Part 16 (1/2)

s.h.i.+t. Closing her eyes, she lowered her head. How did she respond to that, she wondered. I've loved you my entire life...and I don't know if this is going to last...

”If you're already having doubts about us, we're doomed, you know,” he said quietly.

”I don't even think there is an us yet, Marc.”

She looked up as he reached for the towel lying on the counter by them and slowly wiped his hands off.

”There's been an us for a lot longer than I realized,” he said softly. ”It just took me a little while to see it.”

She turned away, looking for anything to stare at, to occupy her mind. ”Marc, for there to be an us, we'd need to know.”

”Do you know what I've missed the past few years? More than anything I can think of?” He stared at her, his eyes lingering over her face, studying it. Searching it. ”You. I'd find myself thinking about you. And I'd call you. Sometimes you were there. Sometimes you weren't. When you weren't...it made the day darker. When you were, it...well...you made the day. There was an us. I just didn't see it. Come on. Let's eat.”

Every time, d.a.m.n it. Every time she was almost close to level, he shattered the very foundation under her feet. Sliding off the stool, she edged around the island, keeping a little bit of distance between them. ”Could we eat outside?” she asked, glancing toward the doorway that led to the deck she'd seen. There was no real desire to sit outside, but if she had a few more minutes...

The look in Marc's eyes told her he knew exactly what she was doing. But he shrugged and gestured. ”Sure. Take the basket of bread and our drinks. I'll be out with the rest in a minute.”

She looked at the island with the salad, the dish of lasagna. ”I can carry things out.”

”So can I,” he said mildly. ”Go out outside. There's a fire pit on the table. It's gas. Why don't you light it?”

”Okay.”

d.a.m.n it. She'd wanted a few minutes to try and get herself under control and now she was going to be eating a dinner by firelight with him...

Every d.a.m.n way I turn...

Outside, she set the gla.s.ses together at one end. She'd thought about setting them farther apart-him at the head, her at the foot of the table. Just to give herself some of that badly needed s.p.a.ce. And yeah, that would have gone over really well. So instead she did what just fell natural, the two of them, sitting side by side, staring out over the water.

Jerking his chain wouldn't be smart.

Although it would be a h.e.l.l of a lot easier if he'd give her a little bit of s.p.a.ce. Just a little.

She fiddled with the k.n.o.bs on the fire pit and watched as it flared to life, smiling absently. It was pretty-brightly colored rocks that looked like gla.s.s in the base, reflecting the light. Easing back, she turned away and moved to stand at the railing, staring out over the lake. The wind kicked up, blowing her hair and tangling her skirt around her legs.

Hearing the door open, she turned around and saw him balancing the plates, waiter style on his arm. She laughed and leaned back against the railing. ”I forgot you used to do that sort of thing for a living,” she said.

”A handy skill, juggling four plates,” he said dryly. He set them down and headed back inside. ”Back in a minute.”

A few minutes later, he was back outside with silverware and cloth napkins in a deep shade of burgundy. She sat down, about ready to pop off with another quip, but she glanced up, saw him watching her. Waiting. She needed to stop this, she knew. Blowing out a breath, she said, ”It looks pretty decent for a guy who used to burn mac and cheese.”

”Yeah, well, wait until you try it, smart a.s.s,” he muttered.

She smiled and took a bite of the salad. It was good, although salads were easy.

”You afraid to try the lasagna?”

Rolling her eyes, she scooped up a bite and tried it. Then she blinked and shot him a look. ”Wow.”

A smug grin curved his lips as he cut into his. ”Told you.”

”You really need to work on that humility problem of yours, Marc. People just don't know what to make of overly humble people.”

He chuckled and for a few minutes they ate in a light, companionable silence.

The lasagna was probably better than any she could make. Of course, she didn't do much cooking lately. Sometimes she and Shera decided to do something, but for the most part, she stuck with the cheap and the basic, out of necessity. ”Who taught you to cook?” she asked after she'd done everything but lick the enamel off the plate. Breaking a piece of her bread off, she told herself she wasn't going to be jealous when he said it had been a girlfriend.

”My drummer's wife.” He leaned back, eyeing like he knew what she was thinking. ”She's my a.s.sistant. You've met her. Ilona?”

”Yeah.” Cute. Funny. Biting sense of humor. Chaili had liked her. ”I'm surprised she had the patience to do it.”

”Oh, she's got the patience of a saint. She just hides it well.” He glanced at her plate. ”Want more? I made enough to feed an army.”

”No.” She patted her belly. ”I ate far more than I needed to anyway.”

She nipped another bite of the bread and immediately choked when he said, ”Take your s.h.i.+rt off.”

Reaching for her gla.s.s of water, she glared at him. ”Are you trying to kill me?”

”Absolutely not.” He smiled at her, stroking his thumb down the line of his jaw. ”Take off your s.h.i.+rt.”

She looked around, but the way the layout of his house was designed, n.o.body would be able to see them unless they were either on the deck with them, or out on the water.

Still, she was blus.h.i.+ng as she stripped the s.h.i.+rt off. Folding it, she set it down on the table and lifted her head to find him skimming his eyes along her body. They didn't even hesitate on the scars, she noticed. It was like the scars were the same to him as her belly, her legs... Except they weren't. Closing her eyes, she fought the urge to hide, could even feel her shoulders slumping, her feet itching with the need to turn away.

”Look at me.”

Staring at him through her lashes, she held her hands fisted at her sides.

”You ready for dessert?”

The look on her face might have been comical, except there was nothing funny about the way she kept trying to pull away from him. He was tired of it. It was like she couldn't stop herself, and even though she wasn't backpedaling as much now as she had been, he figured the best thing to do was just keep her off balance a little.

Seemed fair.

He'd been off balance ever since he'd walked into Escorte and seen her standing there.

”Dessert?” she echoed, looking down at her bare chest and then up at him. Sighing, she brushed her hair back and rested her elbows on the table. ”You really plan to make me eat dessert naked, Marc?”

”You're not naked,” he pointed out. Echoing her pose, he held her gaze even though all he wanted to do was shove the table out of the way-would be kind of hard to do that too. The table had been built into the deck. That little fact didn't matter. He still wanted to do it, wanted to lay her out on the long bench, spread her thighs, hold her open and bare and strip away all the barriers, all the walls... and just have her.

Have all of her. Have everything.

No walls. No barriers.

Just them.

She smirked at him. ”Okay, so I'm wearing a skirt. Close enough to naked. What's the point of this?”

”The point is, I want to see you sitting there, naked under that skirt. Firelight on your skin. And I want to think about what I'm going to do to you next,” he said. ”I'll be back in a few minutes.”