Chapter 2
7:30 PM
Standard Diner
Mary wasn't there when Marshall arrived. He sat in a corner booth, his back to the wall and the whole diner spread out before him, and ordered a coffee and a slice of coconut cream pie. He had no idea if she would come, but the thought of her walking through those doors set his heart racing. This was really happening. He was sitting in a diner waiting for a married woman to show up for their date. If his father could see him right now it wouldn't matter that Marshall was a fully grown man, taller than his father by an inch and a half, Seth would have him out back finding a switch of just the right thickness to hurt like hell without breaking the skin. Then again, disappointing Seth Mann was something Marshall was used to. It certainly was not enough to make him change course – even if every working grey cell in his head told him he should get up right now and leave before reality broke through and brought this whole fantasy world he was living in crashing down on his head.
The waitress returned with his coffee and pie and Marshall's eyes flicked to the clock above the counter: 7:40 PM. He took a sip of coffee and tried to remind himself of all the reasons it was good if Mary didn't show up.
It didn't work. But five minutes later, he didn't care, because she was here.
Marshall had just taken the first bite of pie when Mary appeared in the door. She was wearing a baseball cap pulled low over her forehead and a pair of shiny aviators despite the fact the sun had disappeared twenty minutes ago. Marshall took in the disguise, his lips curling into a smile. Adorable. He raised his hand in an awkward little waive and she made her way over.
"Gave up on me did you?" She asked, eying the partially eaten coconut cream pie and half empty coffee cup in front of him.
He tried his best to look apologetic, but he was having a hard time concealing how glad he was to see her. "It was the last piece of coconut." He said as if this explained everything.
She slid into the booth across from him and before Marshall even knew what hit him, plucked the fork out of his unresisting fingers. Marshall watched her with fond amusement as she shoveled a giant chunk of his pie into her mouth. She closed her eyes, savouring the creamy dessert. She swallowed and then looked up, a sheepish expression on her face. "Jesus, that is good pie."
Marshall pushed the pie towards her. "Coffee?"
She nodded, still looking a little embarrassed. But obviously not that embarrassed judging by the fact she pulled the plate even closer and took another generous bite.
Marshall caught the waitress's eye. She came over with a second cup and a pot of hot coffee.
"Thanks, Margie." Marshall said, smiling up at the waitress. "Is there any peach pie left?"
"Of course. Ice cream?"
Marshall raised an eyebrow at Mary who shook her head no. "No, just the pie." He said.
"You're one of those men?" Mary asked.
"Sorry?" Marshall's brow creased.
"My father in law does that, calls waitresses by their first name." She wrinkled her nose. "And people in grocery stores… anyone with a name tag really."
"And that's bad, is it?"
"I think it means you have a pathological need for people to like you."
"Or, and this is just a thought." He flashed her a sassy smile. "I could just be friendly."
She snorted and shovelled the last bite of coconut cream pie into her mouth.
The waitress arrived just then to top up their coffee and slide a slice of peach pie and an extra fork onto the table. Marshall thanked her, by name; Mary rolled her eyes.
"So," Marshall speared a piece of peach. "Apart from the apparently foreign social niceties, how do you like Albuquerque?"
"Is it always so… quiet?" Mary asked, her fork joining his in demolishing the new pie.
"How do you mean?"
"At night, there's hardly any traffic noise. It's like the whole city rolls into bed at nine and then all there are is damned coyotes and cicadas and I feel like I'm trying to fall asleep in the middle of a really boring Western."
Marshall laughed. "I guess we are a sleepy city compared to what you're used to. But I don't think I've ever heard anyone describe cicadas as quiet."
"They're noisy," she admitted, "but still…"
"It's not the big city you're used to." Marshall supplied.
"Yeah." Mary looked wistful. "There's just nothing but sky and nature and people who haven't changed their style since the late eighties. It's hard to get used to. And it's hotter than hell. Seriously, what is with the air here?"
Marshall didn't reply. There wasn't really any way to defend his beloved desert to her, at least not sitting in an air conditioned diner. He wondered if she would come if he asked her to go for a drive out into the desert with him. If she could get out of the city lights and see the stars, hear a coyote call that wasn't competing with sirens and drunk neighbours and million other little noises characteristic of city lights. If she could see the desert the way he saw it, maybe she would be happier. And surely there was nothing wrong with wanting to make a new witness happy, even if she wasn't his witness… and she had no idea he was with WITSEC… and he wanted her to like more than just her new home. Okay, so Stan would not approve, but what Stan would never know wouldn't hurt him.
"What?" Mary asked when he still hadn't spoken after several minutes. "Do I pie on my face or something?"
"No, you're perfect."
"So why are you staring at me like that?"
"How am I staring?"
"Like I'm…" she flushed and trailed off. "I don't know. It's weird."
"I feel like…" Marshall paused. This was insane. Objectively he knew that, and as soon as he said it out loud she would know it too. But he'd come this far, and somehow he couldn't seem to stop himself from blundering onward. "I feel like I've been waiting for you."
"That's insane." She said bluntly.
Mentally Marshall nodded in agreement. "I know. Doesn't stop me from feeling it though."
"What, do your parents write for Halmark or something?" Mary asked. She was looking at him like she wasn't quite sure if she should laugh him off or just run now. "Where did you come up with such a cheesy line."
Marshall shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers, a soft smile on his lips. "I know it sounds crazy, believe me, I know." He paused to give her a chance to respond. When she didn't be continued. "Will you come somewhere with me? There's something I want to show you."
It took a long time for Mary to respond. At least it felt like forever to Marshall who died a thousand painful deaths waiting to see if she would trust him. He had come on too strong, and the pessimistic side of him was just waiting for her to run. This was her out. He just hoped to heaven she didn't take it.
"Is this the part where you burry me in a shallow grave somewhere in the desert where no one will think to look?"
Her eyes sparkled with humour and Marshall felt a wave of relief. She hadn't said it, exactly, but he took the question as acceptance. "That's date two." He quipped.
"Well then, lead on." She rose to her feet and motioned for him to lead the way into the parking lot.
Marshall threw a twenty on the table, and the led the way out of the restaurant. He opened the car door for her. The gesture earned him another eye roll (and a muttered comment about second wave feminism that he didn't quite catch but probably didn't want to hear anyway) as she brushed past him, so close he could smell the green apple scent of her conditioner, and climbed into the leather passenger seat.
They didn't talk much on the drive. Mary fidgeted with the radio, reprogramming three of his pre-set stations so she could switch every time an ad came on. Marshall focused on the road in front of him and on not thinking about how much he wanted to tangle his fingers in her apple scented hair. The latter was pretty much a lost cause and he gave himself a mental pat on the back for keeping both hands on the wheel as they sped down the highway, putting the city behind them.
When they finally escaped the light pollution of the city, at least as much as they could without dedicating half the night to travel, Marshall pulled the SUV off to the side of the road and killed the engine.
"What, is it our second date already?" Mary joked, but there was an edge of unease to her voice.
Marshall laughed and then explained. "The desert comes alive at night. I thought maybe if you got to know it, you might miss the familiar city noises a little less."
"We drove all the way out here to listen to the desert." She did not look impressed.
He wasn't dissuaded. This was a good idea, he could feel it in his gut. He pocketed his keys and opened the door of the SUV. "That, and to look at the stars." Marshall stepped out onto the pavement and looked up at the sky. "I bet you've never seen this many in your life."
It was a perfect night for star gazing. Not a single cloud marred the deep blue of the sky and the moon had yet to rise. The only light came from the stars.
Marshall circled the truck and opened Mary's door. "Come on out," he said, amused to find she was still wearing her seatbelt.
Mary unbuckled and stepped slowly into the cool night air. "Jesus! It's freezing." She crossed her arms, rubbing her upper arms briskly.
"There's a coat in the trunk." Marshall popped the hatch and pulled out his US Marshal's jacket from its usual home on top of his go bag where he kept it when the weather outside was too warm to wear it. He never knew when he might need to be a visible law enforcement presence.
"Official." Mary said, plucking the coat from his hand. "I'm not going to get in trouble for wearing this am I? Impersonating an officer of the law or something."
"Would I do that?"
She zipped the jacket up. "No idea. We just met. Maybe you have a handcuff fetish or something." She flashed him a flirtatious smile.
Marshall had a brief, vivid image of her handcuffed to his headboard. He wasn't really a man for bondage, but he thought he might not mind having this woman confined to his bed.
"Has anyone ever told you that you blush like a twelve year old girl?"
Marshall rolled his eyes. "Shut up and look at the stars."
They leaned side by side against the back of the truck, half sitting on the bumper, heads tilted up, eyes fixed on the sky.
"I've never really understood star gazing." Mary said a minute later after dutifully staring at the sparkling expanse overhead.
"What's to understand?" Marshall asked, looking down at her. "You find a spot away from the city, and look at the sky. Enjoy the majesty of the universe."
"The majesty of the universe?" Her lips twitched with amusement. "Seriously, who are you?"
Marshall ignored the dig. "Look," he leaned in and pointed upwards so she could follow his line of sight. "That star there, in the middle of Cassiopeia."
"Cassiopeia, that's the W, right?"
"Yes. The star in the middle. Technically that is Gamma Cassiopeiae, but it was nicknamed Navi by American Astronaut Virgil Grissom, and in Chinese it is Tsih which means 'the whip.'" Marshall drew in a breath through his nose, his senses flooded with her scent. "It's 550 light-years away from earth. For all we know, it burnt out centuries ago and what we see is just an echo, radiating across space."
"They teach you all that at the Marshal's academy?"
"I like stars." Marshall said as if that explained everything.
"Okay. What about that one?" Mary pointed and Marshall leaned in until he could follow where her finger lead.
"That is Bellatrix. Sometimes also called the 'Amazon star' and forms the left shoulder of Orion."
Mary's head rested on Marshall's shoulder and even when she dropped her arm, she didn't pull away.
He continued. "There are many versions of the Orion myth, but all agree that Orion was a great hunter before he was killed, either by a scorpion or by an arrow from the bow of Artemis."
"Cheerful."
"Myths are supposed to teach us things. Orion is killed because he becomes too arrogant. His ultimate death teaches us-"
A coyote howled in the distance. "Even the coyotes want you to stop talking." Mary said, elbowing him lightly in the ribs.
"Actually, she's probably just telling the rest of the pack that we're here."
"Ah, so that's their dinner call?"
"Scared?" Marshall teased.
"Of a pack of carnivorous dogs who are howling like something out of hell?" Mary leaned a little harder into Marshall's side, though her voice remained light. "Never."
Marshall turned his head to look at her. His lips brushed her forehead and he felt rather than heard her sharp intake of breath.
Mary turned her head towards him. Their eyes locked and Mary licked her lower lip. She leaned in, her lips a breath away from his.
Suddenly Marshall pulled back.
Mary's eyes narrowed with a sudden flash of hurt. "I thought…"
Marshall took one of her hands in his. "I want to." He said, softly. "I just… You're married."
Mary pulled away from him, rising to her feet and jerking her hand free. "You knew that. You knew that when you asked me out."
Marshall ran both hands through his hair. His mind was racing in a hundred different directions. He wanted to kiss her. Of course he did. But he knew the moment he did, this would become real: he would be the kind of guy who tried to steal another man's wife. He'd make her the kind of woman who cheated on her husband. And as much as he wanted to know what it would be like, to press his lips to hers and lose himself in her kiss, he didn't know if he could take that step. That wasn't the man he was raised to be. That wasn't the man he wants to be.
"So when you said we should do the wrong thing that was what, a test? See if you could get a married woman?" Mary was in full rant mode, arms gesturing emphatically as she moved from hurt to angry. "Was that it?"
"No!" Marshall couldn't find the words to express the emotions flooding through him. How could she believe that? "Mary, I—"
"Forget it." She interrupted him. "Just… take me back. This was a mistake."
They drove back to the city in silence. It was only when they pulled into the parking lot at the Standard Diner and Mary reached for the door that Marshall spoke. "I meant everything I said."
Mary's face was blank and when she spoke her tone was businesslike showing not a trace of her earlier emotion. "I think you did." And with that she opened the door and climbed from the car. Marshall sat in the SUV staring out the windshield without seeing anything, calling himself every name for idiot he could think of until long after Mary's blue sedan had disappeared into the night.
The apartment was empty when Mary got home. For the first time since they had moved to Albuquerque, she was glad Mark had developed a rapid friendship with a few of his coworkers which kept him out until long after midnight several nights a week. She was still stinging from Marshall's rejection, though more in anger at herself for going out with him in the first place than for any other reason. On the off chance Mark actually noticed she was alive, she didn't want to have to explain why she couldn't muster a silly joke or a genuine smile through her disappointment.
She shook her head at her own thoughts. That last bit wasn't fair to Mark. She didn't begrudge him his friends. Mark had always been good at drawing people to him in a way Mary hadn't. If Mark was honey, Mary was a thistle. He drew people to him with his warm smile and good sense of humour; Mary stung anyone who came too close with her barbed humour and open distain for idiocy. It wasn't just that Mary didn't make friends easily either, it was that she really, for the most part, didn't want them to begin with.
No, she didn't begrudge Mark his easy friendships. But sometimes she wished he'd realize that she had a life in New Jersey too and now it was gone. She would never see her sister or her mother again. Well… that might be a blessing really, for all of us. But she missed them all the same. She worried about Brandi. Her sister was a mess of a human being, always calling up Mary for everything from a short term loan to advice on her latest train wreck of a relationship. When things with Mark were especially bleak – after almost 17 years of marriage, bleak was bound to happen – Mary thought she stayed with him because it gave Brandi the stability their alcoholic mother and missing in action, bank robber father had never been able to. And then of course she snapped out of it and reminded herself of all the reasons she and Mark were perfect for each other. Although, she couldn't help noticing that over the last five years that list had grown progressively shorter.
And then the unthinkable had happened. And she didn't mean unthinkable in the way most people do (as in the horrible possibility that could very well happen but you dare not think about it because it just might), but literally unimaginable. If someone had told her six months ago that Mark would witness a murder at his work and she would be scooped up by a US Marshal in a bad suit at eight in the morning before she'd even had her first cup of coffee and told she could never go home again, she would have told them in language none too polite to go sleep it off. Yet, that was what had happened. And now she was here, in Albuquerque, New Mexico. And for a brief time tonight, with stars overhead, coyotes' cries for music, and Marshall's shoulder as a pillow she hadn't minded one bit. But now she was 'home,' in the sparse, depressing WITSEC sponsored apartment she and Mark would share until they could save up enough money to go it on their own again, she realized what she should have known the first time Marshall spoke to her: she was a deluded fool.
Actually, marriage at eighteen might have been her first clue. It certainly did not bespeak any great wisdom. But Mark had been very much the man he was today: confident, sweet, persuasive, and seven years her senior. He'd had a motor cycle and a band back then and Mary had been convinced he was the perfect man. And truthfully, they had had a good marriage, for the most part.
No matter how bad the dark times got, and there had been times as dark and hopeless as black holes, she would never forget the time she told Mark she didn't want to have children. She'd been expecting a blow up, or at least a look that told her she had crushed one of his lifelong dreams. Instead, he'd kissed her firmly and said "Why would we need a kid? We have Brandi." Of course, she had pretended to be annoyed at him for making fun of her sister, but she didn't think she had even loved him more than she did in those few seconds.
Still, sixteen years was a long time to be just the two of you. Mark was successful at work, his honeyed tones and stylish dress were perfectly suited to a job in sales and he earned enough that Mary's paychecks went straight into their 'fun fund' for vacations or big renovations. He had been pressuring her to work less and less over the past few years, which had caused conflict. She knew people thought security guards were simply idiots who couldn't hack police training and weren't allowed to carry a gun, but Mary loved her job working security at the local bank. The irony of the daughter of James Shannon working anywhere near a bank, let alone as one of its guards, was not lost on her, but thankfully the issue didn't come up during the background check.
She had resented it sometimes, the casual way Mark treated her job and her earnings, as if it was some fun little hobby and not a serious job. She'd never been particularly political, but the occasional condescending comment from her husband usually triggered a flash of militant feminist zeal that made her want to burn her bra in protest. But he meant well, or she thought he did. She assured herself time and again that Mark didn't see her as a trophy wife, he just wanted to take care of her; it wasn't his fault she'd been taking care of her mom and sister since she was five and didn't know how to be the one taken care of. It also wasn't his fault that just when the domesticity of it all stopped chaffing they were whisked away to Albuquerque and she had to carve out a whole new way to be happy. Which admittedly would have been easier if Mark had found the move even a little difficult. She didn't begrudge him his friends, but she envied his ability to make them, and wished he realized how much harder this was for her.
Which was why she'd fallen for Marshall's act, for an act she believed it to be. It had been so nice to be seen. Marshall had fixed those incredibly blue eyes on her and told her he was the man to make her happy and like a fool she had believed him. She'd never been looked at like that before. Not even by Mark. It was like he could see her soul. It was terrifying. It made her want to strip him naked and do all kinds of nasty things to him. Somehow she felt like seeing him naked, mouth open, begging beneath her might make that penetrating ice-blue stare feel less… whatever it was that she felt, if there was a word for it, she didn't know it. When she closed her eyes those eyes seemed burned into the back of her eyelids and the emotion in them which she refused to name sent shivers down her spine.
She wasn't sure which part made her feel more foolish, that she thought she had discovered the kind of connection that only exists in the movies she pretends not to like because they're totally unrealistic, or because she believed him that she deserved real happiness. It was probably the latter, because thinking that had required her to accept a thought she had been ruthlessly cutting down for years: she wasn't happy. And now she'd let the thought out she didn't think she could force it down again. She, Mary Stuber, once Mary Shannon now Mary Sheppard, was not happy. She hadn't been happy, not truly happy, in years. And the worst part of this realization, apart from the aching hole in her gut, was that she couldn't remember being happy well enough to know when she had stopped.
No, that wasn't quite right. She'd been happy tonight. In the diner, eating Marshall's coconut cream pie, and in the desert, listening to his deep voice telling her of long dead gods. That was the worst part. Because he didn't want her. He was just after the chase. She'd known men like him. Hell, if she hadn't married Mark she might be him. As sleep pressed its warm dark weight down on her eyelids, Mary made a decision. If it's the chase you want, Marshall, game on.
Ten Days Later
Fate was kind of a bitch, Mary thought, chasing a bite of vanilla donut down with a large swig of dark roast coffee. Before their date, if a night that started with pie and ended with a humiliating almost kiss could be called a date, when Mary had been certain she wanted nothing to do with the tall, slightly gawky man, she had seen Marshall everywhere. She'd literally run into him one day, and every other day seemed to bring at least a passing glimpse of him as they just missed each other at Starbucks, the grocery store, and she'd even seen him driving down the street while she waited for the bus. Now she had decided the only way to get him out of her head was to get him in bed, he had disappeared off the face of the earth.
Not a day had passed without Mary making at least one stop at Starbucks. She and Mark had even had a fight about it last night, which was ridiculous. Mary had been spoiling for a good fight for days and when Mark suggested, the third time her tossing in the night woke him, that she might sleep better if she lay off the coffee habit, Mary had bitten his head off. It had escalated quickly. Mary hadn't slept well in ten days. There were inscrutable blue eyes burned into her eyelids and a persistent nagging fear of what might slip from her lips if she did sleep, so Mary tossed and turned, never managing more than a few minutes at a time of actual sleep. Consequently, Mark didn't sleep either and the moment the fight started it seemed to take on a life of its own. Soon they were arguing vehemently over Mary's late hours and the fact that she came home smelling of vodka, cigarettes and cannabis, and then Mary snarled, "At least I don't come home reeking of cheap perfume," which started a whole new argument about Mark's new friends. "I could have stayed in New Jersey!" Mary snapped, "It's not like you'd miss me."
When they had screamed themselves out, around four thirty in the morning, the fight ended like all of their fights. "Jesus you're hot when you're angry." Mark growled, tangling his hand in her hair and pulling her in for a kiss. Mary's body responded to his familiar touch, but though he knew just how to touch her to make her body shudder and shake with waves of pleasure before crashing into orgasm, she couldn't shake a vague feeling that this was wrong, like she was cheating.
The problem that kept her awake long after Mark began to snore was that she was pretty sure it wasn't wanting to cheat on Mark that left her feeling so guilty. Somehow, against all logic and certainly against her will, the tiny, stupid, and ultimately futile flirtation she had shared with Marshall had become the real relationship. Even as she had gasped in pleasure as Mark thrust into her, she had closed her eyes and in her mind's eye the soft hair between her fingers was brown.
Draining the last few drops of coffee from her cup, Mary rose to her feet. Burt's opened in an hour and she had promised Teddy, one of the two bouncers at Burt's, she would help him set up the stage for that night's performers. If she didn't get a move on she would be late, yet she couldn't quite bring herself to move at full speed as she wound her way through the rows of tiny round tables to the exit, eyes peeled for a familiar head of brown hair and a pair of perplexing blue eyes.
Ten Hours Later…
"Goodnight." Mary said, waving to Teddy. She was the kind of woman who took pride in taking care of herself, but it was nice to have men like Teddy around just in case anything came up she couldn't shut down solo, so she did her best to keep the snark in check and stay on good terms with both of Burt's bouncers.
"See you tomorrow." Teddy said, climbing into his green jeep.
Mary turned to the bus stop for the fifteen minute ride home and then stopped. Barely twenty feet away was Marshall, leaning against the grill of a back SUV, legs stretched out, one crossed over the other. Those eyes, the ones that had been haunting her dreams, bored into her even from this distance. "I looked for you." She said as she walked towards him. There was accusation, hurt, and anger in her voice.
"I know." His was filled with a kind of longing and pain she didn't understand; it was as if the look in his eyes had been distilled into sound and it hurt somewhere in her gut to hear it.
"Why are you here?" She stopped short, crossed her arms over her chest and focused on his nose so she wouldn't have to deal with those eyes. They made her feel powerless and that was terrifying.
"I tried not to be."
She shifted her gaze an inch up and to the right, his eyes were glued to her. She felt the kick to the gut again, but this time she didn't look away. She wanted him. She wanted him more than she could remember wanting anything. "Take me to your place." She said. It was a command, or it was meant to be. It came out a little breathless and she hated herself for letting her desire show.
But he nodded, those electrifying eyes never leaving her face, and she suddenly didn't care if he knew how much she wanted him. She was going to ride this cowboy until those beautiful blue eyes crossed and he saw stars. Then she would have the power, and all would be right in the world. Mark was never home before one on Fridays. Sometimes he didn't come home at all. He wouldn't miss her, and if he did she would just tell him she crashed with a co-worker. She was pretty sure he wouldn't care enough to probe further.
Marshall's home was clean, almost Spartan. Not that Mary noticed. She had him pressed against the wall almost before he could close the door. Hands ripped at shirts and fumbled with buckles as he steered her towards the first door in the hall. Her lips nipped at his throat, it was as high as she could reach without standing on her toes. She licked his clavicle and he groaned. He wrapped his hand in her hair and his lips crashed down on hers. Mary thought she saw stars. Then again that could have just been oxygen deprivation, she definitely forgot to breathe. He pressed her back into the mattress, pushed her panties aside and entered her. She cried out, clinging to his shoulders. He used one arm on the headboard for leverage and somehow it wasn't about power anymore, it was about every inch of him rubbing against every inch of her, waves of sensation crashing one on top of the other. Her toes curled. She dug her fingers into his back. Oh GOD! Like that, yes,yes,yes,yes, oh sweet mother of Jesus, oh, oh, oooooh.
He collapsed half on top of her, half beside and claimed her lips in another kiss that seemed to pull the oxygen from her very blood. She ran her hand over his lightly haired chest, exploring. She would give him time to recover, but then they were doing that again. Only this time, she was going to be on top.
Thirteen Days Later…
"So what exactly does a US Marshal do?" It was Friday afternoon. Mark was working at the dealership and Mary was sprawled, stark naked, on Marshall's bed, watching appreciatively as he dressed to go back to work.
"Marshals are the enforcement arm of the federal courts." Marshall said, shrugging on a fresh shirt. He cast a glance at the one he'd been wearing this morning, blushing at he imagined explaining to Rosa, his tailor, why he suddenly needed so many buttons replaced. "The agency was formed by the Judiciary Act passed by Congress on September 24, 1789. That act gave marshals, who were appointed and served a four year term, the power to enforce the court's decisions and to deputise civilians to help him when needed. The name marshal was actually inspired by a letter George Washington wrote in 1785 to Congr-."
Mary threw a pillow at him. "I didn't ask for the complete and unabridged history, doofus. I asked what you do when you're not here with me."
Marshall kept his eyes glued on the buttons of his shirt. He hated this part, lying to her, but the longer he kept it up, the more he got to know her, the more afraid he was that the moment she learned the truth she would be gone. "I'm pretty much a glorified security guard." He said, choosing the closest thing to the truth he could think of. "I'm there to protect the judge. Sometimes I execute writs or help with prisoner transport to and from the courthouse."
"So you're like a federal body guard?" Mary asked, rising from the bed.
Marshall looked up and for a moment his brain stuttered to a halt. He didn't think he would ever get used to how beautiful she was, or get sick of looking at her. Marshall wasn't inexperienced, he'd been with over a dozen women since losing his virginity to Katinka, the foreign exchange student from Iceland, at fourteen, but he had never been with a woman who was so comfortable in her own skin. Mary walked towards him, her full breasts bouncing ever so slightly with every step, moving in the way only real breasts could. His eyes slid from her breasts over the curve of her hips to the dark thatch of curls between her legs. Everything about her radiated woman, real, natural, mature, sexy woman. Marshall inwardly cursed his witnesses for needing him when he would so much rather stay here, but need him they did and so, with an effort, he tore his eyes away from her glorious, naked body and reached for his pants.
Mary pulled on her own clothes deliberately slowly, enjoying the shades of red she could evoke in his pale cheeks. She'd never been with a man who showed emotions so readily on his face. She thought she could get used to this.
Once they were both fully clothed and Marshall had brushed his hair into something other than a just-thoroughly-fucked-disarray, he pulled Mary in for a lingering kiss. "I have to go out of town for a few days." He told her when they broke apart.
Mary studied his face silently before asking in a teasing voice, "Not trying to get rid of me already are you?"
He kissed her again, pouring every bit of emotion he could into it. "Never." He said in a husky voice, pulling her against his chest and burying his nose in her hair. He breathed her in, eyes closed. It was only a five day transfer, taking one of Charlie's witnesses to Cincinnati to give testimony, but still, he would miss her sardonic commentary and her presence in his bed.
Since that night, thirteen days ago they had spent every moment they could together. It wasn't enough. She couldn't always get away, not without Mark getting suspicious. Though Marshall knew, even better perhaps than Mary, how dangerous it would be for them if Mark realized what was going on, the hours he knew she was with her husband were agony. Jealousy was a poisonous monster whose venom burned hot in his veins and kept him awake at night with unwanted visions of the cocky blond hipster caressing her curves with meaty hands.
Unconsciously Marshall tightened his hold on her. "What will you do while I'm gone?"
Mary brought her hands up to rest on his chest, placing enough distance between them that she could look him in the eye. "Work mostly. Why, are you worried I'll find someone else?"
Marshall's jaw tensed at the thought.
A coquettish smile spread over Mary's face. "You're not jealous, are you?" She teased, running a finger across his lower lip.
"Very." Marshall kissed the tip of her finger. "I envy every man, woman, and child who looks at you; every wind that tussles that beautiful blond hair; every piece of clothing that caresses your skin; I envy each and every single quark that is near you when I am not."
Mary wanted to make a sarcastic reply, especially to the last bit, she was pretty sure there was no such thing as a 'quark,' unless it was a reference to some Dr. Seuss book she's repressed from childhood, but somehow the words wouldn't come. It was those eyes. They burned with sincerity and she knew that he meant every stupidly cheesy syllable.