Mark (In the Company of Snipers Book 2) (27 page)

With her breath hot on his neck, he let his hands roam over her shoulders and down her back before they came to rest at her hips. Warmth surged through him when she arched into his touch. Even in denim jeans, his body was making his intentions clear, maybe a little too clear. His fingers strayed beneath the waistband to her jeans, and he groaned. So much fire sparked from her to his fingertips. He wanted her. Now.

“We need to talk,” he ground out the words he didn’t really feel like saying.

She didn’t seem to hear him. Instead, she pressed hot, moist kisses into his neck, her hands holding each side of his head as she pushed her breasts against him, and in the process, lifted her backside away. Mark cocked his head as her tender lips worked a sweet line of warmth along his collarbone.

His mind automatically planned his next move, which had everything to do with what color bra and panties she wore underneath her Mickey Mouse sweatshirt and the zipper on her jeans. Well, at least the ones she wore at the moment, because very soon—

He groaned again, torturing himself with the pleasant softness of her body. Libby was too tempting for his current level of control, which was pretty much zero spelled with a capital Z-E-R-O.

“Do you hear me, babe?” he asked hoarsely. He needed to get a very important topic out in the open before he let himself fall over the edge. Once he fell, all bets were off.

“I hear you,” she said the right words, but she still wasn’t listening.

With a herculean effort, he untangled her prowling hands from his neck and pushed her gently up and away. Looking into those deep blues didn’t help. He was still falling.

“No more kissing.” He kissed the end of her nose despite his words. “We need to talk.”

“You want to
talk
? That’s all? Really? Now?”

“Yes. I need to talk with you about something.” He smiled as he sat up with her, pulled her off his legs, and positioned her alongside of him. Everything about her worked against what he had to say, the smell of her perfume and the way her breasts totally enhanced that ratty sweatshirt. Never had Mickey Mouse looked so good, or so three-dimensional.

“I’m listening already,” she said impatiently with a flounce of her blond head. “What?”

“Do you know what I want most in the whole world?” he asked quietly.

“To talk?” Now she was being petulant. Cute, but petulant.

He grinned at this precocious woman. He’d loved her at a distance for so long. Now that she was healthy and in his arms, what on earth was he thinking?

“I want you to know that I love you.” Mark chuckled at the wrinkly frown on her face. There was a solid ounce of brat mixed in with this womanly creature.

She smiled and leaned into him, her fingers instantly searching across his chest to the buttonholes on his shirt. “I love you, too, Mark. You know I do.”

“Remember when I told you that my mother died?” He snared her hands before she got the best of him.

“Ah, huh.” She licked her bottom lip. The soft, sweet gaze of a honey-blond seductress glowed back at him, and Mark forgot what he wanted to say. He leaned in to explore the rest of this goddess at his side—breasts, nipples, thighs, backside, and—

Arghhh!
He caught himself just in time.

“Libby. Stop it. Sit right here.” Mark pulled his knee onto the mattress and turned to face her. She reached her slender fingers to his knee, burning five little points of smoldering passion through his jeans and all the way to his groin.

With a deep breath, he began again, rambling through the script before he forgot it. The whole thing made logical sense when he had rehearsed it before, but now it came out like crap. “Okay, so when my mother died, my dad had no use for me and it was like I turned into nothing. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

“What does that have to do with us right now?” She whined like a little girl trying to get her way.

Ah, he was smitten through and through. Every single thing about this woman was plain adorable. This was going to be a lot tougher than he thought.

“What I’m trying to say is that this is the first time since I lost my Mom that I’ve been part of something wonderful, pure, and perfect. That something is you.”

She cocked her head. Poor girl didn’t have a clue where this conversation was headed.

“I don’t want to ruin what we have, Libby. I don’t want to rush this.”

“What are you telling me?” she asked impatiently.

“I’m trying to tell you that … I don’t think we should have sex until we’re husband and wife.” He blurted it out. That did it. He had her full attention now.

“Excuse me?” Those cobalt blues were wide, surprised, and maybe even a little hurt.

“Libby, I want all of you. You’ve got to know that by now.” He hurried to explain. “But I don’t just want to just make love with you; I want to make a
life
with you. I want to make our life, and maybe someday, our baby’s life, too. Sex is a big deal. I guess what I’m saying is that I want to do this right, Libby. Once.”

Her eyes were wide with shock, but then he made it worse. “In one year, Libby Clifton, will you please marry me—and make love with me—for the rest of our life together?”

Anger flashed across her face. She hadn’t heard the marriage proposal at all.

“A year? A whole year? Like next October?”

He wanted to laugh. The poor girl wanted sex, and here he was, offering a year’s worth of celibacy instead, and making it sound like it was a good deal, too. Three hundred and sixty-five days sounded awfully long to him now that he heard it out loud, but he was just as sure it was the right thing to do.

Mark wasn’t kidding himself. She’d loved Jon. She needed time to grieve for him as well as Faith. As much as he loved her, Mark wasn’t going to take advantage of her or her family. In a year she’d be in a better frame of mind. Besides, it would give them time to get to know each other better, to plan their life and their family. Maybe life would be more normal in the Clifton household in a year. That’s all he wanted. Normal. It had always seemed like an impossible dream, and now that it seemed within reach, he didn’t want to ruin it.

He held his breath as the real specter raised its ugly head again. How could this delightful, feminine creature really be in love with him? How could anyone? He had given her an out.

Would she take it?

Libby looked deeply into Mark’s brown eyes. This crazy man was thinking way too much, but something else glimmered there too. Hesitation? Fear?

“This doesn’t make me happy, you know.” She edged closer to him, one hand on his muscular thigh. Silly Mark. Did he think positioning that knee between them would stop her? She took her index and middle fingers and walked short little finger-steps up his inseam. “A year is a very long time.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes glued to her walking fingers.

Libby took control of the situation.
You’re in for it now.
With a flounce of her head, she pushed him onto his back again. He didn’t offer any resistance, so she climbed on top, one knee at each side of his jean pockets.

Her blood pounded with what she was about to do. She and Jonathan hadn’t sealed their love, but this was Mark. She had no doubt he loved her, wanted her. Love with him was rich and deep and true. He was her man; it was time he understood that.

She let him suffer as her fingers smoothed over his pecs and down his ribs, lingering over the place where his nipples might be. It was kind of hard to tell beneath his light cotton shirt and the T-shirt beneath. A moan escaped his lips. Oh, yeah. She’d just hit pay dirt.

Her blood ran hot and ready. His, too. Even now, his eyes flicked over her breasts, before they jerked back to her face. He was trying hard to maintain control, but she intended to demolish that line of resistance between them once and for all. As his eyes turned to molten obsidian, his breathing became more labored. Libby smiled. She might be a dainty woman, and he a heavy weight, but she wasn’t going to give up this battle without a Clifton-sized fight.

“No, Libby. Come on.” He tried to push her up and off, but all she had to do was wiggle against his zipper, and he stilled.

“Shush, Mr. Houston.” She placed a finger to his lips. “You’ve had your say. Now it’s my turn.”
Oh, Mark. You are already mine.

With her breath mere inches from his lips, his chin tilted automatically in anticipation. Libby paused right there, right at that one second to kiss position. She brushed her fingers through his sideburns, slowly massaging his scalp. He closed his eye, his hands on her hips again. She arched against him just once. It was enough. He’d risen to the challenge.
Oh, my.

“So what I think you’re telling me, and feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, but you want to refrain from making hot, passionate love to me for the next three hundred and sixty-five days. Is that right?” She stuck out her lip, willing all of her feminine wiles into play.

“Yes, ma’am.” He removed his hands from her hips and clasped them behind his head. “You’re right. A year is exactly three hundred and sixty-five days.”

Hooded eyes met hers. So much electricity crackled between them that Libby wished now that she had locked her bedroom door. It wouldn’t do to have her mother walk in on them, not like this. She shook her head, and let her hair fall over and around his face, knowing how much he loved that. He was right where she wanted him, trapped inside their secret compartment, their heavy breathing, and all that body heat.

“That’s a very long time.” Libby was the youngest of three children, the spoiled baby in the family. She knew how to get her way. If older sisters and parents could be coaxed, coerced, and finagled, this handsome ex-Marine could be, too.

“Are you sure that’s what you want to do?” she asked breathlessly, her heart pounding for air and blood.

Mark closed his eyes. He was weakening. She could tell.

“Okay. Okay.” His groan was incredibly deep and sexy in her ears, but now he’d covered his eyes with his arm.

Look at me Mark. You know you want this as much as I do.

“How about ... three hundred?” he rasped, his breathing heavy.

“Sixty.” She countered the second the words left his mouth.

“No.” He moved his arm as his eyes popped open. Now he smiled. “Too low. Two-forty.”

“Never.” She tossed her hair, her resolve shaken. Every little move he made only excited her more. If he didn’t give in soon, she would combust. “Too high. Ninety.”

She cringed. What had she just said? How on earth could she wait three months?

“Think about it,” she said softly in his ear. “Two hundred and forty days is an awfully,” she said as she licked the edge of his ear with just the tip of her tongue, ending at his ear lobe, “awfully long time.”

He shivered. The groan that met her ears was the one she had been waiting for. He was cracking. Any minute now and—

“Okay. I give. You win.” He bolted upright, sweeping her into his arms as he lifted her off her very comfortable position. It happened so fast. Her hair flew into her eyes when she found herself sitting on the edge of the bed again, her body aching for his.

He stepped back, took a deep breath, and knelt at her knee. She trembled. This was it, but she couldn’t think clearly. Not yet. All she saw was the matching heat in his eyes. His panting matched hers, breath for breath. Energy arced between them. Mark wanted her. Even now, she could see him stifling the predator side of himself. She reached to caress that worried wrinkle from his brow.

Oh, Mark. How can you NOT make love to me?

He grasped both her prowling hands in his, his gaze scorching her from head to toe.

Kiss me. Just kiss me.

“Libby.” He blew out a huge breath and started again. “Will you please ... please marry me in one hundred and eighty days?” Trembling, he pulled a gold diamond ring from his jeans pocket, and held it between them.

Libby could barely see, her eyes too steamed with wanton need that hadn’t yet subsided. Hot blood throbbed through every vein. She had just tried to seduce the man she loved—and failed. She was as aroused as she could possibly get without having done any of the things she wanted with Mark. And to Mark. And he had politely and kindly rejected her. She gathered her wits and fell into those dark, dark eyes.

You look so – hot.

But one hundred and eighty days was better than three hundred sixty-five. Wasn’t it? Right now logic failed her. She couldn’t count. One number sounded as good as the next. Breathlessly, she brushed her hair out of her eyes and saw the tender look of love in his. At last his ardent proposal registered. And then she saw the ring.

“Babe,” he whispered hoarsely, the question shining in his eyes. There was that scared little boy look again, that ghost that seemed ready to slap him down the moment he got too close to her.

“Oh, Mark,” she cried. “I don’t know about one hundred and eighty days, but yes. I’ll marry you. You know I will. I love you so much.” She groaned.
Of all the times to become celibate!

“Whew. That was tough.” He rose off the floor, and sat at her side, kissing her chastely in the middle of her forehead. “That’s only six months. We can make it to April. I know we can.”

“You think so?” she asked with a petulant sigh when he pushed the ring over her knuckle.

Mark cupped her chin in one hand and gazed into her face, his eyes full of love. “Have you ever found your presents before Christmas morning?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.” What did Christmas have to do with getting married?

“Didn’t it spoil the magic of the day?”

Yes. Okay. She had to agree. That simple act of childish curiosity had ruined everything. There were no surprises, no anticipation, and ....
Oh. Yeah. Now I get it.

“Making love with you is more important than Christmas.” The sincerity in his voice took her breath away. “Maybe I’m old fashioned, but I think we both have a tremendous gift to give to each other, just once—on our wedding night.”

She stilled. Where on earth had this darling man come from?

“I don’t plan to simply love you, sweetheart.” He kissed her forehead again. Somehow that simple act reached into the depths of her free-spirited soul. “I plan to cherish you every day for the rest of your life—and then some.”

Mark was so tender as he poured his feelings out, but it was his vulnerability that touched her now. This man was unlike any other she had known. Something else dawned on her.

“I’ve never seen this side of you,” she whispered. “Are you, umm, are you a—”

“Virgin?” he said the hard word for her.

“Yes.” She was embarrassed and curious at the same time. How was it even possible? “I mean, umm, I am. Are you?”

“Yes, ma’am. I am.” He never hesitated, his eyes still burning into hers.

All those arguments with Jonathan flashed back to her. She’d thought he had chosen the Corps over her because she wanted to wait. Now she was glad she had.

“You look surprised,” he said, a bemused glitter in his eye.

“I guess ... I just assumed ... I mean ....” She didn’t know what she meant. This made everything he had told her so much more—rare. “But you were a soldier.”

“So?”

She studied the man beside her. Dark, handsome, and strong as an ox, Mark was the kind of guy most girls dreamed of, lusted after, and persuaded into marrying them. “I guess I thought you would be like all the other guys,” she said softly.

“What? Horney?” He chuckled. “Believe me. I am like all the other guys. I’m no saint.”

“Then why haven’t you, umm, you know … done it?” She bit her lip at her adolescent question.

“Because I’ve been waiting my whole life for you,” he whispered reverently. “Just you.”

Humility washed through her heart.

Six months was going to be a long time.

“What’s up?” Mark turned his bedside lamp on as he answered his phone.

“We fly out today,” Alex said. “Mother’s got us booked out of Chicago to D.C., and from there we head back to Bagram.”

“When?”

“Noon today. We’ll be flying all night. Tell Zack. I’ll pick you up at nine.”

“Can I ask why?” Mark rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He had planned on taking everyone out to dinner to announce his engagement to Libby.

Alex sighed. “We’ve had a security breach.”

“A hacker?”

“Yes.” He sounded less than pleased.

“Just like you suspected, huh?” Mark stifled the urge to call Mother and tell her, ‘I told you so.’

“This guy is good. He hit the FBI server, too. That’s how the Russians knew where the Clifton girls were. Name is Stanislav Egorov. He’s one of Kensington’s lieutenants. Right now he’s out to avenge his boss. According to Harley’s latest threat assessment, he’s putting another army together. It’s time we finished this.”

“And he got Libby’s flight information from our server?”

“Most likely.” Alex explained his plan. “We’ll bait him and eliminate him. Sound good?”

“Who’ll stay here with the Cliftons?” Mark needed to know.

“Kelsey.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little much?” he asked jokingly. With Seinkevitz and his henchmen out of the picture stateside, Mark’s fears had been pretty much laid to rest.

“I figure between her and Rosemary, another Russian doesn’t stand a chance at the Clifton farm. Besides, Kelsey’s been known to hit a good tight pattern when she needs to. I’ve also asked Murphy and Roy to lend a hand, just in case.”

“Okay then. See you at nine.”

It was bound to happen one of these days. The easy mission in Wisconsin was at an end. Back to work. Mark rang Zack.

Then he rang Libby.

“But Mom.”

Libby stood on the other side of Marie’s empty bed helping strip the sheets to be laundered. Some things never changed at the Clifton household. Laundry always got washed, dried, and folded on Monday. Tuesday meant ironing and folding whatever lingered after Monday. Wednesday was all about gardening, canning, or freezing, depending on the season. The bread for the week turned from hard red wheat into golden loaves on Thursday.

Friday was an optional day that might entail grocery shopping, butter churning, or a dozen other little chores that needed doing. Saturday was the heavy-lifting day when floors were scrubbed, carpets shampooed, and everything else in the house dusted or polished. Last of all, Sunday was a day of well-deserved rest, but even that meant a morning spent at church, choir practice, and Sunday school lessons.