Page 20 of Christmas in Whitehorn
Because he represented temptation, she thought. The question was how would she pay for giving in? Darcy knew any relationship with Mark, even one primarily located in the bedroom, was going to cost her a lot.
Did she mind that? The problem was she’d been so lonely for so long. Mark made her remember that she was still alive and very much a woman. Shouldn’t she be allowed to have a temporary diversion in her life?
A sound at the door interrupted her musings. She looked up and saw Homer Gilmore wander into the café. He glanced around fearfully, as if expecting someone to pounce. Darcy turned to Janie, who looked as concerned and undecided as she, Darcy, felt.
Homer was the town eccentric. Well into his seventies and losing his faculties, he often wandered around town, talking to himself. He was usually harmless, but with his long gray hair, slippers and bathrobe, he was just enough outside of normal to be scary.
Darcy squared her shoulders and approached the old man. “Morning, Mr. Gilmore,” she said cheerfully. “Can I get you something?”
Homer glared at her, muttering something she couldn’t understand. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Janie heading for the phone, no doubt to call Homer’s nurse to come and get him.
“I’ll take care of this.”
The familiar voice caught her by surprise. Darcy turned as Mark approached. He gently took Homer by the arm.
“Come on, Mr. Gilmore. I’m with the sheriff’s office. Mark Kincaid. Why don’t I see you home?”
Homer glared at him, then his wild eyes cleared slightly and he nodded.
“Can you wrap up my breakfast?” Mark asked. “I’ll pick it up on my way back. I’ll pay my bill then, too.”
“No problem. It’s not as if I don’t know where you live.”
He grabbed his jacket and shrugged into it, then ushered Homer out of the Hip Hop. Darcy watched them go. Her chest tightened, but with more than nervousness and anticipation. She could accept Mark being handsome, sexy and very good in bed. What she didn’t want was for him to be nice. If she thought he was a decent guy, and charming, she would have a whole lot more trouble keeping her emotions in check and her heart on a very short leash.
She reminded herself that the last thing she needed was to fall for a guy. She knew what happened when she did. There was no point in wishing this time would be different.
* * *
Mark kept his finger on the channel button of the remote. He was clicking through stations so quickly there was no way he could see what was on. But flipping through the offerings was better than pacing. Which is what he really wanted to do.
He glanced at his watch, then back at the television. Five-forty. When he’d returned to the Hip Hop to pick up his breakfast, Darcy had agreed to see him that night. He’d told her he would be over at six. As they lived in the same building, there was no way he could justify leaving early to beat traffic.
To think that the previous day he’d been dreading going there for Thanksgiving. He’d thought he would be bored and out of place. He thought she wasn’t anything but a do-gooder with a plan to rule the world with tofu. He’d been wrong.
She’d been smart and funny, not to mention incredibly sexy. He hadn’t planned on making love with her, but he couldn’t be sorry that it had happened. Not yesterday or this morning.
His body stirred at the memory of their time in her shower. She had the ability to turn him on in a nanosecond. He’d never experienced anything like it before.
He leaned back in his chair, releasing the remote so the television stayed on a sports channel. This brief sex-only relationship with Darcy was exactly what he needed. With Sylvia he’d thought he’d found “the one.” He’d wanted to settle down, marry her and have a couple of kids. She’d shown him that dreams like that were for idiots.
Without meaning to, he remembered Sylvia smiling at him the first time they’d met. He’d thought she’d been as taken with him as he’d been with her. With the distance and wisdom of hindsight, he realized that every movement, every touch, every word had been calculated. She’d had a goal when she’d “accidentally” locked herself out of her place and had used his phone to call the locksmith. He’d been the sucker to fall in with her plans.
He’d learned the lesson well. Love wasn’t a part of his plan. But sex. That was something else entirely. For the first time since the shooting he felt himself anticipating something other than the absence of pain.
He was returning to life. That it was happening wasn’t much of a surprise. It had been inevitable. The how was something else. Darcy was an unexpected pleasure. He would enjoy this while it lasted and then move on. Never again would he allow his heart to be engaged.
* * *
Darcy frantically hung discarded outfits back on hangers. She’d changed her clothes five times in the past thirty minutes and she was determined not to do it again. What did it matter what she had on? Mark wasn’t coming over to see her dressed…he was far more interested in having her undressed. This was all about sex. She had on her best bra-and-panty set to prove it. She was having an adult relationship based purely on physical attraction. People did it all the time. It was very sophisticated.
It was also very not her.
Darcy sank onto the bed and covered her face with her hands. What was she doing? While she felt excited and quivery at the thought of Mark coming over in a few minutes, she also felt empty inside. Empty and cheap and bad about herself. The feeling was oddly familiar and it took her several seconds to figure out when she’d last experienced the sensation.
Before her parents had died, she thought sadly. Back when she’d been shallow and selfish, living only for the moment. Back when the kind of car a guy drove was far more important than something like honesty or compassion. When looks had mattered more than character. She dropped her hands to her sides.
She’d worked hard to change herself. While the initial plunge into the world of reality had come at the hand of circumstance, once she’d been forced to face her own lacking character, she had done her best to do better. Five years later, she could honestly say she was proud of who she was.
