“Lately, I just let the machine take his calls.” A month before, he’d left her his most recent number and address.
She paused for Marcus to comment, but he kept rinsing and stacking, allowing her to fill the silence if she chose.
“Even if Skip did show up, he’d throw out pie-in-the-sky promises, then break them. David is too vulnerable now.”
She stopped washing and turned to him. “Don’t you think waiting until he’s eighteen is better? He’ll have more maturity to put the hurt in perspective and by then he’ll be done hating me.” She managed a half smile.
“Are you asking for my professional opinion again?”
“Would you give it to me? In an emergency?”
“I’m in no position to give advice,” he said. A shadow crossed his face and she realized her request disturbed him more than he had let on. “Want to hand me those?” he said, indicating the dishes she’d let pile up while she talked.
She wanted to ask him about that, but he was sending out leave-it-alone signals like mad, so she stuck to the dishes, glancing at him now and then. He had such a strong face—straight nose, solid jaw and a great mouth, sensual and masculine. His hair brushed his collar, as if he’d been too busy for a haircut and he smelled of a lime aftershave with a hint of sandalwood.
His presence calmed her, as well as the slow, sure movements of his strong hands. He was so quiet. “If I didn’t talk, would you ever break the silence?” she finally said.
“Excuse me?” He stopped rinsing and looked at her.
“You hardly ever talk,” she said.
“When I need to, I do.”
“So is it that after all those years of listening to people bitch and moan, you’ve had enough?”
His mouth twitched. She’d amused him. That felt like a prize.
“Meanwhile, I hate silence. I say whatever comes into my head. I’m probably annoying the hell out of you, huh?”
“No. I enjoy you. Kitchen duty is flying by.”
“That’s flattering. I’m more amusing than greasy plates.”
He laughed, looking almost boyish. “I didn’t mean it quite like that, no.”
“You have a great laugh,” she said. “You should do it more.”
He pondered that. “You think I’m too serious?”
“At times, I guess. But I like how you are, Marcus.” She touched his forearm and felt another, stronger frisson of desire. “You’re…soothing.”
“I soothe you?” He lifted an eyebrow, looking wry. “That’s not exactly flattering, either.”
“Well, you have other effects on me, too,” she said softly, moving closer. “The opposite of soothing.”
“I see.” Heat sparked in his eyes, but only for an instant. Then his eyes went sad, almost haunted, and she sucked in a breath. Something awful had happened to Marcus. She wondered if she’d ever find out what it was.
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