Waking Sleeping Beauty (8 page)

“No such thing,” Dolly chimed in, pushing him toward the table. “Just like family, honey. You sit and visit while I finish up dinner. Chicken and dumplings, one of your favorites. I remember.”

Francie gulped as he took a chair just a few inches from her. Suddenly, the space narrowed. His heat and scent drifted to her and she wondered if there was such a thing as swooning; she thought she would any minute now.

There was something about the tall, broad shouldered man that made her heart beat faster and her blood warm. She stole a sideways glance at him. He was looking at her. Jerking her attention away, she encountered Charlie’s expression, her eyebrows raised in question.

“It was nice visiting with you, Charlie.” She made to stand. “I see you and…Mr. Goode must have business to discuss.”

“Marcus,” his curt voice cut through her, “and don’t leave on my account.” He reached out and grabbed her elbow to stop her from going.

It seared through her white silk blouse. He must have felt it, too; he yanked his hand away.

“Stay,” Charlie coaxed, glancing from Francine to Marcus and back again. “I know you can’t resist Dolly’s home cooking. Have you had a decent meal since you walked out on your mother?”

She didn’t have to turn to know Marcus’ intent stare was on her, the way her skin prickled with awareness.

“You walked out?” Marcus asked, obviously not hearing this before.

Her smile, small and tight, was one of practiced politeness. She glared at Charlie for that admission. But she sensed her stepsister was trying to inform Marcus of her non-cooperation with her mother’s ideas.

“Yes, it’s a long story,” Francine said with a dismissive air.

“Oh, come on,” Dolly piped up, “the old battle-ax stole their trust funds. Years of lying, cheating, and domineering her own daughters.”

The truth stung. Francine blinked to keep the fresh tears from forming. She was little more than a commodity. It was still a shock to comprehend the enormity of her mother’s desperate need to control everything and everyone around her.

Seeing her face to face this week had hammered it home. Her mother hadn’t changed in that regard. No, she’d relished leaving Francie a list of eligible bachelors to contact for her search. Marcus had glared at the paper littered with the names of prospective grooms while Francine numbly shook her head, stunned by the gall of the woman she’d once trusted, trusted to make the best decisions for her, trusted her to be a mother, not a domineering nightmare who swooped in and took over people’s lives.

Marcus stiffened. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “That explains a great deal.”

Not able to speak, she nodded. She didn’t want his sympathy. Thrusting her chin up higher, she said, “I’ll survive.”
I can do this!
She meant it. There may be obstacles, roadblocks even. And there may be doubting Thomases all around her, but she’d show them. “I’m a King.”

“Indeed you are,” he murmured.

***

Why did she have to smell so good?
he wondered as she brushed past him, her scent tickling his senses. Dolly had pleaded for his last-minute help with their meal and Francine had offered to set the table. Now, she stretched to reach the plates.

He came up behind her, attempting to help with the china. “Here, let me.”

She sucked in a breath. Pulling back, she leaned into him. She jerked away, bumping his chest. He groaned.
Could she just touch him some more? Graze his hip once again?

Francine sidestepped him, heading for the silverware instead.

Mentally, Marcus kicked himself for reacting to her at all. After the fiasco a few days ago, he swore he’d stay away. When things had calmed down and business picked up, he’d walked away. But, he’d been drawn back. Out of curiosity at first. He soon found out advertising worked.

Women were lined up to get a peek at the boutique, fawning over every detail of the hip, chic little oasis in the midst of King’s Department Store. Each day brought more and more customers. The interest should have had Marcus delighted. However, he’d scowled at the number of men lingering around her, touching her arm, and giving her their cards.

With that ad, Peg might as well have declared King’s a dating service. He shook his head at his harsh words to Francine. It wasn’t her fault. He knew that now. But then, when her mother had arrived, he’d suspected the worst: Francine and her mother had arranged the ad and the subsequent groom-seeking.

Now, Francie dodged him as she rushed past. “Wait, Francie, before we join them.” He nodded to Dolly gently scolding Charlie for getting up again. “I want to apologize.”

She gripped the placemats to her as she glanced into his eyes.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“Done?” she asked, trying to duck around him.

He held out his arm, essentially trapping her against the counter. “I’m sorry.” He meant it.

“You should be,” she countered. “Now will you let me go?”

Her sudden candidness made him chuckle. Being this close to her had his blood buzzing. She was off-limits, so why did he dare to cross the line? Why did she capture his attention and interest more than any other woman had?

She intrigued him, made him go hot all over and lose track of his tried and true practice of never, ever getting involved with his employees. “We need to work together,” he said, wondering if he’d finally convinced himself hands off Francie while conducting business.

“At the store, of course. Away from the store, we can be polite. How’s that?”

Why didn’t he like that?
It was exactly the code of conduct he needed to observe.

“Let’s make a deal, Marcus.” Her voice sounded like honey. “No more outside contact.”

“Outside contact?”

“No more taxi cab rides, or going with you to visit your mom, or meals at Charlie’s. And no more…” her gaze drifted to his mouth, “kisses.”

Could innocent words cut you to the quick like that? He tried to recover from the sinking sensation in the pit of his belly. But she did have a point. So why did the heat of her stare contradict everything she’d just said?

***

“Deal?” he asked, sticking out his hand. Hesitantly, Francie eyed his hand: long, square, solid. It was a hand you’d never find weakness in, or indecisiveness; no, nothing but confidence, firm, strong conviction. It reminded her of her father’s handshake she’d often witness. Many a deal had been sealed with just that, a handshake. His flesh skimmed hers, palm touched palm; she slid her hand in his, feeling as if his large grasp engulfed hers.

There was something there, electricity, she thought as her nerves zapped along where he touched and up her arm

“Deal,” he said softly, too darn softly. His voice, low and sugarcoated, poured over her, sinking into every crevice.

Reluctantly, he pulled away. “No more touching.” He seemed to make that one up as he went along.

“Agreed.” She curled her fingers into her palm, trying to hold onto that one last forbidden touch. Skirting by him, she rushed to the table, making short, quick work of setting it. Her sister’s eyes followed her. “Alex late?” she asked, her words mere gasps as she tried to stomp down on the stab of pain shooting through her.

“Working late. He’s setting up the West Coast division. Remember, I told you that when you got here?”

Francie stopped for a moment, jerking her gaze to Charlie’s curious stare. How could she have forgotten the reason for the dinner invitation? Charlie’s new husband had called, begging Francie and her sister, Priscilla, to visit so he could feel reassured his wife had company while he fulfilled his obligations to his family’s business tonight—a dull, boring business dinner.

Smiling tightly, she shrugged off her forgetfulness. “Too bad Prissy had a night shift, huh?”

“What’s going on?” Charlie whispered, glancing at Marcus and Dolly put the finishing touches on the meal.

“I’m under the gun,” she said, throwing a look over her shoulder, making sure the others weren’t overhearing them. “I’ve got to make this a success. I’m scared,” she confessed, in her heart of hearts knowing she spoke of both her fear of failing and not being able to take care of herself and of the feelings Marcus stirred up. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Francie.”

“Here we are,” Dolly chirped, leading Marcus to the table.

“Looks delish,” Francie said, meeting Marcus’ eyes.

“You talking ’bout the food or him?” Dolly chuckled, nudging her arm. “Oh, honey, I’d be eating him up, too, if I was your age.”

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.”