CHRISTMAS IN WHITEHORN

by Susan Mallery

  He rose to his feet and headed for the parking lot. The need to keep moving nearly pushed him to a run. One day Sylvia had been his whole world and the next he'd been in the hospital, fighting for his life. He'd walked away from her without looking back, but always with the expectation he would have to face her again. Now that wouldn't happen.

  When he reached his truck, he unlocked the door and slipped inside. He'd told himself he'd done a good job of letting her go. It had been a whole lot easier than he would have thought, which made him question whether or not he'd ever loved her. If he had, he was an idiot. If he hadn't, he'd never loved anyone. He didn't like either option. Maybe the truth was something else entirely. Maybe he'd simply allowed himself to forget because it was easier than remembering.

  He drove without thinking and found himself at home. An acid rawness burned at his soul. He didn't want to be alone. Not with the pain or the ghosts. He stared at the apartment building. Two halves of a whole, he thought numbly. Solitude or solace. It wasn't a difficult choice.

  Instead of leaving his truck and walking toward his front door, he headed to Darcy's side of the building and knocked. He didn't bother to analyze why he was here, because he already knew. She was his neighbor and a woman with secrets – could there be a worse combination? Yet there wasn't anyone else he wanted to speak with at that moment. No one else he wanted to see. She was the kind of woman who rescued by instinct and right now he was in some serious need of saving.

  She opened the door. Instantly the scent of gingerbread drifted out to greet him. Darcy smiled. There was flour on her cheek and sweater. Her sleeves were pulled up to her elbows, her hair tucked back behind her ears.

  "Hi, Mark, what's up?" Her smile faded as she studied him. "I mean this in the nicest possible way, but you look awful. What's wrong?"

  She stepped back and he entered her house.

  "Someone I know is dead," he said ab- ruptly. "A suicide."

  Darcy sucked in her breath at the news. "I'm so sorry."

  He stared into her eyes. Compassion overruled shock. He shouldn't have come, he realized. She didn't need this particular brand of hell screwing up her life.

  But he couldn't force himself to leave.

  "I don't know what I feel," he admitted. "Anger. Relief. Maybe guilt. I don't know. How am I supposed to get closure? How will this ever be okay?" He shook his head. "It won't be. I guess that's the point."

  "You're in shock," she said softly. "The mourning will come later and, with it, clarity. As for closure, time is a great healer."

  "I don't think so. I don't think it's going to be that easy."

  "Oh, it's not easy. Letting go and forgiving are the hardest things in the world."

  "I don't want to forgive. Maybe there's something wrong with me. I can't feel hurt or anger or even compassion. Maybe I'm incapable of feeling anything significant. Maybe—"

  She stepped close and put her arms around him. "Can you feel that?" she asked.

  He held himself completely still. The warmth of her body chased away a chill he hadn't known was there. Her breasts flattened against his chest, while her legs brushed against his. Her hair smelled like vanilla.

  Desire slammed into him. He might not be able to mourn Sylvia's passing, but he sure could want Darcy. His arousal was instant and nearly painful. Hunger heated his blood until the need to be with her was as compelling and instinctive as drawing in a breath.

  Gathering all his strength, he gently untangled her arms from around him and moved away.

  "I shouldn't have come here," he told her. "You don't need the complication and I can't be what you want me to be. I'm sorry." He headed for the door.

  "Mark? I don't understand."

  He turned back to her, glaring. "I'm not feeling especially friendly right now. I want more. Specifically you." He ran his fingers through his hair and swore. "I shouldn't have come here," he repeated. "I don't know why I did. I'm sorry."

  He reached for the door handle.

  "Wait," she called before he could leave. "Just wait."

  He froze in place. The sensible part of him, the part that knew he was more than capable of hurting Darcy, told him to keep on walking. If he cared at all about her, he wouldn't be with her now – like this. But the rawness inside of him was stronger. It kept him in place as she turned off the oven and returned to his side. When she took his hand he didn't protest. When she led him into her bedroom, he reached for her.

  *

  Mark's intense kiss made her burn down to her toes. Darcy clung to him, her own passion flaring in the face of his obvious need. If he'd tried to seduce her, she thought she might have been able to be strong, although maybe not. But his pain, the lost look in his eyes, the way he'd come to her first, had all conspired to make her unable to resist him.

  His mouth brushed frantically against hers. She parted for him and he plunged into her, tasting her, tempting her to do the same to him. His hands moved restlessly, rubbing up and down her back, drawing her closer until she pressed against him so tightly she thought she might merge with him and become one.

  His need made her want him more. She clung to him as their world began to spin slowly. She touched his face, his shoulders, felt the cool, silky strands of his hair. His chest rose and fell with each labored breath. She felt herself surrendering without a single thought to what this all could mean to her heart.

  When he tugged at her sweater, she raised her arms. He pulled off that garment. As he shrugged out of his own shirt, she kicked off her shoes and removed her socks. Before she could take off anything else, he reached for her bra and unfastened the hooks.

  His mouth was on her in an instant, sucking her already tight nipples, licking them, making her gasp and beg him never to stop. He cupped her breasts, using his fingers to match the movements of his tongue. She rubbed his bare back, digging into the flexing muscles there, murmuring his name, wishing she had the will to stop him, yet knowing she wouldn't even if she could.

  He dropped to his knees and opened the fastening of her jeans. He pulled down the denim, along with her panties, then supported her while she stepped out of her clothes. Clasping the curve of her hips, he bent forward and kissed her between her thighs. He touched her most private place with the tip of his tongue, promising her much, while teasing her with the lightest of contacts. She sucked in her breath.

  Without saying a word, he rose and led her to the bed. At his urging, she lay on her stomach, her head cradled in her arms.

  "Protection?" he asked quietly, whispering the single word in her ear. She shivered as his warm breath tickled her skin.

  A little embarrassed at her own boldness, she pointed at the nightstand drawer.

  "I bought some a couple of days ago."

  He knelt beside her and licked the sensitive skin just below her ear. "I thought we were only going to be friends. Or were they not meant for me?"

  She gave a strangled laugh, torn between listening to what he was saying and the nibbling sensation on the lobe of her ear.

  "I, ah, thought I might have a moment of weakness. I didn't want to be unprepared. And with the weather as cold as it is, I didn't think you'd want to be running back to your place."

  "What kind did you get?"

  "Extra large."

  He chuckled, then grew quiet. One of his hands settled on her rear. He rubbed her skin, circling across to her opposite hip before returning. She felt a puff of breath as her only warning before he bent down and lightly bit the skin on her side.

  As he nibbled his way up and down her back she felt herself growing more and more ready. Then he shifted and bit down firmly on her rear, making her shriek.

  "Mark! What are you doing?"

  "Nothing."

  He moved lower, licking his way down her thighs to her knees. His ministrations began to tickle. She squirmed, trying to get away without accidentally kicking him. He held her in place, licking the inside of her knees.

  Darcy finally managed to break free and turn
onto her back.

  "Better," he said, returning his attention to her legs, but this time on the front.

  Tension tightened her belly. Her thighs began to tremble. He licked his way up to her tender, willing femininity, then kissed her there. She sank back on the bed, grateful for both his skillful touch and the fact that the shadows had faded from his eyes. She wanted to think about what he'd told her, but she couldn't – not with him licking her center and making her breath come in ragged pants.

  He slipped one finger inside of her, teasing the place that would soon welcome him. His tongue touched her from above, his finger from below. Both moved in tandem until she knew her release was inevitable as the tide.

  "Mark! Please … I want to finish with you inside of me."

  "You will," he murmured against her. "The second time."

  She wanted to protest. She wanted to pull him so that he was forced to enter her, filling her, stretching her until she had no choice but to surrender.

  The erotic image was a mistake. As the fantasy fully formed, she lost control and slipped over the edge into the glory of her release. Her body arched toward him, carrying her to paradise.

  She quivered and gasped until the last whisper of her climax had faded. It was only then that he shifted, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and pulling off his jeans and briefs. He leaned toward the nightstand, pulled open the drawer and removed a condom. When he was protected, he knelt between her thighs.

  For a long time he didn't move. He simply stared at her, studying her face as if memorizing every feature. Darcy didn't mind the attention – there was a kind expression in his eyes and she didn't think he would find her wanting. Finally he leaned close and kissed her neck. He moved lower until he could caress her breasts.

  A familiar heat filled her. She reached for him, running her fingers up and down his back. As her desire grew, she became more insistent, pressing on the small of his back, urging him closer.

  Finally he entered her. Slowly … so slowly … making her call out for him to hurry, then catching her breath when he finally found his way home. Once there, he began to move more quickly. His thrusts became frantic. He supported himself on his hands and gazed into her eyes.

  She felt herself readying for another climax. With him looking at her so intently, she felt exposed. Yet she couldn't seem to close her eyes. Even as the first spasms swept through her, she stared into his soul. Perhaps this act would heal him.

  He stiffened. His expression tightened. Still he didn't look away. They climaxed together, still staring at each other. The act of intimacy somehow became more of a connection than she'd experienced before. When Mark finally sank down on the bed and pulled her close, Darcy felt shaken.

  Something had fundamentally changed between them. She didn't understand what, but the possibilities frightened her. Wanting to heal him was one thing – she was good at doing that. But engaging her heart was quite another. Not only did she sense that Mark wasn't a man looking for a relationship, there was still the issue of the secrets of her past.

  "Thank you," he breathed against her hair.

  "You're welcome."

  They held each other in silence. Finally he kissed her mouth.

  "Are you going to ask me about today?"

  She knew he wasn't talking about the fact that they'd made love. Instead he meant the suicide of someone he had known.

  "Do you think talking will help you?"

  "No, but you have the right to get some answers." Rights given to her by virtue of them both being naked. Darcy sighed. Those kinds of rights were often complicated.

  "Was he a close friend?"

  Mark stiffened. In that second, Darcy knew she'd asked the wrong questions. She instantly felt stupid and used. The suicide hadn't been by a male friend. No, a woman had died. Someone significant to Mark.

  "Never mind," she said quickly.

  He winced. "Darcy, I'm sorry. I thought I'd said 'she.' I wasn't trying to keep that from you."

  Every cell in her body screamed at her to cover herself and run. But that would mean letting him know that he'd hurt her, and for some reason she wasn't willing to expose herself that way.

  "I know you weren't trying to be sly. It doesn't matter."

  She sat up and gave him a big smile. What she wanted to do instead was cry, but she was determined to keep her emotions to herself.

  "On second thought, questions are probably a mistake," she said with a brightness she didn't feel. "We're friends. That's what matters. I want to be here for you." Al- though maybe next time it would be better if the "here" didn't include her bed.

  "I'm sorry," he repeated.

  Not "she didn't matter." Darcy told herself she was overreacting. It wasn't reasonable to expect Mark to have not had a life before meeting her. Which made logical sense but didn't explain the tears burning in her eyes. She couldn't justify the tears … or maybe she could. Maybe they came from the unexpected heaviness in her heart.

  *

  "Morning," Mark said as he slid into his usual booth at the Hip Hop.

  Darcy poured him a cup of coffee. It was Wednesday and the café was just starting to empty out.

  "Someone is late," she teased, the light tone a part of her plan to act completely normal.

  "I overslept."

  She studied the dark circles under his green eyes. "Looks like you didn't sleep at all."

  "I did great from about five until seven this morning."

  She thought about asking what was wrong, but she had a feeling she knew. His lady friend. That's how she'd come to think of the woman who had killed herself over the weekend.

  At first Darcy had tried to convince herself they were just friends, but Mark's reaction had been all wrong for that. He'd come to her house because he'd needed close, physical contact. The loss of a friend re- quired a hug. The loss of a lover needed much more.

  Darcy told herself it wasn't her business. Mark's past was his problem. It's not as if she expected him to have been a virgin the first time they'd done it. When he'd come calling on Sunday she could have told him no. But she hadn't. She'd wanted to take away his pain – if only for the moment – and making love had been the only thing she could think of to do. The thing was, she wasn't sure she would have reacted the same way if she'd known the person in question had been a woman.

  She didn't think Mark had kept the information from her deliberately, but the knowledge had changed everything. Unfortunately, their shift in relationship had left her unsure of what was going to happen next. He studied her carefully. "You don't look like you've been sleeping much, either. Any of that have something to do with me?"

  "No. I'm fine," she told him, hating that his concern made her go all gooey inside.

  "Really?"

  "I swear."

  He didn't bother picking up the menu she'd placed in front of him. "Then I'll have the usual."

  "I don't think so."

  He nearly smiled. "We've had this discussion before and I always win."

  "Not this time. I'm tired of you trying to eat yourself into an early grave. One day this week you're going to have oatmeal for breakfast. I don't care what day and I especially don't care if you try to refuse. It's gonna happen. Now we can do this the easy way or the hard way. It's up to you."

  She expected an argument, but Mark surprised her by leaning back in the booth and agreeing.

  "Why not?" he asked. "I might as well get it over with, so I'll have oatmeal today."

  She was shocked enough not to do much more than blink at him for a full minute.

  "Darcy?" He waved his hand in front of her face. "Earth to Darcy."

  "Does this mean you're going to have a salad for lunch instead of a burger?"

  "Don't push it."

  "A girl can dream."

  She regretted the choice of words as soon as they passed her lips. Rather than try to explain she hadn't meant anything by them, she gave him a quick smile and disappeared toward the kitchen to write up his order.


  Five minutes later she was back with a bowl of oatmeal, a small pitcher of two percent milk, brown sugar and raisins.

  He gazed at his meal as if she'd offered him stir-fried bugs. "Does it have to be so gray?"

  "It's not gray, it's kind of ecru."

  "And that's more appealing how?"

  His words were light, but she could still see the lingering pain in his eyes.

  "You all right, Mark?" she asked, turning the tables and studying him.

  "Sure. Fine." He glanced at her. "Okay, how about I'm putting it in perspective."

  "That one I'll accept. I've been worried about you."

  He raised one eyebrow. "Do you always try to save the world?"

  "Not the world, just a few bits of it."

  "How'd I get to be so lucky as to have you around just when I needed you?"

  She studied him to see if he was being sarcastic, but she didn't think he was taunting her.

  "We're friends," she said. "As for my desire to do the right thing – I have twenty years of being useless to make up for."

  "You're wrong, Darcy. You were a kid for most of those twenty years. Your only re- sponsibility was to grow up and I'd say you did a fine job of that."

  His compliment pleased her. She excused herself to check on her other customers and tried not to think about Mark while she worked.

  She knew she was attracted to the man. She didn't want it to be that way, but it was too late now not to notice him. Harder to ignore were the danger signs flashing in her brain. He was dangerous to her – she knew it with every fiber of her being. They hadn't made love since Sunday and not an hour went by that she didn't think about what they'd done and wish they were doing it again. Worse, she found herself missing him when they weren't together, which was most of the time.

  "Don't do this to yourself," she murmured quietly as she cleared tables and pocketed the tips. "Don't get involved."

  Unfortunately, she wasn't listening.

  "How was it?" she asked when she re- turned to Mark's table.

  He pointed at the near-empty bowl. "I didn't gag, but I don't want it every day."