Free Hearts Awakened by Linda Winfree Page B

sun and crying. Afraid to see anymore, she turned away.
    Paperwork in hand, the clerk continued staring. Her cheeks burned. No telling what Mark thought about her, appearing in public like this. Bet Angel’s hair never looked like a bird’s nest.
    Behind her, Mark sighed, the sound heavy with exasperation. “Hey, buddy, just check us in, would you? It’s been a long drive.”
    To Tori’s intense relief, the younger man pulled his gaze from her face and laid the registration on the desk. “Sign here, please.”
    She scrawled her signature and passed the pen back to him. He handed her two key cards in tiny folders and pointed to the laminated map on the desktop. “You’re in room 112, Ms. Calvert. Mr. Cook’s in 114. Let me, er, us know if you need anything.”
    “Thanks.” She picked up the folders and offered Mark the one marked 114. The hard lines of his face and the coldness of his eyes made her falter, her fingers trembling a little as he took the card from her. She clutched her own tighter. “Ready?”
    “Yeah.” He pushed the door open with a tight, frustrated movement and waited for her to precede him.
    Her face still hot, she walked to the driver’s side and sank into the seat. Mark folded himself into the passenger seat. She stuck the key in the ignition, but didn’t start the car. Instead she flipped the vanity mirror down and bared her teeth. Nothing.
    “What are you doing?” Irritation lingered in Mark’s voice.
    “Checking my teeth.” She glanced at him. He frowned at her, his eyes a stormy gray, his jaw taut. “That guy was staring and I thought maybe I had something from lunch caught between them.”
    His barking laugh filled the tiny interior. “You can’t be that clueless.”
    “What?” She looked at her reflection again. Did he see something she didn’t?
    “He wasn’t looking at you because you had something in your teeth.”
    With a sigh, she snapped the mirror closed. “Probably my hair. It’s a mess.”
    Mark reached for the mirror and opened it. Cupping his hand under her chin, he tipped her face up so she confronted her reflection. “He was looking at that.”
    Trying to ignore the little shockwaves his gentle touch sent over her skin, she looked at herself. Eyes, nose, lips. Nothing remarkable, the eyes a little red-rimmed from crying. She shrugged, displacing her chin from his hand. “Why?”
    His index finger skimmed over the curve of her cheek, a soft brush that left a trail of fire. “Because you’re flippin’ gorgeous.”
    This time she laughed, to cover the hard lump in her throat. She couldn’t meet his gaze, couldn’t stand to see the mockery she was sure would be there. “Right. Be serious, Mark.”
    “I am.” With tender pressure, he forced her gaze up to his. No mockery glinted in his. Instead, a steady glow burned there, kicking off an answering fire in the pit of her stomach. She swallowed, unable to look away. No one had ever looked at her like that, and heaven help her, she was glad it was him doing so now.
    “Listen to me,” he said, fingers moving against her skin in a slow caress. The already small interior seemed to grow even smaller, the air disappearing, until there was only him and his warm touch. “You’re so beautiful it hurts and any man would be crazy not to want you.”
    Even him? The question scorched her tongue, but she couldn’t get the words out. His answer would mean too much, could hurt too much.
    One strong finger tilted her chin up. He leaned closer, the cotton of his shirt whispering against the car’s cloth interior. Her heart pounded out a painful rhythm and the fiery ache in her stomach grew hotter, more intense. A slow smile lifted the corners of his mouth.
    “Any man,” he whispered and lowered his head.
    At the first tentative touch of his mouth on hers, every nerve in her body jumped. He kissed her, a feathery brush. His firm mouth was warm and smooth, and elusive traces of wintergreen and spice filled her nose.