Francie smiled widely, seeing the similar green eyes and smile. “Is…is he still here?” She looked to the door, hoping he wasn’t. What would he say if he found her here?
“He left nearly an hour ago. That was him on the phone. I was holding onto this,” she touched the watch, “Charles’ watch, for him while he cooked and served. I forgot to give it back to him.”
“Charles’, did you say? My stepfather’s?” Francie swallowed hard, eyeing the once familiar large, gold piece. All these weeks she’d worked with Marcus, had seen him flick back the sleeve of his suit jacket to check the time and she’d never registered this was her stepfather’s watch. How had Marcus gotten it? Had Charlie given it to him?
Mrs. Reed must not have heard; she rambled on, “He’s got so much to do, running his own corporation, overseeing King’s temporarily, and taking care of me. I think it’s too much, don’t you?”
“He seems to handle it well.”
“Thankfully he has good help for his business. And King’s is for a few short weeks. But with this Black Friday, he’s stretched thin.” She brushed the fleece blanket, smoothing it over her covered knees. “It’s me that is too much for him.”
“No, please don’t say that.”
She held up a frail, wrinkled hand in protest. “Ever since his father…well, he feels like he’s responsible for me. I try not to burden him. I try to let him have a life, but, somehow it all falls apart. My husbands…his father died, the others left.”
“And Marcus is always there for you.”
“But not there for his own life. He should be married by now, have children.”
Francine gulped. “I thought being a confirmed bachelor was his choice.”
“That’s what he says. How can that be? Doesn’t everyone want love?”
“Maybe,” she took a short breath, “he doesn’t. Maybe he’s happy with dating.” Serial dating.
“If practice makes perfect, then I’m sure he’s perfect at it,” she murmured. “I think I’m holding him back. My examples. You know what he says? I’m in love with love. I think he may just be right after all.”
Her wistful voice touched an ache in Francie’s heart. “Is that so bad? Would you rather have a stone heart and a mean spirit?” Her mother came to mind.
She chuckled. “That’s not me. I’m a lover, not a hater.”
“You fall too hard, I think,” she said as gently as possible. “Not everyone will be your prince. It’s good to start off as friends and get to know each other.” Who was she to know that? Who was she to give advice? “Sometimes it’s better to just be friends. It’s all right to have men as friends.”
Mrs. Reed’s cheeks turned pink. “I’ve never done that before. In my day, if you looked at a man, you’d better be ready to marry him.”
It made sense. She wondered if Marcus knew this about his mother, the way she was brought up. “It’s all right to change with the times.”
“Go with the flow?”
This time Francie giggled. “Up until only a few weeks ago, I had this mindset that I would be taken care of for the rest of my life, by my family and then by the man I would eventually marry.” She shook her head. “I know that’s not true now. No one is going to rescue me. I have to rescue myself. It’s been a hard lesson to learn.”
“A bitter pill to swallow?”
“The worst kind of medicine.”
The older woman was quiet for such a long time, Francie thought she might have dozed off. “Dear?”
“Yes, Mrs. Reed?”
“I miss the good old days.”
Her middle tugged. If only she could go back, be naive again. She was certain she wouldn’t ever be the same now that she’d met Marcus Goode. Would any man do after knowing him? She doubted it. “Life was so much simpler, wasn’t it?”
Chapter 11
Why had she agreed to this? Francie wondered for the umpteenth time. There was something about the older woman’s insistence she wouldn’t sleep tonight if she didn’t return Marcus’ watch that had been the deciding factor. Who was Francine to upset a jilted, sad, lonely woman even more than she already was?
Now, clutched in her hand in her coat pocket, she held the smooth, elegant gold business card holder Marcus had given her, rubbing her thumb over her engraved name. It gave her comfort. In the other pocket, she gripped his gold watch, rubbing the heart-tugging initials on the back of it. The irony of it didn’t elude her.
Francie faced the night watchman at Marcus’ apartment building.
“No visitors,” he said, running his finger down a list.
“I’m…his assistant, Peg,” she lied. Pulling the watch from her pocket, she said, “He left this behind today and I want to return it.” That much was true.
“Peg, huh? You don’t sound like her.”
A warmth spread across her cheeks. “Well, holy Batman and Robin, who do I sound like then?”
He smiled. “Ah, now that’s the Peg I’ve talked to before. Okay, you’re cleared. I’ll just buzz Mr. Goode and let him know you’re on your way. Just down the hall and you can take the elevator to the top floor.”
His mother had scribbled down his address, but hadn’t told her about the employees guarding the entrance to the luxury penthouse apartment. Francie should have known better. The rich, swanky building earned the best reputation in town. Security was a foregone conclusion. Only she’d been away from that world for more than two months now and had forgotten the obstacles she’d encounter.
The middle-aged elevator man murmured, “Penthouse, ma’am?”
Word traveled fast. By the time she’d left the front desk, she was certain security had radioed this man, assuring him she was checked out.
In the whisper quiet compartment, riding to the top floor, Francie’s doubts took root. Was Marcus with someone? Would he be mad to see her? She lied. He was expecting Peg. Would he throw her out?
Before she knew it, the door dinged open. “Here you are, ma’am.”
“Thanks,” she said absently, and then stepped off.
Marcus stood there in faded jeans and half unbuttoned white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Sexy. He ran his hand through his hair. “Francie?”
She gulped hard.
They were alone. The elevator whisked back to the ground floor. There was no escape now.
“I thought you were Peg.”
“I thought you might not want to see me, so,” she shrugged, “I fibbed.”
“Why are you here?”
His eyes captured hers, mesmerizing her.
She pulled out the watch from her pocket and showed him. “I’m returning this for your mother.”
Looking from the watch to her, he said, “You went to see my mother.” It wasn’t a question.
“For the holiday. She seemed out of sorts.” She caught herself from mentioning how hurt she was over the recent breakup. Marcus didn’t need to be reminded about that touchy subject.
He let out a long, slow breath. Holding out his hand, he said, “Thank you for the watch. I never go anywhere without it.”
Looking down at the object, she turned it over in her hand. Biting her lip, she looked up at Marcus, saying, “May I ask how you got my stepfather’s watch?”
He jerked his head back. “How did you know it was his?”
“For certain? When I saw the engraving on the back.”
“‘Love Forever, CFP’?”
She nodded.
“I’ve always wondered what the initials meant.”
“Love Forever, Charlie, Francie, Prissy…CFP. It was the last Christmas gift we, his daughters, gave him before he passed away. I always thought my mother kept his watch.”
His expression registered shock. “I was little more than a boy when he gave it to me on his death-bed, because, besides his family, he treasured it most of all. It reminded him how very much he was loved.” His voice lowered to a husky whisper. “And he wanted me to know what love felt like, every day.”
“Bec
ause you didn’t know it from your own father.”
He nodded.
“He was a very wise man, my stepfather.” How in the world could she have predicted the only man she knew as her father had gifted the man she was falling head over heels with what essentially represented love? He’d carried her love with him all these years and didn’t even know it.
Taking a few steps closer, she handed him the treasured watch, giving him another part of her own heart. His fingers brushed hers. Electricity zapped her, the current traveling up her arm. She gasped.
His stare lingered on her eyes, and then dropped to her lips. “Would you like to come in? I was just watching the highlights from the game.”
She nodded, hoping not to seem too eager to join him. He ushered her into his large, floor-to-ceiling glassed living room. Black leather furniture and glass tables dotted the area. The big screen TV flashed brilliant colors of football players running down the field. “Did the Cowboys win?”
“Unfortunately, no.” He chuckled. “Are you a fan?”
“Am I!” She settled onto his couch and shrugged off her coat, still gazing at the plays. “Oh, did you see that? Illegal blow to the head.”
Marcus joined her, helping her move her coat out of the way.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed he put his watch back firmly in place. Somehow that connection to him, the one he still kept, touched her. Then she realized just how close his thigh was to hers. But a play on the screen distracted her. “Yes, run. Touchdown!” She clapped her hands.
He laughed. “Want a beer?”
She grimaced. “Not my thing. Wine?”
“Coming right up.”
Before she knew it, he was back, handing her a glass of red wine. She sipped, murmuring her approval. “Look at that. That should have been a penalty.”
He eased down beside her; this time his knee touched hers. Neither one of them moved away from each other. “You know the game.”
“I’d watch with Daddy. He loved his Cowboys. His enthusiasm got me hooked. Don’t get me wrong. I love football. I’d watch all the games if I had the time or even a TV. But, when I watch a Cowboys game, I feel him smiling down on me.”
His intense stare dragged her away from the screen. She’d been so into the plays that she’d forgotten to censor what she’d said in front of him. Now, she gazed into his eyes and wondered if she revealed too much.
“I’ve said too much.”
“Not at all. Maybe you said just the right thing.”
His eyes captured hers. She couldn’t look away. “Marcus, the game…”
“Can wait. I recorded it.” He leaned in, inch by inch, until his lips brushed hers. “It’s your choice, Francie.”
“Choice? I have a choice whether or not to kiss you back?” she whispered, her lips grazing his.
“To stay the night.”
Her heart jumped to her throat. Her pulse drummed in her ears. She swallowed hard. “That is some kind of invitation.”
“It’s yours to accept or reject.”
Being this close to him, his heat, his fresh male scent, the breadth of his shoulders…she couldn’t think, couldn’t reason. His hand moved to cup her cheek. She reached for it, turning her face into the large, wide palm and tenderly kissing the soft flesh there.
His swift moan shot through her.
Turning back to him, she stopped thinking altogether. She relied on what she felt at this moment. “I’d love to stay.”
This time he groaned, the sound reverberating off his chest and careening into her, enveloping her in a veil of desire.
He teased her mouth with his lips, first soft and coaxing, and then longer, filled with hunger. Francie, swept up in his arms, clung to his shoulders. Bolder now, she ran her fingers through his hair, and then she peppered his jaw with kisses until she found his earlobe. She licked it. Then made her way down his neck.
His swift intake of breath excited her. He wanted her just as much as she wanted him.
Time slowed for her. Each movement, each touch burned in her mind.
Somehow she became aware of him carrying her to his room, the soft mattress beneath them, and slowly dragging off each piece of clothing. Sensual.
“So soft, smooth,” he murmured as he ran his hand down her leg and slipped off her high heels. He ran his hands back up and under the hem of her skirt, his long fingers burning a trail of heat along the way. “Stockings?” He traced the wide band and finally touched her bare thigh. He sucked in a sharp breath. “Like silk.”
She shivered at his touch. His desire fanned hers. “Marcus,” she said softly, just wanting to say his name, hear it in the midst of hot breaths and the whisper of clothes.
“I want you,” he nearly growled. “From the first time I found you.”
His admission stunned her. That moment had meant something to him also, not just her. “I want you, too,” she admitted, emboldened.
No longer the sheltered daughter or the struggling independent girl, Francine was a woman with needs and wants and desires. And Marcus was the man she wanted.
He slipped down the zipper on her skirt and tugged it off her. “Sweet Jesus,” he murmured, sliding his hand over the lace and silk garter belt and matching panties. In moments, he undid the buttons on her silk blouse and parted it. “Sexy, hot,” he said as he used his lips to follow the trail of his hands, stopping to dip his tongue in her dainty belly button, and then teasing her as he followed the line of lace further down her hips.
She couldn’t stop him even if she wanted to. Exquisite torture.
Flames, hot and searing, licked through her.
Everywhere he touched and tasted flared to life, leaving a blaze of fire in its wake.
She tugged at his shirt. He shrugged it off. Now, she could explore every inch of his torso, every big, supple muscle. She skimmed her fingertips over his flat abdomen, enjoying his heated response.
She hesitated when she found the waistband of his jeans. “Don’t stop,” he pleaded, gently guiding her hands to the button.
Her cheeks warmed even more as she undid it. Gingerly, she parted the zipper; the sound of gliding metal echoed in her ears. But it was his sharp gasp when she brushed against his hardness that sent a thrill of desire coursing through her veins.
He wanted her. She wanted him.
No one else mattered right now. Nothing else mattered but this moment.
In awe, she touched him now, first through the denim and then after he helped her remove the last of his clothes. Hard, firm, pulsating, yet such smooth skin. “Beautiful,” she said, running her fingers along the hot flesh.
He chuckled. It caught in his throat. He groaned.
She smiled. He allowed her to linger. She grew bolder, wrapping her hand around him.
Another gasp, another groan. “Come here,” he growled, pulling her to him and kissing her in a long, hot drugging kiss.
Lost, she surrendered, assisting him with shedding the rest of her clothes. It was a dance of desire. One she loved to fully participate in.
His hands, large yet tender, caressed her in places she never knew were that sensitive, that erotic. His mouth soon followed. She moved with him, against him: fluid, graceful motions that made her realize how perfect they fit together.
Above her now, looking down, already sheathed, Marcus parted her legs and slowly pushed. A twinge of pain shot through her. Holding her breath, she reached out and pulled him to her, clinging to his shoulders. He was gliding in. Perspiration dotted her forehead. The surge of pain was now a dull ache. Fully in, he stilled. “Stay,” she whispered, hoping he didn’t end it now.
He moaned. He throbbed inside her, and she felt herself squeezing around him in response.
Capturing her lips, he also captured her breaths as he moved inside her.
Something hot swirled in her, growing and building. She raised her hips to meet his, wanting to stay connected forever. His hand cupped her bottom, pulling her to him. She discovered the motion,
the movement elicited even more heat.
All of a sudden, her body jerked, and waves of hot flames coursed through every nerve ending. She groaned as another wave struck.
Marcus threw his head back, moaning. His body matched hers, stilling and jerking.
Time passed; she was still drifting down from wherever she’d floated to. His warm, damp skin slick against hers shifted. She cried out in protest.
“Shhh!” he soothed, lying beside her. Marcus gathered her in his arms.
Francine laid her head on his shoulder, sighing deeply. Heaven.
***
Marcus slipped away from a resting Francine and tugged the white comforter over her very sexy, very naked body. He brushed back the sweep of blonde hair. A smile teased the corner of her lips.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, searching her heart-shaped face. A lick of desire flared to life. He still wanted her.
He shook it off, padding to the bathroom. But he couldn’t shake off her willing response to him, nor the ensuing throb of passion that swept over him.
He stomped down on his urge to go back and take her again and again.
The hot spray of water cascaded down on him and still he couldn’t erase the guilt he felt for taking her virginity. He ducked his head, letting the spray hit the bunched-up muscles in his neck and along his shoulders. It didn’t help.
A soft knock on the tile had him jerking around to see her step in behind him. Slowly, he turned. Naked, sexy as hell, and with a hesitant smile she stood before him. “Can I join you?”
He contemplated every reason why she shouldn’t, every wrong he was committing. Yet none of them mattered. He held out his hand.
When she took it, he felt the quiver go through her. “I’ll wash you, if you wash me,” she whispered.
A flame of passion flared. “Best invitation I’ve ever gotten.”
Marcus gathered her in his arms, searching her gaze. There was no doubt or regret. That should have eased his sense of guilt. It didn’t. There was a special place in hell just for him. A hell he now willingly accepted.
Chapter 12
The next morning, he scrambled to get dressed as she dragged on her clothes. He longed to stop her and reverse the order, hoping to replay the long night of lovemaking.
Waking Sleeping Beauty (Book 2, Once Upon A Romance Series) Page 9
