No In Between by Lisa Renée Jones Read Free Book Online

this man’s thick, black hair is long enough to be tied at his nape, and the stubble on his jawline is much heavier than a shadow.
    The man says something to Mark, and I get the feeling the stranger is his attorney. Mark barely acknowledges what’s said to him, closing the distance between us with predatory grace: beautiful, powerful, impossible to ignore, and I am his prey.
    I’m not immune to Mark’s certain flavor of power and masculinity, but being affected by his larger-than-life presence and wanting him are two different things. It’s a way Rebecca and I differed, and I can’t help remembering her words. He was magnificent. Really, truly the most gorgeous man I’ve ever known. Instant lust exploded inside me. I wanted to feel him close to me, to feel him touch me. To touch him.
    She’d started out infatuated and then fell in love, and suddenly I’m angry with Mark for not seeing what he had with her, before he lost her. Even more for trying to push her away by involving Ava and Ryan, and possibly others, in their intimate moments.
    I step forward, stopping when we are toe-to-toe, but he speaks before I do. “Ms. McMillan,” he says in that low baritone that’s both sultry suggestion and hard steel.
    I lift my chin and meet his stare, and I see the barely masked heartache in the depths of those shrewd gray eyes. I see love lost, and my anger is ripped right out of my chest. “Mark,” I whisper, bleeding for him, with him. “It’s good to see you.” Without any conscious decision, I wrap my arms around him and press my cheek to his chest. He doesn’t hug me back but I don’t care. It kills me to realize that Rebecca finally taught Mark what it is to love, and she’ll never even know.
    “Ms. McMillan,” he warns tersely. “Now is not the time for affection.”
    I step back and put my hands to my hips. “Why don’t you return our phone calls?”
    His expression is unreadable, the pain I’d seen minutes before carefully banked. “I’m certain you’re aware that I’ve had my hands full.”
    The stranger joins us, his piercing blue eyes finding mine. “This is Tiger,” Mark says. “My attorney.”
    “What is it with you men? Do you have a problem using a person’s actual name?”
    “You must be Sara,” Tiger comments. “It’s a name I earned, so it’s the one I favor.”
    Taking the bait, I ask, “And how exactly did you earn it?”
    “I’ll rip your throat out if you cross my clients,” he replies, and I don’t like the subtle threat, real or imagined.
    I narrow my eyes at him. “You said ‘you must be Sara.’ How did you know that?”
    Mark answers, “I told him of your propensity for too much conversation.”
    “Does he know of your propensity for arrogance?” I challenge.
    “He does,” Mark confirms, his jaw flexing tightly.
    I realize that I’ve hit a nerve of self-blame, a nerve that has to be raw. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “It slipped out. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”
    He gives me one of those heavy-lidded looks. “Not a problem, Ms. McMillan. I also warned Tiger that you tend to be painfully honest.”
    “There’s nothing wrong with honesty,” Tiger comments.
    I cut him an irritated look. “There is if it hurts someone.” I turn toward Mark. “Can we talk alone for a minute?”
    “No private conversation,” Tiger replies.
    I gape at Tiger. “You’re protecting Mark from me ?”
    “I’m protecting you both from prying eyes,” he says, his tone all business. “Save the hugs and personal conversation for elsewhere.” He glances at his watch. “It’s three. We need to get to our meeting room.”
    Three. It hits me now why the police wanted to move us to two fifteen. They were trying to prevent us from running into Mark, and I wonder why. Was it by Mark’s request? I open my mouth to ask, but Mark’s gaze has gone beyond my shoulder, staring intently.
    I turn to find Chris standing in the doorway of the interview room, locked in an