His Fair Lady (7 page)

Josie sighed and tried to ignore the niggle of disappointment. Ha, like she had any business being disappointed.

“It looks like my roommate’s home,” Josie said as she opened her seat belt and reached for the door handle.

“Is that his car?” Mark gestured at the canary-yellow station wagon.

Josie nodded and pulled keys from her pocket.

Chapter Five

He didn’t understand this girl, didn’t feel like he knew her at all. But maybe that was about to change. It would if he had anything to say about it.

Mark followed Josie up two long flights of stairs, their shoes echoing against the bare wooden floorboards.

It was no chore to watch those endless legs and that tight little ass as she mounted the stairs in front of him. Mark’s whole body tightened with anticipation as he recalled all the things they’d said to each other during their recent phone-sex session. Now he was going to teach her how to waltz.

Why Josie was suddenly so willing to let him not only touch her but come up to her apartment, he had no idea. But why question such a stroke of good fortune?

Take it easy, Mark counseled himself. Go slow. And he would. He had to, because this girl was as skittish as a feral cat, ready to bolt at the least wrong move on his part.

Keys jingled softly as Josie unlocked her apartment door. She opened it wide and turned on a lamp right by the door before she motioned him inside.

“Ta-da! This is it.”

“Wow, it’s tiny.”

Josie laughed. “It’s big enough for me and Kyle. And the rent’s cheap, so…”

Pulling off her jacket, she tossed it in the direction of her desk chair. It missed and slid to the floor in a heap.

Mark removed his own jacket and hung both his and hers over the back of the chair, since there didn’t seem to be anywhere else to put them. There was a closet, open and spilling clothes. More clothes were piled in the farthest corner next to a narrow hallway that must lead to the bedrooms.

Josie seemed to notice him noticing and smiled. “Guess I neglected to tell you we’re total slobs. That’s Kyle stuff. He doesn’t have a closet in his room, so…”

“Kind of hard to be neat in a place this small. And if you think this is bad, you should see mine and Masterson’s room.”

“Is that Dave Masterson, the football player?”

“Yeah, you know him?”

“Not really. Kyle dragged me to a game last fall when we were thinking about coming here. He has a massive crush on Dave Masterson.” Josie started to laugh, then stopped and widened her eyes. “You won’t say anything to him, will you? I don’t—”

“I won’t say anything. I don’t think he’d care, but I won’t.”

For a moment, she looked relieved; then her gaze strayed to the hallway like she was expecting someone to come out of the bedrooms. “I wonder where Kyle is. Ky?”

No answer.

“Maybe he’s not here.”

“His car’s outside.” Josie walked toward the rear of the apartment, once more calling her roommate’s name. She disappeared, leaving Mark alone in the living room.

She was back in less than a minute. Apparently the other rooms weren’t much larger than this one.

“He’s not here.” Josie walked to a small refrigerator located under the one foot of counter space in the galley kitchen. “Want something to drink? I think we have some wine.”

“Sure, wine would be great.” Without waiting for an invitation, Mark sat on a slightly lumpy couch covered in a bold floral pattern of blues and reds and purples. A tiny coffee table stood in front of the couch, and Mark set his keys and cell phone on it.

Josie carried two glasses of pale gold wine over to the couch and set them on the table before sitting next to Mark. She handed him a glass, then picked up her own.

“
Sliánte
!” She clinked her glass against his, then sipped.

Mark echoed her, then took a small sip from his glass. He didn’t much like wine, would have preferred a beer, but since wine was what she had, he could roll with it. He set the glass on the table, noticing hers was already half gone.

“I didn’t know you were Irish,” he said.

This made her laugh. She gestured to herself. “Um, red hair and freckles plus the palest skin ever is a pretty sure bet my ancestors came from the Emerald Isle, and not so long ago either. Actually, my gran still goes back every year for like a month.”

“Do you know Gaelic?”

“No, I just like that toast.” She lifted her glass and drained it, then got up and crossed to the counter where she’d left the wine bottle.

“Here, drink mine.” Mark stood and carried his nearly full glass over to the counter. He passed it to her.

“Don’t you like wine?” She sipped, a much smaller sip this time, but didn’t set the glass down.

“Not that much, really. I haven’t had it that often, only during holiday dinners and usually my mom buys white zinfandel, which I think tastes gross.”

Josie nodded. “Have to agree with you there. Would you rather have a beer?”

“Why don’t we get started with the lesson?”

“Okay.” Josie set her glass on the counter. “I guess we need music.”

“I have the ‘Embassy Waltz’ on my phone.” Mark crossed to the coffee table, unlocked his phone, and found the playlist with the waltz from the show. He set it to repeat the track and tapped Play before turning to Josie. He held out his hands.

“May I have this dance, m’lady?”

“Do you have your steel-toed boots on?” Josie smiled and took his hands.

“You know how the hands go, right? One on my shoulder and mine on your waist. Then we hold hands like this.”

“That’s the easy part, where nobody’s toes get broken.”

“Right.” Mark chuckled. At this distance, he saw the dark blue ring around her irises. Funny how he’d never noticed it before, and how it emphasized the clear pale blue of her eyes. A blue so clear he fancied he could see his reflection.

A guy could get lost in eyes like that. Fall right in and—

“Mark?”

“What? Sorry, I was just…”

“Woolgathering?” She squeezed his hand.

“Exactly.” Mark let out a long breath. “Okay, the waltz is a three count, two quick steps and one slow, like this.”

He moved into the dance, taking her with him and allowing his muscle memory to dictate the motion. In his arms, she felt stiff, her movements jerky and tentative.

“Try sliding the back foot into the step,” Mark advised. “And don’t look at your feet, look at me. They say if you look into your partner’s eyes, you won’t get dizzy.”

But when she looked into his eyes, he was the one who felt a wave of dizzy excitement sweep him up and toss him once more into those pretty blue eyes.

HE WAS WRONG, Josie thought as she gazed into the dark depths of his eyes and her head spun. She had never been so dizzy before in her entire life.

With a huge effort of will, she forced herself to relax and pay attention to his instructions and not the heat of his hand on her waist or the heat in his gaze when it dropped to her mouth.

“That’s it,” Mark murmured. He tugged her closer. “Lean into me a little, and try to just feel the music and go with it.”

She shouldn’t have drunk that wine. Rather than relaxing her as she’d hoped, it had made her head all fuzzy and heightened the sensation of being so close to Mark. He held her easily, close but not crushing her against him. When had his hand moved to the small of her back?

She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed.

“I never danced like this before,” she said, then instantly wished she could suck the words back in. Ah well, couldn’t be helped now.

“I guess waltzing isn’t very big these days.”

She said nothing, since attempting an explanation would inevitably lead to more questions, questions she couldn’t answer.

Mark leaned back a little and looked at her. “You mean waltzing, right?”

She meant to lie, she really did. But for whatever reason, she found herself telling him the truth.

“No, I mean slow like this, with a guy.”

Mark laughed. “You’re kidding. You’re not kidding. Wow, what about in high school. Didn’t you go to dances?”

“I was homeschooled, mostly. So, no, no dances.”

“Mostly?”

“I went to a regular school for like half a semester; then we moved, and my mom started teaching me at home.”

And wasn’t that an oversimplified version of what had actually happened? But telling the whole truth would require way too much explanation and revelation. She was not ready for that and doubted he ever would be either.

“Now you’re getting it.” Mark spun them around.

“Whoa! No getting fancy.”

She was actually doing it, waltzing like she’d been dancing with him for years. It felt good, and she found herself smiling at him.

“Is that your family?” Mark asked.

“What?”

“The picture. On your desk?” He waltzed them around again and angled his head. But the move was unnecessary.

Damn it! She hardly ever thought about that picture. Never really saw it since it was so much a part of her surroundings. No matter where she lived, that picture came with her and was always the first thing she unpacked.

Why had she let Kyle put it in the living room?

The picture showed a youngish middle-aged couple standing with their arms around each other and holding a little boy of about five between them. Behind them stood her father’s ‘62 Panhead, his pride and joy.

“Yeah, that’s my family.” Josie cleared her throat. Her voice sounded odd even to her ears. “Can we stop for a minute? I’m getting dizzy.”

“Sure.” He released her and walked over to the desk and picked up the picture. “Is the little boy your brother?”

Josie rescued her wine and took a long sip. Her throat was suddenly dry as dust. She nodded.

“Yeah, my brother. It’s an old picture.”

“Where were you?”

“I was taking the picture,” Josie said, the lie rolling right off her tongue. It left behind a bitterness that was all too familiar.

She liked Mark, and she hated lying, especially hated lying to him. But it couldn’t be helped.

“What’s his name?”

“Who?”

“Your brother.” Mark laughed. “Who else?”

“His name’s Joey.”

“Josie and Joey. He looks like you. How old is he now?”

For a moment, she said nothing. It must have been a long moment, because suddenly Mark put down the picture and walked to her.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No, it’s okay.”

The wine bottle clinked against the glass as Josie got herself another refill. Damn it, her hands were shaking.

“I’m sorry. Maybe I should go.”

“No, don’t. I mean, I don’t want you to go. It’s just… It’s not you. It’s just hard for me to talk about Joey.”

That, at least, was the truth.

“I’m sorry,” Mark said again. “We don’t have to talk about it, but maybe it would help.”

Josie shook her head. But when she opened her mouth to tell him again it was okay, she found she couldn’t force the words past the lump clogging her throat. Suddenly her eyes filled, and she turned away quickly.

Please don’t let him have seen.

She tossed back her wine for extra courage, then just stood there by the kitchen counter, her empty glass clutched in one hand.

She knew he was behind her, sensed him there even before his hand closed over hers and he gently took the glass and set it down.

“I don’t know what happened to Joey, Joes. But I’m really sorry.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing back the tears, and drew in a long quiet breath before she turned and wrapped her arms around him and kissed him full on the mouth.

MARK NEARLY STAGGERED from the force of her body bumping against his. He reached back with one hand and steadied them both before wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her tight against him.

Her lips were as warm and soft as he remembered, and she tasted like wine and like herself. There was no hesitation in the kiss, no timidity or feel of uncertainty. Rather the way her lips clung to his had the feel of desperation.

Her fingers were in his hair, gripping hard enough to hurt a little. Their teeth clicked together, their tongues doing battle. She nipped at his bottom lip, then licked at the sting like a cat lapping at cream.

God, she was beautiful.

She pressed against him, full body contact, no wimpy butt-sticking-out embrace with this girl. She was right there with him. No way she could miss his growing hard-on. It felt like an iron bar inside his jeans. Mark shifted his hips, though he couldn’t have said why if there had been a gun to his head.

Josie shifted her hips right along with him. She rubbed against him, little
mmm
sounds bleeding into their kiss.

“Mark,” she breathed his name then caught his lip between her teeth and tugged. “You’re so hard for me.”

“Mm-hmm.” Mark found Josie’s lips again, parting them with his tongue and invading the sweetness of her mouth. He slid his hands down to her perfect ass and ground her against him, wanting more contact and fewer clothes between them.

“Let’s go lay on the couch,” he said, breaking the kiss.

Instead of answering, Josie slipped her hand between their bodies and gripped him through his jeans.

“Ah.” Mark’s head fell back and thumped against the cabinet over the counter. His hips pressed forward into her touch, and his eyes squeezed shut.

So much for going slow.

He felt her tug at his zipper, felt the remainder of his blood rush from his big head to his little one.

He caught at her wrist just as her fingers slid between denim and flesh and closed around his dick.

“Josie…”

“You like that.” Her lips moved against his ear, her breath warm against that oh so sensitive spot.

He should stop her, shouldn’t he? They should at least go over to the couch, shouldn’t they?

But holy shit, she was stroking him, flesh against flesh, and her grip felt unbelievably good, unbelievably perfect, like she knew exactly how he liked to be touched, like she knew exactly how he touched himself when he jerked off. It was un-fucking-believable! And there was no way he had the will to stop her, not now, not ever.