Heat flooded her cheeks. Caught, red-handed. “What about Edward?” she asked, trying to divert the attention away from herself.
“Edward, huh? Is he my competition?” Marcus’ joke eased the tense air. “What’s he got that I don’t have, Dolly?”
“Oh, now, don’t you go getting me in trouble. I can flirt all I want, but, when it gets down to business, Eddie is the one.” This time it was nice to see someone else turn pink.
Much to Francie’s surprise, dinner wasn’t the ordeal she had anticipated. The others shared a bond that she was loath to infringe on, yet they included her in their stroll down memory lane. However, she was content to sit back and listen, as she usually did. Years of being shy and quiet had come to her aid time and time again. People revealed far too many things when they thought her silence meant they could pour their hearts out without judgment or censor.
Little did they realize how much she’d observed and learned about them. Sometimes she took guilty pleasure in sitting back and just watching. Like now.
Marcus sat across from her, comfortable with the conversation and with the slight ribbing the ladies gave him. That lop-sided grin appeared more often and drew Francie’s attention more than a few times. The way he moved his hands, his quick wit, and ready laughter were only part of the physical allure.
But it was him, the way he looked at her—really at her and not through her—the way he listened to her, and the way he’d encouraged her to take such a risk on developing her new title of wedding consultant that went far beyond a mere attraction. That thought startled her.
Being a King had brought her in close proximity to the wealthiest families, who yearned to match their marriage-minded sons with a suitable bride. Most were too plastic, too pretty, too self-absorbed, too everything to even hold her interest. The outside may have looked appealing, but, underneath that polished exterior she’d seen the cracks of disdain for the process, for complying with Mummy and Daddy’s wishes. In exchange for compliance, the men would earn their inheritance. What was a little discomfort to trade for getting a ton of money they never worked a day in their life for?
Marcus wasn’t like any of them. There was no underlying contempt or fake interest. He was the real deal.
Their chuckles brought her back to the moment.
“Marcus B. Goode,” Dolly said, “that was the funniest thing I had ever heard.”
“Huh?” She looked to see Marcus run a hand over his eyes, and then groan.
“Did you have to bring that up, Dolly?” he asked.
“To think your momma giving you that initial for a middle name to remind you to be good.” She laughed so hard, she grabbed her side.
Francie tried to stop her lips from twitching, but she couldn’t help the giggle that erupted.
“I guess it didn’t work, did it?” Charlie teased, reaching for her plate.
“Very funny,” he said, shaking his head with a grin on his lips.
“Shame you can’t eat, honey.” Dolly swiped at the tears of laughter in her eyes, and then pointed to Charlie once again nibbling the edge of a saltine. She nudged Marcus’ arm, saying, “She’s got the two best cooks in Dallas and she can’t taste any of it or she’ll be running to the bathroom again.”
“Morning sickness,” Charlie muttered.
“Two best cooks,” Francie repeated, eyeing them closely. Her mind whirled with an idea. “Have you ever thought of teaming up?”
“Huh?” Dolly asked. Marcus raised his eyebrow.
“King’s. Cooking demos. You two. The best cooks in Dallas.” Francie laughed at their blank looks. “Housewares, pots and pans.”
Charlie dropped the cracker to her plate and grabbed Francie’s arm. “Brilliant, sister.”
With all eyes on her, Francie swallowed hard. “Weren’t housewares numbers down?” she asked Marcus.
“How did you know that?” He frowned, rubbing his jaw. “It’s the only department that hasn’t had a noticeable spike in sales this last month.”
She didn’t want to admit how she’d researched each department’s numbers these last few weeks as she slowly learned the store’s workings. The managers complained she was butting her nose into their business, but, to her, it wasn’t just curiosity. She truly wanted to help her family’s store. King’s still meant a great deal to her.
And since her wedding consultant assignment, she’d tried to figure out ways to tie in all the departments with what she was doing. Each one would feed off the other and benefit all the others, like a domino effect. Shrugging, she brushed off his question. “We can offer a special to our brides-to-be. We—well, you two—teach them how to cook, and King’s can offer a special housewares discount to them. We can give them a long-term promotion, say for their wedding registry. Also, we can hold a one-day sale to all of our customers to kick off the holiday season. So what do you think? You and Dolly would draw in a lot of interest.”
Charlie chimed in, “Wouldn’t it be a great Black Friday event? You know we’ll have to tempt shoppers away from other stores the day after Thanksgiving. The launch of the Charmings’ perfume line might bring in some new customers, but, a cooking demo, would keep them around during the day. Peg calls you the Superstar, Marcus. Your name alone will drum up curiosity. What better way to bring in sales than to give customers something no other store is offering?”
Dolly hooted. “Are you kidding me? My, what fun that would be.” She nudged his arm again. “Marcus, honey, I’m game if you’re game? Whaddya say? You and me been talking about cooking together, but who’d have thought we’d be doing it in public?”
His gaze fixated on Francie. She held her breath. “You are a real surprise, Francie.” His compliment and use of her nickname warmed her to her toes. “Sounds like a win-win situation to me.”
She knew the ladies would come in droves to see the Marcus Goode with his sleeves rolled up, his twinkling green eyes, and that heart-stopping lop-sided grin. She’d pay to be the recipient of that smile. What woman wouldn’t? Yeah, maybe she’d have to skip that show-stopping performance. After all, who wanted to watch when they knew it only made the ache inside her grow bigger than it already was. Why did she always want what she couldn’t have?
Chapter 9
“I’ll be fine, Dolly,” she said, bundling up in her coat. “The taxi service said it would be only a few minutes for the driver to get here.”
“Why don’t you wait in here until he comes? You know, if you want, when Eddie gets here with Mr. Alex, he’d be happy to run you home.”
“Thanks again.” Tears stung the backs of her eyes as she realized how much this sweet lady had done for her most of her life. Suddenly, she hugged her close and whispered, “I’m sorry I never took the time to know you, really know you, before now. I hope that can change.”
“Aw shucks,” Dolly said, pulling back and wiping away a tear. “Your momma didn’t want you fraternizing with the help or else you and me would have been pals. You sure would listen to me run off at the mouth, though, wouldn’t you?”
With another quick hug, she said, “You made me laugh. Now, I’ve got to go. I have an early morning. Tell Charlie I’ll call her soon.”
“Shame she and Marcus holed up in Mr. Alex’s study, talking business. But you know Charlie, she wants all the details. I’ll tell them you said bye. You be careful now.”
The blast of winter air hit her as she opened the door. It sucked the breath right out of her. She gasped, waved goodbye and doubted her choice when Dolly closed the door, shutting off the stream of warm, inviting light from the foyer. Under the lone porch lantern, regret slashed through her, quick and sharp.
The cold seeped in all the nooks and crevices she hadn’t covered. Francie tugged her scarf tighter around her neck and steeled herself for the walk down the stone walkway. The quiet, dark night engulfed her, swallowing her whole.
There was no taxi at the curb. Her middle dipped as she looked up and down the empty street. “Where is he?” Her feet w
ere already going numb.
Something fluffy and white drifted down from the sky. “Snow!” It came in big, soft flakes. Tipping her head back, she giggled as they landed on her cheeks. She couldn’t remember the last time the air smelled so clean and fresh.
After a moment, she shook it off, wondering where her ride was. “Did I recite the right address?” she mumbled, trying to recall the numbers that Dolly called out as she repeated them over the line.
Francie went to pull back the sleeve of her coat to check her watch, but quickly recalled Prissy borrowing it yesterday and not returning the slim gold band. Right now, Francie wished she had a cell phone.
She chewed on her bottom lip, throwing a glance over her shoulder and back to the house. Marcus was still in there. She didn’t want to encounter him again so soon. Her heart still wasn’t recovered from the earlier bruising. No touching.
Why had she said no kissing? Shaking her head, she turned back to the desolate road. It looked as lonely as she felt right about now.
Was there a bus stop at the corner? Why couldn’t she remember?
Francie jumped at the sound of a car door slamming. “Where did that come from?” Her heart thudded as she glanced around, seeing the red tail lights back down the driveway. “Marcus!” she squeaked, turning around and marching in the opposite direction. “You could have gone back to the house,” she scolded herself, realizing it was too late to turn around.
Her ears pulsed in the cold, but she tuned into the vehicle, the motor purring, and the crunch of the tires meeting the asphalt. She was certain he was in the street; the sound had stopped. He must be shifting to drive.
All of a sudden, she heard the motor edge closer. She quickened her steps. It outpaced her. “Francine?” he called out the open passenger window. “Where in the hell are you going? It must be thirty degrees out here. And it’s snowing.” Backing up, he followed her.
“I’m good.”
“I am not letting you walk in this weather. Come on. Get in, will you?”
Stopping in her tracks, she pivoted to face him. “No public contact, remember?” She wanted to toss out all their rules.
“For God’s sake, Francie, this is an exception, all right? Now please get in.” He leaned over and shoved open the door.
Warmth, shelter, and Marcus were calling. Nodding, she scurried over and climbed in. She hoped she’d made the right choice as she slammed the door shut and came face to face with him.
He reached out, brushing back her wet hair. His hot fingertips grazed her cold cheek, burning a trail of fire across her flesh. The way he was looking at her made her tingle all over. Or was it just the blast of heat after the frigid cold? Either way, her chilled body buzzed and her toes curled. “Thanks,” she whispered, glancing down at his lips and then gazing into his eyes.
In the dark she could barely see his expression, but the intensity rolling off him seared her to her core. “Francie, what in the hell are we doing?”
***
She put one foot in front of the other, climbing the steps to her loft apartment. “You really don’t have to see me to my door,” she said, cringing at how it sounded like the end of a date.
The ride over had felt like heaven. Being so close to Marcus in the confined space, inhaling his intoxicating cologne, and highly aware of his every move stirred every sense in her body. She didn’t want to spoil any of it nor did she want to say goodnight.
“I insist.” He glanced up at the flight of stairs. “Third floor?”
“’fraid so.”
He walked beside her, his sexy, powerful presence a comfort and a distraction all at the same time. “I hear you attended the first wedding yesterday.”
“Peg told you.” It wasn’t a question.
“In the park. In the rain. And you held the umbrella over the couple.”
Warmth spread in her at his acute interest in her. “Yes. The bride rushed into the boutique on opening day, nearly in tears. She’d looked everywhere and couldn’t find the dress she wanted.” Francie still couldn’t quite believe the lady’s choice. “Gold lame. Who would have guessed?”
“Alterations worked overtime to get the fitting done—”
“You should give them a raise. They yanked a bolt of fabric and actually created something out of nothing.”
They hit the first landing and he chuckled. “My ears are still ringing with the praise they heaped on you and your team.”
“Well, we did provide food-take out, nothing as good as you and Dolly could whip up, of course.” She shrugged. “Coffee and chocolate, too. I’m glad they were so cooperative. The bride was ecstatic. The groom is being deployed today.”
“Good job.”
She glanced at him under her lashes. Her next step brought her closer and she brushed against his sleeve. She sucked in a sharp breath, and then moved away. “Thanks.”
He turned to her, his breath warm against her cheek. He sighed. “And what’s this about a fur vest?”
Francie giggled, and then rolled her eyes. “Peg really is the ears, eyes, and mouth of King’s, isn’t she?”
They reached the second landing and he held out his arm to guide her, not quite touching her, but still she felt the heat. “A hidden treasure. Makes my job easier.”
“Priscilla helped find the fur vest and boots in the Juniors’ department. Just in time for the Renaissance wedding this weekend.” How could she speak to him so calmly when her blood thumped in her veins and her heart threatened to gallop out of her chest?
“Ah, resources.”
“Teamwork.”
His steady breathing drummed in her middle. “I think it has more to do with you than you give yourself credit for, Francie,” he said softly.
The way he said her name, whisper-low and intimate, made her quiver.
Reaching the top of the third flight of stairs and then taking the last few steps to her door, Francie reluctantly turned to Marcus. This was it. He’d leave soon. “Thanks for the lift and for walking me to my door.”
He shoved his hands in his coat pockets. “It’s the least I could do,” he murmured.
Silence grew as she tried to look away from him. This would be the last time she had him all to herself, the last private moments before they enforced the rules. She didn’t want it to end.
“Take care of yourself, Francie.”
“You, too.”
Still they stood there, only a foot apart. He sighed. “One farewell kiss?” Before she could reply, he pulled his hands out of his pockets and cupped her face. His large, warm palms cradled her cheeks and with his right thumb, he traced her bottom lip.
A flood of longing lanced through her. She closed her eyes, waiting for his kiss to follow. It didn’t. Opening her eyes, she gazed into his hooded green stare.
“Why?” he whispered, frowning.
Francie didn’t have an answer; she had the same question herself.
“God, your eyes, incredible blue. I could drown in them. You’re beautiful, smart, sexy as hell, and I want you. But why do I feel like it’s such a damn crime?”
His fingertips grazed her skin. She sucked in a breath at the rush of desire. Her pulse beat at the base of her throat. She reached out, touching his overcoat. Not happy with that, she brushed away the thick barrier and parted his suit jacket also. Tentatively, she ran her hands over his white buttoned-down shirt. Muscles, hard and supple, lay just beneath. This time he was the one to suck in his breath.
Leaning down, he feathered light kisses over her lips, barely grazing hers. “Marcus,” she moaned, yearning for more.
He groaned in return, deepening the kiss, his tongue teasing her flesh apart so he could gain entrance.
She parted her lips, allowing him access. Soon she met him in a slow, dizzying dance. When her knees threatened to buckle, she clung to him. But as she trailed her hands down his back, she felt him drawing away, disengaging. Her middle sank. “What’s wrong?”
“Is something burning?” he asked, dropp
ing his hands and setting her away from him. “Fire?”
“Huh?” Then she sniffed the scorched air. It was coming from the apartment. Fishing for her key, her hands shook.
“Here, let me,” he said, inserting the key in the lock and turning it. “Stand back.” He shoved open the door.
Smoke curled from the kitchen into the small loft living area. She spotted her sister frantically waving a towel. “Prissy!”
The smoke alarm began to blare, the sound ripping through her ears. Marcus rushed in and she followed close behind. He shifted Prissy out of the way and barged into the tiny kitchenette. “Marcus, be careful,” she warned, running after him. With Prissy gripping her, Francie watched as Marcus found a nearby towel and grabbed the smoking pot off the stove. He dropped it in the sink and turned on the cold water. The loud hiss of water hitting hot metal mixed with the alarm and a new stream of smoke flashed in front of her.
It was more than a half hour later before she’d gotten Prissy calmed down and opened up the windows to let the smoke escape. “Sorry, water left on the stove. No damage. Don’t worry,” she soothed the last of her scowling neighbors as they marched back down the hall and back to their apartments. Thankfully, Marcus had climbed on a chair and yanked the batteries from the alarm, but her eardrums still rang from the racket.
“Oh, Francie,” Prissy cried, throwing her arms around her. “I’m so sorry.” She pulled away, gulping through her tears. “I was trying to make some noodles. I fell asleep. The smoke…woke me up. Thank God you got here. I was so scared.”
Her sister’s face was pale and her eyes flooded with moisture. Francie’s heart clenched. How could she be mad? Prissy was already beating herself up enough. “I’m glad you’re all right. It’s just a pan and some smoke. Nothing that can’t be fixed.”
Her sister sighed, but she began to shiver. Francie led her to the couch, and then wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. “Sit,” she coaxed, easing down beside her and pulling her close, trying to absorb her shaking.
Waking Sleeping Beauty (Book 2, Once Upon A Romance Series) Page 7
