Waking Sleeping Beauty (16 page)

An older, distinguished gentleman clapped Marcus on the back. “Well, it’s good to see I’ve got someone to talk to tonight.”

“Slim pickings?” Marcus couldn’t help point out the obvious.

“Yes, Agnes has her mind set on this one.” He lowered his voice. “It’s the doctor title that gets her all shook up.”

“Do you know Mother well?” Francine joined them.

He introduced himself. “Colonel Geoffrey Baxter, retired. We met at the Royale party.”

 “Oh, yes, Charlie and Alex’s reception. His grandparents’ party. And, after all this time, you’re still with Mother?” she asked, a smile teasing the corner of her lips.

Marcus chuckled.

The colonel threw back his head and roared with laughter. “I like you, my girl. You’ll sit by me, won’t you?”

***

Marcus heaved another sigh. He got another stern frown from the hostess. Catching her stare, he raised an eyebrow.
Really? You want this guy for Francie?

Mrs. King made a sound in the back of her throat and turned away from him.

He took a long sip of wine. Across the table, he watched Francie do the same. Her glass was almost empty and when the wait staff came around, she nodded for a refill. When she picked up the glass again, she gazed at him. A pink flush dotted the tops of her cheeks at being caught, he suspected. He lifted his glass in a silent toast. She did the same. They shared a secret smile.

That throat sound came again.

Francie jerked her gaze to her mother’s, and then she gently returned the wine glass to the table. Her smile fell and she refused to look at Marcus again.

He turned to Mrs. King. Her smile stretched across her face like a Cheshire cat.

All he wanted to do was get up and whisk Francie away. But, he stayed, purposely engaging the young doctor in conversation. “So, Neal, you’re a podiatrist? What got you into that field, may I ask?”

He leaned back in the chair. “The feet are the soul of the person.”

“Sole or soul?” Marcus baited.

“Very funny, sir.” He pointed at him. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard that before. No, I always was fascinated with the feet.”

“Fetish?” Marcus asked with a straight face.

He turned bright red, his head twitching slightly to the right. “I’ve been accused of that, too.”

The colonel chuckled. “No shame in that. Every man has a weakness. I love—” He cut himself off, coughing. His gaze dropped to Mrs. King’s bosom.

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Colonel!” she admonished.

“Well, let’s not get into that.” He patted Marcus on the shoulder. “Marcus, my boy, do you have any you’d like to share?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Mrs. Stone said, dipping her head.

“As you can tell, I like the shy ones,” Neal Sr. boomed, pinching his wife’s cheek.

Marcus remained quiet, allowing the silence to settle in around him. But he stared at Francie until she turned to him. He studied her face, the way the color swept over her cheeks, the way she nibbled at her bottom lip. But it was her eyes that captured him, wide and questioning. The memory of her looking at him, gazing hungrily as he shed his clothes, watching in wonder as he entered her, stirred him. The curl of desire licked in his belly.

“Do you have a weakness, my boy?” the colonel prompted.

“Francie,” he said softly.

He heard her gasp mingled with the others.

***

Heat stole over her every time she thought of Marcus’ answer.

His presence had comforted her in the nerve racking escapade. Her mother had pulled out all her old tricks. At times, it seemed as if Marcus and her mother conducted an invisible tug-of-war over her. Torn, Francie tried to dodge the knife-like laser looks flying between them. From past experience, she knew the wounds cut deep and never truly healed.

But he hadn’t caved. He’d persisted, winning this round.

Even if there were a second battle, she realized there would only be one true outcome. She would lose.

Now, she turned to him as they stopped in front of her door. “Thank you,” she said softly, unlocking the door and inching it open. “For tonight and refusing the limo ride home with the other guests.”

The lone bulb in the hallway had burnt out a day or two ago and the super still hadn’t replaced it. Standing there, she welcomed the lapse; her senses were even more heightened to the man in front of her.

Darkness surrounded them in an intimate cocoon.

His heady scent washed over her in waves, stirring sparks of desire.

“I can’t seem to stay away from you,” he said more to himself than to her. “The harder I try, the more difficult it is.” He leaned closer. His warm breath fanned her forehead. His hand cupped her cheek. Without words, he tipped her chin up and he covered her lips with his.

She moaned, returning the embrace, matching him kiss for kiss. Emboldened, she parted his lips with her tongue, and then swallowed his groan. The sound reverberated in his chest and against her breasts. The ache in her middle grew.

“Marcus,” she whispered, enjoying saying his name as she feathered kisses over his strong, clean-shaven jaw and down his neck. “I want you.”

“I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be near you.” His words didn’t match his actions. He brushed her coat aside and now his warm hands were around her waist, pulling her to him.

Her breath caught in the back of her throat at the evidence of his desire pressed against her. A tiny thrill rushed through her at his unmistakable reaction. He might not say it, but he wanted her just as much as she wanted him right now.

Tugging on his hand, she pulled him into the apartment and slammed the door shut. “Lock it,” she instructed, reaching up and trailing her lips along his. “Prissy might—”

The giggle that cut through the room caused Francie to stop talking. Another one, male this time, followed. Francie twisted in Marcus’ arms.

“What the hell?” Marcus asked, flicking on the light, holding her against his side.

The blinding brightness forced her to blink. But nothing could erase the two pajama-clad onlookers. “Prissy!”

“Rico?!” Marcus exclaimed.

Her sister sat on her daybed, hugging her pillow to her. Rico sat on a make shift bed on the floor, covering his mouth and nearly falling over. “Girl, I didn’t know you had it in you. Well, you almost had it in you.”

“Rico!” Prissy leaned over and swatted him on the shoulder. “You are so bad!”

“So bad, I’m good!” he chirped. He did fall over, kicking two empty wine bottles. They rolled across the floor.

Francie groaned.

Marcus cursed under his breath.

“Caught in the act,” Rico chortled.

“There isn’t enough coffee in this place to sober them up,” she mused.

“Or enough cold water to put out the flames,” he hissed.

Francie didn’t know if she was coming or going. It had been nearly a week since her cover was blown and Rico didn’t let her forget it. If he didn’t shoot her a sly comment, he’d give her that look.

She should be grateful he and Prissy swore to her they’d keep her secret tryst just
that
—a secret. So far they’d complied.

However, her nerves were worn thin at the dismal attempt to stay far, far away from Marcus at work and in private. Working late and mostly holed away from the public, she dodged the usual run-ins with him at the store. Her excuses at not attending critical managers’ meetings regarding the mystery wedding led to many a complaint. While managers welcomed the additional sales in their departments, they pointed out she skipped numerous responsibilities they were required to perform.

How long before they guessed the truth? How long before they realized she couldn’t be near him without giving away her true feelings any longer?

Her head spun with questions. Her heart tugged in her chest every time she saw him from a distance. How long could she go on like this?

With three weddings scheduled for the upcoming weekend and tallying the customer votes for the cake choice, she scowled more than she smiled lately.

“You take the
F
out of fun,” Rico said after she snapped at him.

Blowing out a hot breath, she pulled him aside. “Sorry, pal. I need your help, not your criticism.”

He reared back, placing a hand on his chest. “Who,
moi
?” He put his hand on his hip and glared. “I’m on your side, and don’t you forget it, either. I coulda blabbed about you and Mr. Sexy Pants sucking face the other night, but, did I? Noooooo.” He leaned in closer with his eyes wide. “And do you know why? Well, I’ll tell you, sweetheart. ’Cause I’m your friend. People around here find out what’s going on and you’re toast.
T-O-A-S-T
!”

Francie swallowed hard. She’d heard the whispered comments. Playacting for the ads was acceptable, even welcomed since the public’s interest was piqued and sales increased. The numerous male models posing with her seemed to tone down the suspicions. Part of the inside joke was that Marcus knew how to drum up business, since there was no way someone like him would really have anything to do with someone like her.

They’d put up with what they considered a pretend attraction. After all, their jobs were at stake. However, if anything tawdry was discovered, then the press would have a field day and King’s would suffer irreparable damage. A big, fat shiny black eye would never go away.

That reputation would destroy the strong, solid family values the store represented over the years.

She hated to admit it, but her mother was right. The store couldn’t afford the scandal.

There was only one thing she could do.

***

Shaking, she held out the paper to Marcus.

“What’s this?” he asked, slipping on his suit jacket and walking to his office door. “Peg?”

“Yep, Boss.” His assistant handed him the file folder.

He grabbed it absently and looked at Francie with longing. “Later? I’ve got—”

“A budget meeting,” Peg finished, shoving him from the back. “Go, you’re late!”

Bewildered, Francie watched as the pair rushed out the door and down the hall.

She folded the paper she still held in half and tucked the edge of it under his desk blotter. With a heavy heart, she followed in their wake.

***

Back in the boutique, Francie closed up for the night, shutting down the computer the way Evelyn had taught her to and stacking the papers just so on the desk.

“Yoo hoo,” Peg called, “or is it knock knock? Anyhow, I’m coming in.”

“Peg, what brings you here?” Francie frowned. “Isn’t it past quitting time for you?”

“You’re asking me that!” She waved the folded piece of paper in front of her face. “Unacceptable.” Holding it up, she ripped it in two. “You ain’t going nowhere.”

Francie was certain the color drained from her face. “You read it?”

“It’s my business to know his business,” she leaned close, “if you know what I mean.”

All right, now heat burned her cheeks.

“Yep, even that. You don’t know I know what your perfume smells like? You don’t know I don’t see how he looks at you? You don’t know—”

“I get it,” Francie stopped her.

“Good thing I got back to the office first and found this.”

“Peg,” she grabbed the woman’s arms and forced her to look at her, “it’s for the good of the store.” She let go and retrieved the twin pieces of paper.

“Ha! People find out you quit and all this is shot to hell,” Peg said, nodding her head to encompass the boutique. “You think there’d be any interest after that? You listen to me, sweetie. I know this place. You built it. The customers are rooting for you, a King. You can’t let them down now. You can’t let King’s down now.”

Realization hit her. If she did leave now, before the holidays arrived and the wedding took place, King’s would still lose. Its integrity tarnished. What was more important right now: her heart staying intact or the store’s ultimate survival?

***

Following the nurse’s directions, Marcus found his mother in the nursing home sunroom. The dying sunlight cast orange streaks over the room. His mother wasn’t alone. Why wasn’t he surprised?

He held back, watching her and the silver-haired gentlemen as they spoke in low tones. He touched her arm lightly. His mother blushed. Looking closer, Marcus noticed his mother had had her hair done and she had put on her favorite red lipstick. Was she back to her old self again?

But it was the way they gazed at each other, shy at times, flirting with each other, that brought a smile to his face.

“Oh, look, we have company,” the older man grunted as he got to his feet and stuck out his hand. “You must be Marcus. I’m Isaac Washington.”

His firm handshake surprised Marcus. “Sir,” he nodded, “you’ve got quite a grip there.”

“I’m no arm wrestler, but I can hold my own.”

“I bet you can.”

“Marcus, honey,” his mother cooed. “What a pleasure to see you.” She got up on her own, leaning heavily on her walker. She scooted over.

He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Mother, you look lovely. New dress?”

She giggled. “Do you like it? Isaac helped me pick it out.”

“Favorite color,” the older man said, winking at her.

“Stop, Isaac, not in front of my son.”

“Yes, dear.” He turned to Marcus. “I’ve got a game, so I’ll leave you two on your own.”

“Game?”
Now what could a seventy-year-old man play at his age?

“Dominos. I’m going for the championship. Another year and I may just snag it from Sal.”

Marcus laughed.

He gave Marcus’ mother another wink. “Wish me luck, sweetie pie.” He shuffled off, waving.

“Good luck, Isaac. I know you can do it.”

“From your lips to God’s ears,” he called out over his shoulder.

Marcus waited while she watched her new beau stroll out of sight. “Mother?”

“Walk me to my room?”

“Of course.”

She maneuvered the bulky metal contraption easily. A feat she’d been unable to do just a few days before, he noted. “You’re not mad, honey?”