It never stopped astounding him just how perfectly she fit in to his frame. How holding Francine made every single thing in the whole damn universe just make sense for him. Holding this woman was what he’d been born to do, and he held her exactly like that.
“Mark.”
God, when she said his name like that – all breathy and soft – it made him want to take her, take her hard and deep. Take her until she was his, all his. He’d take her so hard, he’d mark her forever; he’d mark her so deep, that his love would protect her. Nobody would – or could – ever hurt her again.
“Yeah, babe?” he said tightly.
She still hesitated, though, and that made his heart squeeze.
“Tell me what’s going on in your head,” he said.
“It’s… it’s about him. About Henri.”
Mark’s gut twisted as pure rage and hatred poured through him. As soon as she’d said that fucker’s name, all he saw was her on that cabin floor again, seconds away from being raped. He saw that horrific scene in his dreams, and he saw it when he heard Delacroix’s name, and he saw it when she was sleeping in his arms, and he saw it when he looked at Francine.
The truth was, that he saw it almost every second of every day. The truth was, that he never stopped seeing it.
The other truth was that he imagined everything that she’d gone through, and he imagined it over and over again. Things that he hadn’t seen with his own eyes, but which he saw in front of his eyes constantly.
Things which she’d suffered because he’d failed to protect her.
“What about him?” Mark said now.
“He’s – he’s between us.”
“He’s not.”
“He is, Mark.” Her eyes were so damn serious as she spoke. “He is, and don’t argue with me.”
“How is he between us?”
“He’s the last man to have touched me in… in certain ways. He’s the last man to have kissed my throat, and to have stroked my thighs, and to have been naked on top of me. All of that puts him smack between us, Mark.”
Mark tensed, his mind back in that cabin again.
“I hate that he’s the last man to have touched me like that,” she said vehemently. “I hate that his hands were the last ones that were all over me. I hate that his touch is the last one that I remember on my naked body.”
Mark shut his eyes. “Fuck, babe.”
“I know. I know, Mark. But there’s more, OK?”
“OK. I’m listening.”
“He may have left the imprint of his memory on my body, but he’s also left one on you. Well, in you. In your head.”
Mark stared at her, his breath frozen in his lungs. “He’s –”
“In your head. Yes.” Francine forced herself to keep talking, but the pain in Mark’s eyes made it difficult. “You think about him constantly, don’t you? You have dreams about him. Sometimes, I catch you staring at me, and the anger on your face takes my breath away, and I know that you’re thinking about something that happened to me.”
Mark sucked in air. “Babe…”
“He’s in your head,” she said softly. “And you can’t seem to get him out. That’s how he’s really between us, Mark.”
The silence between them went on forever. At last, Mark sighed.
“Yeah.” He ran his fingers over her lips. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“So, what do we do?” Mark heard the desperation in his own voice. “How do we get him out from between us?”
“A few ways.”
“Tell me.” Mark was ready to do anything – fucking anything – that she said. He’d cut off own hand, if she told him that it’d help. “Please tell me.”
“Time and talking.”
He stared at her. “That’s it?”
“Yep.” She shrugged. “It’s what I’ve done for hundreds of people, Mark. It’s the only thing that I know that works for sure.”
“OK.” He nodded. “That’s what we’ll do, then.”
“And we need to do one more thing.”
“Yeah? What is it?”
She smiled now, and it was so brilliant, so perfect, his breath caught.
“Touching.”
“…Touching?”
“Yes.” She moved back in to his arms, placed her small hands on his chest. “Touching.”
He kept his own hands on the sofa, though. “Can you handle that?”
“A week ago, no. But now, after our talk last night, and going to the safe house today? Yes.”
“Babe.” He ached to touch her, but he had to be certain. “You sure?”
“Yes.” She reached for his hands, tugged them, placed them on her hips. “Touch me, Mark.”
Slowly, carefully, he did as she asked. He skimmed over her curves, moved down her body to her thighs. He watched her face the whole time, watching for fear, or memory, or panic.
He saw none of that, though. All he saw was Francine, so brave and strong, so beautiful and sweet, watching him with nothing but trust in those blue eyes.
All he saw was her.
“OK.” Mark spoke so quietly, she strained to hear him. “Touching and talking it is, sugar.”
“And a bit of time,” she added.
“Yeah.” He leaned in to kiss her lips. “That too.”
Chapter Seventeen
One week later
Dean looked across the room, trying to find Emma and his son through the large group of people thronging around his living room.
Yeah, he knew that they were fine – they were at their new house, after all, and there was nobody here that he didn’t know and trust – but still. He hated to have his eyes off Emma and their baby, even for ten seconds.
Maybe it was because of how his son had come in to the world, with Emma totally panicked about giving birth away from a hospital. Maybe it was because of that knife digging in to Emma’s stomach. That blade had been mere inches away from ending the lives of the two people that Dean loved the most, and that was way too fucking close for his comfort. Maybe it was because he still woke up in a sweat, remembering those few seconds of standing in that doorway, seeing Emma in that bed, so afraid and hurt.
Or maybe it was just that deep-rooted primal drive to keep his loved ones safe. Right now, Dean was all alpha male crossed with Daddy instincts, so he supposed that made him one of the most protective men on the planet.
Jenny moved now, and Dean had his sights on Emma and the baby again. Right away, he relaxed.
“Hey, Dean… congrats on the new home.”
Dean turned, saw Sully standing there with a beer. The men exchanged grins.
“Thanks,” Dean said. “And I’m happy to hear that Sean’ll get that surgery – when? The spring?”
“Yeah. Early spring.” Sully took a sip of beer. “Doctor Finn said that he’s an ideal candidate.”
“Cordelia must be thrilled.”
“Thrilled, and scared to death.”
“It’s risky?”
“Sure is. I mean, the doctor will be putting a laser to Sean’s brain. It’s delicate work, man, and even though it’s the kid’s best shot – his only shot, to be honest – that doesn’t mean that it’s risk- or danger-free.”
“Damn.”
“I know.”
Dean stared at Sully, took in his drawn face. Before Dean had had his own kid, he hadn’t really, truly understood what Cordelia, and now Sully, had to be going through with Sean.
Sure, he’d always felt bad for them when Dallas gave him an update, but he hadn’t really gotten the way that fear for a child can just fucking paralyze you. How a kid could just take out your knees with worry, and how helpless you could feel when something was happening to your kid, and all you could do was stand by and watch.
Dean and Sully were men who acted, and hanging around and hoping for the best was not their style. But with kids, sometimes that’s all that was in the cards, and Dean knew that he was in for a lifetime of it now.
“Anyway.” Sully changed the subject with a visible effort. “You guys have a really nice place here.”
Dean glanced around the room again, loving the big windows, the blue tile in the kitchen, the pictures on the walls. It was the first place that he’d ever owned, and he loved it deeply. He hoped that he, Emma, and Junior over there had many, many years of happiness in it together.
And that third bedroom upstairs needed an occupant, of course. He was eager to get to work on a little brother or sister for their son, and the sooner, the better.
But first, they had something important to do with the kid they already had.
He caught Emma’s eye now, and she nodded. He excused himself to Sully, walked over to her. Dean leaned down, gave her a kiss, dropped one on the baby’s head, too.
“Ready?” he muttered.
“Yep.” Emma stood up, holding the baby carefully. “Let’s do it.”
“Hey, guys.” Dean’s voice carried through the room, and the noise level dropped as people stopped talking, and gave him their attention. “So, you know that we’re having this little housewarming party today to celebrate our new home, and our long-overdue escape from our tyrannical landlord.”
Dallas glared at his friend. “I was an awesome landlord!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean hushed him. “Anyway, the other reason we put together this little get-together was to announce our son’s name.”
A murmur rippled around the room, and the interest became more focused.
“So, we wanted our son to have the name of a good, strong man. Someone who he could look up to, and see as an inspiration.”
Nods all around.
“In the end, Emma and I realized that we’re lucky enough to have lots of men in our lives who fit the bill… it seems that we’re surrounded by nothing but good, strong men.” His eyes locked with those of several men: Dallas, Chris, Jim, Sully, Griff, Luke. “We’d be honored to name our son after any one of you.”
Dean took a breath, glanced down at Emma.
“But there are three individuals in this room who we feel especially grateful and proud to know… and without them, our son wouldn’t even be here. Hell, it’s possible that Emma wouldn’t be here, either. These three people saved my son’s life, saved the life of the woman that I love… and I’ll never stop being thankful for that.”
Dean smiled at the baby, stroked his impossibly soft cheek.
“So. I’d like everyone to meet Francis Mark Alexander Jessop. He’s named after the three incredibly brave, selfless, heroic people who made sure that we brought him home with us.”
Cheers and applause burst out, and Francine, Mark, and Alexandra blushed varying shades of pink and magenta.
“Well,” Dallas remarked to Olivia as they headed over to meet Frankie properly for the first time. “Thank Christ they didn’t name him Ernest.”
**
Jim stood back and watched Beth holding Frankie. He’d been worried about how she’d be around the baby, worried that she’d feel hurt or loss. And maybe she did, somewhere inside, but it was clear that her primary emotion was happiness for her friends.
She’d come such a long way since Foxburg Falls, she’d just faced down and conquered so much. Her nightmares were almost totally gone, and Beth had a sense of peace that he’d never seen in her before. She’d done it, really done it, and her healing was both humbling and astounding to witness.
Seeing her heal and grow had made Jim want things with her, for her. For them. He wanted something specific now, wanted it badly, but he’d held off asking her for it. He’d wanted to see her with the baby, needed to see how she handled that situation after the horrific and heartbreaking loss of her own child. He had to be sure that she was OK before he went on ahead and asked.
Looking at her now, holding that baby so sweet and close, he knew that he was going to ask.
Today. Right this minute.
Beth handed Frankie to Chris, who immediately smothered him with kisses. Beth laughed, said something, and Chris rocked Frankie back and forth in his massive arms. When Beth looked across the room at him, Jim motioned with his head for her to meet him in the dining room. She smiled, nodded, headed to the separate room.
“Hey,” she greeted him, so beautiful in her happiness. “What’s up?”
Jim shut the French doors slowly, turned to face Beth.
“What?” she said, confused by his silence and the look on his face. “Jim, what? Is something wrong?”
Without a word, he went to his knees in front of her. Beth stared down at him, stunned.
“What – Jim, what are you doing?”
Jim wasn’t a man of many words, but he knew the right ones. “I love you, Beth, more than I ever thought it possible to love anyone, ever.” He opened the tiny box, showed her the ring. “Will you, baby? Will you marry me?”
“Oh. My. God,” she whispered. “Jim…”
He stayed put, waiting. His heart in his fucking throat.
“Jim,” she repeated. “You – you’re – proposing?”
“Yep.”
“Proposing marriage?”
“Yep again.”
“To me?”
“Nobody else here, baby.”
Her hands went to her mouth now, and she gave a small sob. Right away, he was on his feet, pulling her to his broad chest.
“Why are you crying?” he asked roughly.
“I’m not crying,” she said, tears pouring down her cheeks.
He wiped them away, so damn tenderly. “You totally are, sweetheart.”
“I’m not,” she snuffled as her nose started to run. “I’m not crying.”
“So what are you, then?”
“I’m happy,” she said brokenly. “I’m so, so happy.”
“This is what you look like when you’re happy?”
“Sometimes.”
“So, if you’re happy, then you’re saying yes?”
“Oh, God, I forgot to accept.” Beth wiped her face on her sleeve, totally unconcerned about smearing it with makeup, tears, or snot. “Yes.”
Jim’s gorgeous face split wide with a smile. “Yes?”
“Yes. Yes. Oh, God… yes.”
“Excellent.” He slipped the ring on her finger, kissed her hand. “I’d kiss your sweet little mouth, but you’re a mess, sweetheart.”
“Hang on.” She fumbled in her purse, found a kleenex. She dabbed at her eyes, blew her nose noisily, then realized that this was just about as unsexy as she could ever be at a moment like this. “Damn. Sorry.”
But Jim was laughing now, his golden eyes bright with love. Beth smacked his muscled forearm.
“Stop laughing at me!” she said.
“Can’t help it. You’re fucking adorable.”
“Even all snotty and with my eye liner running down my face?”
“Yeah. Even then.”
“Good Lord. It must be love, huh?”
“Oh, it is.” Jim lowered his face to hers now, intent on getting that kiss at long last. “It most definitely is.”
**
“So,” Dallas said to Griff over some of Jenny’s incredible quesadillas. “You about ready to get back in to the field, man? Or are you still good helping Roxanna with the administrative stuff over at the office?”
“Argh,” Griff groaned. “You have no idea what a slavedriver that woman is. ‘Welcoming, smiling receptionist’, my ass.”
“So… back to the field?”
“Please. It’ll be a cakewalk after Roxanna, I can assure you, even if I do get stabbed again.”
“Yeah. I bet.” Dallas’ eyes twinkled. He
knew full good and well that Roxanna’s attitude towards the offices paperwork was nothing less than full-on kamikaze. He’d had some good laughs watching towering, terrifying John Griffin get bossed around by a woman who barely reached his shoulder. “I have an assignment for you. Starts on Monday.”
“Lay it on me, boss.”
“Claire Worthington.”
Griff’s brow furrowed under the blond hair falling over his forehead. “As in Wilbur Worthington?”
“Yeah. That Worthington.”
“Damn.” Griff shook his head. “What’s the assignment?”
“Surveillance and engagement.”
Griff paused. “Not security?”
“Nope. She’s not the client. She’s the focus.”
“Ah.” Griff drank some beer. “What’d she do? I thought it was her dickhead husband who ran that Ponzi scheme that lost people billions.”
“It was.”
“They’re divorced, yeah?”
“Yeah. But our client thinks that the divorce is a scam, and she’s hiding all the money that was stolen, hiding it from the feds and the SEC. Our client thinks that Wilbur has millions – maybe billions – in offshore accounts, and that Claire’s got full access to the money.”
“Does she?”
Dallas shrugged. “That’s your job, man. To get close to her, and find out. Talk to her, see if she slips up. The thinking is that she’s hiding the cash to deny the feds the proof that they need. The money trail ends with her, see, and the working theory is that as soon as Wilbur’s found not guilty from lack of evidence, they’ll fly on off to The Seychelles together, and disappear in to their sprawling beach villa, and never be seen stateside again.”
“That’s it, then?” Griff said. “Get to know the ex-wife, and use my charms to get her to give something away?”
“That’s it.” Dallas clapped him on the shoulder. “I know it ain’t as exciting as taking down stalkers in parking lots, but maybe you’ve had enough of that for the moment?”
“Count me in,” Griff said grimly, ignoring Dallas’ joking tone. “I fucking hate these rich assholes, running their bullshit schemes and taking advantage of people. If I can bust the ex, and help get some of that money back to those people, I will.”
Solid Heart (Unseen Enemy Book 7) Page 23
