded, feeling on very shaky ground.

‘The photographs?’

Donna dropped her gaze.

‘You got upset, Donna. Very upset.’ Mark sat back down, hesitated, then tentatively took hold of her hand. ‘I called the doctor because you weren’t making any sense and you were shaking so much, quite frankly, I was scared.’

Donna looked up at him. His eyes were sincere, yet troubled.

‘He gave you something to calm you. A sedative. You slept for a while. A good while. Then you woke up with a fresh bout of the shakes and… I slept next to you, Donna, not with you.’

‘Oh.’

‘The shirt was because you were ill.’

He’d brushed her hair from her face. Brushed her hair from her face in the bathroom.

‘All in all, very nice though it was, I really didn’t think you’d be too comfortable in your Madonna outfit. And, yes, there was plenty of your own stuff to choose from…’

Mark paused, holding her gaze.

‘… but I was pretty sure you wouldn’t want to wear anything that those bastards had had their hands all over.’

Donna bowed her head, shamefaced. The trousers to Mark’s uniform, she finally noticed, were covered in fluff from the sheets. He’d obviously slept in them.

She had absolutely no idea what to say.

‘Donna, I care very much about you. I know now’s probably not a good time, but…’ Mark stopped as he heard a key in the lock. ‘That will be Matt, I imagine.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘Do you want me to talk to him?’

Donna blinked up at him. Was that all? Wasn’t he going to shout? Feel affronted, slam doors, stomp around? ‘Thank you,’ she said, squeezing his hand back, in the absence of words that could make right what she’d thought.

She may never take it off. Donna pulled his shirt tight around her as Mark went down to talk to her son, sensitively, she knew he would. How could she have been so insensitive of Mark’s feelings?

****

It was obvious why she’d jumped to conclusions. Mark mulled things over as he drove away from the station more suitably attired for a policeman. He’d had a few unmemorable occasions himself. That wasn’t a problem.

That Donna thought he’d actually taken advantage of her though. Jesus. Mark was struggling with that. But then, she had woken to find a man in her bed and no recollection of what happened. Dammit, he should have clarified things sooner. Certainly shouldn’t have fallen asleep.

He should have apologised too, for the unforgivable things he’s said the last time he’d been in that room. Told her how much he loved her — that he’d never intentionally do anything to hurt her.

The timing hadn’t been right though, with Matt walking into what was basically a crime scene.

Mark eased the crick in his neck, sighed, and checked his watch. He’d got two hours, before Jody had to get home. She’d been fantastic, child-minding and pet-minding with Starbuck off colour. Mark had no idea how he was going to cope without her. Somehow he would. Right now, though, he had some business to attend to. Unofficial business.

Thereafter, an errand to run that he hoped might make Donna realise that rubbish he’d spouted hadn’t been about his bruised ego. Jealousy might not be a better excuse, but that’s what it was, pure and simple.

Because he did love her, and he would damn well find a way of telling her, whatever the outcome.

Mark reached the end of the drive that lead to the Grade II listed country house. Wow. He let out a low appreciative whistle. Nice. Wouldn’t mind some of that himself. He drove on past an ornamental maze and what looked like an orangery.