Page 81 of Finding Amanda

At the top of the stairs, he stopped short.

A tall blond woman was knocking on his door. She turned toward him just as he reached the landing.

"There you are!" she said, her perfect face breaking into a cover-girl smile.

"Annalise?" Mark said. "What are you doing here?"

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Amanda climbed into Mark's side of the bed. She burrowed into the warm sheets and allowed the faint scent of his aftershave to evoke its memories. Snapshots flitted across the screen of her closed eyelids as she snuggled into his pillow—the Ferris wheel, their first date, their wedding day, and the births of their daughters. She could picture Mark as he sanded the warm wood of the bookshelves in her office, the dust motes dancing in the sunlight, his muscles bulging with each stroke against the rough wood until it was as soft as their babies' tender skin.

For the first time in a long time, Amanda could picture a future with Mark. Not just as her girls' father, but as her husband. They could grow old together.

Amanda had never wanted anything else. She'd been in love with Mark since their first date. If he still loved her, too . . . ?

In a burst of emotion, she squeezed the blankets, longing for Mark's arms.

He'd finally said the words she'd longed to hear. He didn't blame her for what happened to her. He admitted he'd been angry, but not at her. He wasn't horrified at what she'ddone. She was only a kid, he'd said. She'd been taken advantage of by an older man.

Had she really misread his feelings for two years?

How his words had filled her tonight. He said he loved her moreaftershe'd told him about Sheppard. He admired her for what she'd overcome.

Would he have said that to get her to reconsider the divorce? No, Mark was sincere. The anger she'd seen in him after he read the pages of her manuscript—that was sincere. He didn't hide his emotions, and he didn't manipulate. How could she ever have thought of him as manipulative in the first place? If nothing else, she knew she could trust him. He would never lie to her.

Alan's face tried to intrude on her memories, and her stomach constricted with guilt. Regardless of what she'd told Mark—she was much less trustworthy than her husband—she had become too close to Alan. His touch had affected her. She'd shared things with him—intimate things. Thank God she hadn't allowed anything physical between them. Alan's kind words, his dimples, even the silly reaction she'd had to his touch—Alan Morass had nothing on Mark Johnson.

Mark would forgive her for her emotional affair. She remembered what they'd shared tonight and blushed. Apparently, he already had forgiven her. Amanda sighed, inhaled the scent of Mark's aftershave, and drifted off to sleep to dream about her husband.

Mark watchedAnnalise as her long legs carried her down the hallway in two long, bouncy steps. She threw her arms around his neck. "Finally, you're home! I've been waiting for hours!"

She snuggled her head between his neck and his shoulder and weaved one of her hands in his hair.

He stepped away. "What are you doing here?"

She took a step back, too, put her hands on her hips, and arranged her mouth in a perfect pout. Annalise Klugmann. Back in high school, she was Annie, the shy lanky girl with the funny accent. Times had changed. Today the world knew her only by her first name, Klugmann proving far too ugly for such a beautiful girl.

She carried herself like a woman accustomed to getting what she wanted. And in a world that equated beauty with character, Mark figured Annalise was rarely disappointed. Studying her now in the dim light of the narrow hallway, he couldn't help but be slightly shocked. Her natural blond hair, a little darker than it had been when he'd last seen her, fell in perfectly disheveled waves long past her shoulders. Her bright blue eyes flashed a strange mixture of irritation and invitation.You've offended me. Come, make me feel better . . .The slightest threat of a wrinkle appeared here and there on her thirty-six-year-old face, but none would dare to mar such perfection. And her lips. Not just red, cherry red. Bright strawberry Jujube red.

His marriage clung to life and here came Annalise, a stunning, designer stiletto prepared to strike the final blow.

"What a fine welcome that is." Her slight German accent was perceptible even after twenty years in America.

"Sorry. I'm surprised to see you."

She stepped forward, laid her hand on his chest and laughed. "Of course you're surprised. I wanted you to be surprised. But who knew you'd be out until all hours on a school night?" She tsk-tsked. "Naughty, naughty."

"What do you want, Annalise?"

Her lips twisted into a provocative smile. "Why don't you invite me in? I'll tell you all about it."

Checking his watch, he blew out a very audible sigh. "It's late."

She batted her eyelashes. "One drink. Please?"

God, give me strength.

"I've been waiting for you for hours. It's the least you can do."

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