The Lives Between Us (13 page)

A grainy black and white photo of a younger Edward and a teenage girl outside Starbucks dominated the page. They sat side-by-side, heads together, with his hand covering hers.

The story speculated that the ADA might’ve been having an inappropriate relationship with his son’s sixteen year-old babysitter, Emily Downing, but weeks later, Hastings was sighted checking into the Crowne Plaza late at night with the babysitter and an older woman. He’d checked them in under an alias.

Then a few days after that, Downing’s husband reported his wife and daughter missing and accused Hastings of having an affair with his wife. He even went so far as to claim that Emily was Edward Hastings’s and Mary Downing’s love child. Supposedly the Downings were old neighbors of the Hastings, and Mary Downing had been friends with Edward’s mother, Eve. Edward was brought in for questioning.

And… What happened? Skye printed the article, then returned to the original Google page hunting for further mention of love child or love affairs. Nothing. She searched Emily Downing, and still came up empty. What the heck?

How could something this intriguing be put to bed so quickly and quietly without an explanation? It couldn’t. There had to be something.

Skye picked up her phone. “Hey, Pete? I need a favor.”

Mark climbed the Wimbledon Racquet Club stairs. He crossed the carpeted lobby to an orange plaid couch that’d give him a clear view of the stairs to the ladies locker room and the large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. He set his tennis bag down next to him. Slouching down into the cushions, he finger-combed his wet hair and waited for Skye to finish showering and dressing. Five minutes into the evening news, she joined him.

Skye stopped at the top of the stairs and scanned the lobby, giving Mark a few seconds to appreciate the way her tight jeans molded to her legs. She wore a blue-striped button-down shirt that nipped in at her waist with the top two buttons undone, giving him glimpses of the valley between her breasts.
Eyes off her boobs, Dutton
.

As Skye approached, Mark stood. Lifting her tennis bag off her shoulder, he slung it over his. “All set?”

“Thank you.” She smiled. “Yup. Hungry?”

Mark took her black leather coat from her and held it out. She turned into the coat. With her back to him, she freed her curly hair from the coat collar. Damp, soft strands momentarily clung to Mark’s chin. He inhaled deeply, savoring the flowery scent of her perfume mixing with citrusy shampoo, surprised the combination could be such a turn-on.

“Hungry? The way you ran me around that court? Absolutely.”

“Yeah, right. You were holding back on your serves.” Skye pushed the door open and headed out into the cold night. “Thanks for coming with me. I hated to waste a trial membership.”

“Anytime. It was fun.” Mark might have held back on his serves a bit, but he wanted to have fun playing with Skye, not beat her. Besides, his serve was about the only advantage he’d had over her—that and patience.

Skye had strong strokes, but she often went for the winner too soon. She’d looked cute with her curls tied back in that ponytail and her short tennis skirt showing off toned legs. Sexy, shapely legs. Yeah, that outfit worked to her advantage, too. “Going to join?”

“Maybe. I’ll have to wait for a raise first.” Skye unlocked the Prius, and he put their tennis bags in the backseat.

“Maybe I’ll join. I’d forgotten how much I enjoy playing.” Mark opened her car door then rounded the Prius and climbed in the passenger’s seat. “I’m glad you called.”

“Well, I owed you since Faith interrupted our last date.”

“You don’t owe me a thing.” He shifted, and his knees bumped the glove compartment. These small cars might be great on gas mileage, but they weren’t built for tall men. He reached for the front lever and pushed the seat back a little farther. Better. “In fact, I would’ve been happy to have driven tonight.”

“My invite, I drive.” She spared him a grin before pulling out into the street. “Why? My driving make you nervous?”

Skye stirred up a lot of emotions in Mark, but nervousness wasn’t anywhere near the top of the list. “No, just traditional about some things.”

“I think your manhood can survive one night of my driving.”

“As long as I pay.”

“Fine.” She stopped at the light. “Then I guess you get to choose. Where to?”

“How about Da Eduardos?” Good Italian food, soft music and lighting—the perfect romantic atmosphere.

“’Kay.” Skye turned down Mack Avenue and, within a few minutes, glided to a stop in front of the red brick building.

Mark frowned at the people standing outside the restaurant. Were they were coming or going? He’d never seen lines out the door, except at the Original Pancake House Sunday mornings. In the winter? Crazy.

“Don’t suppose you made a reservation?” Skye asked.

“Nope.”
Stupid
. “How about Chinese? There’s this place my sister raves about around Mack and Cadieux.”

“Let’s do it.”

They found his sister Serena’s Chinese restaurant; however, Mark’s heart sank at the plastic flowers in cheap white vases, square laminate tables, and metal chairs.
Shit
.
Thanks, Serena.
Mark swept a hand through his hair. How’s a guy to impress a girl with this? He paused outside the door.

“What’s the matter?” Skye asked.

“Uh... This isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover. The food’s probably great.” Skye yanked the door open and breezed past him.

Mark winced at the bell above the door that tinkled, cheerfully announcing their arrival, and resisted the urge to hand Skye a napkin as she read a greasy, sticky menu.

“I love Lo Mein.” Skye’s stomach rumbled loudly. “Let’s get takeout.”

Relief swept him. Takeout was not a bad idea. “Do you want to go back to your place?” Women loved to show off their homes.

“Let’s go to yours. Mine’s…a mess.”

Mark didn’t miss her hesitation. A mess? So what? Skye didn’t seem like a neat freak; didn’t she want him at her place? “Okay.”

They got their food and drove to Mark’s condo. Walking up the path, he tried to remember the condition he’d left his place in. Opening the door, he stood aside for Skye to enter. She walked into the living room, looked and spun around. “Nice place. Where’re your pups?”

“They’re not mine, they’re my sister’s. I only watch them when she’s stuck.” Mark dropped his tennis bag next to the couch and saw the colorful leaflet advertising the fundraiser lying on the coffee table. The cover featured a large color photo of Ed as the awards presenter. Mark thrust the paper bag of food into Skye’s arms and turned her toward the kitchen.

“I’m starving. Why don’t you get things laid out while I straighten up a little?” He hustled her into the kitchen. “Plates are in the cupboard next to the sink. Check out the fridge and see what we have for drinks. Be back in a sec.”

Mark backed out of the kitchen and snatched the leaflet from the coffee table. He piled the mail on top of it, then swiped the framed photo of Noelle, Jeff, and Ed from the fireplace mantel and hurried into his study. He paused beside his desk, the frame and mail weighed heavily in his hand.

Maybe he should leave the things out and let Skye find them. Then when she asked about it, it’d be a natural way to admit his and Ed’s friendship.

“Beer okay or would you rather open a bottle of Merlot?” Skye called out.

“Either is fine.”

He had Skye in his home, she was relaxed, and they were having a good time. Did he really want to chance ruining that?

Skye appeared in the doorway of his study. “Coming?”

Mark nodded. Opening the desk drawer, he shoved the photo and mail in, and slammed it shut. Not yet.

Over dinner they chatted easily. Talking to Skye was effortless. It’d been his experience that women loved talking about themselves, but she answered his question then immediately directed the conversation back on him.

She even asked questions about his work—and listened to his answers—unlike previous girlfriends whose eyes glazed over when he talked shop. She was so refreshing. Skye had a way of making everything sound better, taste better, and feel better, just by being with him.

After dinner, Mark cleared the table. When Skye reached for the faucet to start washing the dishes, he grabbed her arm. “Absolutely not. Guests do
not
do dishes.”

“I’m not leaving you with this mess.”

He turned her toward the doorway. “Have a seat and I’ll be done in a minute.”

“Okay.” Skye pulled out her cell, selected a playlist, and placed the phone on the counter. Cheerful big band music filled the small kitchen. “Do you like the old standards?” She pulled a dishtowel from the stove handle and began drying a wine glass.

“Who doesn’t like Ol’ Blue Eyes?” Mark turned off the faucet, took the glass from her hand, then reached for the towel. “You don’t listen very well.”

Skye whipped the towel behind her back, out of his reach, and stepped backward. “I’m not a fan of being told what to do.”

“Really?” Mark advanced, then lunged behind her. She squealed and dodged to the left, but not before he ripped the towel from her hand. “Are you a fan of dancing?” He flipped the towel over her head and looped it around her waist, trapping her.

“That depends.” With a half smile, she peeked at him from beneath long eyelashes. “Are you any good?”

“Good?” He raised his eyebrows, as if insulted. He pulled the towel backwards, reeling her in ’til her hands rested on his waist. “Are you kidding?”

He threw the towel onto the counter behind him and took her hand. With one hand holding hers and the other at her waist in the traditional waltz hold, he moved her around the box step his mother had taught him years ago. Then in a moment of confidence, he spun her out, then pulled back in and stepped on her foot.

“Youch!” Skye hopped back.

“Sorry.” He grimaced. “That was so much smoother in my mind.” Toe to heel, he kicked his shoes off and held out his arms. He had a better feel for things without shoes.

She backed away, and gave him a dubious look.

“Come on. It’s a slow dance. Nothin’ to it.”

Skye took another step back and frowned.

“You can lead.”

“Okay.” She moved into his arms, and he held her loosely as they rocked back and forth.

Skye’s soft breasts pushed against Mark’s chest and he felt soft puffs of breath on his open collar. The light scent of her perfume filled his senses making his head swim. Mark released the arm at her back and bent down to nuzzle the tender skin under her jaw, just as he tripped on her foot.

“Ow!” Skye yanked her foot back.

“I’m sorry. I’m
sorry
. Come here.” He reached for her.

She scowled.

Mark dropped to one knee and held out his hand. “I’ll kiss it and make it better.”

Skye put a hand on his shoulder for balance and offered him her foot. He untied the sneaker, tugged it off her foot and tossed it aside. He massaged her small foot, that was barely bigger than his hand, then lifted it to kiss her toes.

He looked up into her serious face. “That the spot?”

She shook her head.

“Here?” he pointed further up her foot.

She shook her head again.

He frowned. “Where?”

“Higher,” she said in a raspy voice.

He lifted her foot and slipped an index finger inside her sock to caress the soft skin of her arch, while kissing her ankle.

Her hand clenched his shoulder, hard enough to feel her nails through his shirt. He wouldn’t mind her leaving more marks on his body.

He looked at her. “There?”

She shook her head, then pulled her foot away and gestured for him to stand. She cupped his face between her hands, reached up on tiptoes, closed her eyes, and melded her soft lips with his in a tender kiss. “Here,” she whispered.

Mark swallowed hard, and his heart galloped into overdrive. With just that sweet husky voice and soft lips, she had him hard and wanting and panting like a kid.

Wanting what you can’t have. Not til you tell her about Ed.

He captured her wandering hands, stepped back, and held them between them. Pushing out a deep breath, he tried to ignore his growing erection while looking her in the eye. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“I know.”

His eyes grew wide. Really? And she wasn’t angry? “You do?”

She nodded, then laced her fingers through his. She kissed the back of his hand. “It’s hardly a secret.” Then kissed the back of his other hand. “That you can’t dance.”

She leaned forward and pressed her hot lips to the opening of his shirt just below his collarbone, making him shiver in delight and anticipation of where she’d plant those sweet little lips next. His pants grew tighter. He knew one part of him that was begging to be kissed…

Skye wound her arms around his neck, stepped on his feet, and slid her body up his. “My turn to step on your toes.”

Mark closed his arms around her and groaned. God
damn
, she felt good. She’d feel even better with no clothes between them. “You can step on my toes any time you want if I can take you to bed.”

She chuckled and shook in his arms.

He groaned and tightened his arms so she couldn’t pull back and see the flush he felt climbing his neck. “Said that out loud, didn’t I?”

“Yes. Yes, you did.”

“Damn,” he whispered.

He lifted his head and tasted her soft lips. Skye pushed closer. With a little whimper, she pressed and rubbed her hips against his erection. “What’re you waiting for?”

Mark bent and hooked an arm under Skye’s knees, and swung her into his arms. She stiffened and clutched his neck. “Wait! You’re not gonna drop me, are you?”

He smiled. “Not a chance.”

After hours of loving, Mark lay sprawled across his bed, deeply sated and sleepy. He stretched out a questing hand, seeking bare silky skin. He found only cool sheets. Groggily, he pried one eye open to find Skye sitting on the end of his bed, dressed in her bra and panties. She shoved one leg into her jeans, then the other.