Page 51 of Chasing Amanda

“Do you mind?” one said.

“Sorry. Let me just…” She scooted to the side, trying to get out of the way.

And then, Mark stepped into view.

She froze, unable to take her eyes off him. Unable to move.

Oh. She’d forgotten. How had she forgotten?

Not just how tall he was, how broad and beautiful. How strong and powerful and fierce.

She’d forgotten the way everything inside her leaned toward him like iron to a magnet.

Behind her, one of the women breathed a low, “Yes, please,” earning a giggle from her friend.

Amanda wasn’t laughing. This was her Mark, no question, but he was different. He looked older. Tougher. More guarded.

Haunted.

She scanned him, searching for a sign he was in pain. He seemed healthy and whole in his camouflage uniform, his hat tucked under one arm, his duffle bag slung over his other shoulder. He scanned the crowd, skimming right past his parents as if he hadn’t noticed them.

His gaze landed on Amanda, and he picked up his pace. He didn’t smile, but relief filled in his eyes as if he were dying of thirst and she were a pool of clear water.

Though she itched to launch herself forward, she stayed behind the security line. Had time ever moved so slowly?

“Mark!” His mother had pushed her way to the front and was waving at him. “Mark, sweetie.”

He cringed. Visibly cringed.

His expression shifted to apologetic, and disappointment clouded her vision as she watched the man she loved step around the barrier and draw his parents away from the crowd before dropping his bag and greeting them.

Amanda walked toward them but stopped a few feet away.

Mark’s dad was about two inches shorter than his son, dark-haired and barrel-chested. He had a wide smile and kind eyes, and Mark resembled him so much that Amanda couldn’t help liking the older man immediately. Of course, some of that came from having overheard his remarks earlier.

His mother was tall and slender, her blond hair cut to chin-length, sharp as a cleaver. Her face was thin, her nose and cheekbones so prominent that Amanda could imagine the skull beneath. She had a bright yellow cardigan draped over her shoulders like she’d just stepped off a golf course. Her sleeveless sheath dress showed off ivory arms, long fingers, and sharp claws.

Nails. Not claws.

Even so, as she wrapped her arms around Mark’s neck, Amanda had the irrational urge to shout a warning.

Mark survived the dragon’s embrace and leaned back to kiss her cheek. They said a few words to each other, and then he stepped away.

When his eyes locked with Amanda’s, the force of his gaze had her heart stuttering. Before it regained its rhythm, he was there, sliding his arms around her waist. He pulled her close, lifting her off her feet, holding her against his chest as if she weighed nothing.

“Sweetheart.” The word was a warm breath in her ear. “I missed you so much.”

Arms around him, she nestled against his shoulder, inhaling his scent, musky and perfect. There was so much she wanted to say, but her throat clogged with tears. She clung to him and cried and hoped this moment would never end.

He didn’t rush her, just held her while her breath hitched.

Finally, she managed, “I’m so glad you’re home.”

“Me too.” His voice pitched a little lower. “I’m sorry for what’s about to⁠—”

“Well, aren’t you going to introduce us?” His mother didn’t bother to hide her irritation.

Mark sighed and let Amanda slide to the floor. She caught the barest hint of pain in his expression before he took her hand and faced his parents.