All That You Are (26 page)

Tracing his jaw, she said, “You smell good.”

“Campfire smoke.” He grinned, his white teeth giving him a disarming charm. “Manly and badass. I smell like Bear.”

She playfully punched him in the shoulder. “You do
not
smell like Bear Barker.”

With her face tucked into the crook of his shoulder, he stroked her hair and tucked it behind her ear. She touched his face, cupped his angular cheek.

She felt his teeth clenching down hard, as if to keep him from kissing her. In the worst way, she wished he would, but she sensed he struggled to repress an urge to do something other than keeping her folded in his arms.

He moved his hand up her back and wove his fingers into the thick depths of her hair, toying with the nape of her neck. A shiver caught her in its hold, the delicious sensation warming her. Sitting next to him, she didn't feel short. She fit easily into his arms, the side of her breast crushed into his chest. Where they touched burned her, making her want to feel his naked skin pressed next to hers.

She felt as if everything inside her turned to liquid heat and she wanted nothing more than to take his hand and bring him into that lovely bedroom upstairs. To lead him away…away from the responsibilities they both had…and to a moment where nothing else mattered but the two of them being together. Intimately fulfilled and satisfied.

She looked up and saw the intensity in Mark's eyes.

He wanted her.

Her pulse grew rapid. She glanced briefly at the stairs, then licked her dry lips with her mind racing.

“You ready for bed, princess?” he asked, his voice throaty and deep.

She couldn't speak.

He took her hand in his own. Strong and warm. Then led her to the base of the stairs. He propelled her onto the first step, turned her toward him, and she discovered her face nearly at eye level with his. He made a slight graze of the skin at her throat that sent her pulse spinning as he lowered his lips over hers.

She would have stuck herself to him like a sheet of wallpaper, but he didn't give her that kind of kiss. Instead, it was gentle and warm, light and no more than a whisper of lips on top of hers. Her knees felt as if they would buckle and she'd collapse if it weren't for gripping on to the railing with one hand.

Then he backed away from her, his brown eyes storming with emotions she recognized as her own. Desire. Lust. He wanted her so badly it consumed the features on his face to twist his mouth and draw his brows into a firm frown. Yet he didn't suggest that they…that he…

“Good night, Dana. Sleep well.”

A long while later, she lay in bed alone, restless and confused. Why hadn't he come upstairs for her by now? Slipped beneath her sheets and made love to her?

As more time elapsed with her thinking about it, her ardor cooled and she felt disappointment well within the pit of her stomach. While she was burning over him, he was trying to make this easier on both of them.

No sex, no entanglements.

No foolish hearts, no heartache.

She would stay. He would go.

The setup had been defined long ago.

Why then did she want things to be so different?

Damn him…he has more control than I do. Even when I want to love him, I hate him for being stronger than me.

M
ARK DIDN'T WAKE HER.
Not yet. He held back, watching her sleep.

Veiled sunlight slipped through the closed wooden blinds to bathe Dana in a soft light. She slept on her side, arm around a feather pillow and one shapely leg on top of the covers. Her thighs were made for a man to run his hand down, her calves and feet so petite. She had polish on her toes, something that surprised him. She didn't seem like she'd bother with such a thing. But he liked the pink color. Very sexy.

Her black hair tangled around her neck and face, revealing a narrow face. He loved her hair. It was beautiful. Just like she was. Parted, her lips showed a small glimpse of teeth. Her eyelashes were long and dark.

It had almost killed him to walk away from her last night. He'd wanted more than anything to have gone to bed with her. Even just to hold her. But he knew better. Knew it wouldn't have only been a time for holding and snuggling. God help him, he was no saint. He would have tugged the clothes right off her sexy body and buried himself deep inside her.

Inasmuch as he wanted her, that's not how he wanted things to end for them.

In the past, sex had been uncomplicated. He'd had no qualms about walking away from a casual relationship.

But his feelings for Dana went way beyond casual.

He'd fallen in love with her.

He couldn't remember what she'd worn, how her hair had looked, what she'd smelled like…it had just started to happen. He began to fall and he'd wanted to keep falling. Even knowing that it wouldn't come to anything.

Most of the night, he'd lain awake and he'd thought about what he could do, how he could change the course of his life to fit her in. The only answer he ever ended up with was moving here. She'd never move to Boise, never take Terran away from his father. He admired her for that, loved her for putting her son first.

So that left Mark having to make the choice.

If it were only that simple.

He had nearly thirty years invested with Moretti. Disengaging himself from the company wouldn't happen overnight. While the Grove Marketplace had been completed, there were never-ending side projects within the infrastructure. Improvements, repairs and management. Going forward would take time. His brother-in-law couldn't be left totally high and dry. There were complexities to a buyout that needed to be addressed.

Mark owned assets in the company, stock, and he had a lot of joint collateral. He had potential earnings to start a decent company of his own.

Quietly approaching Dana's slumbering form, he paused. He hated to wake her up. The digital readout on the clock indicated just a little past five in the morning. In order to do everything today that he'd planned before driving back to town, they had to get started.

Mark reached for her bare shoulder, laying his hand over her bed-warmed skin. “Dana…”

She didn't move.

Firmer, he gripped her shoulder—fighting off the urge to crawl into the plush bed next to her…and damn his plans and damn the resolve he had set for the both of them. “Dana, it's time to get up.”

“Whhhh,” she moaned, rolling onto her back. Her arm rose and she rested a wrist over her forehead while mumbling, “What? What time is it?”

“Around five.”

“Five? You've got to be kidding me. I never get up this early…up too late.” She scrunched the covers and grabbed them with her as she changed direction and ignored him.

Slowly, he tugged the covers, pulling them down. They slipped from her fingers and revealed that she wore a flesh-colored knit tank top and pink cotton shorts.

That's all it took. He was instantly aroused and fighting a war within his conscience. Biting down, he went against every carnal instinct he had, and with a final jerk, he rid her of the covers, then turned away to flick open the blinds and let the new sunshine cast her in its yellow light.

“Dammit, fish-brain. Are you insane?”

A smile settled on his lips, and he was glad she had her spunk back. Irritation fell across her face as she sat upright in bed, a mess of black hair falling about her shoulders.

“You've got fifteen minutes to get dressed, sunshine. Coffee's on and your Danish have been calling for you.”

Brushing her hair from her brow, she grumbled tartly,
“Fifteen minutes? For what? I thought this was a rest and relaxation trip.”

“Wrong tour company,” he called over his shoulder as he left the bedroom.

 

H
E TOOK HER BOTTOM-FISHING
, something she hadn't done in too many years to remember.

Mark killed the motorboat's engine in a stream-fed bay, then dropped the anchor. Densely populated cedar trees marched down the steep shale walls, leaving little view of the land. There was very little bank, just the opening of the stream that rushed over rock in a spill of white foam.

As the boat bobbed and the wake behind them died, the quiet was beyond belief. Nothing stirred. Barely any wind on a day that promised to include an expanse of sunshine.

When they'd left the rental house and gotten into the boat, the trip across the channel had been freezing. The air slapping them in the face had a bite to it. Dana was bundled in a coat and knit hat. Thick-soled hiking boots had kept her feet warm. Mark had told her to pack a pair.

“How long's it been since you went fishing?” Mark asked, his sunglasses blocking a direct view of his eyes.

“Terran and I fish off the Blue Note's patio.”

“That doesn't count.”

“Then it's got to be at least six or seven years.”

“You remember how?”

“Of course.”

Mark moved in the boat, arranging gear and tackle. “You know how to use one of these?” he asked, showing her a pole and reel.

“Yes.”

“I figured you would.”

Then Mark spent the next few minutes preparing the bait and handing her a pole ready to use. She took a spot at the side of the boat.

“I could have put the bait on myself,” she said, stifling a yawn. She hadn't slept well last night and two cups of coffee accompanied by a sugared pastry hadn't done the trick in fully waking her.

“I know you could. I was just being a gentleman about it.”

She gave him a look.

He cocked his head, a mock-wounded furrow to his brows. “You don't think I'm a gentleman?”

Turning away to cast, she replied beneath her breath, “After last night, I do.”

She should have been grateful he had more fortitude than her. But amid her tossing and turning, she damned herself for wanting to forget common sense and jump him.

The fishing pole was basic and functional. It had a level wind reel. Drawing back, she gently let the bait into the water, keeping her thumb on the clear line as she let it out. She knew from experience if she didn't, she'd have a ball of line at the bottom of the boat.

Sitting on the cushioned back of the passenger seat, she tried to keep warm while also marveling at the spectacular scenery. Over the waterfall, crows danced in the current, then lighted. From the east, a mature eagle soared high. Its white head darted about, quite alert. In the solitude of their spot, Dana could hear the
whoosh
of its wings cutting through the morning air.

The boat hardly bobbed, the world around them alive with the purity of nature. Mark had taken a spot behind her, his line lowered on the opposite side of the boat.

“Why do you think they call these an Ugly Stik?” Dana asked, referring to her fishing pole's brand name.

“Because if they called them Pretty Sticks, no guys would buy them.” Mark's voice was rich and deep, its timbre vibrating through her. “Plus they're guaranteed if they break.”

A nibble had her reeling in her line. But when the baited jig came in, it remained empty of a fish. She cast once more.

The companionable silence between them didn't feel awkward or uncomfortable. Dana liked that they could sit here and just enjoy the day without complexities.

“There's more coffee in the Thermos,” Mark said, re-baiting his hook and wetting it once more.

“Thanks. I'm okay for now.”

Settling back into his perch on the seat, Mark said, “So who'd you used to go fishing with?”

“My dad.”

“Tell me about him.”

Tell me about him.
No missing a beat, just a simple statement.

Dana paused. Mostly people talked to her about Oscar, retelling tales of him at the Blue Note when he'd been there to run the bar himself. They had stories about Oscar's saxophone playing, hearty laughs about the times Oscar told jokes. Memories of Oscar bringing in his son as a toddler to show him off. Then his precious daughter, Danalee.

Inwardly, Dana smiled.

So many with so many stories, she'd hardly ever had to pull any from her own memory well.

“My dad was kind. He'd do anything for anyone. He had a great smile and an assured laugh. He always greeted everyone with a friendly handshake.” Dana gazed at the spiring mountains, their peaks crested with spiny trees. “Daddy had Southern charm. He'd cook every once in a while, but not often. When he did, he made a batch of biscuits like you wouldn't believe. So light and flaky in your mouth you'd swear you were biting into a cloud.” Wistful and with a reflective tone, she went on, finding it almost cathartic to talk about her beloved father. “On Halloween, he dressed up and took me and my brother trick-or-treating. My mom stayed home to pass out the candy.”

Mark's motion behind her as he reeled in to check his bait didn't stop her train of thought.

“He liked to play Scrabble. He was good with words. Oh, and he wrote music. Nothing that ever got published, but he liked to mess around with notes and sounds, writing down scribbles on a yellow legal pad. Sometimes he'd improvise at the Note and play a tune that had been floating around inside his head. Then the next night when someone asked him to play it again, he'd say, ‘Sorry, it's gone with the wind.'” Forgetting the fishing pole in her hand, she twisted around to glance at Mark for a moment. “And he drove his Mercedes into the ground. He loved that car.”

Mark's back remained to her as he made an adjustment to his line. She faced forward once more. “He'd take me and Terrance to the movies with Mom. He'd treat us with popcorn and candy when she said no—it was too
close to dinnertime or our bedtime.” Dana vented a soft smile. She'd forgotten about that. Funny how she was adamant about no candy for Terran when she loved that her father bypassed her mother's boundary and let her have it. On a sigh, she added, “He liked to go fishing….”

“I know,” came Mark's hushed response.

She didn't bother to ask him how. Anyone in town who'd been a friend of Oscar Jackson knew he'd enjoyed the outdoors and fishing.

A pull on her line caused Dana to become alert and she reeled in the catch. Flopping and splashing, an orange rock cod had taken the bait and was now being scooped by the net Mark held under it.

“Nice,” he complimented, removing the hook from the fish's mouth. “You got first fish.”

“Liar,” she stated simply. “I felt you moving around behind me. You've already let two go.”

Mark's mouth broadened and he let rip a roar of laughter as he hunkered back down on the seat. “You got me there, sweetart.”

“I knew it. I have mother's eyes. You know what they are?”

“You've got gorgeous eyes.”

“Not the color,” she quipped with exasperation, baiting her hook with a salmon head piece. “Mother's eyes are the ones in the backs of our heads. We see everything even if you think we aren't looking.”

“Is that right?”

“Moms carry a lot of responsibility.”

“I wouldn't have said otherwise.”

Dana cast and sat back to wait for a bite. Fighting off a damp shiver, she meant to ask about the Thermos. But
looking in the cup holder, she found Mark had poured a hot coffee for her when she'd been baiting her hook.

“Thanks,” she said, grateful for his foresight.

“No problem.”

Sipping the warming beverage, she said, “So tell me about your dad.”

Mark repositioned himself, patient and reflectively gazing at the sparkling blue-green ocean. “He was a good guy. Respected.”

Another eagle flew overhead, this time dipping into the trees and coming out on a rocky cliff to overlook the water.

“He was pretty old-school Italian. A man's man.”

Either lost in thought or thinking of things about his father, Mark grew quiet.

Dana prodded him. “What favorite memories do you have of him aside from skateboarding?”

After a moment, Mark said, “Listening to him talk at Sunday supper. Our family usually ate together once a week and my dad had a lot to say about life. He was pretty damn opinionated, but it was who he was. I guess I didn't take all his advice the right way. Maybe I should have more often.”