FORTY-FIVE

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The agents sped off in pursuit of the Navigator, making Virginia wonder if they'd known it was there all along. Torn between following Mark's wishes and giving chase herself, she hesitated, watching the distance between her car and theirs spread. No, no, no, no, no. She was directionless without the agents leading the way. This was why she had come—to find him—and now she was going to . . . What? Sit and wait?

"Screw this!" she hollered.

She was about to stomp down on the accelerator when movement in her peripheral vision had her cranking her head around, ready to ram whomever dared get in her way. A second motorcycle—a silver one this time—had pulled up alongside her. This biker pointed a finger to a spot on the helmet above the visor before pointing to her. There was something there . . . something pink stood out on its white surface . . . a faint outline of . . .

Lipstick!

Her lipstick, from the kiss she had placed there the day he'd helped paint the gym. It had to be him. Who else would know about the lipstick? But how was it possible? The rider seemed to sense her questions. He nodded and put his hand over his heart before pointing to her again. It had to be him. Didn't it?

When he motioned for her to follow, she moved into position behind him. They stayed on the highway for the next twenty minutes with the biker looking back every so often to reassure her.

Or to make sure she was still falling for it.

Either way, she had to find out.

They were close to the airport when he exited. After ten more minutes of twists and turns around low-rise commercial buildings mixed in with hotels, he pulled into what looked like a high-security building and she followed, surprised when the guard at the gate waved her through.

Entering the parking garage set her nerves on edge—an easy trap—but with no other options available, she went where he did. Until he parked. No way was she pulling into the spot beside him. Instead, she braked and waited, keeping her hand on the gear shifter in case she needed to shove the thing into reverse and get the hell out of Dodge.

The helmet came off . . . She was out of her car in a heartbeat, in his arms with the next.

"No more separations," Mark said hoarsely.

"No." She stared up at him in wonder, hoping this wasn't a dream. When he leaned down and kissed her, all doubt about reality disappeared. No sub-conscious mind could replace what he caused her to feel, no matter how great the imagination of the dreamer.

Coming up for air, he leaned his forehead on hers, his gaze moving down to her pregnant belly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was working up to it, and then Walt—" Her voice cracked as the memory came flooding back.

A deadly rage darkened his features. Okaaay, not her brightest move. To distract him, she took his hands and placed them on the baby's bulge. It worked. His face softened as his hands got their fill, the anger pushed away by his smile.

She used the moment to get her bearings and noticed the cameras lining the walls of the garage. "What is this place," she muttered.

"I guess we both have a lot of explaining to do." His voice dropped low as he leaned in close. "Later," he whispered before capturing her lips with his again, his body warm, hard, and demanding against hers, making her overlook the fact that they were likely being watched.

The sound of a distant motorcycle reminded her of the scene on the highway. She broke away from him as the questions came rushing back. "How is the lipstick still on there?"

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