Staying Single

by Millie Criswell

  He gazed at her lips and she warmed instantly. "I like to think so."

  The salt on the rim of the frosty glass was going to add five pounds of water to Francie's weight by morning, but right now she didn't care. Right now she needed fortification, and some cooling off. Mark made her hot, with a capital H! She took a huge gulp, which rendered the glass half empty, much to her surprise.

  Mark's brow shot up. "You must have been thirsty. Careful. That tequila can go right to your head."

  "I am. I've been rushing around since I got home to the news that we were having a party tonight. Leo neglects to mention these things sometimes. And don't worry about the margaritas. I can drink them with no problem. In fact, I've never had a hangover, not once in my life."

  "Wish I could say the same. I've had some whoppers." Mark's gaze floated across the room, to where Francie's roommate was singing in a falsetto voice, along with Barry Gibb of the Bee Gees, to "Staying Alive" from Saturday Night fever. The recent Broadway musical revival had given the old movie a resurgence in popularity.

  Leo looked happy and relaxed, and Mark envied him that. "Leo's in his element tonight, that's for certain."

  There were perhaps three dozen people crammed into the apartment, all laughing and singing and having a great time.

  "He's never met a party he didn't like. Leo's the most extroverted extrovert I've ever met."

  "I admire him for it. I'm not as outgoing as I'd like to be. Guess my job's made me a solitary sort." Mark handed Francie another margarita, which she took and began sipping.

  "Speaking of your job, I need to get a copy of your upcoming book, or at least be able to take a look at some of your photography, to get an idea of how we're going to proceed with your campaign."

  Mark's eyes lit. "Why not come—"

  "Francie, there you are!" Joyce, who had just arrived on the arm of Eddie Bertucci, sidled up next to her friend and kissed her on the cheek. She was wearing tight black leather pants and a fuzzy gold angora sweater. "You look fabulous! My God! Where did you get that dress? It's too sexy for words."

  "I totally concur," Mark said, holding out his hand as he introduced himself. Francie felt a glow from within.

  "Ah, the neighbor. I've heard a lot about you. Leo and Lisa have been singing your praises and talking nonstop about the new man in Francie's life." Joyce grinned at her friend.

  Francie scowled. "Joyce, really!" But for some reason, probably the alcohol, she was unable to hold it long and burst out laughing.

  Sniffing the air a few times, Francie said, "Hi, Eddie," then began laughing hysterically again. The man stared back as if she were nuts.

  "What did you put in Francie's drink, Mark?" Joyce asked. "You haven't been spiking her margaritas with Ruffles, have you?"

  Mark's cheeks filled with color.

  "Don't mind Joyce," Eddie said, casting his girlfriend a disgusted look. "She always says whatever's on the top of her head, and it's usually stupid."

  "Who do you think you're calling stupid, you smelly pig," Joyce retorted, turning on her heel and crossing the room in quick strides, Eddie close on her heels.

  "Wait, baby! I didn't mean it," he shouted after her.

  Mark grinned. "Uh-oh, trouble in paradise. Even your friends are volatile. Is it the neighborhood or just hot Italian blood?"

  Francie, feeling no pain, finished off her drink and grabbed another margarita from the table behind her. "Joyce speaks her mind. And Eddie is only a temporary play toy. He's promised to take her to see Mama Mia, so she's stringing him along. I hope he doesn't take her, so she and I can go, like we'd originally planned." It was a selfish thought, but a truthful one, Francie thought.

  "I've got two tickets to see Mama Mia. Would you like to go with me?" Mark offered.

  Francie's eyes widened at the invitation. Well, as wide as they could open, considering the upper lids felt as if they'd been glued to the bottom ones. "I didn't know you liked musicals. You never said."

  He laughed. "There's a lot about me you don't know. I love musicals, and Abba is one of my favorite groups."

  "Me, too! What a coincidence. I guess there's more to you than I originally thought. And we really need to rect…recti…fix that part about me getting to know you better, if I'm going to be working with you."

  "I totally agree. Why don't we dart over to my apartment and I'll show you some of what I've been working on, then we can make arrangements to see the play."

  Francie hesitated momentarily, biting her lower lip, but the alcohol had all but obliterated her reservations, and she grinned, somewhat lopsidedly. "Is that sort of like inviting me over to see your sketchings?"

  Mark wiggled his brows in a dastardly fashion. "You've found me out, Miss Morelli. So are you coming?"

  Mmm. What a delicious thought.

  "Stop it!"

  "Stop what? I wasn't doing anything, Francie."

  "I wasn't talking to you."

  "Should I be frightened?"

  "Yes, very." She slipped her arm through his, margarita glass and all. "Shall we, Mr. Fielding?"

  "Indeed, Ms. Morelli. We shall."

  9

  Entering Mark's apartment, Francie was filled with a great deal of trepidation. She was breaking her own rule and, somewhere in her befuddled mind, she knew that. But she couldn't get her body to cooperate with what her brain was trying to communicate. The "Run, Francie, run" mantra was not currently playing inside her head—Where was a good mantra when you needed one?—and that had her worried big-time.

  She was hopelessly attracted to Mark, and she knew that attraction could only get her into trouble.

  Big-time!

  "So where are these photographs of yours?" she asked.

  "I hate to sound like a cliché, but would you believe, in the bedroom?" Mark answered with a devilish grin that she found way too appealing.

  Damn! She really sucked at avoidance.

  Double damn that he was so darn cute!

  Double, double damn that she was so wishy-washy!

  Disgusted with herself, Francie shook her head and immediately regretted the motion, though she wasn't about to admit that the tequila was doing a number on her brain cells, her now dead brain cells. Not after she'd bragged that alcohol had no effect on her.

  Ha! Ha! Ha! That was a good one.

  "It's not very original. But I'll give you points for trying," she finally said.

  "I actually use the spare bedroom as a gallery of sorts. I didn't want to rent furniture for the room, since I won't be having any guests staying overnight, so I set up my computer and office in there. The white walls make a nice backdrop for the black-and-white photos, if I do say so myself."

  Francie followed Mark toward the back of the apartment. His bedroom door was open and she could see that his room wasn't quite as neat as the rest of the flat. The bedspread and blankets were mussed, the pillow dented, looking as if he'd taken a brief nap before coming to the party. There were clothes strewn on the carpeted floor and the chair by the bed. A pair of black silk boxers dangled from the doorknob.

  A tingling feeling started in the pit of her stomach, radiating down to her toes. Thinking that Mark had actually lain in that bed, probably naked, sent her hormones into overdrive. Good Lord! She was having a hot flash and she wasn't even thirty yet.

  What on earth is the matter?

  As if you don't know.

  She was primed and ready for ignition. All she needed was a spark to set her off.

  Turning his head, the spark looked back at her and asked almost the same question. "What is it? Is something wrong? You look rather odd."

  Fighting the urge to groan, she shook her head.

  "Nothing's wrong. I talk to myself sometimes. You'll get used to it. And I always look odd, it's part of my charm." She forced a smile, trying to appear pretty and witty, but failing miserably.

  "Take care you don't start answering, or you'll really be in trouble."

  Too late!

  Entering the
small bedroom, Francie was immediately entranced by the framed photographs on the walls. They hung uniformly, covering every inch of bare space, and were of excellent quality. You didn't have to be a photography expert to see that Mark was extremely talented.

  Slowly she moved from one to the other, noting the pathetic faces of undernourished African children, exotic half-naked Polynesian women, and the bodies of the dead, left on battlefields from various wars fought in faraway lands.

  "These are very moving," she said, a lump forming in her throat, which she massaged with her hand. "You have quite a gift for capturing the heart and soul of a person. That one, of the small child with the distended belly, is particularly heart-wrenching."

  "I don't think I could do what you do. I wouldn't have the stamina, the guts to face what you have to face to get these kinds of shots."

  His eyes reflected surprise at her comments. "Thank you. I rarely share these photographs with anyone. They're among my favorites and are not for sale or public consumption."

  "You have a sensitive side, Mark, that is clearly revealed in your work. I already know you're a romantic, but I never realized until now what a sensitive soul you have." She waved toward the wall of photographs. "It's there on display, revealing a part of you that is special and unique."

  Her publicist's brain was already conjuring up possibilities to utilize those qualities. The media ate up compassion and sensitivity, probably because they didn't have much of their own.

  Moving toward her, Mark held out his hands and pulled Francie to him before she could object. "You're very special, too," he said in a low, sexy voice that made her heart thump madly in her chest and her toes curl downward. "I hope you know that. And I'm honored that you like my work. You have great insight."

  "I—" She never got to finish her sentence because Mark's lips captured hers and she lost herself in his kiss—his very fabulous kiss!—wrapping her arms about his waist and pulling him closer to her.

  His lips were soft and insistent, and when his tongue entered her mouth, and she felt the rhythmic in and out motion, it was all she could do to maintain her equilibrium.

  The "Wow!" factor was tremendous.

  Her insides turned to mush instantly. Her heart raced at such a high rate of speed she felt breathless and unsteady. And the hard member pressing against her belly gave her a good indication that Mark was feeling the same way.

  Arousal was a "hard" thing for a man to hide.

  When Mark finally released her, Francie felt as if her world had been rocked on its axis. She'd never been kissed like that before, never felt what she'd just felt.

  And it scared the hell out of her.

  "I think I should go."

  He took her hand and caressed it. "Don't go. I won't kiss you again, if you don't want me to. But I won't apologize, either. Because I've wanted to do that from the first moment I set eyes on you."

  Yeah, me, too.

  Francie smiled ruefully. "That's the problem. I wasn't offended, and I may want you to do it again, and that very fact frightens me."

  "Why does it frighten you that a man finds you desirable?"

  "I don't know."

  But she did.

  Francie couldn't afford to get involved with Mark. He was the kind of man she could fall head over heels in love with. Hell, maybe she had already; she didn't know. She was certainly not an expert when it came to matters of the heart, that was for damn certain! Pursuing a relationship would be a disaster, just like all the other disasters she'd had in the past. And she'd promised herself that she wouldn't make the same mistakes again.

  Damn it! Why did he have to have an M name?

  It was a bad omen.

  Mark led her into the living room and they sat on the sofa. "I won't deny that I want you, Francie, but I won't ask for more tonight. I don't take advantage of women who've had too many margaritas, despite their claim to the contrary." He smiled indulgently and she felt her face grow hot.

  "That's not my style. When we make love—and we will, rest assured of that—I want you to feel it down to your toes."

  Francie should have been upset with Mark's cocky, self-assured attitude that said she was his for the taking, but she couldn't muster up enough indignation. For some stupid reason, she was flattered.

  And maybe that was because she not only felt it in her toes, but several other spots, too. If the throbbing between her legs didn't stop, she was going to embarrass herself by jumping him first.

  "The margaritas went straight to my head," she said by way of explanation, crossing one leg over the other and trying not to squirm.

  Or was it his kisses that had drugged her with such desire? She couldn't be sure.

  "I know you have set rules about dating clients and all that, but I'm hoping you'll break them for me. I want you to go to the play with me. The tickets are for Saturday night. Will you go?"

  She released the breath she didn't know she'd been holding and nodded, knowing without a doubt that their coming together would be inevitable. She'd been waiting for someone to knock her socks off. Well, here he was.

  Socks, shoes, the whole enchilada.

  "Yes, I'd love to," she finally replied, then backed off a bit. "I mean, we did say that we had to get to know each other better, for the publicity campaign and all, right?"

  "Right."

  "And I've been dying to see Mama Mia. And it would be rude not to accept a client's invitation. And—"

  Leaning forward, he kissed the tip of her nose, which she found very endearing. "I'll take you whatever way I can get you."

  Naked, with two cherries on—

  "I'd better be getting back to the party. Are you coming?"

  "No. I don't think I can trust myself around you right now. Tell Leo I've got a headache."

  "Hey, that's usually my excuse." Francie grinned, then got up and walked toward the door, wondering if Saturday night could come soon enough, and worrying that it would.

  "Where have you been? I've been waiting for you for over an hour. Leo said you were at the party and then you just disappeared without a word to anyone. I was starting to get worried."

  Francie fought the urge to smooth down her hair, which probably looked as though she'd just gotten out of bed—close, but no cigar!

  "What are you, my keeper, Lisa? And what are you doing here anyway? Leo didn't tell me you were coming."

  "Leo invited me. It is a party, isn't it? And I am your sister, aren't I? In fact, why didn't you invite me? I was rather hurt that you didn't. I always invite you to my parties."

  "You never have any parties."

  "Well, I would, if I did."

  Francie sighed. "I didn't know we were having a party until I got home this evening, that's why I didn't invite you. Leo just sprang this on me. I guess he figured that I couldn't say no if I didn't know about it in advance."

  Leo was sneaky like that.

  "That still doesn't explain where you've been."

  Noting several interested and totally inebriated onlookers, Joyce included, Francie grabbed her sister's hand, waved and smiled at her friends, then dragged Lisa into the bedroom, pulling her down beside her on the bed.

  "If you must know, I was down the hall at Mark's apartment. And I wish you wouldn't broadcast my personal business in front of the whole room. You know how indiscreet Joyce is. She'll start spreading rumors, truth or no truth. She can't help herself. I love her, but the woman's got a bigger mouth on her than a hippo."

  Lisa's brow arched. "Anything you care to confess? You look a bit messed with."

  Francie's face flared bright enough to match her dress. "Mark kissed me. And that's all he did. I went over to his apartment to look at his photographs, for the campaign that we're working on. Nothing more happened. Oh, except that he invited me to see Mama Mia on Saturday night. I can't wait. I'm really looking for—"

  "In New York City?" Lisa interrupted, shaking her head, a look of total disbelief on her face.

  "You don't seem very ple
ased about my date. Why is that? I thought you liked Mark. You seemed to at dinner last night."

  "Think, Francie. New York City. That means you'll have to stay overnight. The play probably doesn't start until eight o'clock. It'll run for two or three hours, you'll have a late dinner, maybe take a romantic ride through Central Park, and then…" Lisa left the rest unsaid, but Francie picked up the thread right away and paled slightly.

  "Oh, shit! I hadn't thought of that. Well, I'm sure we'll be able to drive or take the train back to Philly after we're done. I don't intend to spend the night with Mark Fielding. I'm not a glutton for punishment, contrary to what you may think. And I'm not that easy."

  Well, at least not on a first date.

  And being easy was relatively subjective anyway.

  If a person wanted to have sex, for purely self-indulgent reasons, then what was wrong with that? I mean, she and Mark were two consenting adults. It wouldn't be a crime or anything.

  And if they used protection, then so much the—

  Shut the hell up, Francie! Just shut the hell up.

  "Hey, if you want to have sex with the guy, that's up to you," Lisa said, as if reading Francie's mind. "But I sort of got the impression from what you've said that you weren't ready for another relationship. Of course, I would, if it were me. He's cute, and sexy as hell. You'd be a fool not to, in my opinion."

  "Well, nobody's asking for your opinion. I've got enough problems with Mom, without adding sex into the equation. It's clear she's designated Mark as the next fiancé candidate. I should just move to Alaska and be done with it. That's probably the only way she'll ever leave me alone."

  "What? And miss all the wonderful plans Mom is making for your next wedding. Besides, she probably knows a lot of Eskimos," Lisa added with a grin.

  Fear shot straight through Francie's heart. "What have you heard—about wedding plans, I mean?"

  A mysterious look flashed across her sister's face, and Francie grew instantly alarmed. "Nothing," Lisa replied.

  "Come on, Lisa, fess up."

  "I swear. I haven't heard anything. It's just the way she talks about Mark. I think you're in serious trouble this time, France. Mom is crazy about the guy. She never stops talking about how handsome he is, how much money he makes, what beautiful children you two are going to have. Should I go on?"