SPOILERS: through the end of season two
NOTES: The episode Mommy's Bosses, aside from being quite probably the best season finale I've ever seen, made me very happy. I had hoped for but not expected some milestone in the relationship between Diana and Marco. I could never have guessed they'd give us that completely sizzling kiss! With such a foundation to build upon, how could I resist? Thank you, PurpleYin, for the beta.
DISCLAIMER: The 4400 and all things associated with it belong to other people.
WANT VS NEED
She had been deeply moved. Marco had caught flack from Nina for helping her before, but then he had placed his job on the line in a ruse meant to protect Maia's privacy. No one else considered this intangible yet fundamental right to be equal in value to the information that might be gleaned from her precognizant child's diary. Was it because Maia was a juvenile? Was it because she was one of the 4400? Only Marco had sympathized enough to do something; only he had been clever and creative enough to come up with solution. Her heart had literally skipped a beat in shock and awe when he'd offered her the fake diary to hand over to NTAC.
At first, Diana had thought the potency of her reaction to Marco's aid had been intensified by the emotional turmoil of having just killed a woman. As an agent, using her gun in the line of duty was always a possibility. Like the first time she'd shot someone, the loss of Jean Baker still weighed on her heavily, but as the days progressed, her feelings regarding Marco's conduct had deepened instead of diminishing. Upon reflection, it hadn't been the first time he had moved her with his consideration. The night before Baker's death, his moral support and offer of fresh coffee had drawn her out of her frustration, and she'd wanted to express her gratitude, though she hadn't been sure how.
He was always there for her in a way no one else had been in years. Professionally and personally, she could confide in him, and she could trust her child to his care. Both he accepted willingly, even on short notice, yet for months she had been brushing off his teasing offers for a date. After the diary, she had been tempted to ask him out, herself, but then the situation with Mayuya had become heated and Maia'd had another vision, followed by her illness. Fate had seemed determined to keep her too distracted to seriously consider Marco's interest or her own. It was difficult to worry about romance when your little girl might be dying from some mysterious, incurable disease.
Of course, it'd turned out it hadn't been a disease at all, and, thanks to Marco, they'd finally uncovered the horrible truth. Unlike the charming but pusillanimous Dr. Max Hudson, Marco had, once again, been willing to do what was right at the risk of his career and personal freedom. The secret documents he'd opened for her and Tom had eventually resulted in a cure for the 4400. He'd even provided them with the kernel of knowledge that had lead to Joan Ormand and the Firewall document, which had brought down Ryland and ended the showdown between NTAC and the 4400. Where it not for Marco's efforts on their behalf, Maia, Shawn, Alana and countless others could have died. Considering Max's mysterious demise, it was possible she and Tom might have been killed, as well.
She had felt so angry, frustrated and, worst of all, helpless. She had wanted to scream and shout, to fight and avenge her daughter. She had come so close to putting a bullet in Hudson's head, and then someone else had done it for her, adding to the shock of discovering NTAC medical's deadly secret. Holding her child in her arms, rescued from the brink of death--relief didn't begin to cover the flood of emotions she had felt. Now that the crisis was over, it was difficult not to appreciate all Marco had done for them, for her. She was almost disgusted with her indecision. They'd wasted enough time, and she had no intention of wasting any more. After being separated from Maia for so long, she needed some alone time with her daughter, but she was taking the next few days off, whether NTAC approved or not. It would be time enough to spend plenty with her daughter and have enough to spare for Marco.
After Maia had finished her final medical exam and was released from quarantine, Diana made a quick stop at NTAC. With Lemon clutched in one hand and a juice box in the other, Maia reassured her that she was okay waiting in the car a few minutes; she seemed to sense her mother's urgency.
Diana hastily told the entry guards what had happened as she blew through security, barely registering their congratulations. In impatience, she pressed the elevator's down button a second and third time, silently willing it to move faster. Once in the basement, she all but jogged to the Theory Room. The gang looked up in surprise at her hasty entry.
"Is Maia okay?" asked Marco, rising from his desk to greet her with a worried frown.
"She's fine. It worked." She beamed at him. "Somehow it all worked. I wanted to be sure you knew. I really owe you for this."
His grin was mischievous. "You still owe me for countering the signal."
"One of these days, you'll have to explain to me how you did that." She said it knowing full well what his response would be.
"How about tonight?"
"It'll be Maia's first night back, and she's still not feeling well..." Marco nodded in understanding. "How about tomorrow?"
Were it not for the quiet whir of cooling fans and harddrives, they could have heard a pin drop in the sudden silence that settled over the Theory Room. All eyes were on Diana, and every mouth was agape, including Marco's. It pleased her to have caused a crack in his perpetually smooth countenance. Closing his mouth, he gestured for her to leave the room and followed behind her. He shut the door with a decisive click and glanced down the hall to be sure it was deserted before returning his attention to her.
"Do you mean it?" His hands fidgeted as though he was unsure what to do with them. He finally stuck them in his pockets.
"Sure." She began walking back to the elevator, and he fell naturally into step beside her. "Making you dinner is the least we can do for all you've done."
"We?" There was no hiding the confusion in his voice.
"Me and Maia." She almost felt guilty for being obtuse about her intentions. But teasing him was fun, and she felt too good to feel anything but happy. "I think it would make her feel better, too, like a little celebration. Maybe we could dress up a little."
"I can do that."
"Not too fancy, just something different from work." Diana had only seen him in work and casual weekend clothes. "I feel like I never get to wear anything else."
"You have been working almost nonstop lately." Marco nodded sympathetically. "So...should I bring anything?"
"I don't know. I haven't thought about what to cook, yet."
"With Maia, Italian's always a safe bet."
"Well, I love Italian," agreed Diana. With effort, she maintained the appearance of thoughtful innocence and managed not to smile.
Marco grinned outright at this as he absently swiped his thumb across the elevator's security sensor. "So, maybe wine?"
"No, I have a bottle I've been saving. How about some of that gelato you brought that one time."
"Strawberry and chocolate?"
"Sounds good."
"Done. When should I come?"
"Whenever you'd like; it's going to be a stay at home day. I'll probably start cooking around three or so." The elevator reached the basement with a ding, and she stepped in. "See you tomorrow, Marco."
"See you tomorrow." His eyes never left her face.
After the doors closed, Diana thought she heard an enthusiastic whoop from the other side and couldn't decide if she should be embarrassed or amused.
Impulsiveness was not one of Diana's strong suits. She preferred situations with controllable, manageable, predictable outcomes, like scientific experiments or well planned missions. This was why taking in Maia had caused her so much anxiety. While everything had worked out well, there had been no telling what would happen by letting a little girl into her life. Marco offered a whole new set of potential complications. Although she appreciated she couldn't put this off indefinitely--indeed, some part of her was impatient to take the first step--in the light of morning, little doubts began to work their way into her psyche.
Marco's a better cook than I am. What could I make that would impress him? What should I wear? What kind of impression do I want to give him? How do I let him know what I feel without opening myself up for more than I can handle right now? And what exactly do I feel, anyway?
What the hell was I thinking?
Okay. Big doubts.
"Mom, I think that one's ready to flip."
Diana snapped out of her reverie and flipped the pancake she'd been cooking. It was dark brown. "I'll eat that one." Setting aside the spatula, Diana knelt down in front of her daughter. "Maia you're awake." One night's peaceful rest had made a huge difference. There were no more spots on her face or flush on her cheeks. Just seeing her standing under her own power with her sleep-rumpled hair and colorful pajamas--as she had on countless regular mornings--caused something bright and fierce to burn in her chest. Indulging that feeling, she hugged Maia tightly until its intensity diminished a bit. Pulling back, she put her hand on Maia's forehead.
"I mainly feel tired and itchy," she said in response to the unasked question.
Tucking a blond lock behind Maia's ear, she smiled. "The real question is: Do you feel like pancakes?"
"Well, that's a silly question." Sniffing the air, she grinned knowingly. "...though I'd like mine to not be burned."
Diana managed not to burn any more as she talked about what they might do for the day and what she was planning for the evening. Maia didn't seem to mind the idea of dressing up and having Marco over for dinner, and the trio of movies that had arrived from Netflix while she was sick seemed to be more than enough for the day's entertainment. Thankfully, they had a healthy stock of microwave popcorn. They also discussed what Maia should and shouldn't talk about with other people. As much as Maia might want to share with her friend Carrie everything that had happened, until the dust had settled at NTAC, Diana preferred her daughter not divulge some of the more revealing details.
While Maia took a bath--a record second in twelve hours--Diana surfed online for recipes. There were so many sites and so many choices, it began to make her head spin. Unravel scientific conundrums? Sure, no problem. Decide between tomato or cream sauce; chicken, seafood, meat or sausage; linguini, penne or angel hair? And then there was the thought of side dishes. It was enough to make her want to pull out her hair.
I don't want Maia to grow up not knowing how to cook, like I did.
"It'll be okay."
Looking from the screen to her child's freshly scrubbed face, Diana considered Maia's expression. "Are you saying that because your visions have come back or to make me feel better?"
Maia rolled her eyes. "I'm saying it because it's true. It doesn't matter what you choose or what it tastes like. What matters is that you're doing it for him."
How did I end up with such a wise child?
Reaching out, she drew her daughter close enough to kiss her cheek. Swiveling her chair, she had Maia sit in her lap and turned back to the computer. "In that case, what sounds good to you?"
They settled on a classic--spaghetti and meatballs with salad and garlic bread. Comparing a half dozen different recipes, Diana added them together, divided by six and placed her order with Simon Delivers. By noon, she had her ingredients and a few extra goodies for Maia and Marco and herself.
To her surprise, the buzz of the intercom caused Diana's heart to leap. She'd been wiping the spots from a wine glass and nearly dropped it. Setting the glass and dish towel aside, she trotted over to the intercom and leaned on the button. "Is Marco here?"
"Yes, Ms. Skouris."
"Please send him up, Alberto."
Moving back to the kitchen, she poured a glass of wine and set it on the island. Picking up her own glass, she realized she wouldn't have time to finish polishing it and decided it would give her something to occupy her hands and time, later. So she set her glass back down and returned to wait by the entry. Through the door came the subtle sounds of someone walking down the hall, but there was no knock. In a moment of impatience and anticipation overcoming sanity, she opened the door.
Well, that's different, she thought, trying not to laugh at Marco's colorful shirt. Despite its jarringly bold contrasts and pattern, it was not only neatly pressed, it flattered his figure, emphasizing the difference between the breadth of this shoulders and the narrowness of his hips. This was most definitely not a regular work shirt. Matched with an equally well pressed pair of black slacks and a pair of shoes that looked both Italian and expensive, he cut a very fine and fashionable, if somewhat flamboyant, figure.
"There you are."
Marco seemed to need a moment to take in her appearance, as well. It was unusual for his gaze to wander away from her eyes, but it strayed everywhere, even becoming momentarily stuck on her feet. She felt a sense of satisfaction at having achieved the desired effect. Then again, she only had two dresses.
"You look..." he hesitated, as though to compliment her appearance was taboo, "a lot more relaxed. It's good to have all this over, huh?"
"Yeah." She scanned his face, briefly wondering what he looked like without his glasses. "Come in. I'm just getting started." Even with the shirt, she couldn't help but notice the lovely bouquet of flowers he was carrying; they were one of her favorite kinds. "You didn't have to bring flowers." Apparently, he'd stopped to pick up her paper, it was tucked behind the bright red blossoms.
"Well, I...figured there were three good reasons for some." He ticked them off on his free hand. "They wouldn't let people in quarantine have anything, so they're belated get well flowers; any celebration is more festive with some, and we have every reason to celebrate; plus, you should always bring something extra for your hostess."
"You've really thought this through."
"Not as much as you might think," he shrugged.
That made her laugh. "Here," she held out her hands for the flowers, "let's get those in some water."
She was almost to the kitchen when she realized he wasn't behind her. Although tempted to turn around and see what was keeping him, some vain part of her pointed out that he'd just gotten his first look at the back of her dress. While hardly daring, she was well aware it was more of her than he'd ever seen before. Smiling to herself, she heard him open the freezer and put gelato inside while she filled a vase with water. One of the aspects she liked about Gerber daisies was that they didn't really need any effort in arranging. Catching a whiff of the wine beside the sink, she remembered her tasks as hostess. "Let me know what you think of the wine." She took for granted he'd know that meant the glass was for him.
Turning around, she made her way to the dining room, and he smoothly stepped out of her way. "So...where's Maia?"
"In her room." Setting the flowers on the table, she spun the vase a bit until she liked how they looked, then started lighting the candles--all special dinners deserved candlelight, especially romantic ones. "She hasn't gotten ready, yet."
She could sense him watching her though the opening between the kitchen and dining room. "She's feeling okay." It was a statement and a question.
"She's still tired and isn't over that awful rash, but yeah, she's doing much better."
"You really didn't have to do this, you know." Had he taken that the wrong way?
"Actually..." She set the lighter down. "I really think I needed to."
It's well overdue.
He dropped the paper on the kitchen table and sat himself on one of the stools. "Huh." He said it like someone puzzling something out. There was a lot to puzzle over, but she detected a hint of teasing disappointment.
"Huh, what?" She finished rubbing the spots from her wine glass.
The nonchalant tone of his voice belied his restless, boyish swiveling on the stool and the hint of a smile that played across his lips. "You're supposed to say, 'I wanted to.'"
"Oh."
So that's what he's puzzling over. She set her glass down and tossed the dish towel aside. Time to set him straight.
"Yeah," she muttered unenthusiastically as she crossed the kitchen, glancing over the food on the table and barely repressing her grin of anticipation. Stopping squarely in front of him, she met his curious gaze as she reached out to grasp his head in her hands, tilting his glasses up with her thumbs. Perhaps there was a hint of expectation, some flicker of hope in his eyes, but he seemed confused for the most part.
"Don't push your luck," she said with a smile, then she leaned in to kiss him. Through half-lidded eyes, she watched as his gaze slid from her right eye to her left, then finally to her mouth. Whether out of instinct or surprise, his lips parted just in time. His response was tender and sweet, though it seemed to take a moment for the rest of him to catch up, his eyes finally snapping shut and his hand reaching for her face. Nestled in her hair, his fingers gently brushed her neck, his thumb caressing her cheek in a silent, cautious request for more. As stimulating as those sensations were, they took a back seat to his kiss. After the first taste of him, she pulled back slightly, and he followed, his lips wanting but not greedy, exuding a quiet, patient passion that was uniquely Marco. It was divine. Closing her eyes, she let herself indulge in a moment of pure feeling.
Why did I wait so long to do this?
There was no question of how he felt about her, as though there ever could have been, but this open, intimate expression of his interest stirred something fiery inside of her, something she wasn't completely ready to explore, least of all in her kitchen with her child in the next room. She had thought the setting would keep him in check, but it seemed she was the one who was tempted to get carried away. It was time to stop.
Opening her eyes, she withdrew, her lips just brushing his, sharing his minty, wine-flavored breath, flirting with temptation. She was surprised by her reflection in his glasses, her eyes dilated, ardent, happy. Delighted yet self-conscious, she slipped his glasses back down and returned to the other side of the kitchen table, all but smirking at the results of her little experiment. Behind her, there was a long silence broken by an awed and reverent, "Whoa..."
Filling her wine glass, she heard him clear his throat. "Uh..." What to say after that? The paper rustled in his hands as he searched for words. "Uh, looks like they're, uh, talking about charging those people with murder...Ryland, the whole crew." Having recovered her own internal balance, she turned to him with her glass. "Looks like mommy's going to get a whole bunch of new bosses."
Her thoughts turned briefly vengeful. "Well, I hope they go away for a very long time. I'll be in the front row at the hearings."
"Guess I have to buy a suit." With a grin, he set down the paper in favor of his wine glass. "I'm gonna be sitting next to you until the whole thing's over."
She didn't need a thinly veiled declaration of his commitment to her; his actions had spoken loudly enough. Even so, it made something inside her liquefy, as though another internal wall had dissolved under the relentless barrage of his personal warmth. Smiling, she raised her glass to him. Leaning across the table, his met hers with a crystalline clink.
"Nothing's over." Maia appeared like a ghost, her tone shattering the warm moment. "It's just starting."
Dread curled in Diana's gut as she turned her attention to her daughter. "Sweetie, what are you talking about? What's starting?"
"The war," she declared solemnly.
Her gaze flicked to Marco. He was staring at Maia with an unsettled emotion she couldn't quite decipher. To her knowledge, he'd never heard one of Maia's predictions, and this was certainly a big one. A part of her was sitting somewhere high up, cool and detached, waiting to pass judgment on his reaction. As though sensing her gaze, he looked up, a resigned smile on his lips. "Why don't you two go talk about this while I keep busy in here."
"I'm sorry, Marco."
They both turned to Maia, and Marco laughed. "Do you have control of your visions?"
"No."
"Are you going to start this war?"
Maia shook her head, setting her pigtails swinging.
"Then the only thing you have to be sorry about is that time you kept sneaking Halloween candy then threw up on the bathmat while I was in charge." He slipped lithely off the stool and faced Diana. "So...what can I do?"
How can he sound so enthusiastic?
"Are you sure?" The evening was supposed to be about him, about them.
"We have to eat, right?" He shrugged and smiled. His acceptance made her want to kiss him again.
Glancing around, she quickly assessed what needed doing. "Maybe you could slice the baguette? And I haven't finished polishing the glasses..."
"I'll get on it." He walked around the far end of the island and stopped at her side. "You going to need your wine?"
For some reason, his words and his presence behind her pushed her into action, like he was her personal springboard. "I... No. Thanks." She left him and leaned down to pick up her daughter. A pang of remorse shot through her as she realized Maia was almost too big to be carried. Moving to the living room, they settled on the couch for a long, serious talk about things to come.
By the time Diana and Maia had finished discussing her dire vision, it was half past four. Marco had apparently found her recipe and menu in an attempt to keep busy. All that was left for her was to put the garlic bread in the oven, boil the pasta and cook the meatballs. He'd even made her tomato sauce taste better.
Dinner went surprisingly well, given the circumstances. Maia ate a healthy volume, and Marco was able to keep the conversation going, talking about normal things, as though intent on avoiding anything negative. He even mentioned his niece had taped all of Maia's favorite shows that she'd missed while sick. Even so, once they were done with their gelato, Maia excused herself to her room.
Marco offered to do the dishes so Diana could spend more time with her daughter, but she knew Maia needed some time alone. Feeling there was no sense in maintaining the pretense of a romantic evening, she blew out the candles, slipped on an apron and started washing up. Insisting on drying, she found his dark, loud shirt a distracting contrast from the plain, white dishtowel. He tried to keep up the conversation, even going so far as to point out how the vision was a positive sign of Maia's recovery, but her monosyllabic responses eventually squashed his attempts. With the sound of rushing water and the banal rhythms of the everyday chore, she was able to briefly find respite from her jumbled thoughts, or so she thought. At some point, she was drawn back into the present by Marco shutting off the water. She was gripping the edge of the sink with a white-knuckled fury as she slowly became aware of her scowling reflection in the darkened window over the sink. Then she felt Marco's hand on her shoulder, a warm palm and cool fingertips against her bare skin. His touch sent a shiver through her and so consumed her senses she almost missed the words that accompanied it.
"It'll be all right."
Turning to him, she saw that thoughtful look she'd decided once before was Marco trying to hide his concern. She blinked at him, belatedly processing his comment.
"How do you know?"
"You won't let anything happen to her." The corners of his mouth thinned subtly in a suppressed smile.
She'd kissed that mouth. It had been so long since she'd kissed a man or felt anything remotely close to desire. For months, she'd wanted to see what it was like, and now that she had, she wanted more. But this was not the time. "I let NTAC poison her."
"You helped find and administer a cure, and you'll help make sure those responsible pay for what they've done."
"I can't protect her from her visions."
"No one can." His thumb stroked her shoulder. No doubt it was meant to be reassuring, but all it did was make her more aware of him physically. When had it happened? When had she started seeing him as a man, not a friend? Why had she been resisting for so long?
"I can't even protect her from being teased by other kids because of her out-of-date tastes."
At this, Marco smiled outright. Releasing her shoulder, he let his hand slide down her arm to her wrist, causing a sensual riot to course through her. By taking both of her hands, he forced her to face him. "Why did you adopt Maia?"
She didn't quite follow his change of track and answered automatically. "She needed a mom."
"Couldn't someone else have been her mom?"
"Okay." For some reason, needing to clarify irked her a bit. "So I wanted to be her mom."
"And why did you want to be her mom?"
"Because she's sweet and well behaved and all alone and her power makes her life so difficult-"
"You wanted to be her mom because she's easy to handle and you feel sorry for her?" Normally, he never cut her off.
"No!" Normally he never put her on the defensive, either. She forcibly lowered her voice. "I love her."
"Exactly." He smiled at her confused irritation.
"What are you getting at, Marco?"
"You didn't adopt Maia because you thought it would be easy, right? No matter where or when we live, bad things will always happen." His thumbs absently stroked the backs of her hands as he worked his way through his argument. "Love is more than Saturday matinees and pancakes on Sunday mornings. Love wouldn't be so important if it were that insubstantial. Sharing the good times is wonderful, but it's being there in bad times that truly defines love. You can't protect her from her life. What matters is that you're with her, helping her, reassuring her, supporting her so she can work her way through the tough parts, just like every other loving parent has tried to do since the beginning of mankind."
Marco didn't always say what she wanted to hear, but he had a knack for telling her what she needed to hear. She smiled grimly. "That almost sounds like an elaborate way of saying, 'suck it up, Skouris.'"
"Would it have been better if that's what I'd said?" There was humor in his tone.
"Probably not." Glancing down, some facet of her psyche fixated on how well her hands fit into his. She confessed, "I'd just hoped it would be normal troubles, like having her hamster die, getting dumped, backing into another car--that sort of thing, not war."
"You're thinking of getting her a hamster?"
"No."
"Good, because she really wants a dog."
She looked up into his warm, smiling eyes and smiled back. How does he do it?
"You're still high from that kiss." It pleased her that saying so caused his gaze to drop to her lips.
"Maybe a bit," he admitted with a shrug and a small smile. "But someone has to tell you these things."
"That Maia wants a dog?"
"That you're not your parents."
He said it so simply that the impact of it blindsided her. Giving her hands a squeeze, he let them go and began putting away the glasses, leaving her to recover from the potency of his words.
They finished the dishes in relative silence, the only sounds that of the radio and their efforts. As she stored the the fancy little crystal bowls they'd used for the gelato, it occurred to her that they made a good team. She had gravitated toward Marco at work because they tended to bring out the best in each other's ideas, but here, in her kitchen, in her home, in her life, they worked smoothly together. The realization gave her a sense of peace, of sanctuary.
It was odd. She had thought herself stronger for being independent and self-sufficient. Experience had taught her not to rely on others, yet knowing she could rely on him, whether she needed to or not, was reassuring. And she wanted that reassurance. Her parents' love had always been conditional; no matter how hard she'd tried, how close to perfection she'd gotten, it had never been enough. But for Marco and Maia...
"It's...getting late."
She turned to find him leaning in the kitchen's entry, hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched, as though unsure of himself. She smiled at him, and he straightened, smiling in return.
"Should I say good night to Maia?"
With a wave to the dining room, she replied, "It's about time we see what she's up to."
He stepped aside to let her pass, following her to Maia's door. Diana was surprised that there seemed to be no light coming from beneath it.
Is she really in bed already?
Her knock was answered by a, "Yeah?"
She cracked the door open. "Marco's leaving, now. Do you want to say good-bye?"
From the purple-tinted darkness came, "Good-bye, Marco. Thanks for the gelato."
"You're welcome. Good night, Maia."
Diana closed Maia's door and resisted the urge to touch him as she guided him to the entry. Then she wondered why she resisted. Looping her arm around his, she felt him briefly stiffen then relax. Looking up, she found him gazing at her with such complete contentment, she briefly lost track of everything else and nearly tripped over her own doorjamb. In a comfortable silence, she escorted him to the elevator, then he let go to face her.
"I had a really nice time tonight." He smiled sheepishly. "...except for the whole imminent war thing."
"I did, too."
He stuck his hands in his pockets with a wistful shrug. "I suppose...I should be going..."
"Not just yet."
She stepped closer to reach up and remove his glasses; they had been an amusing nuisance last time. Leisurely, she examining Marco's face without them. With his flawless complexion, thick black hair and beautiful brown eyes, he really was a handsome man. Usually fairly guarded in his reactions, she was surprised at the open vulnerability she read in him. His gaze scanned her face from brow to chin. At last resting his focus on her lips, he leaned close but stopped short, letting her decide. They shared breath for a moment, the tempting scent of mint tickling her nose. When had he had a mint? Just above his collar, she could see the pulse pounding in his slender neck and extended a hand to touch it. He sucked in a little gasp as though she'd burned him, yet his skin was so much warmer than her fingertips. There was something magical about it all, like they were in a little world of their own making, a refuge from the constant crises of her life. Closing the distance, she covered his lips with her own.
At first, his response was slow and careful, as if he was memorizing every contour of her lips. His hands leisurely roamed her back until they eventually settled, one on the small of her back, the other in her hair. He drew her gently against him, and it made a warm, full feeling blossom in her chest. But she wanted more. Raising her other hand to his neck, she stroked his lightly stubbled jaw with her thumbs and sucked languidly on his lower lip. Giving off a moan of pleasure, Marco opened his mouth to her and caressed the nape of her neck before gripping firmly and deepening the kiss. With his casual, unassuming demeanor, she hadn't expected him to be so confident about this. She heard another moan that might have been her own and wrapped her arms around his neck as they both grew more demanding.
Kissing Marco was so satisfying she didn't want to stop, but some practical part of her brain reminded her that her daughter was waiting and they were in the middle of a public hall. Alberto was no doubt getting an eyeful on the security cameras; the whole building would probably know by noon tomorrow. She finally pulled away.
Dark eyes dilated with desire, Marco blinked at her owlishly, like someone forced awake from a pleasant dream. His chest heaved slightly as though he'd just run up the two flights of stairs to her floor instead of walking down the hall to the elevator. When was the last time she had inspired such a reaction with a kiss? When was the last time she had kissed a man who was as turned on by her intellect as her cleavage? A bolt of passion shot through her, leaving her trembling in its wake. Worry crossed his brow, and his hands found their way to her waist.
"Are you okay?"
She gave him her brightest smile. "I haven't felt this good in a long time," she answered honestly, surprised by the breathless quality of her voice.
A shy smile spread across his lips, which were dark and swollen in the afterglow of their kiss. She ran a thumb across that smile, under the pretense of rubbing off her lipstick, and he closed his eyes, as though savoring the sensation. The temptation to kiss him again was almost irresistible. Reluctantly, she returned his glasses, indulging herself by running her fingers through his hair after slipping the earpieces back into place. He opened his eyes and gazed into hers searchingly, his brow puckered with the most serious expression she'd ever seen from him.
"That means we can have dinner again?"
Is he still so uncertain?
"Most definitely."
His face relaxed into a happy grin. "See, there are still good things to look forward to."
"Yeah."
The elevator dinged, and he let her go as the doors opened to reveal Mr. Lattimer, the widower stockbroker who lived a few doors down. Her neighbor looked between them but said nothing, merely raising an eyebrow at Marco's shirt and nodding his greetings. Marco slipped into the vacated elevator and waved.
For once, she waved back, silently mouthing, "Bye" as though to speak would somehow spoil things. With an ember of warmth in the depths of her heart, she made her way back to her apartment. When she returned, she was surprised to find Maia up and holding the phone out to her.
"It's Mrs. Skalko."
Why's she calling at this hour?
She took the handset from her daughter. "Hello?"
"Well, it's about time."
"Excuse me?"
Her neighbor's tone was hopeful. "Is there going to be a second date?"
"Were you watching!"
"Not intentionally, but it was difficult not to." She didn't sound at all embarrassed about it. "Didn't you hear Pépé barking? I took a look to see what had him so excited, and, well... He seems like such a gentleman. Maia says she likes him."
Diana gave her daughter a look, but Maia, grinning madly, had developed a sudden interest in her socks. "She does, does she?"
"If you'd waited much longer, I was going to invite my cousin to meet him."
"Well, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't." She couldn't keep the humor out of her voice.
"It would probably be a waste of time, anyway. That one only has eyes for you."
"You can tell?"
"I can tell. Mrs. Benke can tell. Alberto can tell-"
"I get the picture. Goodnight, Mrs. Skalko."
"Goodnight."
After tucking Maia back into bed, she decided she was ready for sleep, herself. As she got ready, she couldn't help but wonder at the emotional extremes she'd recently dealt with.
Hell of a week.
Hanging her dress back in the closet, she remembered what Marco had said. She shouldn't focus on the bad things that happened and would happen to the point she never enjoyed the good. Just a day and a half ago, the possibility she might lose her daughter had been very real. Now, Maia was healthy. They all might be headed toward a crisis that would make this last week seem like a cakewalk, but they would face it together. And together, they would make it through.