The Cradle Will Fall

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How many times over the years had he replayed their relationship in his mind, adjusting the elemental needs and desires they both felt in order to get a different outcome? More times than he would like to admit.

Since it appeared their basic needs had not changed, Mark knew he should have the good sense to leave well enough alone. But at this instant, standing beside her with his hand circling hers and the warmth of her flesh seeping into his, temptation lured him like a seductive smile. And the force of the regret he still carried for what might have been nudged him from behind.

“The bedroom and bath are fine.” Grace gave the bellman a polite, polished smile. “I had asked for a schedule for the health spa.”

“Yes, Mrs. Calhoun, it’s on the desk. Once you decide when you want to visit the spa, the concierge will take care of the scheduling.”

“Thank you,” Grace said. “I think that’s all for now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mark breathed in Grace’s soft, subtle scent while they stood side by side, tracking the bellman’s progress across the suite. When the door clicked closed behind the man, Mark sensed her shoulders stiffening, felt the tenseness settle into her fingers, still wrapped in his hand. He knew he should ease his grip, release her. Yet, he held on while memories he’d locked away rushed to the surface. Memories of the feel of her soft hands against his heated flesh. The warmth of her body, the comfort she had offered that no one else had ever given him.

When she tugged her hand from his, he felt the scrape of the stunning diamond she now wore in the guise of Mrs. Mark Calhoun.

With his mind snapping back to thoughts of the job, Mark turned to the table where he’d left his briefcase. While he input the combination and unsnapped the locks, he felt the familiar shudder of the fatigue that lately seemed to reach to the marrow of his bones. That sense of weariness reminded him Grace McCall-Fox wasn’t the only thing he had to regret. There were the cases he had failed to solve, the trials lost. The child molesters and killers who had slipped through his fingers, the dream that almost nightly had him seeing again each of those victims, reliving every failure. He carried each regret like a stone around his shoulders. With all that weight, he shouldn’t feel so hollow on the inside, but he did.

“Mark?”

He looked up, met Grace’s waiting gaze and saw the puzzlement in her dark eyes. They’d spent the past two days formulating their ops plan for this assignment, and he knew what she was waiting for. Knew, too, she was wondering if there was some reason he’d stood staring like an idiot into his briefcase.