The Spark (Carolina Connections Book 2)

by Sylvie Stewart

  “So you know everything about everything, is that it?” he asked, but I noticed that, like mine, his tone had calmed a little and he wasn’t reaching for the doorknob anymore. However, his back was to me so I couldn’t be sure of his emotions without seeing his eyes.

  “No, Mark. I don’t know much at all in the grand scheme of things. But I know you are a wonderful and caring son. I know you love her more than anything, but you can't protect her from everything. Nor should you.”

  He finally turned around and faced me again. “And it’s just that easy? Just let go?”

  “No, of course not. It’s not all or nothing. But let’s just take things one step at a time. We’ve got a great lead here and there’s something we can finally do to fix this mess.” I took a hesitant step toward him.

  He ran a hand over his head in clear frustration and then flung it out toward me in a last-ditch effort to prolong his waning tirade. “Fiona, you can’t just go sticking your nose into everybody’s business and think you know what’s best for everyone.”

  Gah! I was so sick of being accused when all I was doing was trying to help! “Mark, I’ll stick whatever I want wherever I want. You can’t tell me where to stick my…my…stuff! I’ll stick it where I want!”

  Take that!

  He smirked and gave his head a little shake. “You’ll stick it where you want, huh?”

  Huh? How was this suddenly funny?

  “Yeah!” I responded with deadly seriousness as I crossed my arms over my chest.

  He took me in from top to toe and then inexplicably threw his head back and roared with laughter.

  “What?!”

  He just kept laughing and eventually bent at the waist with the power of it.

  “Have you lost your ever-loving mind?”

  Maybe he was in shock. Is maniacal laughter a symptom? No, pretty sure it’s not.

  “Well,” I said, “I guess this is what you get from hanging out with Gavin and Brett so much. Do you need me to call a doctor?”

  He started toward me again, having laughed so hard there were actual tears gathered on his ridiculous eyelashes. Uncertain of his motives, I backed up a step—I mean, who knew what he intended in his current mental state? Undaunted, he advanced further and abruptly bent down, gathered me by my thighs and lifted me up off the ground.

  “Aarrgh!” I shrieked, unable to extricate myself and completely confused as to what was happening here.

  He gave one last chuckle and just said, “Shortcake,” as he lowered me to slide down his body until we were nose to nose.

  Ooh, tingly.

  His eyes hit mine before they traveled down to my mouth and I realized what was happening. Mark Beckett was going to kiss me!

  I watched as his head tilted slightly to one side and I considered for one millisecond that maybe I should stop him, but before I knew it his lips covered mine and I told all my inner voices to take a hike. Mama was gettin’ some.

  The kiss was slow and exploratory—no intense assault or plundering as I might have anticipated from this giant man—just a beautiful, sensual teasing of his soft lips against mine. After a moment, he pulled his head back a fraction, presumably to assess my reaction to the surprising turn of events, but I was having nothing of it. My hand slipped up to the back of his head and pressed him back into me as my mouth sought his again. He emitted a low growl and the next thing I knew, one of his hands pulled my thigh up alongside his hip and I could feel his hardness press against my pelvis. I may have moaned a bit at that point, and I nipped his bottom lip so he would get the message that I needed to taste more of him.

  Our tongues explored each other and my head was filled with that wonderful scent I now just associated with Mark’s pure maleness. All my senses were buzzing as the kiss progressed into a frenzied clashing of lips, teeth, and tongues—our hands wandering in the need to feel as much of each other as possible. My hands decided to prioritize and tried to find his ass, but the damn things couldn’t reach with him holding me above the ground like this. So, I decided to improvise and went for his arms and shoulders.

  Holy. Shit.

  This was undoubtedly the nicest body I’d ever come in contact with, and my fingers were ecstatic to have free reign to explore all the various dips and curves available to them. Mark was just so hard—everywhere—but surprisingly warm as well. I could only imagine how much more fun this would be without his shirt.

  I was so caught up in my own voyage of discovery, I hadn’t noticed that one of his hands had made its way to my ass, because of course his arms could reach—totally unfair. I swear his palm encompassed the entirety of one of my ass cheeks, but I couldn’t dwell on any feelings of booty-inadequacy because it was clear that whatever he was feeling he was liking a whole lot, if you know what I mean.

  His lips left mine and trailed a path down to my neck, and I couldn’t help but tilt my head back to give him better access as he kissed and nipped his way down to my collar bone, brushing aside the neck of my sweater as he descended.

  Oh wow. This was good. Really good.

  And then came three swift knocks on the door.

  Shit! No!

  “Ignore it,” Mark mumbled into the crook of my neck where his tongue had started doing wonderful things.

  “Yes,” I responded on a moan, not quite sure what I was saying yes to.

  The knocks came again.

  Mark growled for real this time.

  Then I remembered. “Shit. I ordered room service. I totally forgot,” I groaned.

  “We don’t need food.” He still hadn’t moved his head. “Just sex. Lots of sex.”

  Aaaand then I realized what we’d just been about to do and remembered why it was not such a great idea. Not to mention, we should be focusing on the money and getting the scary-as-shit situation ironed out—not sex! Damn hormones!

  “Mark, you’re going to have to release me so I can get the door. I may be feisty, but even I can acknowledge that me trying to best you physically would be an exercise in humiliation.”

  He finally raised his head and scowled at me, but the effect was lost because his eyes were all sexed up and soft. Damn, I could get used to that look.

  But now was not the time. He reluctantly set me down, and I was surprised to find that my knees didn’t hold me up quite as well as they usually did. I steadied myself with a hand to Mark’s chest and then walked as nonchalantly as possible toward the suite door, thankful I’d donned my sturdier boots—see, packing for every eventuality was a smart move after all.

  It also turned out my instinct to save myself with room service worked out, just not in the way I had intended. I’d originally placed the order for a steak dinner when I’d been anticipating needing something to distract Mark when I confessed. In the end, the dinner had saved me from unintentional sex instead, though I wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about that. Sometimes a girl doesn’t want to be saved, even if it comes with a side of loaded baked potato.

  I let the server in and stood awkwardly to the side as he set our dinner out on the dining table. I wanted to look at Mark to gauge his mood, but couldn’t bring myself to do it, so I finally went after my purse to retrieve a tip. The server asked if I’d like him to open the wine but I declined and walked him to the door.

  “So,” I finally said as I forced a smile and met Mark’s eyes, “I hope you like filet.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dead Hookers Can’t Do the Running Man (Too far? My bad.)

  MARK

  I scrubbed my face with my hands and let the cool water hit my back as I lathered up. At my age, I should be used to the occasional cold shower, but Fiona was a whole different story. She had damn near lit me on fire and my cock was still screaming at me to just go out into the main room and take her against the wall.

  After the best kiss of my life and the mood-crushing interruption from room service, I hadn’t been up for steak, even if it was filet mignon and probably cost as much as my grocery budget for a month. Th
ere had also been Fiona’s swift change in mood, which didn’t sit well.

  Did she regret our kiss? Well, I suppose calling it just a kiss was a bit of an understatement, but still. I hoped like hell she didn’t regret it because it was happening again when the time was right. We may be playing this little game right now but I hadn’t forgotten the end goal was to win her over, as strange as that still sounded in my head.

  So, I’d asked her where the bathroom was and took my bag in for the obligatory cold shower. I’d promised to return for dinner in a few minutes and told her to start without me. Good thing, too, because this was not working. Cooler temperatures alone were not going to calm my raging hard-on so I had to take the situation in hand.

  Ten minutes later, I had changed into fresh clothes and felt a bit more relaxed thanks to the shower activities. I ventured out into the main living space again and spotted Fiona leaning against the kitchen counter biting her lip and staring out the window. When I passed through her line of sight she seemed startled and her cheeks immediately pinked. Oh yeah, she wasn’t unaffected by our kiss in the least.

  I was hoping we could pick up where we’d left off after we ate and grabbed the money, even though I still thought her story was too good to be true. But I was willing to go check out the location if there was even a remote possibility we could be over and done with this crazy-ass situation. Half of me could believe my old man had acted so selfishly and idiotically, but the other half knew it couldn’t be that easy. I guess we’d see.

  “Hey,” Fiona said with an awkward little wave. “I thought I’d wait for you.” She gestured toward the table where the plates still had those silver dome covers.

  “You didn’t have to,” I replied, but she didn’t meet my eyes. I sighed. “Look, I can tell you feel uncomfortable about what happened between us, but you don’t need to. We can just set that aside for now and focus on food and then the money if that will make you feel better.”

  I hated to see her discomfort and I reminded myself not to act like a Neanderthal and attack her over the table. I could be patient.

  No, really.

  She sighed in return and the tension seemed to drain right out of her. “Thanks.” She graced me with one of her beautiful smiles. “I think the craziness of this whole situation is finally catching up with me.”

  “You know, Shortcake, I realize I haven’t thanked you for your help and I really should be showing you better appreciation instead of constantly yelling at you like I seem to do. So, thank you, Fiona,” I said, chagrinned.

  She kept smiling as she sat down gracefully in her seat at the table and gestured for me to join her. “You’re welcome.”

  “Are you sure this is right?” I asked for the tenth time since we’d gotten in my truck.

  “I’m absolutely sure—stop being such a wimp,” Fiona responded.

  I couldn’t even let her comment get me riled up, I was so confused. “I just can’t picture my father ever walking into a place like this.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? ‘A place like this.’”

  “Well, you know.”

  “No, please enlighten me. Exactly what is wrong with this place?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with it, I mean if you like that kind of thing, but you don’t know my father—he’d never be caught dead here.”

  She swung the passenger door open and said, “Maybe that’s the whole point. Ever think of that?”

  And then she jumped out of the truck and strode toward the entrance of the most garish nightclub I’d ever laid eyes on. The outside looked like a neon flamingo factory had vomited all over it and I was relatively certain the inside wouldn’t be any subtler.

  I reluctantly opened my door, knowing I had to stay with Fiona, even if it may be more for my sake than hers.

  “You’d better hurry and catch up to me, Champ, or they’re gonna be all over you,” she said as she strutted in her hard-on inducing boots and laughed.

  That was all I needed to hear to get my ass in gear and race to catch up. She could call me a wimp and laugh all she wanted as long as she didn’t ditch me in the middle of a gay nightclub in New Jersey on Go-Go-Boy night.

  When Fiona had said she knew where the money was, I’d assumed it was hidden somewhere in the old man’s apartment, but I should have known it wouldn’t be that simple.

  After our dinner, I had gone to get the truck and told Fiona I’d meet her at the hotel entrance in twenty minutes. There was no way I was going to do the valet thing and go retrieve her from the room like a gentleman. I was all for wooing her in the long run, but I had my principles and the gentleman stuff could wait. That valet wasn’t getting a dime from me.

  Sure enough, when I pulled up the expansive drive, there she was. Gone was the ski bunny ensemble. Instead she now wore a low-cut slinky green top with skin-tight jeans, spike-heeled black fuck-me boots that went clear up to her thigh, and a shit-hot leather jacket.

  Holy. Fuck.

  She was a wet dream come to life.

  She sauntered over to the truck before I could get my wits about me and open the door. I felt like a douchebag when the valet helped her up into the truck and she gave him a huge smile and a tip. Dammit.

  “Um, you look, you look…amazing,” I mumbled like a complete moron.

  She smiled, pulling on her seatbelt and settling a black leather satchel on the seat between us. “Thanks.”

  I just sat there until she actually had to prompt me to move.

  “Um, Mark, there are people behind us waiting to pull up.”

  “Oh shit. Right. Sorry.” Still behaving like a fucking moron, I hit the gas a little too hard and the tires squealed. Could this get any more embarrassing?

  Fiona tried and failed to cover a laugh in the passenger seat.

  “So, where to?” I asked, attempting to gain some control over my behavior. My plan to play it cool was going all to hell.

  She pulled out her phone and tapped a few times. “Looks like his apartment is about fifteen minutes from here. Take a left at the next light.” She proceeded to direct me to what turned out to be a run-down converted motel in a shitty part of town. This did not surprise me in the least. There were several late model cars in the parking lot and a few lights were on in various windows. We parked in front of unit 122 and got out.

  My eyes swept the parking lot, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I didn’t see anything out of place, though, so I chalked it up to adrenaline. When I turned back to the unit, Fiona was turning a key in the lock and opening the door. Shit!

  “Wait!” I said and jumped toward her, startling the crap out of her.

  “What?!” she screeched and jumped back.

  “Nothing. I just didn’t want you to go in first in case there was anybody in there or, I don’t know, anything I wouldn’t want you to see.”

  “What, like a dead hooker or something? This situation may be strange, but I highly doubt we’re going to find a dead body in there.” She shook her head at me. “You watch too much TV.”

  “All the same,” I said as I pushed in front of her and entered the apartment, switching a light on as I did.

  The place was a complete disaster. It was obvious that Lou and Terry had already tossed it, and my hopes of finding the money were immediately dashed.

  Fiona, on the other hand, walked right in completely unfazed.

  “Shortcake, I think we’re too late.”

  She just continued to walk through the filthy place, stepping effortlessly around overturned chairs and dresser drawers until she got to the sink outside the bathroom. There, she crouched down and pulled a small flashlight out of her satchel.

  WTF?

  She reached behind an exposed pipe and tried to move her head as far under the unit as she could in an effort to get a better look.

  “Aha!” she declared and popped out from under the sink, holding up a small key. “Victory!”

  And then she proceeded to do a very adorable version of the run
ning man while singing some made-up rap about not messing with the A-Team. It was a little unreal and a lot crazy.

  I finally had to put a stop to it. “I hate to interrupt your little touchdown celebration, but do you mind telling me what the hell is going on?”

  She stopped dancing. “Oh, right. Well, this little old key goes to a padlock where the money is.”

  “Seriously? And where is that?”

  “At some club. Your dad knows the owner and the lady lets him keep a locker in the staff room. I didn’t get the whole story, but I have the address. Let’s roll, Chief!”

  I shook my head. “You are something else, Ms. Pierce.”

  “I know.” She winked at me and I felt that sucker punch again.

  Ten minutes later, as I followed her into my first gay club, I was feeling a whole other kind of sucker punch. Oh, don’t judge—you weren’t there. And, by the way, is it really that surprising that a guy whose dad called him Mary might be a little sensitive in this area? I’ll wait for your apology.

  Um, still waiting.

  Chapter Twenty

  Pick a Penis! Any Penis!

  FIONA

  I felt kind of bad that I’d been evasive about the club. I’d known what we were in for the moment Kelly had given me the name of the place—there aren’t too many ways to misinterpret “The Manaconda Club.” I’d figured Mark would do better if given less time to contemplate potential upcoming scenarios.

  I was not surprised to have him right on my heels as I opened the door to the club and found my eyes and ears assaulted by what I could best describe in two words—flash and fierce.

  It. Was. Awesome.

  If not a bit loud for the night’s purposes.

  Club music pounded from the speakers while colored lights skittered across the crowd that packed the central dance floor. Bodies jumped, shimmied, and swayed to the pounding beat. Every few yards was a circular platform standing high above the main floor and each had a very fit half-naked—okay, more like four-fifths-naked—young guy dancing on a pole. In addition to the scorching entertainment was a long black bar against the side wall where several bartenders stood under more neon lights, serving up cocktails and joining in the vibrant mood set by the crowd.