Page 71 of Finding Amanda

She minced the garlic and added it to the crackling oil,barely aware of her automatic motions as the room filled with a pungent scent.

But jealousy didn't mean love. In this case, jealousy was more about possessiveness than love. And it was crazy. She would never get that jealous.

The thought barely registered before a face edged it out. Annalise. Beautiful, perfect, supermodel, Annalise.

She'd met her once. She and Mark had been visiting his parents when the doorbell rang. It was Annalise, and she wanted to talk to Mark. Alone.

He disappeared onto the front porch. Ten minutes later, he returned, saying little about their conversation except that she was home for a short time before heading to Barcelona for a photo shoot.

Amanda stirred the sautéing vegetables. How would she feel if she learned Mark had dined with Annalise? She could picture them sitting across from each other, clinking glasses, sharing secrets. Mark would reach out and brush Annalise's long blond hair out of her face, kiss her cheek.

An angry flush enveloped her. She tried to rid herself of the image.

"Mommy?"

She opened her eyes to Sophie standing beside her. "Yes, honey?"

"Beauty and the Beastis playing on Disney, but Madi won't give me the remote. She wants to watchDora the Explorer, but I hate that show. Please can you change the channel for me?"

Amanda looked at the clock. The girls had been watching TV for an hour. "Why don't you two go outside and help Daddy rake."

After the requisite whining, both of the girls ran outside. Maybe they could improve his mood.

Amanda finished making the spaghetti sauce,her mind focused on Mark, his jealousy, and the awful picture of him and Annalise together. Jealousy—yes, that's what she was feeling. Perhaps she was being too hard on Mark.

Cook. Don't think, just cook.

It was another hour before she heard the door to the garage open, and a moment later, Mark walked down the hallway. His T-shirt hung from his hand, his chest bare, muscled, and glistening with sweat.

"Can I have a glass of water?" His voice sounded spent, defeated.

"Are you finished?"

"Yes."

She took a closer look, forcing herself not to focus on his chest, and saw he was covered in dust and dirt. "You want to take a quick shower?"

"I'll just wash my hands." He slipped into the bathroom while she poured him a drink. A moment later, he emerged and grabbed the glass. He drank the contents, refilled it at the tap, and downed it.

"You okay?" she asked.

He nodded and set the glass on the counter.

"Listen—"

"Mark—"

They'd both spoken at the same time. "Go ahead," she said.

"I'm sorry about my temper. I didn't mean to frighten you."

She nodded carefully. "Okay."

He studied her, and like earlier in the yard, she felt the need to step back. This time it was scrutiny she feared.

"I'm sorry I had Alan over for dinner. I didn't think about how you would feel. We're just friends, but I can see how you could misunderstand. Nothing happened."

"Something happened," he said.

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