Storybook Dad (Harlequin American Romance) by Laura Bradford Page A

from childhood—maybe from a television show or a book with a character
who rafted or climbed or snorkeled. In those cases it’s something my client has
always wanted to do, and they’re determined to do it before age makes it too
difficult. But sometimes it’s part of a broader dream that starts in a person’s
thirties or forties. Maybe they’ve always played life safe, or maybe they’ve
been so busy caring for an elderly parent or a sickly kid that they need a
diversion. Or maybe they’re so intent on accomplishing some sort of personal
feat that they show up at my door saying, ‘I don’t care
what we do just so long as I can say I did something.’ ”
    “That happens?”
    “All the time.”
    Mark considered her words and compared them to his own reasons
for having enrolled in her orienteering class. His reasons, his motivations, put
him in the latter group. “I guess I’m kinda like those folks. At least on some
level.”
    “How so?” she asked.
    “I think I needed to prove something to myself. Prove that I
can change, can get myself out of a rut if I just make myself do it.”
    “And?”
    “I did that,” he replied. “Only now I want to see what other
kinds of things I can do.”
    She released her legs and jumped to her feet, a sly smile
tugging at her lips as she reached for his hand. “Okay, so let’s see how you do
with the intermediate wall.”
    He allowed her to guide him back there, only to wave off her
attempts to hook him back up to the rope.
    “Oh, come on, Mark, you can do this.”
    “And I’ll give it a whirl in a few minutes. But first I want to
see you climb.”
    “Why?”
    He looked from the expert wall to the beginner’s and back
again, finding the difference between the two substantial. “Because I want to
see that someone can actually climb that thing.”
    Two minutes later, he was mentally patting himself on the back
as he watched her climb the wall with the help of an electronic belay, the
harness emphasizing her ass in a way that made him wish he was climbing right
behind her, his body melding against hers as they moved from hold to hold.
    Unfortunately, he wasn’t in Emily’s league, as evidenced by his
repeated slips off the harder, more complex wall. But it didn’t matter. He was
having a blast nonetheless.
    Here, the stress of day-to-day life was noticeably absent.
    Here, he could laugh without guilt and live, rather than
remember.
    So he threw himself into the process of climbing, discovering
what techniques worked for him. But even when he miscalculated, even when he
out-and-out failed, it was still fun. Energizing, even.
    Eventually, though, his arms and legs began to protest the
workout, forcing him to unhook himself from the rope. “Emily? This was awesome!
I don’t know why I waited so long to try this kind of stuff. It’s… motivating .”
    She came down from yet another successful climb on the expert
wall, and met him in the center of the room, her hand reaching for the straps of
her harness, only to be shooed away by his.
    “Please. Allow me.” Snaking his arms around her midsection,
Mark slowly unhooked them, the feel of her lower back beneath his fingertips
making his shorts tighten in response. Carefully he set her harness on the
floor, then pulled her close once again, the ache to kiss her stronger than ever
before. But this time, instead of kissing her mouth, he drew his lips across her
eyes, her cheeks, her chin, eventually sinking still lower, to the base of her
neck.
    When she laced her fingers in his hair, he moaned, her taste,
her touch like some sort of magnetic pull he was powerless to fight. Seconds
turned to minutes as his lips left her neck and traveled back up to her mouth,
the warmth and yearning he found there making him moan again.
    “Mark,” she whispered against his mouth. “It’s almost one in
the morning.”
    “And your point?” he countered as his tongue slipped past her
protests.
    Bracing her hands against his chest, she