CHAPTER THREE

      EVEN AS HIS body yelled, Hell, yeah, his brain shouted, Bad effin’ idea. Marcus backed away but Liz followed. When a tree blocked his escape, she pushed even closer. He slid sideways, dropping the flashlight and grabbing on to her waist for balance. Her shirt had ridden up and the feel of her soft bare skin made him dizzy.

      He froze. She froze. They stood chest to chest, zipper to zipper, and he could hardly hear the waterfall over the breaths ripping out of his throat.

      She whispered his name and her mouth sought his. Before their lips could connect, he turned his head and reached for her hands. “I didn’t bring you here for this.”

      “Maybe I came for this.”

      “You’re sorry for me. I get it.”

      “I’m not sorry for you, Marcus. I hurt for you. I want to...to...”

      “Ease my pain?”

      “Show I care.”

      “This isn’t happening.”

      “Tonight? Or ever?”

      He nudged her away from him, intent on finding the flashlight so they could get out of there. He hadn’t handled this well. He hadn’t handled this well at all. She pressed close again and nuzzled his throat.

      “Please, Marcus,” she murmured. “I’ll make it good for you.”

      His lungs seized. He shoved her away, harder this time, so hard she stumbled and fell. His hands—hell, his entire body—shook. He collapsed back against the tree and struggled for air.

       Don’t fight it, Marcus. You know you want it, Marcus. Hold still and I’ll make it good for you...

      “What’s wrong?” Liz was crying, gasping as she got to her feet. She peered through her hair at him, eyes wide as she swatted at the debris that clung to her jeans. “What did I do?”

      “Those words. I don’t want them in my head. Especially when I’m with you.”

      “I’m sorry, I... How could I know? I’m so sorry.”

      “Don’t be,” he gritted. “It’s not your fault.”

      She wiped her face on her sleeve and crossed her arms. “It feels like it’s my fault.”

      He found the flashlight and scooped it up. The dark was falling fast. He reached for her, thought better of it and faced her instead, hands awkward at his sides. “Liz, I’m not ready for this. I thought you understood.”

      “I wanted to show you how much I care. How much you mean to me.”

      “If you cared, you wouldn’t try to manipulate me.”

      “Manipulate you?” She kicked at the freshly fallen gold-and-russet leaves. “I want to please you.”

      “Why? What do you want with me? I’m damaged goods. You have no idea how damaged. I have a minimum-wage job, I live on the second floor of an old lady’s house and I drive a truck that’s older than I am.”

      “I know all that. None of it changes how I feel about you. I like you, Marcus. A lot.”

      “Here’s something you don’t know. I’m an ex-con.”

      Her head came up at that. “You were in prison? What happened?” When he didn’t answer, she frowned. “Am I supposed to guess?”

      “Aren’t you worried?”

      “Tell me you’re a serial killer and I’ll worry. At the same time I’ll wonder why you’re already out of jail.”

      His turn to frown. “I didn’t kill anyone. It was a fight. I started it. Pulled eighteen months for aggravated assault.”

      “Why did you start it?”

      “I was angry.”

      “Because?”

      “Point is, I’m an ex-con. You need to stay away from me.”

      She snorted, then laughed when she saw his outrage. “Don’t be so dramatic. You’re trying to scare me off because you’re scared yourself.” She moved closer and tugged at his shirtsleeve. “Tell me what started the fight.”

      He hesitated, then leaned against the tree again. She stayed where she was, and he breathed a little easier. “I worked in a kitchen. At a restaurant. The owner had a thing for one of the busboys.”

      “The owner was a man.”

      “Not a man. A monster. One day he cornered the kid in the storage room and tried to make him—” Marcus fisted and unfisted both hands. “So I beat the shit out of him.”

      “Was the kid okay?”

      “Yeah. He was okay.”

      “Did the monster go to jail?”

      Marcus grunted. “Got out before I did.”

      “When did you get out?”

      “A few months before I came back to Castle Creek.”

      “You came back to burn down the motel.”

      “And Cal recognized me. You know the rest.”

      “Do I?”

      He didn’t know what she meant.

      Her spine sagged, as if he’d failed some kind of test. “How are things with Cal?”

      Marcus shrugged. “He’s still the same man who fed me whenever I ran away from the motel and ended up at the diner. He’s the one who called the cops, the one responsible for getting my stepfather arrested.” Too late to do much good, but at least the man had tried.

      He stared through the gloom at the woman who was naive enough to think she could free him from his past. “Why are you still here?” he growled. “Why haven’t you run screaming for the truck?”

      “One, I’m not wearing shoes. Two, you have the flashlight.”

      He thrust the flashlight at her. She took it but didn’t move. He paced away, paced back, picked up a stick and started breaking pieces off and tossing them to the ground. Snap. Plop. Snap. Plop. Still she didn’t speak.

      “How can you want me?” he said finally, hating the need behind his words. “After what I’ve done?”

      “It’s true I don’t know what you’ve been through,” she said softly, her voice strangled. “But I do know it was bad. I also know it’s not so much what you’ve done but what’s been done to you. You’re a survivor. I respect that. I’m awed by that.”

      She clicked the flashlight on, then back off. “The first time I saw you,” she whispered, “it was like I—I recognized you. Not your face but who you are. Inside.” She turned the flashlight back on. The white-yellow glow illuminated her perfect features. “I can be patient, Marcus. I admit I’m feeling less than sexy, but I can wait. You’re worth it. You’re so worth it.”

      He had no idea what to say to that. To any of it. He couldn’t have talked anyway, since it felt as if that same big-ass tree he’d leaned against was lodged in his throat. As if to demonstrate that she meant what she said, she remained silent, waiting, as he tried to speak.

      “Liz,”