He swore she looked frantic and hated that he’d pulled her out of such a relaxed sleep the way he had. Stroking the hair on the side of her head, he leaned into her and kissed her.
“Fine. You win,” he said, and kissed her again until she relaxed in his arms. “Let’s go to bed.”
*
London rolled over and turned off her alarm at five thirty the next morning. It was strange waking up with such a large body taking over half her bed. When she needed to get up, though, moving away from Marc when he was so relaxed and warm and as snuggly as she’d imagined he would be was almost more than she could do. Rolling into him, she stretched against all that muscle. He immediately rolled into her, wrapping his arms around her and pinning her to his side.
London never slept naked. Living alone for so many years had her in the habit of wearing a nightshirt to sleep in. The shirt didn’t last long when she and Marc went to bed, though. Their sex in the living room had been as hot as the slow lovemaking session they’d had before falling asleep.
She stared into his relaxed features, how his mouth formed a straight line; his long, straight nose and dark lashes, fanning just under his eyes, made him so beautiful. His incredible size and all that muscle, yet not an ounce of fat on him anywhere. Then there were the small scars. She’d discovered a few more than just the one on his jaw. There was one on his right bicep that almost looked like a burn. It wasn’t new, though. Although she couldn’t see it right now, he had a thicker scar on the side of his right thigh. She imagined them war wounds and wondered what kind of warrior Marc King was.
As her mind drifted around thoughts of Marc, their time together, him being at her home when she got off work, it all seemed so comfortable and perfect. But life wasn’t comfortable and perfect; at least it never had been. Daring to think that might change scared the crap out of her.
Why couldn’t she have a happy, settled life like everyone else? He lay here next to her and he’d wanted to stay. London ran her fingertips over his muscular chest, feeling how soft and warm and incredibly strong he was. Marc was a rock, stability in all that was crazy.
London squeezed her eyes closed, refusing to get lost in a fantasy that probably would never be reality. Marc never suggested he would stay in Colorado. Her thoughts drifted to last night, while lying on his lap and him talking on the phone. She’d drifted off to sleep, but when his tone had changed and his body tensed London lay there awake listening. Not that she understood most of what she heard, other than whatever it was pissed him off.
She knew he was talking to his brother, Jake. Apparently his entire family knew about her. That was a hard one to dissect. Would Marc share with his family information about any woman with whom he was spending time? There were some families who were cozy like that, although it had been her experience that those kinds of families only existed on TV.
When he’d mentioned pictures in a package, London had almost fallen off the couch. There was a noticeable tension in the conversation, although she got the impression Marc got along with his brother. Hell, he came from a perfect family, all of them open and caring about one another. London would never fit into a picture like that.
She remembered Marc telling her he’d found a package at her front doorstep after he got off the phone. His determined nature was hard to fight. She’d damn near panicked when he’d started going after her mail. If he saw the pictures, he’d want to know who they were. It would lead to her having to tell him a really tall tale about her parents or surrender the truth. London didn’t want to lie to him, and she couldn’t let him know she came from a family of crooks.
Marc tightened his grip around her when she tried sliding out of bed.
“Marc, I need to get ready for work,” she whispered, touching his collarbone and feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart. It would be too damn easy to fall back asleep in his arms. She couldn’t be late to work, though, especially after Cliff weirding out on her. And she couldn’t allow herself to get used to how wonderful this felt. “Marc, please,” she tried again, running her hand over his smooth skin to his neck. “You’ve got to let me out of bed.”
He grunted, lifted his leg, and draped it over both of hers, trapping her further. She was almost crushed under his long, powerful body. Damn! What a way to go.
“Are you going to keep me here all day?” she asked, trying for a teasing tone. “I have ways of making you talk, you know,” she whispered, moving her hand down between the two of them.
London gripped his cock, wrapping her fingers around his warm, silky smooth shaft. Immediately it hardened and grew in her hand, lengthening and throbbing as she began a gentle stroke. Marc growled and his lashes fluttered. Her breath caught in her throat when he moved again, this time grabbing her leg, lifting it, and easing himself into place.
There was no way he was that asleep and able to shift into position that easily.
“Marc,” she complained, even as her pussy began throbbing with anticipation. “You aren’t playing fair.”
It was either another grunt or a laugh. London didn’t have time to determine which when her sleeping giant came to life, cupping her ass and adjusting her again so he could slip deep inside her.
“Oh God,” she moaned, forced to let go of his cock as it filled her completely.
“Good morning, beautiful.” Marc’s voice was rough with sleep.
“Morning,” she said, no longer having the will to fight him as he slowly made love to her.
It was easy. It was perfect. There was a relaxed, comfortable sensation making love to Marc. Every time they fucked each other it was exactly what she needed. This morning there were no demands, no need to speak, just pure satisfaction that left her tingling and in a wonderful mood when she finally crawled out from under the warm blankets.
London stood in the shower when she realized they hadn’t used a condom. For a moment her heart froze, creating a tightness in her chest and making it very hard to breathe. She was on the pill. Getting pregnant wasn’t the issue.
In all the years she’d been sexually active, London had never had sex without a condom. Although she figured someday, if the right man ever came along, and they settled down into being a couple, they probably wouldn’t use condoms. It wasn’t a part of her future she thought a lot about though. That would be a time when she knew a man very, very well. Not only did she not know Marc well, she never would. Their relationship had no hope of a future.
Had Marc intentionally made love to her without a condom? Was he letting her know he wanted a commitment?
London climbed out of the shower, having forgotten to wash her hair. Which was the last time she would allow herself to become so distracted.
“How long until you have to leave for work?” Marc asked, handing her coffee when she traipsed into the kitchen after her frustrating shower. One glance at Marc looking so at ease in her kitchen and she knew they’d passed the point of a painless good-bye.
He was back in the clothes he came over in the night before but had managed to clean up pretty good. His easy smile and the way he brushed her hair behind her ear showed he was a morning person. London returned the smile, wishing he would start displaying some kind of trait that didn’t appeal to her.
“I get there around seven thirty, so soon,” she said, glancing past him at the clock on her microwave.
“Then I guess making you breakfast will have to wait for another day.”
“Breakfast, huh?” Maybe she could count that against him. “I don’t usually do breakfast,” she told him.
Marc cupped her chin, tilting her head and kissing her. He took his time with it, easing her mouth open and then making love to her with his tongue. He was shattering her reserve, making her fall quick and hard for him. There were rules. Most of them she created. London had made it twenty-five years honoring these rules unconditionally. In just under two weeks Marc had caused her to break every one of them. When would the regret kick in? She knew the answer to that one. As soon as he left.
“That’s because you haven’t ever had one of my breakfasts,” he murmured against her mouth.
London shook her head, unable to keep from smiling, and backed up from him. “There’s probably time for you to take a quick shower if you want.”
Space would help, London decided, as the shower sounded in the other room. She finished dressing, slipped into her boots, and headed out to her front porch. Maybe even the cold weather would do some good. And damn, it was cold. January in Aspen was consistent. There wasn’t any getting around it. Resting her hand on the mailbox, knowing what was inside, London gave thought to those consistencies in her life. Things she could rely on, which she took for granted.
The weather really didn’t count. And sometimes even it threw her a curveball. Her parents had been consistent. That was an odd irony. Neither one of them would ever win a Parent of the Year award. They didn’t call her to make sure she was okay. More than once she’d heard both of them say they were proud that they didn’t make the mistake of getting pregnant twice. But in all of their scandalous affairs, they never swayed from their steady pattern. London had grown up knowing they wouldn’t be there for her, that she was on her own to find food and quite often a place to sleep at night.
There were other consistencies since her parents. Working was the same. The jobs had varied and so had the towns, but not that much. And since settling here, she could count even more regularities in her life. London reached into the mailbox and took out the package, which looked just like the others. Even this unraveling nightmare was consistent. But the most solid and reliable fact in her world today—guests came to the lodge and they left.
Marc would leave. He came here for a vacation and he was having a wonderful time, she believed. When it was over he would return to his perfect life and his perfect family and have fond memories of his time in Aspen, Colorado. The sooner she accepted that, the easier it would be on her when he left.
Her thoughts dampened her mood as she headed into her bedroom and closed her door. The shower was still going and she wasn’t sure if Marc would respect her privacy or not. She moved quickly, sliding her finger under the clear piece of tape and opening the package.
“Just one minute,” she told herself, putting it on her dresser and moving to her bed.
When she got home tonight she would wash her bedding, but for now she made her bed, straightened her pillows, and reached for the package. Dumping its contents onto her bed, she stared at the several pictures and at the note accompanying them.
As promised, your parents are gone. Let the game begin!
*
London stared at the printer as it took its time printing out the checkouts for the day. She’d slept well last night, in spite of staying up late having sex with Marc. And she’d woken up at her usual time; although they’d fucked again, it hadn’t seemed to wear her out at the time. Now she was exhausted.
The note sent with the pictures hadn’t made sense. The pictures were more disturbing. There were only two of them this time. Her mom walking toward the camera with two men on either side of her. It almost looked as if she was in handcuffs. The men’s heads were down and they weren’t in any kind of uniform, but a lot of detectives wore street clothes. The picture of London’s father was similar. He glared at the camera, appearing fit to be tied. London knew that look. Johnnie Brooke glared as if he would kill the next person who said the wrong thing to him. His cheeks were flushed and his lips pressed into a straight line. She swore she felt his anger just staring at the picture.
Before Marc got out of the shower she’d shoved the photos with the rest of the pictures in her middle dresser drawer and tried putting them out of her mind. Her parents had been arrested. It really sucked. Not that she had planned on seeing them anytime soon or had a clue where they were when they were arrested, but knowing now that they were gone left an unsettling feeling inside her. Weirder yet, someone wanted her to know her parents were busted, someone who knew it was going to happen before it happened. It sure as hell wasn’t standard protocol to mail pictures to the family when a criminal was about to go down. London was more than a bit freaked out thinking whoever took those pictures might approach her soon.
London didn’t worry enough that she was in any kind of danger. It still would be nice to talk to someone about it. She’d come real close to saying something to Marc when he got out of the shower. It had been time to leave, though. Marc didn’t follow her out to the lodge, which she told herself was for the best. Cliff was never in this early, but she didn’t want more crap for being seen with Marc. She was curious where he went, though.
“How many checkouts do we have today?” Sally came around the side of the counter, her brown hair pulled back tight against her head and gray streaks dominating along her temples.
She wore her usual scowl, but Sally was okay. London figured years of frowning had created the permanent expression on Sally’s face. In truth, she was usually a pretty cheerful person.
“They’re printing right now,” London told her, glancing over her shoulder. “I’ve got coffee made in the break room.”
Sally held up her mug. “And it’s appreciated,” she said. When she grinned, her skin stretched over her gaunt face, as if her face wasn’t used to moving that way. She had buck teeth and was anything but pretty. Sally was always on time, though, worked hard, never complained, and never missed work. “Sounds like we’re getting more snow today,” she said, apparently willing to camp out and kill time until she had her list of rooms.
“Looks like it.” London glanced toward the front windows and the heavy gray day looming outside. The walking tour might be canceled again tonight. She needed the money, but getting home early sounded good. If she were smart, she would encourage herself to look forward to an evening alone. Up until Marc sauntering into her life she never gave a thought to her evenings. They were always the same and always spent alone. If she did meet up with anyone it was never at her house.
“Here you go,” she said, pulling the list from the printer and walking over to the counter to separate the copies. One for their paperwork and one for Housekeeping.
Sally picked up her copies as London handed them to her, glancing over each page. “Looks like that sex god checked out. Damn shame. He tipped well.”
Her words reached London slowly. When their meaning sunk in, London scanned the list of rooms.
“This is a mistake,” she said, staring at Marc’s name. “He isn’t checking out.”
“I don’t make the list.” Sally grabbed her papers and started around the corner. “I’ll get the girls working. Let me know if the list is wrong.”
London nodded and grunted but didn’t watch Sally walk off. She stared at the list. According to what it said here, he did the self-checkout less than an hour ago. But he hadn’t even returned to the lodge yet. Grabbing the phone, she rang his room. There wasn’t an answer.
It was a mistake. She would figure it out. Several guests came to the front desk. She helped them, greeted some early arrivals who wanted to know if they could have an early checkin, and even ran towels to several rooms when things got busy. It was a typical morning, and activities she usually didn’t mind doing. Today, though, she grumbled at each new task as it came her way. It seemed everything and everyone was against her finding out why the printout said Marc had checked out.
London came down the second-floor hallway shortly after lunch and paused at the Housekeeping cart.
“You knew I was going to clean his room,” Sally said, popping out of the room and grabbing clean glasses. She held up a twenty-dollar bill between two bony fingers. “I told you the sex god was a good tipper.”
London almost tripped over the cart. She stared past Sally into the empty room. All morning London had believed there was a mistake. Marc didn’t check out. Why would he? Now, as she stared at the empty room, her throat swelled closed before she could answer. Emotions hit her so hard she couldn’t identify them, let alone deal with them.
“Good,” she managed to cough out, and hurried down the hall.
Marc didn’t just leave. They’d had the perfect night, the perfect morning, and he was going to see her again. She couldn’t accept he would check out and not even say good-bye or at the very least, give some explanation as to why he would leave long before he’d planned.
The rest of the afternoon went by in a blur. Her confusion switched to anger, though, by the time she learned there would be a walking tour tonight. It was snowing again when she drove home. London wouldn’t let being here alone bother her; she wouldn’t lose sleep or shed a tear over a man she’d known less than two weeks. As she headed into her kitchen and leaned against her counter, knowing she was in there to fix food but doubtful she’d be able to swallow a bite of anything, she told herself Marc King wasn’t even worth getting angry over.
“He left without even saying good-bye. He’s a shallow, spineless chickenshit. That’s why.” She glared at her floor, letting her anger release. She’d let it out and then be done with it. “And good riddance, too. Any man who starts something but then is too much of a coward to hang around the moment it goes beyond physical is a coward. And cowards don’t turn me on.”
Chapter Seven
Marc pulled into his driveway behind his dad’s Avalanche later that night. He’d gained an hour but was still beyond exhausted after the fourteen-hour drive. As he turned the car off, the front door opened and Jake stepped outside.
“Hard to believe I left a blizzard and came home to this,” Marc said, holding the sweater he’d peeled off several hours ago and walking around to his trunk.
“Man, it’s cold as hell tonight,” Jake said, scowling at the bags Marc unloaded from his car. “I wouldn’t hurry too much to unpack.”
“Why? What have you learned?” Marc had gone into auto-drive the second Jake called and told him Mom and Dad were missing. “Do you have a lead on where they might be?”
“Nothing is confirmed. I was just going over those pictures some more.”
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