Page 52 of Waiting for a Prince
Sam hadn’t returned one of his seven or eight texts.
Mark was screwed.
Why did I kiss him?
Stupid question.
Sam had stood there on the sand, so heartbreakingly beautiful, and Mark had been seized by the urge to hold him in his arms, to kiss those warm lips one more time. And once kissed, he’d wanted more…
It doesn’t matter now.
That look of sorrow on Sam’s face was forever burned into Mark’s memory.
The intercom buzzer shattered the silence. Again. And again.
It’s some drunk who’s got the wrong flat.
There was another possibility, however.
He hopped out of bed, naked, and ran to the door. He pressed the intercom button. “Hello?”
“Mark, it’s Sam. Please, let me in.”
At least this time he sounded sober.
So I let him in. And then what? We go throughanotherweek of him avoiding me, so I get to screw this up again?
Mark couldn’t hold back his groan. “Please, Sam, go home.”
His heart almost stopped as he heard the distinctive sound of weeping.
“Please, Mark. I… I need you.”
There was no way Mark could ignore that entreaty.
He jammed his finger against the door release button and then yanked back the bolts. He turned the key and flung open the door.
As Sam rounded the corner of the staircase and came into view, Mark gasped.
He was bleeding profusely from a cut above his right eye. There were scratches across his cheeks and arms, and some of them were bleeding too.
“Oh my God, what happened?” Mark pulled him into the flat and closed the door. Sam sank to his knees on the hall carpet, as if his legs would no longer bear his weight. Mark dropped to the floor beside him and cradled him in his arms, ignoring the blood which smeared onto his bare skin.
“I can’t take it anymore,” Sam wailed as Mark held him, Sam’s arms held limply at his sides. “Please, let me stay.”
Mark took a closer look at the cut. It seemed deep. “We need to get this seen to. It looks as if it might need stitches.” His mindreeled. “Sam.” He held Sam’s face as carefully as he could, gazing at him anxiously. Sam was still weeping. “Sam.” More urgently now. At last Sam met his gaze, and Mark gently lifted his chin with two fingers. “Who did this to you?”
Sam shook his head vehemently, his lips pressed together into a fine line. “Can’t…can’t.”
“Please, babe.” The endearment slipped out. “You have to tell me.”
Sam stared at him blankly, seeming to almost crumple in front of him. Trembling, he opened his mouth to speak, and the one word that pierced the silence of the hallway shocked Mark into stillness.
“Rebecca.”
Oh my fucking God.
It was as if Mark’s heart had been plunged into ice.
