Waking Sleeping Beauty (13 page)

“Hot?” she said under her breath. He’d felt it, too, she noted, taking some comfort in that.

“Sizzling,” he countered, equally as low; however, he was on mic and his voice carried.

There were thrills of giggles from quite a few of the ladies.

“I’ve got an apron for you,” Dolly said, bending down to grab one from under the counter. She thrust it at her. “Have this one, honey.”

Francie clutched the fabric to her. “I can’t stay.”

“Chicken,” Marcus whispered.

“No, we’re not cooking chicken, Marcus. Poultry after Thanksgiving? No way. Risotto, remember?” Dolly chided. “You help Francie with the apron; she’s too tall for me to reach. While I’ll call out the ingredients, she can get them for you.” She slid onto a tall stool and propped her feet on the rung. “Phew, I’m pooped from standing on my feet all day yesterday.”

Laughter rang out over the crowd. Dolly clearly had taken over, leaving Francie little choice but to comply. She unfolded the apron with King’s written on it over an embroidered crown, trying to make sense of how it went.

“Let me,” he said with a smile in his voice.

The middle-aged lady in the front row nearly jumped up, saying, “You can help me anytime you want, handsome.”

Marcus chuckled. Slowly, he placed the opening over Francie’s head and flicked her hair off her neck. His warm breath tickled her there and a wave of sensation rushed through her. “Not fair,” she said, knowing he’d found that tender spot in the early morning hours.

“Who’s not playing fair?” he asked as he wrapped the fabric around her, coming closer to her as he wound the ties at her waist. His masculine scent enveloped her, careening her back to when she was feathering kisses over his bare chest.

“Oh, baby, you can tie me up like that, too,” the woman’s female friend growled.

Heat stole over Francie’s cheeks, both at the feel of his hands grazing her hips again and at the woman’s bold comments. Catcalls followed.

“Ladies, ladies, behave,” Marcus scolded. His smile took the sting out of the reprimand.

Giggles ensued.

“You’ve got them eating out of your hands already,” Francie said softly, but he was so close the mic picked up her words.

There was a ripple of laughter and more racy comments that followed.

“Now, Francie,” he directed her to the frying pan, “stir.” He handed her the spoon. When she just stared at it, he covered her hand with his and moved it in a circular motion.

“I’ll hold it for you,” a female voice yelled from the back.

He chuckled in her ear. Francie gasped, at his low, seductive voice and his warm, strong hand.

“Just sayin’.”

“Let me. I know how to hold it,” another female voice called out. Everyone roared with laughter.

Francie wanted the floor to swallow her up whole; she was certain her face turned all shades of red.

“Francie can handle it,” he said, confidence ringing out. “And me.”

The ladies nearly swooned, the oohs rippling through the captive audience.

“She’s the wedding lady, isn’t she?” a woman holding up the latest ad for the boutique asked.

Dolly chirped, “You betcha she is. Have you seen the place? Divine, simply divine.”

“Thanks, Dolly,” she said, smiling at her friend, grateful for the diversion from her growing desire for Marcus again.

Marcus made quick work of tossing ingredients in the pan, every once in a while guiding her hand to keep stirring.

“Love the shoes!” another woman called out.

Francie tried to find the person, but the glare of lights caused spots in front of her eyes.

“The ring, to die for.” The comment came from the lady in the front row. “Square cut blush center diamond, love it!”

“Where are they? I wanna see.”

“They’re on display now. The ring at the jewelry counter and the shoes in the shoe department.” Dolly rubbed her hands together. “Did you get a load of the bridesmaids’ dresses? You get to vote on which one makes the grade.”

“How ’bout the groom? Do we get to choose him, too?”

Francie’s middle jumped.
Not that ad again!

“Got a secret man under wraps?”

Marcus stiffened at her side.

“No, nothing like that,” Francie said.

“But, the first ad said help you find the perfect groom for your perfect wedding,” the lady in front countered, her tone distrustful.

“No, no.” She tried to explain. “A play on words.”

“Francine,” a familiar voice called out. “There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

She jerked her head up, focusing on the female figure dressed all in black strolling down the center aisle. Her middle sank. What was her mother doing here?

“You didn’t get back to me about the list.” One of her eyebrows rose in question. A smirk tugged up one corner of her lips.

No, not here
, Francie prayed. The crumpled-up list, tossed in the trash immediately, had remained unread and still unwanted. But her mother’s persistence hadn’t ended. The messages piled up and, until now, Francie had avoided her surprise visits to the store.

 “Really? A play on words? Or false advertising?” Her dark, razor-sharp stare cut through Francie, making her feel like a naughty child all over again.

Gulping hard, she knew this woman would smear King’s name if the customers ever found out it had been a fake request, even though it had been an innocent tease planted by Peg. Most people would not be forgiving for being intentionally misled. Sales would plummet and, more importantly, customers would bolt.

“What do you mean, false advertising?” the woman in the front row demanded.

Her friend piped up, “Yeah, I thought you were getting married. Is this all a big, fat lie?”

Dismayed murmurs ensued; the speculation turned to accusations from the mostly female crowd. They’d bought into the fantasy and now faced an unwelcome betrayal.

“It’s not a ploy,” Francie tried to soothe the growing restless audience.

“Ladies, please,” Marcus tried to quiet them. It didn’t work.

The older woman smiled from ear to ear, holding her head up higher. “So you will be getting married after all, Francine.” If possible, her smile grew wider. “Is there something you’re not telling me, dear?” She nodded toward Marcus. “It’s obvious you’re smitten, Francine. Is it just a crush? Why, Marcus Goode, you’re Francine’s boss. What, may I ask, have you done to my daughter?”

Francie dropped the wooden spoon. Her knees buckled. Marcus grabbed her elbow, steadying her.

Her mother intended to get her way: Francine married and the store destroyed. Marcus and his impressive reputation as a businessman would be a casualty of the fallout. If her mother couldn’t sink the store one way, she’d attempt to do it another. She’d always made sure to cover her bases, no matter who it hurt. This time Francie felt the pain the most, right in her heart.

Hell. It was a pure living hell
. Marcus thought as he held his cell phone away from his ear. With his other hand, he jabbed the executive elevator button again.

“No, Mom, I’m not getting married,” he said for what felt like the hundredth time in the last week since the press ran with Mrs. King’s comments.

The doors dinged open and he marched in, turning quickly to punch the circle for the ground floor. Someone eased in beside him. Someone beautiful and sexy and with the most gorgeous blue eyes he’d ever looked into.
Francie.

His mother asked, “Are you sure? It’s been in the papers…”

Nodding to Francie, he tried to focus on the conversation and away from her tentative looks under her lashes. The compartment moved, carrying the two of them down. “I’m sure, Mom.”

“You would tell me if you were getting married, wouldn’t you? I just love weddings.”

“I am not, repeat not, getting married,” he said it with a firmness neither his mother nor Francie could mistake.

The lady beside him glanced up quickly. His heart jumped to his throat.

“I’ll call you tonight after you settle in.”

“I’m not sure I’m going to like it here, dear. It’s not home.”

A stab of guilt shot through his gut. She wasn’t recovering at the rehabilitation center. She couldn’t go back to the assisted-living center. So his alternative was a nursing home— upscale, but a nursing home nonetheless. “Give it a few days. You’ll get to know the routine there. You’ll make some new friends.” Or would she find another man to set her sights on? He hoped she’d learned her lesson from Wilbur in the rehab center.

“Okay, dear.” Her weak voice faded out and he heard the click on the other end of the line. He shut off his phone and pocketed it.

Now, alone with Francie, her essence wrapped around him. Her scent teased him. He grew warm at the memory of her underneath him, touching him, rising up to meet his hips. He groaned inwardly.

Purposely, he’d avoided her the last few days, or at least being alone with her. He’d practically ignored her during meetings or enlisted Charlie to intervene on occasion now that she was back to working two days a week. But, it was while on the floor he suffered the most when he found her head close to another man’s deep in conversation, or the way the guy would laugh at something she’d said, or mother after mother brought their single sons in to meet her.

“When you stare at me like that, I feel like I’m going to melt,” she said softly, with her profile to him.

Marcus cursed, taking a step closer. Gently, he turned her to face him. She cooperated. But she refused to look up.

He brushed the sweep of her silky hair away, and then, with his hand, he lifted her chin so now she gazed into his eyes.

Deep, endless blue eyes searched his face as if trying to commit it to memory. “I’ve missed you, Marcus, missed this.”

Me, too
. “This is so wrong,” he said, shaking his head but focusing on her lips. He longed to kiss her.

“I know. I shouldn’t want you, shouldn’t get you mixed up with my mother’s manipulations. I’m sorry about that.”

He witnessed the regret flashing through her eyes. He let out a heavy sigh. “I couldn’t be sure…”

“That I was a part of it?” She shook her head. “Not my style.”

“You mean like a bull in a china shop?”

She chuckled. It hit him somewhere in his solar plexus.

The elevator bumped to a halt. The door dinged open. Before he knew it, they had an audience again. Three women from their advertising department oohed and ahhed. Marcus pulled away, but not before the damage was already done.

“So nice to see you, Marcus, Francine,” the oldest of the three spoke as he ushered Francine out of the elevator and past the women. “Maybe you’ll both be free for an upcoming ad for the boutique. The numbers don’t lie—sales are up and you two are a hit.”

Pure hell!

Hours later, pacing his living room, Marcus kicked himself for adding more fuel to the fire. He’d parted ways with Francie at the boutique, but not before getting too many curious looks from the employees.

Now, he looked around his home. Nowhere was he safe from the memory of her. He could barely sleep in his bed anymore; the thoughts of her beside him ran rampant. If he did happen to fall asleep, she was there in his dreams, haunting him, just out of reach.

He stared at the sports channel blaring in the background. Marching over to the coffee table, he grabbed the remote and shut the TV off, silencing the mocking. Damn, he couldn’t even watch a game anymore without thinking about her.

Tossing the controller to the couch, he stalked off. “Maybe I can get some work done.”

At his desk, he shuffled papers back and forth, not even seeing the words. Reaching for the phone, he thought he could call someone, anyone. The names blurred. He frowned, not recalling half the women listed. Without a second thought, he deleted them, one after the other.

He realized he didn’t even have a number for Francie, except for the boutique extension. A shaft of disappointment slashed through him. The one person he would have longed to talk to tonight, he couldn’t even get a hold of.

Strange how connected he felt to her, even when she wanted completely different things than he did.

Dropping the phone down, he stared at the top drawer. “No, don’t do it,” he warned himself. He ignored his own advice and slid it open. Gingerly, he took out the photo he’d tucked away there after she’d found it in his dressing area. He’d promised himself it was a temporary move until he could sneak it back into the store’s storage room. But, there it still sat. “Francie,” he said, gazing long and hard at her picture.

He studied her, every inch of her heart-shaped face, honey blonde hair, perfect bow lips. But it was her eyes that captivated him. Blue so deep and so revealing that it took his breath away. There was truth there, purity, goodness, and most of all hope.

She believed in fairy tales. She believed in love.

His heart turned over.

“Sweet Jesus,” he cried out, “I am not, repeat not, falling in love with her.”

***

He needed air, fresh and chilling, to sweep away the cobwebs. Marcus drove for an hour, windows down, radio up and wandering the nearly empty streets. Somehow he found himself back where he first began, outside his first pub and grill.

They were closing, the chairs already flipped over on top of the tables. But the back lights were still on. He decided to stop; he could pass on word that he wanted to see the owner. With his brand new SUV’s windows up and doors locked, Marcus dashed through the freshly falling snow and, once at the pub, yanked open the door.

The bell rung overhead.

He smiled at the familiar place, noting the improvements. The shiny, wood bar had been extended, more stools added. The tables and chairs were new. Even with the modern updates, it still felt warm and inviting.

“Yo, we’re closing, but—” The man stopped in mid-sentence. His smile widened.

Marcus came face to face with his old buddy. “Stu, how have you been?” He shook his friend’s hand and patted him on the back.

“Good to see you in the flesh. I thought you might be too high and mighty to come around here after that gossip column said you were engaged to one of the King daughters.”