For a long time he didn’t move. He simply stared at her, studying her face as if memorizing every feature. Darcy didn’t mind the attention—there was a kind expression in his eyes and she didn’t think he would find her wanting. Finally he leaned close and kissed her neck. He moved lower until he could caress her breasts.
A familiar heat filled her. She reached for him, running her fingers up and down his back. As her desire grew, she became more insistent, pressing on the small of his back, urging him closer.
Finally he entered her. Slowly…so slowly…making her call out for him to hurry, then catching her breath when he finally found his way home. Once there, he began to move more quickly. His thrusts became frantic. He supported himself on his hands and gazed into her eyes.
She felt herself readying for another climax. With him looking at her so intently, she felt exposed. Yet she couldn’t seem to close her eyes. Even as the first spasms swept through her, she stared into his soul. Perhaps this act would heal him.
He stiffened. His expression tightened. Still he didn’t look away. They climaxed together, still staring at each other. The act of intimacy somehow became more of a connection than she’d experienced before. When Mark finally sank down on the bed and pulled her close, Darcy felt shaken.
Something had fundamentally changed between them. She didn’t understand what, but the possibilities frightened her. Wanting to heal him was one thing—she was good at doing that. But engaging her heart was quite another. Not only did she sense that Mark wasn’t a man looking for a relationship, there was still the issue of the secrets of her past.
“Thank you,” he breathed against her hair.
“You’re welcome.”
They held each other in silence. Finally he kissed her mouth.
“Are you going to ask me about today?”
She knew he wasn’t talking about the fact that they’d made love. Instead he meant the suicide of someone he had known.
“Do you think talking will help you?”
“No, but you have the right to get some answers.”
Rights given to her by virtue of them both being naked. Darcy sighed. Those kinds of rights were often complicated.
“Was he a close friend?”
Mark stiffened. In that second, Darcy knew she’d asked the wrong questions. She instantly felt stupid and used. The suicide hadn’t been by a male friend. No, a woman had died. Someone significant to Mark.
“Never mind,” she said quickly.
He winced. “Darcy, I’m sorry. I thought I’d said ‘she.’ I wasn’t trying to keep that from you.”
Every cell in her body screamed at her to cover herself and run. But that would mean letting him know that he’d hurt her, and for some reason she wasn’t willing to expose herself that way.
“I know you weren’t trying to be sly. It doesn’t matter.”
She sat up and gave him a big smile. What she wanted to do instead was cry, but she was determined to keep her emotions to herself.
“On second thought, questions are probably a mistake,” she said with a brightness she didn’t feel. “We’re friends. That’s what matters. I want to be here for you.” Although maybe next time it would be better if the “here” didn’t include her bed.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated.
Not “she didn’t matter.” Darcy told herself she was overreacting. It wasn’t reasonable to expect Mark to have not had a life before meeting her. Which made logical sense but didn’t explain the tears burning in her eyes. She couldn’t justify the tears…or maybe she could. Maybe they came from the unexpected heaviness in her heart.
* * *
“Morning,” Mark said as he slid into his usual booth at the Hip Hop.
Darcy poured him a cup of coffee. It was Wednesday and the café was just starting to empty out.
“Someone is late,” she teased, the light tone a part of her plan to act completely normal.
“I overslept.”
She studied the dark circles under his green eyes. “Looks like you didn’t sleep at all.”
