The One For Me (Danver #8)(42)

Pulling her into his arms, he kissed the side of her neck and purred, “Oh, but I do, since I know it involves me. We’re both going to be late though, so I’ll let it go—for now.” Dropping a kiss on her lips, he added, “Have a good day, Angel. Drive safely.” As he was turning away, he suddenly swung back around. “Why don’t I have Denny circle back after he drops me at the office? He can pick you up so that you can relax on the drive this morning.”

Going to him, she curled her arms around his stomach and gave him a squeeze. “I’m leaving from work for my parents’. I’ll be fine. It’s sweet that you care, though.”

“Sweet?” he repeated as if the word felt foreign on his tongue. Considering his reputation with women, it probably wasn’t one used to describe him often. He kissed the top of her head and pulled away. “Talk to you tonight,” he murmured before walking toward his car. Maybe she should have left that last part off. It might not have been smart to bring that to his attention. She didn’t want to scare him off, but she loved that he was concerned enough about her well-being to want to send Denny for her. Whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not, Mark DeSanto was a good guy. She only hoped he could accept that before he pushed her away.

• • •

Mark had spent the ride to work from Crystal’s apartment dealing with issues at the Boston branch of his company. As with any type of business, the most challenging problem was finding strong people that you didn’t have to constantly micromanage. Normally, he’d get on his private plane and be there in a few hours to deal with the issue in person. But the thought of traveling right now didn’t appeal to him. That was strange considering he’d lived out of a suitcase for years. He’d always kept a base in Charleston, but hell, everyone needed an official place that they called home—even if they were rarely there.

Switching home base from Charleston to Myrtle Beach had seemed logical considering his continued partnership with Jason Danvers. He’d been quietly putting down roots here, which was a testament to how weary he had become of the nonstop business travel. He’d never liked staying in one place for long, thus the reason he’d finally purchased his own plane. Flying commercial sucked when you were doing it so often.

Now here he was with a house and an actual office where he spent weeks at a stretch. Jacob had been encouraging him for ages to turn over more of the travel to him, but Mark had been resistant. He liked maintaining control in all areas of his life, and to him, if you wanted something done right, then you did it yourself. Seemed easier than taking the time to train someone else. He’d been reconsidering his stance though in the last year. He was burned-out—so fucking tired of it all. Usually, when that kind of feeling threatened to engulf him, he’d find a woman and channel his frustrations into a more pleasurable outlet.

He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Angel that he had handcuffs. Hell, he had a drawer full of the sorts of toys that had been in that surprising little booklet of hers. He liked to use props during sex. To him, it depersonalized the act and made it into something less intimate. It was physical release in the basest of terms.

Mark hadn’t wanted any of that last night with his Angel. He was a man; of course, he’d get off on tying her down and having her at his mercy, but for once, that hadn’t been his first thought. No, instead he’d wanted to hold her and see the expression in her eyes as they came together for the first time. His touch had set her aflame, and she’d made no attempt to hide it from him. There was no artifice in her. She gave her body to him as if she trusted implicitly that he would take care of her.

Even as anxiety and uncertainty had clawed at him while she’d lain sleeping in his arms, he’d only pulled her closer and fought off his misgivings. His self-preservation instincts had been screaming to push her away. To send her home and put some distance between them. But for once, the part of him that was tired of being alone was stronger. So he’d allowed himself to curl his body around hers and let the rest of the world fall away.

He’d woken to her sleeping soundly against his chest, and it had felt good. It had felt right in a way he hadn’t experienced before. He’d had her in the shower, again pushing away the voice in his head that was bellowing in alarm. Then he’d invited—no, demanded—that she come to him after she’d had dinner with her bitch of a mother so that he could soothe the hurt that she would no doubt be feeling.

What was he doing? Where was this going with her? In the end, she’d be hurt and he’d be the bastard who did it. Fuck, he should walk away now before either of them got in over their head any further. Too late—you’re barely treading water now.