From everything she’d read about him over the years, he spoke the truth. He may be a confirmed bachelor, but he stuck with one woman until it was over, and then moved on. Looking at him now, she noted the hurt clouding his eyes. “I know that, Marcus,” she said gently. “And I…want the wedding.”
Saying it didn’t ease any of her growing anxiety. Lately, she’d questioned the logic in all of it. Funny how her wedding consultant position forced her to tally all the extravagant expenses and wonder at some of the absurd requests, realizing what a waste of time, energy, and mostly money went into just one day.
“What will you do now?” he asked. “Peg told me about all the calls. Modeling?” He raised one of his eyebrows, but underneath she heard regret.
She chuckled. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve never imagined anything like that.” It sounded so extravagant, so out of her realm, the complete opposite of her.
“I guess I’m reluctant to have the world discover you. And for you to become jaded.”
“Loss of innocence?” How would she cope in a lifestyle that was eons ahead of her?
His silence stretched. She peeked at him from under her eyelashes. He studied her again. Hot and intense, it engulfed her. “Everything in me wants to order you not to, stop before it’s too late. But, then, you’ve had someone controlling your every move for nearly your entire life already. It’s not my place. And you would resent someone else telling you what to do.”
The air whooshed out of her. She leaned back in the chair, trying to breathe. He knew, knew this little taste of freedom had opened up so many closed avenues for her. She could never go back to the invisible prison she’d grown up in. She nodded sadly.
“If I may make a suggestion,” he waited for her to say yes, and then went on, “get a good agent and lawyer. I’m sure Charlie can help you with that, since she has so many contacts in the business.”
“Thank you.” Her voice barely made it above a whisper. She blinked away the sting of tears. “So this is it. Goodbye.”
“Yes, after this morning, we’re being scrutinized. It’s not fair for me to ruin your reputation.”
She jerked her head back as if slapped. “You would never.”
“No, but they will. The press. Your mother’s insinuations. The looks. The gossip. I won’t be a part of doing that to you.”
She let out a gusty sigh. The threat of tears returned.
“From the customer’s reactions, this turned out well. The website sales jumped twenty-five percent today. Most of it, I may add, has to do with the mystery wedding. It seems as if online customers search for the wedding boutique page, and click on the different images and products your team posted, guiding them to each item. All your tie-ins with the other departments have paid off. You’ve done an amazing job.”
“King’s may be saved after all,” she mused. “At least something good has come out of all this.”
“We did,” he said, his rich voice sinking in and around her. His gaze held hers. She couldn’t break contact.
“Marcus?”
“Yes?”
She leaned in close. “May I…” She bit her bottom lip, “Have one more kiss?”
He didn’t answer right away. Maybe he didn’t want to. Maybe he’d refuse her. He broke eye contact, and then got to his feet. Her middle dipped.
But then she saw him hold out his hand to her. She took it. How could he have such big hands, yet such a gentle touch? Shaking, she stood.
Marcus tugged her to him. Francie groaned as she leaned into his solid, powerful body. Her head came to just below his chin. She breathed in deeply, longing to allow everything about him seep into her conscious. The way he felt, smelled, the sight of his chest rising and falling and the breadth of his shoulders, his light, but firm touch at her waist… She gathered little pieces to hold dear and take with her.
His fingertips brushed back her hair and he tilted up her face. “Francie,” he whispered, and then softly kissed her lips.
Francie gasped at his tenderness. He didn’t stop at her lips. He feathered kisses over her forehead, eyelids, cheeks, nose, even her chin.
“Open your eyes, honey. I want to look at you.”
Bravely, she did, gazing into the depths of his startling green eyes. Desire flared, but something else lay there. She wasn’t sure what, but, raw and intense, it sucked the breath out of her.
He leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. Her eyes fluttered shut as he increased the kiss, his tongue finding hers in a slow dance of longing. She matched him, thrilled by his groan.
She could have stood there in his arms forever. However, she came back to earth as he slowly disengaged, finally putting some distance between them.
Breathing hard, he ran his hand through his hair. His green eyes glittered.
Blood pounded in her veins. A shiver racked her body.
She memorized his face, every beautiful inch of it; she knew this would be her last chance to ever be this close to him, to ever see this passion he had for her ever again.
Her heart ached at the loss already.
Chapter 19
Days and nights of nonstop work still hadn’t shaken his last encounter with Francine. Everywhere Marcus went, thoughts of her crept in. She haunted his dreams and remained on the fringes of every waking thought. He ached all over for her.
On top of that, the press speculated on the mystery wedding. Francine as the bride seemed the foregone conclusion due to that first ad and her subsequent modeling stints in the continuing series of ads. But the groom… That question echoed wherever he went. Names of the most prominent single men in the city surfaced out of nowhere. Most wallowed in the attention, preening on camera and baiting the easily led.
The doctor slipped in a promo for his office, offering female clientele a discount if they made an appointment by the wedding. Others followed suit, easily stringing along interest and indulging in the spotlight.
And with each new introduction, Marcus’ gut twisted. The thought of any one of them with Francine made him sick.
However, the rumor still ran deep that Marcus, longing for a huge score for King’s, would stand in as the mystery groom. Another culprit alleged it was all a ploy to lure customers in and deceive the public. A grand scheme with no real wedding in the end. He had Mrs. King to thank for adding fuel to that fire as she leveled another shot at him.
Fake husband or no-show groom? Poor Francine would suffer either way.
With all the tension growing, he’d ditched the office nearly an hour ago and now found himself standing in front of Stu’s house. What better way to get his mind off Francie and the store than to move on with his partnership plans? He tapped the white envelope he held against his hand.
“Change of scenery,” he muttered. He tried the doorbell. Nothing. He knocked once, twice. He looked over at the Range Rover he’d ended up giving them as it sat in the driveway. “Come on. You’ve got to be here.” He pounded on the wood again.
Suddenly, the door thrust open. Stu, holding a screaming baby, greeted him. His hair stuck out and his shirt had streaks of something green across the front. “Yo, Marcus, what are you doing here?”
“I tried the The Grill. They said it was your day off.”
The baby’s cries stuttered as hiccups took over, but the noise level increased as two whirlwinds rushed toward them. The twins yelled and zoomed past their dad and smack into Marcus.
“Uncle Marcus.”
“No, Uncle Mac and Cheese,” the second one corrected, and then burst into shrieks of glee. His twin joined in.
Both of them hung onto Marcus’ legs. “Guys.” He rustled their curly-topped heads.
“We’re hungry.”
“Always,” their dad said, shaking his head. “Hey, buddy, help me out, will ya?” He lifted the eight-month-old. “Diaper change?” He nodded to the boys still hanging on Marcus. “Or feed these animals for me. Geena was called in to work today, so I’m watching them. Lend me a hand.”
Marcu
s laughed, tucking the envelope in his inside suit pocket. “You know my choice.” He lifted each leg over the threshold and half dragged, half carried the boys as he followed his friend inside.
Toys littered the floor, and baby bottles and baby food jars covered the counter-top. He shucked off his jacket and tossed it on one of the bar stools. “Name your poison.”
“Huh?” Big brown eyes looked up at him.
He turned to the other one, who looked equally confused. “Poison?” He grimaced.
“Figure of speech,” Marcus explained.
“What’s a figure ’o speech?”
Their dad chuckled. “Nothing fancy for these two, Marcus. PB and J.”
“No crust,” the one wiping his nose and clutching Marcus’ pant leg again said.
Marcus grinned. “Okay, buddy. Coming right up.” He looked at his friend. “I never thought this was your style.”
“Wife? Kids? Me, either.”
“So what gives?”
His friend pointed to the bread and jars lined up near the fridge, and then dug for a diaper out of the box. “You tell me. One minute I’m partying at this club and the next minute this hot chick—” He stopped himself. “Lady walks up to me and asks me to be the father of her babies.”
“You fell for it.”
“Head over heels. That was five years ago.”
Marcus stopped spreading jelly on a slice of bread. He watched his friend cooing at the baby, making her giggle and blow saliva bubbles. His friend kissed her tiny hand. With a stab of envy, Marcus watched Stu morph into a loving, caring dad with a giant grin on his face. He’d never seen him happier. “No regrets?” It wasn’t really a question.
“I never knew what I’d been missing.”
He’d known Stu for almost a dozen years, crossing paths as they both rose through the ranks of the restaurant industry and club scene. Great food, liquor, and beautiful women were frequent companions. The heady feeling propelled them both to seek more and live on top of the world.
Somewhere along the way, Marcus convinced himself that was success. Having everything he wanted and when he wanted it fed his appetite.
Now, with a start, he realized how alone he felt. There was no one to come home to, no one to share his hopes and dreams with, and especially no one who really loved him. Or was there?
***
Francine halted outside the door to the upscale beauty salon. Cold air rushed over her, making her huddle in her coat. But, she still stared into the reflection of the glass door.
It wasn’t what she saw that stopped her in her tracks. It was what she had to face on the other side. Not what, but who, she corrected herself.
A car’s horn blared nearby, snapping her out of her resistance. “Now or never,” she muttered under her breath as she stepped forward.
Dread followed her inside the warm reception area.
The young woman smiled. “Are you here for an appointment?”
She swallowed hard. “I’m here to see Mrs. King.”
Her perfectly shaped eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Ah, she’s under the dryer at the moment…”
Not waiting for a dismissal, Francine pasted on a tight smile and, using her mother’s commanding ways, brushed past the girl. “Thank you for your assistance.”
“But, but—”
She marched through the aisle of gawking hairstylists and to the alcove of dryers. Spotting her mother flipping through a magazine, Francine headed that way. She eyed the empty foot-stool in front of her mother, and then plopped down on it, facing the older woman.
“Oh my,” her mother shrieked, thrusting the dryer hood up and off her head. “Francine?” She blinked several times and then reached up to hide the purple rollers covering her head
Rarely did she see her mother this vulnerable. In the back of her mind, Francine realized she’d unconsciously chosen this neutral public place to ward off any further verbal attacks. She scooted closer, reaching over to twist the knob of the dryer. The whirling air halted. When she settled back, she came eye to eye with her mother.
Lines feathered out at the corners of her dark eyes. Her ruby red lipstick, perfectly applied, couldn’t conceal the slight pursing of her lips. There were traces of the great beauty she’d once been; however, the years of harping had taken their toll.
“Must you? Here? I’ll be done in thirty minutes. We can talk then.”
Francine didn’t like to see her mother like this, uncomfortable and awkward. Somewhere deep inside, she still wanted to protect her. Right now wasn’t the time, though. Bracing herself, she said, “Mother, you have to stop—”
“Stop what, may I ask?” She looked around, lowering her voice. “You’re making a spectacle out of us.”
“No more attacks on Marcus. Public or otherwise.”
Her startled look instantly turned into a scowl. “I warned you. You did not listen.”
“If it’s me you intended to hurt, you succeeded.” Her voice caught. She cleared her throat. “I love him.”
“You fool!” she spat.
“Probably.” She shrugged. “It’s not as if I didn’t know.”
“You’re not…” She glanced down at Francine’s belly. “In the family way?”
Francine chuckled, but it hurt. She shook her head.
Her mother sighed. “Good. Now, we won’t tell a soul. I’m sure Doctor Neal wouldn’t know the difference. Get him liquored up on your wedding night.”
Somehow she’d turned this all around again. “You’re mistaken, Mother. I’m not marrying Neal. In fact, if or when I do marry, it will be to the man of my choosing, not yours.” She sucked in a painful breath. “I came here to wash my hands of any trust fund, any inheritance, or even a dime you are trying to hold over my head. I don’t want your house or your things. I don’t want your money. I never did. I…I just wanted you to love me.”
“No money?”
She stared long and hard at the woman sitting opposite her. Obviously, she hadn’t heard the last. A well of sadness rose up in her chest. A cold dose of reality hit. She would never have the mother she longed for, because that woman didn’t exist any longer; she had died the same day Francie’s stepfather did. And all her dreams died that day, too. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? If you have your lawyers draw up the paperwork, I’ll be happy to sign them.”
“Is this a bluff?”
“No, Mother, this is goodbye.”
***
Over the next few days, Francie moved about with decided purpose. No longer burdened by the desperate need for approval, she threw caution to the wind. No request for a wedding seemed too bizarre now.
“Petting zoo?”
“That’s what they asked for.” Rico grimaced. “I am not picking up the poop.”
Francie agreed. “You’ve got your contact at the pet store?” She held out her hand for the slip of paper. “I’ll go and arrange it. While I’m gone, can you check with housewares for the engraved sterling silver doggie bowls?”
“Fido and Bow Wow or whatever that little scrappy one’s named will stand up for them. Can you believe that?” He tsked. “There’s no accounting for taste.”
She giggled. “Did you see the matching doggie outfits our wedding department created?”
“No way. Where? Let me see.”
“Under the counter. They came in just before you arrived.”
He raced to the area, snatching the lid off the box. “Oh my.” He picked the little white wedding dress up with two fingers and dropped it on the counter. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he shrieked as he nudged the little red panties.
“Just like the bride’s.”
“Ewww!” He grabbed a pencil. Using it, he hooked the panties on the end and maneuvered it back to the bottom of the box.
“They’re not going to bite you, but we can’t say that about Fido and FeFe,” she teased.
“Who’s biting who?” Evelyn asked, returning with three cups of coffee.
“Rico ca
n explain the bite marks.”
“Funny, Francie, real funny,” he snorted.
“Thanks, Ev. I’ll have mine to go,” Francine said, tugging on her coat and snatching up her bag before she accepted the lukewarm, half-milk and half-coffee combo she’d come to tolerate for the kick of caffeine and energy. “If I’m not back in two hours, can you sub for me in the manager’s meeting, Rico?”
“Again? It’s only the third time this week,” he grumbled. He raised his eyebrows. “Avoiding someone tall, blond, and sexy as hell?”
Heat stung her cheeks. “Well, if you don’t want to sit across from him and drool, I can ask Evelyn to fill in.”
He held up his hands. “No, no, I’m good. I love eye candy just as much as the next woman.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Chuckling, Francie strolled through the store as she headed for the exit. She returned several employees’ cheery greetings as she went, smiling at Benny the doorman as he tipped his hat to her. With her mind still picturing the way Rico usually put his elbows on the counter and cupped his face in his hands while he gawked at Marcus and sighed, she sailed out the door and smack into the man filling her thoughts.
“Marcus,” she yelped, trying to shift the tumbling cup. Too late, coffee sprayed him and landed at her feet. “I’m so sorry.”
“Francie.” He grabbed her forearms to steady her. “Are you all right?”
Being this close to him again brought back a rush of exquisite longing. “Fine. It’s you. Your coat.”
He shrugged, glancing at the coffee stains. “No harm.”
But the damage was done. Her heart thumped in her chest. God, he looked so good. She met his stare and gulped hard. A flare of desire in the green depths sparked a need so deep and so wide inside her. She sucked in a sharp breath.
“How have you been?” he asked, his voice low and husky.
She dropped her gaze to those lips and remembered what they tasted like. “Do you want the truth?”
He chuckled. It came out more of a gruff than a laugh. “I can guess.”
“Mr. Marcus, Ms. Francine,” Benny called, rushing to them. “The cleaning crew are on their way.” He urged them away from the mess and offered to take their coats.
Waking Sleeping Beauty (Book 2, Once Upon A Romance Series) Page 15
