A Match Made In Vegas

by Debra Salonen

  Mark truly seemed to have become the man she'd always thought he was capable of being—smart, kind, generous of spirit. Except where his ex-mother-in-law was concerned. Alexa had been chilled by the look in Mark's eyes when he'd spoken of Tracey's mother.

  Alexa vaguely remembered hearing some mention of his partner's troubled home life when Mark had been first assigned to work with the female rookie. One comment that stuck in Alexa's brain was Mark saying, "Tracey's childhood makes mine look like an episode of Leave It To Beaver."

  From the little he'd told Alexa, she'd gotten a pretty strong impression of his bleak childhood. Mark had gotten out as soon as possible and made a life for himself that didn't include booze.

  Tracey may have shared a similar past, but she hadn't been able to make that leap to a healthier lifestyle. Instead, she'd developed a reputation as a partier, apparently following in her mother's footsteps.

  But none of that was Alexa's problem. Right?

  She sank down a little lower in her oversize tub. Her oasis. One that didn't normally include a phone. But Alexa was expecting Grace's call, so she'd carried her cellphone into the steamy room and set it on the counter beside the bath.

  She moved her knees to send a wave of bubbles crashing over her collarbones. Heavenly. She wouldn't think about today. About Braden. Or Mark.

  Her phone rang.

  Keeping her eyes closed, she reached out and pushed the button to talk. "Are you done already? I was sure I had time for a bath."

  "Um.. .you're in the tub?"

  Mark. Alexa's eyes flew open and she sat up, sending a second wave crashing over her toes.

  "If I remember correctly, that's a two-person tub."

  "Uh. ..I. . .was expecting Grace to call. We're going for ice cream after she gets done hostessing at Romantique. I thought a hot soak would do my aching muscles some good." She was talking too fast. Saying too much. She didn't owe him any explanations. "Why did you call?"

  "To apologize. I shouldn't have said anything today about my situation. This isn 't your problem, and I' m sorry for laying my fears on your doorstep. I was mostly thinking out loud. Worst-case scenarios and all that. Braden's grandmother called earlier today, and I overreacted."

  But that was part of the problem, she thought. Mark didn't overreact. He'd grown up under the thumb of a man who made tearing the newspaper a major crime. Mark rarely said something he didn't mean. Which meant...

  "I'm not the person you think I am, Mark. I'm a good preschool teacher, but I'm the first to admit that there's a huge difference between teaching and parenting."

  His soft chuckle was almost as warm and soothing as the bathwater. “Oh, Alexa, you're going to be the world's best mother someday and you know it. Any child would be blessed to have you in his or her life."

  She was tempted to tell him about her plan, but she suddenly felt shy and nervous. This was Mark. The man who should have been, could have been, the father of her child. "Parenting skills aside, you do realize that asking me to be Tracey's son's guardian isn't exactly politically correct, don't you?"

  "Like I said, I wasn't thinking about the why-nots, only the whys. And the main reason why you'd be my first choice is that you're you. But, I want you to forget about it. I'm not going to assume that the worst will happen. I didn't do anything wrong, and, corny as it sounds, justice will prevail."

  She sincerely hoped so.

  "Now, about that bath. Are there bubbles?"

  She laughed and eased back into the still-warm water. "Yes. Lilac scented.”

  "Lots of bubbles? Or patches that might give an observer a glimpse of body parts? I used to love to watch you bathe. You turned soaking into an art form. But my favorite part was when you picked up the bar of soap because I knew that would kill off the bubbles faster."

  "You watched me bathe?" She tried to sound outraged, but really was a little turned on.

  “Oh. ..yeah, whenever possible. Remember our apartment? There was a full-length mirror on the outside of the bathroom door. If you left the door open, I had a pretty good view of the tub.”

  She gulped and moved an island of bubbles over her breasts. "Isn't that against the law?"

  His chuckle went low in her belly. She wiggled her hips. "I always figured you knew. Surely, you suspected. I mean, whenever you got out of the tub, I was right there on the bed, ready and willing, if you get my drift."

  She remembered. They 'd loved each other with the careless passion of the young—believing they'd always have the next day and the next.

  "I thought you were just a horny boy."

  His bark of laughter made her smile.

  ''And I thought you were a Gypsy enchantress. It got to the point where all you had to do was turn on the faucet, and I got hard."

  His frankness surprised her. And excited her. "Are you hard now?" she asked before she could stop herself.

  He didn't answer right away. "Yeah, as a matter of fact, I am. If I close my eyes, I can see you in the water. Languid, but in a sexy, wanton way."

  Her pulse quickened. She could picture him all too clearly, too. Eight years apart, but she remembered just what he looked like naked. Beautiful. Powerful. No one had ever been able to satisfy her the way Mark had.

  "If you inhale, your breasts come out of the water, don't they?" He drew in an audible breath.

  Alexa looked down through half-slit eyes. Her nipples, hard and deep red, pierced the bubbles. "Yes.”

  "And if you lift your hips, just a little—"

  Beep.

  "Just a little, your dark, wet curls will—"

  Beep.

  "Damn," he swore. “I hate call-waiting."

  Alexa started to laugh—a laugh that partly released the sexual tension she had no business feeling. Good grief, tell me I’m not having phone sex with a client.

  "Mark, I have to go. This is Grace calling and you know Grace. She doesn't like to be kept waiting."

  “I remember. But, are we okay about what happened today?”

  What happened today--the part where you asked me to adopt your child or the part where I nearly had phone sex with you? “Sure. Of course. I gotta go. Bye."

  She tapped out of the call but didn’t make any effort to reconnect with her sister. She slid under the water, eyes closed and ears plugged, holding her breath.

  Are we okay?

  She wasn't sure. Things were changing between them. Too fast. Her gut said, “Not again, girl. You don’t want to get hurt.” But her instincts had been wrong before--especially where Mark was concerned.

  Mark wasn’t surprised to find that he couldn't go to sleep. He was a wreck—restless, wired and horny as hell. That little episode on the phone with Alexa had been a huge mistake. He shot a look at his groin. A cold shower had helped, but crawling into his king-size bed with icy sheets and too much room seemed like the final insult to a really crappy day.

  There had been good moments—great moments, like hearing his son speak with barely a stutter, but then he'd blown it with Alexa. "Gee, Alexa, you're a teacher. You're good with kids. Would you like to adopt mine if I get tossed in jail?" he muttered under his breath.

  He flipped to his side and punched his pillow. "What a jerk. Not surprising that she'd nearly driven her bike off a cliff."

  An exaggeration. Her front wheel had rammed his bike, instead, but she could have turned right and gone over a steep embankment. A bent spoke was nothing compared to a cross-country crash—rocks, cactus and a potential concussion. As his imagination ran with the image, his stomach started to churn.

  Tossing back the covers, he jumped out of bed. His flannel pajama bottoms—a new addition to his wardrobe since becoming a full-time dad—rode low on his hips. He walked into the adjoining bath—an apartment-size cubicle not anything like the room he remembered seeing when he and Alexa had been house hunting.

  "Ooh, Mark, look at the size of that tub. Do you know what we could do with a tub that big?" she'd teased when the Realtor had stepped away. “Oh, bab
y, let the splashing begin."

  He stood at the sink and looked into the mirror. The harsh overhead lights did little to minimize the effects the past few years had had on him. Gray hairs in his sideburns. Lines across his forehead and around his eyes. Usually, he only looked in the mirror to brush his teeth and trim his beard. He didn't enjoy seeing evidence of the mistakes he'd made staring back at him.

  "You chose to—" he stopped himself from saying the word he didn't want his son repeating "—screw up your life when you slept with Tracey. This is what you have to deal with, so quit whining about all the things that could have been. You could have been sharing that big tub with Alexa. You could have been a lot of things, but this is what you are. Get over it."

  He filled a little paper cup with lukewarm water and swallowed it in one gulp, cringing at the chlorine taste. He crushed the cup and tossed it into the garbage can beside the toilet with a snap of his wrist. He'd just clicked off the light when he heard a sound that made his knees weak.

  His son's mewling cry was usually a precursor to a three-hour ordeal in nightmare land. Unless he could head off the worst of it... He sprinted down the hallway to Braden's room. The door was open; the SpongeBob SquarePants night-light cast a yellowish glow across the bed and furnishings. The little boy in the bed was already starting to thrash back and forth. His covers were on the floor.

  "Braden," Mark called in a low, intense voice. "Braden, listen to me. It's Daddy. I'm here. You're in your room. Everything is fine. You're safe. Do you hear me, son? You're safe. Daddy's here. Daddy loves you. Open your eyes, Bray. Look at me."

  Braden opened his mouth instead of his eyes, and a loud, desperate cry of pain filled the room, breaking Mark's heart. There were no words. No explanation. Nothing to lead Mark to the source of his son's terror. And no clue about how to reassure the little boy.

  All he could do was repeat his silent vow to make sure Tracey's mother never got her evil hands on his son.

  Chapter 9

  "So, I hear you went bike riding with Mark and his son today."

  "Gregor is a worse gossip than any woman I know."

  Grace laughed and took a sip on her straw, which was buried in a root-beer float. "True. He called Mom's house before your taillights cleared the cul-de-sac."

  Alexa had expected as much, and she had her excuse ready. “I’ve gone on group outings with other students and their parents. It was no big deal.”

  "Uh-huh, and the fact that Mark is still a hunk has nothing to do with your decision to spend the day with him and his handicapped son."

  "Braden is not handicapped," Alexa said emphasizing the word not. "Lots of young children stutter. And many go through periods where they don't speak. Particularly after a devastating loss or shock."

  Grace had a pleased-with-herself look on her face. "Spoken like a mama bear defending her cub."

  Alexa felt her face heat up. She'd known meeting Grace for ice cream was a bad idea. Especially after her tub episode with Mark. But she'd been too flustered to come up with a good excuse, so she'd gotten dressed and driven to their neighborhood Dairy Queen.

  "As I would defend any child in my care," Alexa said, trying to rationalize her response. "He's a sweet little boy who lost his mother, and whose dad is playing catch-up in the parenting department. Plus, I think Braden's come to the conclusion that life pretty much sucks and the best way to avoid getting smacked around is to hide behind a wall of silence."

  Grace's eyes went big. "You think Mark hits—"

  "Of course not," Alexa said sharply. "Mark would never abuse a child. He's patient and gentle with Braden. Why would you even suggest such a thing?"

  Grace made a slurping sound with her straw and reached for her spoon. "To gauge your reaction."

  Alexa fought to keep from blushing, but Grace's snicker told her she'd failed.

  "Besides, Zeke told Mom that Mark had been in the process of taking Tracey back to court to get full custody of Braden around the time she was killed. Apparently, he found a big, ugly bruise on Braden's arm a few weeks earlier. Tracey blamed it on the babysitter, but Mark suspected Tracey's mom."

  Which might explain why Mark brought up the idea of me caring for Braden if anything happened to him.

  "I haven 't gotten to know Braden well enough to figure out what's going on in his head, but he's starting to warm up. He let Maya hold his hand on Friday."

  "Really? Oh, my, a new generation of love. This is so cool. Have you told Kate? I wonder if Mother's had a prophecy."

  Alexa took a bite of her frozen-yogurt hot-fudge sundae. Something else she should feel guilty about, but didn't. Not really. Tonight, she was enjoying her sister's company and pigging out on a comforting dose of chocolate while secretly admitting that she wanted to share a bubble bath with a man who was totally wrong for her. Tomorrow she'd repent for her weaknesses—both gluttony and wantonness—but, first, she'd enjoy every indulgent taste...and every delicious fantasy.

  The notice, when it came three days later, was almost anticlimactic, Mark decided, as he packed a few personal items from his desk. He'd been called into his supervisor's office and told to bring another officer up to speed on his current cases.

  "I really hate to do this, Mark," Reuben had told him. "You're the best investigator I've got, but this is out of my hands. I did argue to keep you on paid leave, though. I know how hard it is to get by when you have kids."

  Mark appreciated the gesture. He sure as hell wasn't rich, and who knew how long this suspension might last? Until they had enough proof to charge somebody, he guessed. He just hoped that arrest warrant wouldn't have his name on it.

  Before leaving, he did what was asked of him, made a few calls—including one to Zeke—and then went home. But the walls of his apartment felt colorless, empty and claustrophobic, so he decided to drive around until it was time to pick up Braden.

  He only got as far as the Dancing Hippo. Braden wouldn't arrive for another hour, but Alexa had said she could always use an extra hand. Feeling foolish, he walked up the sidewalk, but before he reached the handicap ramp, the front door opened and Yetta walked out.

  She didn't appear surprised to see him. "Mark, how lovely. I need two strong arms to help me carry some musical instruments that Alexandra stores in my spare room. What incredible timing."

  He wasn't sure what to say. He'd always been on good terms with Alexa's mother in the past, but surely she regarded him with some antipathy given the way he'd broken her daughter's heart. Before he could ask any questions, she took his arm and turned him in the opposite direction he'd been heading.

  "The children are resting, so this works out perfectly. Come along. It'll give us a chance to clear the air."

  He swallowed. "I was sorry to hear about your husband." Yetta was shorter than Alexa, petite but not fragile-looking. Her grip on his arm was pretty strong for a woman dressed in a suit and low heels. Her hair was more silver than he remembered, but the pulled-back style looked rather elegant.

  "That's very generous of you, considering how mean-spirited Kingston was toward you when you and Alexandra were dating. I swear I never understood how such an intelligent man could close off his mind to certain undeniable truths."

  Truths? "You mean the fact I was a cop?"

  She smiled. "No. That's just a job. I was referring to the fact that you and Alexandra loved each other and were perfect for each other."

  He shook his head. "Not so perfect. I blew it, remember?"

  She patted his arm. "Everyone makes mistakes—even a king." Her smile dimmed for a moment, before her expression changed to one of resolve. "All of that is in the past. We must carry on and do the best we can with the present, such as it is. So, is this your day off?"

  It was tempting to lie, but could one lie to a Gypsy psychic and get away with it? "Not exactly. I'm on temporary suspension while the powers that be decide whether or not I killed my ex-wife and her drug dealer in a fire at a meth lab."

  They'd reached the opposite si
de of the street and were in front of the house where Alexa's cousin lived. Yetta dropped her hold on his arm and stared at him a few seconds, then, to his surprise, she hugged him. "What a difficult road you've chosen, dear boy. I'm so sorry. I wish I could say things were going to get better, but..."

  Her gaze shifted slightly so she wasn't looking at him directly. Her gaze appeared fixed on something just beyond him—perhaps beyond what normal people could see. He held his breath waiting to see if she'd say more, but after a few seconds, she shook her head and blinked. "We need to hurry. Alexandra hates to be kept waiting."

  Mark almost chuckled at the irony of her statement. In some ways, he'd kept her waiting for nearly eight years. Well, not really. Alexa had made it clear that she'd moved on where he was concerned. I need to remember that. My life is a mess. Practically speaking, he had even less to offer her now than he'd had back when they'd been engaged. Less of the things she deserved, such as security, money and a shot a a normal life.

  Alexa was adjusting volume on the boom box that she used for her weekly music class when she heard her mother returning with the nesting drum set she'd asked Yetta bring over. She'd decided to tie in this week's lesson with the "Little Drummer Boy" song.

  She pressed the pause button and turned around. 'Thanks, Mom. I...” Her voice trailed off when she realized her mother wasn't alone. Like an un-uniformed porter, Mark was laden with bongos and tambourines, and tucked under each arm were the miniature congas the kids adored.

  “Oh, goodness, you didn't need to bring the entire rhythm section," she said, hurrying to help. “But the children will thank you for it. They all love to pound on drums, and sharing isn't a concept most three-year-olds readily embrace."