Thanks to everyone who helped me with this chapter! You know who you are and you are wonderful! Thank you so so much! (:

Chapter Six: Composure

The coffee shop is nearly empty when she steps in. The barista at the front of the cafe gives her a mere once over and returns to cleaning out the off white porcelain coffee mug. The fireplace in the corner of the shop gives her a sense of warmth and comfort while she escapes the rainy streets. Mark is nowhere to be found so Olivia finds a vacant table in the back of the shop. After she disrobes her coat and hangs it off the back of her chair, the same barista approaches her table, introduces herself as Candice and asks Olivia if she wants anything. With a quick glance at the menu lying on the table, Olivia orders the first recognizable tea she finds on the list. She has more things on her mind than what to drink. Different types of dialogue play over and over in her head. She thinks about the things she could say and the points she wants to get across. The goal here is to make Mark understand that nothing will work between them. Exhaling, Olivia tells herself this will be quick. She'll say what she needs to say and then leave.

Her gaze wanders out the window. Tiny raindrops run down the window and she watches a woman fix her clothes while, at the same time, holding her umbrella securely over her head. Olivia glances around to see if Mark is coming but she doesn't see him which strikes something inside of her that makes her a little nervous. She tells herself not to be so jumpy because this is no big deal. She's confronted many men before, telling them that a relationship won't work between them. This is nothing new for her at all.

A few more minutes of a mental pep talk and Olivia hears the door open. She looks over at the entrance and sees Mark closing his umbrella. He stops and his blue eyes scan the shop. For a quick second, she hopes he doesn't see her. One, because she wasn't done planning out everything she wanted to tell him and two because she can get a little more time taking in his strong and chiseled physique as if it's the world's finest statue. Her gaze drops to his hands. The same hands that sent surges through her body. She remembers his touch - soft and gentle yet strong and seductive. Their eyes meet and she instantly feels the confidence drain out of her and she swallows as he approaches. His daring, blue eyes never leave her while he keeps a pearly white smirk on his face, even when he sits down across from her.

"Hey," he says calmly, ignoring the menu that's placed in front of her, "I honestly didn't think that you'd call back."

"I didn't call you for a date," Olivia forces out and notices that her tea has been waiting for her, "Mark, this can't happen. The roses and the text messages – it just can't happen."

She expects him to react negatively. To probably try and convince her that she's wrong and even argue against what she just said. But instead, he crosses his arms on the table and looks at her. His lips curl into a coy smile and his eyes match the expression.

"Last night, you-"

"Last night didn't mean anything, Mark," Olivia interrupts, the frustration and stress coating every word.

His face doesn't change. He seems comfortable when Olivia is becoming a frustrated mess. He leans back against his chair, arms crossed, and sarcastically says, "Ouch."

She exhales deeply and runs her fingers through her hair, "I-I didn't mean it like that. It's just that we were both drunk and-"

"I wasn't that drunk," Mark states matter-of-factly.

Olivia sighs, averts her gaze, and mutters, "Me either."

He leans forward and rests his arms back on the table, "I was aware of everything I was doing to you last night, Olivia. Even if it wasn't that much."

She meets his gaze. He's close; not close enough to see the faint rose blush on her cheeks but close enough for her to take in the spicy scent of his fragrance. Olivia wraps her hands around the now, lukewarm, cup of tea and tries her hardest to hold her gaze, to hold the last bit of superiority she thinks she has.

The rain makes tiny patters against the glass and the fire crackles in the corner.

"There's nothing going on between us," Olivia whispers.

"Why not?" Mark inquires. They both look down at Mark's hand clasping around hers.

She's unsure if she should let him take her hand like that or take it away instantly. It's thrilling yet not what she wants at all. Everything she rehearsed, everything she told herself not to let happen is happening right at this moment. She doesn't want to focus on the heat that warms her hand in an instant she doesn't want to pay attention to the adrenaline rush or the racing of her heart. A certain type of pressure builds up inside of her, a type that she does and does not want. She begins to feel the need to release somewhere, somehow. And there he is, staring deep into her eyes, making it clear that he's here for that type of release. His grip tightened and he brought her hand up to his mouth, kissing her skin gently and longer than usual.

"Why not?" He repeats, his voice soft and throaty.

Olivia doesn't respond, her mouth is open but she can't seem to get any words out.

She swallows down the sea of emotions that she knows are about to come pouring out. She has to think straight, but that damn bastard. Why was he so calm about this? So relaxed?

She swallows once more, takes a deep breath and pulls her hand away, looking at him with a stern face. "Mark, we can't. I can't. This is all just a mistake. The airport, the bar, everything. It shouldn't have happened. We both know that."

Mark simply smirks at her, as if she had attempted to tell a joke and messed up the punchline, "If it was a mistake," Mark begins, "Then why does this feel so right?"

Slowly, he pushes himself up a little and leans across the table. She knows what is about to happen but she doesn't move; she lets it happen. He reaches for her, his hand brushing the strand of hair off her cheek and slides it lightly past her ear. His fingers support the back of her head, securely embedded in her hair as he leans in and forcefully yet seductively places his lips to hers. She quickly inhales, her heart filling with desire. As much as she hates herself for it, she leans into it, loving the feeling of him so close. She shuts her eyes and is soon intoxicated by only him, before she realizes this can not happen. She pulls herself away and slides her chair back, causing a loud screeching noise. Everyone in the cafe turns and stares but Olivia doesn't care. She has to go.

"I'm sorry, Mark. I can't." She dashes outside into the rain and hurries down the street out of the sight of the building.