All Fixed Up (23 page)

He nodded. “Yeah. Only there was nothing to stop me. I was caught off guard, a stupid rookie mistake, and didn't have a weapon. He did, a knife, and he liked playing with it. He toyed with me, slicing me randomly while we fought, all the while telling me which parts of me he was going to cut off before he killed me. Scared the living shit out of me. When I managed—by pure luck—to knock the knife out of his hand, I jumped on him and started pounding. Kept pounding long after I knew he was dead. He didn't have much of a face left when I was done.”

I squeezed his hands back. Somehow it was easier to understand the reaction in someone else. “How did you deal with it? After, I mean.”

“Harvey”—Harvey was Mark's mentor at the Agency—“made me see a company psychologist. I resisted. Thought I could handle it myself. But Harvey insisted, and I'm glad he did. Doc's a smart woman. Might be a good idea for you to see her, too. I can arrange it if you like.”

The idea of talking to anyone else about what I'd done—no, I couldn't see it. “Maybe later.”

Mark didn't press it. “No rush. For now, you can talk to me as much as you want.” He quirked a half-smile. “I'm not a doctor, but I can listen. And I do know what you're going through, if that helps.”

I relaxed. “It does. More than you know.”

He nodded. “Think you might be able to eat something? I can fry a mean egg. I don't usually burn toast either.”

I wasn't hungry, but it would be something else to focus on. “An egg and some toast would be great,” I said. “I'd offer to help, but…” I shrugged. Mark was well aware of my deficiencies in the kitchen.

He ruffled my hair, and for a second I almost felt normal. “Watch and learn, Howdy. Watch and learn.”

*   *   *

The trouble started when I closed my eyes.

I'd made it through dinner, managing to eat most of my toast and half an egg before my stomach put up a roadblock. We'd stuck to non-stressful topics, like how freaking cold it was, what kind of car Mark was considering trying out next, and old-school video games, after which I thought I was tired enough to sleep.

But every time I closed my eyes the world turned red. The color flowed over me, harsh and ugly, oozing into my field of vision, making my heart race as the adrenaline punched me in the gut again and again.

So I kept my eyes open, staring at the light coming from the bathroom door Mark had left open a crack, in case I needed to get up in the middle of the night. I was snuggled into the best sofa bed ever—apparently if you pay enough you don't wind up with a bar digging into your back—but it couldn't keep the red away.

Mark was in the chair where he'd thrown our coats earlier, the coats having been banished to the floor. The chair reclined, and he'd claimed it was perfectly comfortable. I'd told him it made more sense for me to take the chair, since I'm a good foot shorter, but he'd insisted.

“Want me to make you some warm milk?” Mark's words gave me a start, low though he'd kept his voice.

“How did you know I was awake?” I'd been trying my best to stay silent, figuring one of us should get some sleep.

“You're too quiet. Sleeping people are full of tiny noises. Even if they don't snore, their breathing has a different quality than when they're awake.”

I sighed. “Anyone ever tell you you're way too observant?”

“It's a curse,” he said. I could hear the smile in his voice.

He went to the kitchen area, turned on the light over the stove, keeping it at the dimmest setting, and got out a mug and a quart of milk. I joined him, still wearing his wool socks and thermal.

“You're going to have some, too, aren't you? I hate to drink alone,” I said, again trying for a touch of humor. It sounded flat to my ear.

He got out another mug. “Sure. Can I add a little something to sweeten it up for you?”

“Do you have any cocoa powder?”

“No, but I have some honey.”

“I guess it will have to do. At least now I know what to get you for Christmas,” I teased. If I kept working at it, maybe it would start to sound natural again.

While the milk heated in the microwave he leaned back, his hands resting on the counter on either side of his hips. He was still wearing clothes, but at least he'd taken off his shoes and sweater. Guess the T-shirt kept him warm enough indoors. Heck, it was starting to make me feel warm, and I wasn't even the one wearing it. I came close to asking him why he didn't get comfortable and change into his pajamas, but figured it wouldn't be wise. For all I knew, he didn't even sleep in pajamas, and I certainly didn't need to add that image to the muddled mess already tumbling in my head.

Though it was certainly more pleasant to contemplate than the other ones …

The kitchen felt smaller all of a sudden.

Of course it does, idiot. He's a big guy. Naturally the room looks smaller by comparison
, I thought, staring at his biceps. He gripped the edge of the counter, the muscles in both arms flexing to life.

The microwave beeped, pulling me out of my mini-trance, and my eyes shot up to his face. I could tell he'd caught me staring, and prayed the dim light would hide my blush.

“Howdy…”

I coughed, and turned to study the apples in the bowl on the counter. “Yeah?”

“Never mind,” he said after a short pause. He got the mugs, gave each a squirt of honey and a stir, and placed one carefully in my waiting hands, his fingers brushing my knuckles in passing.

All right,
that
felt way better than it should. I lifted the mug to my lips with trembling hands, sucking in the honeyed liquid like it was the antidote to what ailed me.

“Delicious,” I said. “Almost as good as hot chocolate. Yup, I think this is going to do the trick.” I gulped down the rest, afraid to move the mug for fear of what Mark might read on my face.

God, I really must be some brand of warped. Pregnant, deserted by my boyfriend, fresh off killing a man, and now here I was wanting nothing more than to jump Mark on the kitchen floor.

He set his mug on the counter after a token sip, took my empty one from me, and put it next to his. Then he held my hand with both of his, keeping some space between us. “
That's
normal, too. After.” His eyes were understanding, reminding me of the way he'd looked at me when I was nothing more than a kid crushing on him.

“It is?” I said, not bothering to pretend I didn't know what he was talking about.

He nodded. “It doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you. It'll wear off soon.”

I looked at the hands cupping mine. So big. Strong and vital and
alive.
Without conscious intent, I uncurled his fingers and placed his palms over my breasts. “What if I don't want it to wear off?”

His fingers gripped me lightly, then tried to pull away. I held them close. “Can't you help me not think for a little while?” I said softly.

He kept his hands still, not yanking them away, but in no way caressing me either. “Ciel, this isn't a good idea. Not now.”

Funny, it felt like the best idea in the world to me, the only idea worth having at the moment. The one thing that might override everything else I was trying so desperately to keep out of my head. I stroked the backs of his hands, circling his knuckles with my fingertips. “One night. If I can get through tonight I think I'll be okay.”

“What about Billy?” he asked gently.

“Billy ran out on me,” I said, my voice harsher than I intended. “I can't think about him right now.”

He moved his hands up to my shoulders. “Ciel, what happened?”

“Damn it, Mark! I don't want to talk. I want to
fuck.
And so do you.” I looked pointedly at his crotch. He'd have trouble denying
that.

His jaw tightened along with his hands. He took a deep breath and visibly relaxed himself. “Yeah, I do. But it's not happening if we don't talk. Why did Billy leave? Was it because of me?”

I sighed. He'd have to know sometime. This day was already in the toilet. Might as well flush it.

“He didn't seem to care for the idea of becoming a father,” I said, going for ironic understatement but probably stumbling into rancor.

Mark stared at me blankly for a second, then looked even more shocked than when I'd punched him at the gym. “You're pregnant?”

“Afraid so. Looks like Thomas's heir is going to have a cousin to grow up with,” I said, and immediately regretted it because it couldn't help but remind me that Billy and I had grown up together as cousins, albeit honorary ones.

“How long have you known?”

“Since my last day in Houston. Billy was there. He was as supportive as could be, even helping me with the test I was scared spitless to take. He was the perfect boyfriend … right up until he saw the little blue plus sign. Then he suddenly had somewhere else he needed to be, and I haven't heard from him since.”

Mark's forehead wrinkled, like he was having trouble wrapping his head around what I was telling him. “Are you sure that was the reason? Billy has a … complicated … work life. Did he get a text or anything before he left? Maybe something came up he couldn't tell you about.”

I thought back to the lovely reveal in Dr. Phil's bathroom. “No, I'm pretty sure it's the pregnancy thing. I knew he didn't want kids—he's never pretended to be father material, and frankly that was fine with me. It wasn't like I got pregnant on purpose. I lost my temper when he started to go—justifiably, I think—and yelled at him that it might not even be his baby, that it might be … yours.” If Mark had looked stunned before, it was nothing compared to now. “Instead of getting angry, he told me ‘that might be best.' And then he was gone.”

“Jesus, Howdy, I—is it true? Or were you just trying to hurt him?”

I took a deep breath. “It's true. I haven't had a period since that night. I didn't think anything of it before Laura … I mean, I've never been very regular. God, Mark, I don't even know which of you is—”

He dropped to his knees and hugged me around my waist, pressing his lips against my belly. “It doesn't matter. It will never matter to me, Ciel.”

Once again, I was blindsided by the reaction to my news. I placed a hand on his head, shaking in earnest now, and said, “Can we go to bed now?”

 

Chapter 19

Mark stood. I took him by the hand and led him back to the sofa bed, lying down once we were there and pulling him on top of me. He still seemed hesitant.

“I know you're Billy's friend,” I said. “I know there might be more to his reaction than I realize. Maybe he'll come back. Maybe”—I swallowed hard, about to be brutally honest, both with Mark and myself—“maybe I even want him to. You can't stop loving someone on a dime.” How often had I made the same explanation to Billy about my leftover feelings for Mark? “I don't know any of that. But I do know I need you to hold me right now more than I need my next breath.”

He kissed me then, wrapping strong arms around me, giving me what I wanted. Selfishly, I took it. I held on to him the way a drowning person clings to a buoy in a stormy sea, using him to keep all the terrifying thoughts in my head at bay. One more thing for me to feel guilty about tomorrow, but at the moment I didn't care. Tomorrow could go fuck itself. Tonight was my haven, and I was damn well going to crawl into it and lock out the rest of the world.

He was tender with me, too tender for my present state of mind, undressing me and himself with agonizing slowness. I wanted him fast and hard, to match the pounding of my pulse. I wanted him to drive every ugly thought, every hideous image, out of my head by his sheer strength.

“
Please,
” I said, demanding more than begging. I dug my fingers into his shoulders as hard as I could. I tried to shake him, but he was like stone in my hands, immovable.

“Shhh…” he said, the sound a whisper of breath in my ear. He ignored my efforts to spur him on, choosing instead to gentle me with unhurried hands and soft lips. “Be still. Let your muscles relax. I promise it will be better.”

I lay back in frustration, doing as I was told, not sure I deserved to enjoy it more, but what choice did I have? He wasn't giving in.

His hands and mouth continued their leisurely exploration of my body. It was almost more of a massage, and eventually I did relax, receding into a boneless state of blissful nothingness. Then he switched gears and started ramping up the tension in my body again, minus the rage at life that had been threatening to overwhelm me.

When he finally entered me it was in one silken motion, filling not only my body but also the place that had been excised from my soul at the skating rink. He moved inside me with infinite patience, not rushing, lifting me so gradually that when my peak came it took me by surprise, both with its intensity and its duration. Not the violent release I'd wanted, but the deep and gentle one I'd needed.

As it ebbed, he joined me with his own, holding himself still as he pulsed into me, kissing me so softly, so reverently I couldn't stop my tears from flowing. He withdrew and rolled onto his back, tucking me next to him.

I snuggled close, burrowing my face into his chest. “Thank you,” I said, sniffling. “Thank you, thank you…” And then I drifted off to sleep.

*   *   *

The first thing I realized upon waking: I hadn't had a single nightmare. Mind-blowing sex, the cure for all ills. Beat the heck out of seeing a shrink. No offense to psychiatrists, but I didn't think I'd enjoy having my psyche dissected. I figured my subconscious deserved its privacy.

The second thing I realized: Mark was gone. Before I could panic, I saw the note he'd left on the pillow beside mine, telling me he'd gone downstairs for a quick meeting, assuring me he wouldn't take his eyes off the building and would be back soon.