by Mia Sosa
He pointed to one of the chairs, his long, tan fingers catching her attention. “Join me?”
Karen checked the chair bottom for suspicious substances. Finding none, she dropped into it, and the immediate relief to her feet reached orgasmic levels.
Mark waited until she was seated before he took the chair across from her. “Are your feet hurting?”
Ack. That moan hadn’t just been in her head? “That’s an understatement.”
He shifted closer to the edge of his seat, nudged the cocktail table out of the way, and held out his hands. “Let me see.”
She wanted to agree to his request, but first she had to address her litany of concerns. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d treated herself to a pedicure, and her feet had seen better days. Much better days. She was sure they were clean. But she’d been sweating. And what about her heels? She’d been known to do a wicked impression of a woman who kicked flour all day.
He chuckled. “Where did you go?”
“Go?”
“In your head. It’s like I lost you for a minute.”
Karen tilted her head and sighed. “You did. It’s what I do. You could be the most fascinating person in the world, but I tend not to focus on any one thing for long. I have a lot on my mind these days. It’s hard for me to turn off my brain and relax.”
“Must do wonders for a man’s ego.”
He didn’t mean any harm. To do that, he would have to know about her past relationships with men—which of course, he didn’t. Still, the remark stung, and even though she owed him nothing, she regretted the loss of concentration. She dropped her chin. “Sorry about that.”
He reached over and lifted her chin. “Nothing to be sorry for. And if my comment hurt you, I’m the one who should apologize.”
This was all getting a little too…deep. Fun. She was supposed to be loosening up and having fun. “It’s okay. I’m fine.” To prove the truth of that statement, she edged closer to him and lifted her legs. “May I?”
“Yes, set them on my lap.”
As she did so, he unbuttoned his suit jacket. She couldn’t resist asking him about his choice of clothing. “Do you always wear business suits when you scope out clubs in search of women?”
He flashed his killer grin. “First, as I said before, I don’t go to clubs to pick up women.”
“Generally.”
With a quirk of his lips, he nodded and slipped off her shoes. “Yes, generally. And second, the answer to your question is no. I was dragged here by a friend, and before that I was at a business meeting.”
He slid her bare feet along his lap, causing her ankles to press against his muscled thighs. That would have been enough to short-circuit her brain, but he had more in store for her. He ran his fingers down her lower legs and cupped her calves, squeezing them lightly before trailing his fingers down her shins. With the pads of his thumbs pressed against her ankles, he coaxed her legs apart. Just a fraction. Her gaze whipped to his, and he moved his hands away as though her legs had scalded him.
“Too much?” he asked.
Maybe she should have wanted him to stop, but she didn’t. “Please. Keep going.”
So he resumed his exploration, circling the tops of her feet with the tips of his fingers, their warmth relaxing her and making her go limp. The man possessed magic hands. Smooth. Strong. He kneaded her soles with them, attending to her feet with a deliberateness that led her to envision his hands in more intimate places.
“Tell me what you like,” he said.
Karen forced herself not to stutter. “Like?”
He continued to massage her toes. “Sexually.”
She opened her mouth to answer him, but her brain had abandoned her.
“Relax. We’re just talking. Titillating discussion without having to do the walk of shame in the morning. You liked that idea, remember?”
Yes, she liked the idea, but what could she say? Hell if she knew what she liked. No one had ever bothered to worry about her pleasure, and she’d been too chicken shit to tell them what turned her on. “Honestly? I’m not sure.”
His face blanched, and his hands stopped moving. “You’ve had sex before, right?”
Pfft. Of course she had. But the experiences hadn’t been enough to shut off her brain and stop her from blurting out ill-conceived observations. “Yes, I have.”
“Tell me. I know there’s something you want to say.”
“How can you tell?”
“You dip your head to one side and rest your chin on your shoulder, like you want to bury your head in your own neck. You did it before.”
Would it be so bad to share her tics with a complete stranger? One she’d never see again? She didn’t see any harm in it. “Well, the thing is, I tend to lose my concentration during sex, too.” She shook her head, knowing she wasn’t explaining herself well. “No. It’s more like I tend to think about the wrong things. Or a million things other than sex.”
He ran his fingers down her shins and squeezed her ankles. “Give me an example.”
Karen shifted her torso away from him and covered her face with her hands. “It’s too embarrassing.” She peeked through her fingers. “Wait. Are you a therapist or something?”
He lifted a dark brow and shook his head no. “Hardly. We’re just talking. And then you’ll go off to your life, and I’ll go off to mine.”
Right. Exactly. “Okay, here’s an example. The guy says, ‘You’re so wet,’ because, you know, they all say that, and then my brain takes over. And I ask myself, ‘Am I? Am I really? Or are you too small? Because I have to say, you’re starting to feel like a tampon.’”
He laughed. A deep, rich laugh that made her want to lean over and surprise him with a kiss. He wasn’t broody at all. A man who laughed like that, his neck stretched to reveal his Adam’s apple and his eyes gleaming in appreciation, could never be broody. Thoughtful? Yes. Broody? No.
“Oh, and I’ll never forget the first time a guy went down on me. He lapped at me like a poodle drinking from a water bowl, and I felt nothing. ”
Mark’s shoulders shook after she shared that tidbit.
“I ended up trying to memorize physics formulas until he was done. But that’s not all,” she continued. “Sometimes I forget that I’m not supposed to articulate my thoughts, or I zone out, and before I know what’s happening, the guy, who is rightfully pissed or hurt, scrambles for the door.” She removed her feet from his grasp and set them on the floor. Staring at her toes helped her avoid his gaze. “I feel awful. No one should feel inadequate like that, but I can’t seem to help myself. And I’m starting to wonder if it’s me. You know what I’d love? I’d love to be able to lose myself in the moment, but it’s never happened.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Someday maybe.”
She didn’t know what reaction she’d get. Sympathy? Ridicule? Whatever she got, it wouldn’t matter. This was about her, not him, because that was the point of catharsis, after all. But when she dared to peek at his face, she nearly fell back against the chair. Lust. There it was. It seeped out of his pores. Darkened his brown eyes to black. Made his big body move with each breath he took. Caused his jaw to go slack.
“Mark?”
When he finally spoke, his voice carried a touch of gravel, a rough sound that she figured only hinted at what he really wanted to say. “What you said just then. Wanting passion that would make you lose all thought and admitting you’ve never experienced it? That’s like waving a flag at a bull. God, there’s not much I wouldn’t do to get you under me if that’s what you wanted. To get you to the point where all you could think about was me. Us. How we fit together. How we moved together.”
His words worked their way into her body, filling empty spaces she didn’t know she had. What he’d just described? She wanted that, too. She hadn’t realized how much until his words had mirrored her thoughts. She burned with the need, in fact. And she squirmed in a feeble attempt to disguise the heat that suffused her. But this was crazy. They’d j
ust met. Her gaze darted around the alcove, the flashy surroundings reminding her that the feelings he’d provoked in her weren’t real. It had to be the whiskey. The craziness of the night.
Shit. Gracie. Her sister was probably searching for her now. She stood up and held on to the chair as she slipped her shoes back on. “I’ve got to rejoin my group.”
He remained seated, a telltale bulge in his crotch suggesting that standing would be uncomfortable for him. “I’d ask for your last name, but I’m afraid if I knew it, I’d try to find you. And that’s not what this is about.” He paused. “Right?”
What she’d told him was mortifying, and despite her attraction to him, the knowledge that she’d never see him again would ensure she’d survive the embarrassment. She didn’t think long about her answer. “Right. Thanks for the talk, and have a great life, Mark.”
Her objective was simple: to infuse her stride with a dab of sexiness and a pinch of confidence. She planned to turn around and leave him with a decent memory of her, one in which she wasn’t wobbling away on three-inch stilettos. But her sister’s worried voice calling out her name rooted her to the spot.
Seconds later, Gracie skidded into her. “Jesus, Karen. You scared the shit out of me. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Still facing Mark, Karen twisted her head in her sister’s direction. “You found me. I’m fine.”
Gracie’s eyes lit up when she realized that Karen wasn’t alone.
For the second time that night, a frisson of dread ran through her. Was that a hint of recognition in Gracie’s eyes? No. Fucking. Way. She’d just had one of the most embarrassing conversations ever with a man she’d assumed would remain a stranger. Her sister’s face, however, suggested that wouldn’t be the case. Karen quite literally prayed she’d read Gracie wrong.
But crap on a crostini, Gracie’s frown suddenly changed to a broad grin. “Mark? Is that you?”
CHAPTER TWO
Mark watched the train wreck in front of him. The woman who’d crashed into his life, that is. He wanted to look away, but his brain refused to cooperate. Drawn to Karen by something he couldn’t explain, he cataloged her every move. So he’d known the minute she’d decided to walk away from him forever, to place him squarely in her mental Rolodex as the man who’d fondled her footsies that night long ago when she’d had one whiskey too many. And he’d just witnessed the barely suppressed horror on her face when she’d realized her sister knew him.
This was Gracie’s baby sister? Gracie was his best friend’s girlfriend. And given how happy Ethan seemed to be lately, owing in large part to Gracie, Mark figured he’d have to interact with Karen at some point. Christ. The things she’d told him. The things he’d said in response. He couldn’t undo any of it. And judging from Karen’s wooden demeanor, she’d come to the same conclusion.
Maybe he could salvage the situation, though, with some acting on his part. Maybe, just maybe, he’d inherited his mother’s flair for drama and would be able to play off their encounter in a way that wouldn’t embarrass Karen.
He stood, buttoned his suit jacket, and offered Gracie his hand. “Gracie. Good to see you.”
Gracie sidestepped his outstretched hand and hugged him. “Stop acting ridiculous, Mark. Ethan’s been looking for you. We wanted to get everyone together.”
When Gracie released him, he stumbled back—that’s what people did when they were drunk, right? “Sheesh. I guess I had too much Scotch tonight.” He donned a dazed expression, hoping to make his performance convincing. Given that he’d just said “Sheesh,” he doubted his success.
Oblivious to the tension, Gracie turned to her sister and drew her forward, forming a circle with their bodies. The circle of hell couldn’t have been any worse than this. “You guys saved me a step. I see you already met my baby sister.”
Karen grimaced. “Younger sister.”
Gracie flinched at Karen’s sharp tone, but her face remained calm. “Right. Younger sister. Karen just graduated from college, and we’re celebrating that amazing accomplishment. Starts medical school at George Washington in the fall.” Gracie beamed with pride. “She’ll be the first doctor in our family.” She covered her mouth and leaned toward him. “Not that we’re pressuring her or anything.”
Mark wished he were a beaver so he could tunnel through the floor, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake as he escaped. If Karen had just graduated from college, that made her…what? Twenty-one? Twenty-two, at most? Which meant he was almost eleven years her senior. He’d called himself plenty of unflattering names over the years, but now he could add “cradle robber” to that illustrious list. And he cursed his father’s genes, the ones that had led him to be attracted to someone who was all wrong for him.
His resolve to erase whatever had happened between them moments ago solidified. “Yes. She mentioned a celebration. Dara, was it?” He hit his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Sorry. Kara, right?”
Karen squished her eyebrows together and frowned. “It’s Karen.”
He wished he could tell her he’d never forget her name. Wished he could tell her he wanted to take her home, have sex with her against a shower wall, and end round two in his king-size bed. But that wasn’t going to happen. One, she was Gracie’s sister. Two, she was Gracie’s baby sister. And three, relationships weren’t his forte—his problem, of course, not hers—and the alternative, a no-strings hookup, was out of the question, because of…points one and two.
He loosened his tie, and then he ran his fingers through his hair. “Forgive me, Karen. It’s been a long, frustrating day, and the liquor hasn’t helped set my head straight. Next time we talk, I’ll promise to remember your name and what we talked about.”
Her head snapped back, and she formed an O with that lovely mouth of hers. In his head, he urged her to go with it, to suspend disbelief just enough to save them from further embarrassment. For several taut seconds, it appeared she wouldn’t make it easy for either of them. But then she donned a placid expression, a tremulous smile undermining the ease she no doubt sought to convey. “No worries, Mark. I’m sure it was gibberish anyway.”
Karen looped her arm through Gracie’s and smiled. “You said you wanted to get us together?”
Gracie, who’d pulled out her phone and was texting someone, raised her head and grinned. “Yes. Let’s head back to the table. Ethan’s there. We have a surprise for you guys.”
As Gracie and Karen walked ahead of him, he fought the urge to stare at Karen’s ass. A surprise? Shit. He could do without any more surprises today.
When they reached the counter-height cocktail table, Ethan took Gracie’s hand and led her to stand beside him. His best friend looked more relaxed than Mark had ever seen him. And when Ethan raised Gracie’s hand to his lips and gave it a quick kiss, Mark suspected an engagement announcement would follow. That bothered him more than he cared to admit. There it was. The truth. He wouldn’t begrudge Ethan the happiness he deserved, but the fact that Ethan had found that happiness, through a committed relationship and in the arms of an incredible woman, heightened Mark’s awareness that he’d never sought the same for himself.
Mark chose relationships with short expiration dates instead. It was easier that way. He had a multimillion-dollar communications company to worry about, he reasoned. He couldn’t give any woman the time or attention it would take to cultivate a serious relationship. And the last thing he’d ever want to do was make a woman feel expendable, unimportant, as though she didn’t matter in his world; not letting a woman into his world ensured he’d never do that.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t show a woman a good time. Treat her like a queen. Make her happy in some small way. He’d been lucky enough to meet women looking for precisely what he offered. Great sex. Fun times. No commitment. And when work called him away, as it invariably did, his companion would give him a soft peck on the cheek and nod in understanding. His lifestyle suited him. Looking at Gracie and Ethan now, however, Mark acknowledged
the twinge in his chest might just be envy.
Gracie shifted behind Ethan, her nervous smile all but confirming Mark’s initial suspicion. She wrapped her arms around Ethan’s waist and rested her chin on his shoulder. “We’re getting married. In three weeks.”
Boom. The announcement settled in his gut like an anchor, heavy and unyielding.
Mimi’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Holy shit, Gracie. What happened? You didn’t wrap any casing around that sausage and got knocked up?”
Gracie dropped her forehead onto Ethan’s shoulder. “Sinvergüenza. No, I’m not pregnant.”
Mark leaned into Karen. “What’s sinvergüenza?”
Eyes wide, Karen whispered her response. “A shameless person. Look up sinvergüenza in a Spanish dictionary and a photograph of someone who bears a startling resemblance to Mimi will be there.”
She’d moved closer to him, a fact he couldn’t ignore. Her sweet scent wafted around him, and he had to stop himself from reaching for her, from tucking her into him and proclaiming his interest in her. But that would have been impossible in any event, because she bolted across the small space, shoved Ethan out of the way, and enveloped Gracie in a fierce hug. “Congratulations, Gracie. You’re happy, right? That’s all that matters.” She lowered her voice, which nevertheless carried across the group. “But why the rush?”
Ethan slapped Mark on the back. “It’s his fault.”
With all eyes directed at him, Mark tried to appear unruffled by the declaration. “My fault? How so?”
“You’re the one who moved up the timing of the KisNet launch. If we’re going to get that software ready to go before the holiday season, I won’t be able to take off any time in the fall.”
Gracie squeezed Karen’s hand. “We don’t want a big wedding, just a few friends and family. And I’d like our grandmother to be there, so the important thing is to make it happen while we can.”
