Turning Thirty-Twelve (11 page)

“You went out with a student’s father? That’s pretty stupid. Is the guy married? Damn it, Jackie. You could lose your job carrying on like that. Didn’t you even think about that?”

“You’ve obviously mistaken me for Ashley. You know, your
current
wife—the one who slept with you while you were still married to me.” I wanted to slap him. Instead I just fisted my hands at my side. “Not every man screws around on his spouse.”

His nostrils flared at that statement.

Good.
Hope I hit a nerve, loverboy
.

“He’s a widower. Not that you really need to know any of this. Is the Spanish Inquisition over now? I told you, I’ve got comp—” The doorbell interrupted me.

Shit.

Now what did I do?

I wanted to give David the bum’s rush out the back, but he went charging to the foyer and to the front door. He
ran
to get there first.

Flinging it open, he gaped at Mark who glared right back. I felt like a boxing referee before a match and thought about telling them to go back to their corners and then come out swinging.

“And you are?” David asked with such a rude, snide tone I seriously considered kicking him in the shin.

Mark gave David a quick head to toe appraisal and obviously figured out who he was. He was a detective, after all.

He held out his hand.

David ignored it, refusing to even offer a polite handshake.

“I’m Mark Brennan. Judging from that gray hair, you must be Jackie’s father. Nice to meet you, sir.”

I snorted a loud laugh, and David turned to glare at me. I had to put my fingers to my lips to keep from laughing again. After a long moment to regain my composure, I decided to intervene. “David, this is Mark Brennan. Mark, this is my ex—”

“I’m her husband. Name’s David Ryan.” He still didn’t shake Mark’s hand.

Mark withdrew his as he folded his arms over his chest. Those handsome brown eyes grew stormy.

“Ex. My
ex
-husband,” I snapped, hoping Mark wasn’t reading more into the situation than there really was. It wasn’t like I’d invited David over.

Boy, was I going to have a word or two with Pat later for getting me in the middle of this nonsense.

“Jackie, are you ready? I thought we’d go out,” Mark said without taking his eyes off David. “Especially since your house is so...crowded.”

“Jackie, you’re going out with this clown?” David jerked his thumb at Mark.

“Jackie, did you invite—” Mark started to say.

“Damn it, Jackie,” David interrupted.

“Enough!” I yelled, feeling like I was some bizarre prize in a macho tug-of-war. “I know my own name, so you can both stop shouting it at me.” I tried to salvage what little dignity I had left. “David, I appreciate your concern, but it’s time for you to go home. You know, back to your wife and son.”

I ignored his threatening expression as he stared at me for a moment then stomped out the front door, shoving past Mark, and getting in his Hummer to drive away.

“You were married to
...that?
” Mark shook his head. “Nice car, though. Big. Makes up for his tiny little—”

“Mark!” I tried not to giggle too much.

He stepped into the house, and I shut the door behind him.

The awkward quiet ate at me. Whenever I’m this nervous, I tend to ramble. And right now I was in danger of making a total ass of myself if I said even a single word because a million others would spill out in a flood after it.

“How about we have a seat? Maybe on the couch?” Mark smiled at me with those gorgeous lips. “You do sit, don’t you?”

I smiled back. “Yeah, I sit. Come on in. Want something to drink?”

“I need a scotch, but I’ll settle for some tea. If it’s not too much trouble.” He made himself comfortable on my sofa.

“No trouble. Just give me a minute.”

He sprang to his feet. “I’ll give you a hand.” He followed me into the kitchen.

I could have talked to him quite fine if he had stayed on the couch. Now, I was in danger again. He was too close. I could smell him, that wonderful mixture of Mark and Polo Black that made me light-headed. I tried to concentrate on mixing a pitcher of iced tea.

“What can I do?” he asked as I bent over to grab a glass carafe instead of my dollar-store plastic pitcher. I wanted to at least look semi-classy.

The stupid thing was wedged behind the iron that I never used. The moment my hand grasped it, I felt a caress on my back. I popped up, hitting my head on the cabinet. “Ow,” I groaned, putting the carafe on the counter and rubbing the top of my head.

“Sorry.” Mark had that naughty boy twinkle in his eye. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

I opened one of the upper cupboards and found the instant tea.

His hand was on me again, rubbing circles from my shoulder blades to the small of my back. He was making it impossible to do something as simple as measure a couple of tablespoons of powder into the carafe. Because of Mark’s touch, I was turning into a dimwit.

I hadn’t felt this rattled since the junior high school dance when Pete McKinnon had slipped his hand under my arm to brush my boob.

When Mark’s hand slid up to my neck, I spilled the spoonful of instant mix on the counter. “Shit.”

I tried to reach past Mark to get the wet dishcloth that was hanging over the faucet. He must have realized my train of thought because he picked it up and handed it to me.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, feeling clumsy and awkward.

I actually managed to make the tea without any other significant problems. When his fingers weren’t touching me, his eyes smoldered enough to have the same disconcerting effect. I poured two glasses, added some sweetener to mine, and offered some pink packets to him. He declined, picked up both the glasses, and led me to the sofa. I flopped a couple of coasters on the coffee table, and he set the drinks down. Then I ran out of things to keep my hands busy.

Mark sat on the sofa and reached up for my hand. I let him tug me down next to him, thigh to thigh. Jeans and all, I could feel the heat of him against me, could feel every inch of where we touched.

Scooting a little farther away, I turned and put a bent knee between us. “Um... I think we should talk.”

He sighed before he moved to face me, put his arm over mine where it rested on the back of the couch, and let his fingers stroke mine. “I still owe you an apology.”

“For?” It probably wasn’t wise to allow his caresses because they were horribly distracting and this was supposed to be a sober conversation about—

Shit. What were we talking about?

“For letting you believe that I didn’t care.”

Ah ha!
We were talking about him not calling. I had trouble forming a coherent thought when Mark touched me. “Yeah, well...I’m over it.”

“No. You’re not.” His hand covered mine. Warm, slightly calloused, and all male.

“I’m not?”

“No, you’re not. I need to make it up to you. How about dinner next weekend?” Those warm fingers wrapped around my hand, making me feel comforted. And horribly giddy.

“That would be nice. It’s Fall Break. I’m off on Thursday and Friday.” Two days of sleep and peace, and now dinner with Mark Brennan. What more could a thirty-twelve-year old woman ask?

How about some hot, sweaty sex?
my stupid and entirely immature thoughts suggested. 

“Not yet,” I said before realizing I was speaking aloud.

“Not yet what?” Mark scooted even closer.

“Never mind,” I replied, feeling entirely stupid.

Pulling my hand away, I moved forward and reached for my tea. Perhaps a few sips of a cold drink would settle my scattered nerves.

I sat on the edge of the sofa, nursing my tea. Mark faced forward again and grabbed his own glass. We just sat there sipping iced tea, and I wondered if he felt as uncomfortable as I did.

“I’m really sorry, Jackie.”

I nodded, not sure what to say.

Mark set his tea back on his coaster. Then he turned back to me and grabbed both my hands to pull me to face him. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. I forgive you.”

Good heavens, this man could sure change my perception of reality. In slow motion, he sat back, pushed a hand under my knees, and lifted me onto his lap. He cupped my face with his palms and stared into my eyes. “Do you? Do you really forgive me? Because I almost made the worst mistake of my life.” He closed his eyes for a moment and rested his forehead against mine. When he opened his eyes and pulled back, I could see his pain. “I can’t believe I almost let you go.”

“I really forgive you.”

Mark touched his lips to mine. It was such a gentle kiss, so incredibly tender it brought tears to my eyes.

“Thank you,” he whispered as he ended the kiss and rested his forehead against mine again. “I’ll make it up to you.”

I couldn’t leave it at that, not with him thinking I was going to hold this over his head. “No need.”

He kissed me again, a little longer, a little deeper. I felt like my blood had turned to liquid heat. This time, when he eased away, I groaned in frustration.

Tired of being the passive player, I gave in for once to what I really wanted. I flipped to straddle him, put my hands to his face, and kissed him. The sexy growl he uttered when he opened his mouth to my insistent tongue sent fire straight to my core.

It had been far too long without feeling wanted, too long without that delicious visceral sensation of anticipation, too long without making love—
really
making love. I snaked my arms around his neck and leaned into the kiss.

No bells ringing in my head this time—at least no warning bells. There were, however, lots and lots of fireworks. Lights exploded in my brain. My heart pounded, begging for more. Sanity fled in a wash of warmth and primitive desire. My body screamed for him in a way I had never felt before, not even when David had actually taken the time to coax my response.

The kiss ended as we panted to breathe.

“God, Babe,” he whispered in my ear as he stroked my back. “I want you. I want to pick you up, carry you to your bed, and make love to you all night.” His hands settled on my hips, and he rocked his body up, leaving no question how much he meant what he said. The guy was hard as a rock, and I felt a luscious thrill knowing I had pulled that response from his body.

But my pride began to buzz at me like some annoying insect, prompted by years of strict Catholic upbringing. It might have been too
long
, but it was also too
soon
. “I want you too. I really do, but...”

He groaned. “But...”

“I’m not ready yet. I’m sorry, Mark. I am. This is all happening so—”

“Fast. I know, I know. But...”

He rocked his hips again, and the motion sent tremors ripping through me. If he did that again, I wasn’t sure I would be able to hold to my conviction.

“Do you like to hike?” he asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Do you like to hike? To fish?” he asked with mischief clearly written all over his face.

“I love to hike. Fishing, sorry. Not my thing.” I waited to see what Mark had cooked up in that noggin of his.

“I have a really nice cabin in Munising, Michigan. It’s close to Hiawatha National Forest. Carly and I were heading up there for the break from school. I’d forgotten it was Fall Break this coming weekend.” He kissed my cheek. “Thanks for the reminder. We’ll have that dinner you agreed to at the cabin.”

“They say memory is the first thing to go when you get older.”

He shot me an irritated frown before he smiled with those incredibly white teeth. “My memory’s fine, thank you. Will you come with us to Michigan?”

“Really? You want me to go?”

“Yes, I want you to go. Why is that so hard to believe?”

I dismissed the notion with a wave of my hand.

He cupped my face with his hands. “Jackie, you’re incredible. You’re beautiful. You’re sexy. You’re smart. You’re funny. How can you not know that?”

He almost made me believe him. “Thank you.”

“If you don’t believe what I’m saying, I have other ways to convince you.” A sexy wink.

I decided it was time to move out of this entirely unladylike position. “I could really use some ice cream. You up for Dairy Queen?”

“I’m
up
for you.” He wiggled those gorgeous dark eyebrows.

Heavens, could I possibly blush any more than I already was? “I was thinking more about a banana split.”

Yeah, that was smart, Jackie.
Why don’t you just set the innuendo opportunity up on a tee next time?

“I’ll let that one slide.”

“Thank you. That’s very gentlemanly of you.” I picked up the glasses, walked to the kitchen, and set them down by the sink. I fished my key chain out of my purse and jingled it. “You coming?”

Why did everything that came out of my mouth sound so dirty?

Mark snorted a laugh. “Not tonight—but I hope I don’t have to wait too long.” He came to stand by my side, put his index finger to my cheek, and made a noise that sounded like hamburger being seared on a grill. “Face a little warm? Let’s get some ice cream. It ought to cool you down.”

“Maybe it’ll cool you down too.”
Take that, Mr. Double Entendre
.

“Doubt it. Especially if you’re around.”

The man did wonders for my self-esteem.

He picked up my purse and slung it over my shoulder. “Will you go with us? Please?”

I nodded. “Sounds like fun. When do we leave?”

“Thursday morning. Bring your fishing pole.”

I groaned as I led him to my garage.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I stumbled across the bedroom grabbing for my robe and mumbling to myself.

It’s one in the morning. Who’s ringing the stupid doorbell at one in the morning?

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I followed the strategically placed nightlights as if they were airport runway lights to the front door. The doorbell hadn’t stopped ringing.

“Hold your horses. I’m coming.” Pulling aside the curtain, I looked out the transom. “David?”

For a second, I considered not opening the door. There was no good reason for my ex-husband to be spastically ringing my doorbell at such a ridiculous hour.