With a gusty sigh, Marcus yanked one of the large, wide doors open. The automatic light jerked alive, nearly blinding Marcus by the suddenness and brightness. Little remained from his years at King’s. Relief swept through him. It wasn’t the gloomy, dusty place of his past any longer. The cobwebs were gone. Maybe now he could put this place, this room of dread to rest, also.
He noted the rows of high metal shelving, each categorized and organized. He was sure Charlie had a hand in this project. He easily found the row and shelf for the box he carried, slipping it in the empty space it had occupied.
He peeled the lid back and picked up Francie’s picture again. “One last look,” he said aloud. But it held him, called to him, and he realized he couldn’t hide it away again. He eased it all the way out of the box, closed the lid, and walked away holding the picture. “I’m just borrowing it. For the store,” he consoled himself. Liar!
***
Nearly an hour later, Marcus dashed out of King’s Department Store. The blustery chill in the air had him turning up the collar of his overcoat. Looking around, he discovered the taxi the guard had called for him wasn’t there yet. “I should have gotten a car already,” he muttered, yearning for his he’d left behind. He’d flown straight to Texas after his mother had fallen and had hip surgery over a week ago.
A woman’s giggle, yards away, caught his attention. Under the street light, apparently waiting for the bus, she walked along the curb as if it were a balance beam. From the back of her navy coat, he couldn’t tell who it was, but the light beamed down on shiny blonde hair. Could it be?
Sucking in the cold air, Marcus made his way to the woman with her arms outstretched and easily walking along the small bump of concrete. Coming close, he swore it was her. “Francie?” he called out.
She jerked and swung around. She lost her footing. “Yikes!”
He rushed to her, catching her in his arms. It was her. Her breath came out in gasps. He looked down at her, cheeks rosy from the cold—even her nose was pink—her eyes focused on him. He was a goner. Leaning down, he brushed his lips against her cold ones.
Gasping, she murmured his name, “Marcus.” But she didn’t stop or push him away. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and clung tightly.
Marcus moaned. He took his time, savoring the touch of her soft lips and the sweet taste of her. Deepening the kiss, he slid his tongue along the delicate flesh. She uttered another gasp, making it easy for him to enter her mouth, teasing her tongue with his. At first, he felt her hesitancy, and then she relaxed against him. This time he groaned.
A loud, insistent blare of a horn yanked him back to reality and away from her lips. “Damn!” He wasn’t sure if he cursed the intrusion or his crossing the line with her. Probably both, he mused.
She stiffened, pulling away at the same time as he did. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Me, too,” he said, and then instantly wished he hadn’t when a wave of hurt flashed over her expressive face. “Business. I’m your boss.”
“Hey, buddy,” the taxi cab driver shouted, the brakes squealing as he halted alongside of them. “You call?”
Marcus turned to him, saying, “Yes.” Then under his breath, he said, “You have the worst timing.”
Francie giggled. “That goes for all of us, doesn’t it?”
He smiled. His anxiety eased. She understood. They both couldn’t jeopardize their positions over this attraction.
Regret sliced through him. He shoved it aside.
“Need a ride?” he asked her. He couldn’t just leave her here all alone to wait for a bus.
Looking around at the nearly desolate street, she nodded.
A few minutes later, he squeezed in beside her in the back seat. The cabbie must have owned the smallest taxi in town. Marcus’ thighs pressed along hers and he’d had to put his arm around her just to fit in the backseat.
“Rehab center, right?” the driver called out, waving his unlit cigar toward them.
Checking his watch, Marcus discovered how late it was. If he had the cabbie take Francie home first, he might not get to see his mother before she fell asleep for the night. “Francie, is it all right with you if I get dropped off first? My mother…”
“Of course. I don’t mind,” she said.
Marcus gave the okay and soon they were racing through the streets, cutting corners and running yellow lights. “Jesus,” Marcus muttered, holding onto a swaying Francie to keep them both upright.
“Is he a race car driver in disguise?” she squeaked out as yet another sharp turn had her almost in Marcus’ lap.
At least she had a sense of humor, he thought, gripping her tighter to his side. They dodged a truck and the blast of the air horn ripped through them.
“Phew! Close one,” she whispered near his ear, her breath tickling him.
Being packed close to her, touching her, had its advantages, but it made him highly aware of what he couldn’t have. Not now. Maybe ever.
Shy and easily flustered, she couldn’t have been very experienced. He sensed it in the kiss they’d just shared, too. She was hesitant in his boldness, but soon returned his attentions. And if what he’d heard this last week about her and her recent former life were true, then he was most certain that her overprotective mother had kept her under wraps all these years.
Not a good choice for a confirmed bachelor, he mused. Regret, sharp and painful, sliced through his gut.
What should have been a thirty-minute drive took less than twenty. Still reeling from the dash, Marcus paid the driver and then grabbed Francie’s arm. “You’re coming with me.” At her confused look, he said, “I can’t let you ride with this guy. We’re lucky we made it this far.”
“Thank you,” she said, the well of relief evident in her voice. But it was her look, that dreamy-eyed stare that brought him up short.
His heart flipped over. No, I refuse to let this happen. In the back of his mind, he heard a far-off chuckle.
***
Walking alongside him through the whisper-quiet rehabilitation center, Francie gripped the gold business card holder in her pocket. The gift from Marcus touched her deeply. No one had given her something so meaningful before. It was not just the gift itself; it was the belief in her as well. Someone believed in her. Believed she could accomplish this huge, monumental task she faced.
It had made her desire to succeed even stronger.
She brushed his arm as they walked, and then quickly pulled away. He was a major distraction in getting what she needed done. His visit at the boutique tonight threw her for a spin. Alone, for once, behind the velvet curtains, her imagination ran wild.
He hadn’t helped matters by showing up at her bus stop. While practicing her ballet moves from her childhood classes, his appearance surprised her. But, being in his warm, strong arms brought sensations she’d never known. She had relished the kiss. It was more intimate than she’d ever experienced before. He swept her away—her senses, her thoughts.
Looking under her lashes at him now, she realized this tall, powerful, sexy man could ruin everything. If the employees and managers at the store discovered their little trysts, she’d be out the door faster than she could blink. Marcus was not good for her.
He sighed heavily, drawing her attention. “Would you like to meet my mother?” His voice was tight and strained. His question was out of politeness only.
“I would love to,” she said, smiling at his little groan that followed. She giggled.
“You are torturing me,” he said softly in her ear as he ushered her in the room before him.
This time she moaned.
“Mom?” he asked gently, going to the bed in the center of the cozy little room.
If Francie didn’t know the woman was in a hospital bed, she never would have guessed. The linens and pillows were obviously not standard issue. The peach color fabrics were draped to cover all signs of sterile medical equipment. Lush drapes covered the one window and darker fabrics
covered the walls.
“Marcus, honey, oh it’s so nice to see you, son.” The longing in her voice poked at Francine. Her own mother had never seemed as happy to see her.
He bent down to kiss her cheek. Standing straight, he said, “I brought you a visitor. Mom, this is one of Charles King’s daughters, Francine. Francine, this is my mother, Martha Reed.”
“Oh my, I didn’t expect anyone.” She fussed with her hair.
Francine came to the side of her bed and held out her hand. “You look lovely. I see where Marcus gets his good looks from.”
The older woman placed her soft, frail hand in Francie’s. “Oh, how sweet of you to say so. He does have my hair and eyes.” Her smile widened.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She was completely sincere. She couldn’t recall the last time someone seemed genuinely pleased to meet her.
“Charles King was your father?”
“Stepfather, but he was more of a dad than my own, so I am grateful to be called his daughter.”
“What a dear man. I worked for him, did you know?”
Vaguely, Francine had heard that tidbit this last week. “I’m sure you have many stories to tell about him and the store, but we can save that for another time. I think Marcus and you should spend some time together.”
Her face brightened.
Marcus turned to her, frowning. “Are you certain? You’re not going to catch a taxi, are you?”
She shivered at the memory of the ride over. She didn’t dare chance the same cab driver returning for her. Shaking her head, she said, “No, no, I’ll just wait outside for a few minutes. You let me know when you’re ready.” She wished his mother well. Before she exited the room, Francie turned back to see Marcus pulling up a chair. A pang of loneliness and envy shot through her as the mother and son fell into an easy, comfortable conversation. “Lucky them,” she whispered, fleeing down the hall.
She nearly bumped into the elderly man turning the corner. Instinctively, her hands shot out to catch him. “So sorry. I didn’t see you.”
“You a ghost?” his scratchy voice asked as he gripped his walker tighter. “Damn near scared me to death.” He chuckled. “Ain’t too far from death, but I’d like to wait as long as possible, you know what I mean?”
Taken aback, she laughed. “Yes, sir, I do. Can I help you back to your room?”
“Mighty forward, aren’t you? Asking to come back to my room already and we’ve just barely met.”
Heat whooshed into her cheeks. “No, no, I didn’t mean anything.”
Laughing heartily, he pointed a finger at her. “You should see the look on your face. Priceless! I love it every time that happens.”
Dawning hit her. “You do this often?”
“Sneaking around at night? Or pulling people’s legs?”
“Both.”
“Yep, that’s me, all right.” He stuck out a hand. “Name’s Wilbur. What’s yours?”
“Francine.” She kept to her first name just like he did. After all, it would be nice if someone just got to know her for herself without her name and family influencing other people’s opinions about her.
“Well, where you going?”
“For a walk.” She frowned, wondering if he should be wandering the halls when the nurses weren’t around.
“I’m trying to see my honey. Down there.” He picked up his walker and pointed down the hall. He swayed.
She reached out, holding him steady. “Whoa, now, cowboy! You can’t let your horse rear up like that.”
He chuckled. “Or my rear end hit the deck, either.”
Joining him in his laughter, she felt the warmth bathe her cheeks. “I really don’t want to see that.”
“Smart aleck,” he snorted, but with a smile in his tone. “Come on then, you lead the horse and this ol’ cowboy will shuffle along. How’s them apples?”
Silently agreeing, she changed courses, now taking halting steps beside him.
He chattered about the weather, sports, and politics while they walked. She found him charming and an interesting character, to say the least.
When he stopped, she had to pull herself back to the moment. “Here’s my stop. Lasso up the horse, Tonto.”
Shaking her head at his teasing, she noted the room they stopped in front of. “Your honey’s name is?” She didn’t have to hear it to discover the truth.
“Martha, the apple of my eye.” He grinned from ear to ear.
A few seconds later, the door popped open. Marcus was on the other side, frowning deeply at her and the elderly man.
“You must be Marcus, my boy,” Wilbur boomed. “Well, it’s nice to meet my honey’s son.”
Marcus’ face registered first surprise, then horror, and then, staring at her coldly, betrayal.
He blamed her. Francine’s heart sank.
Chapter 7
Metal clanged in the distance. Francine entered the large kitchen and found Marcus pouring milk into the pan on the restaurant-style stove. She watched him for a few minutes, gathering cocoa powder and other ingredients. His short, economical movements spoke volumes.
“Marcus?” she asked, walking down the aisle toward him.
He stilled, his back stiffened. “You left them alone?”
“They’re adults. And with two broken hips, I’m sure they can’t get into too much trouble.”
Turning to her, he said coldly, “It’s not the sex I’m worried about, Francine. It’s worse than that.”
Frowning, she couldn’t imagine what he was talking about. “She lit up when Wilbur came into the room. They seem fond of each other.”
“My mother,” he said between gritted teeth, “is a die-hard romantic. I don’t want to see her get hurt…again.”
“Maybe this time it will be different.” Her voice rose in optimism.
“Five times isn’t enough?”
“Five times?”
“She married five times. Men who either can’t or won’t live up to her expectations and she’s left brokenhearted.”
Francie gulped hard. “Five,” she repeated, stunned at the number. “But your dad?”
“The first. The longest one, too.” He turned back to the pan and stirred the warming milk. “He died.”
Why did she suspect there was something more to it than that? “And the others?”
“Ah, the others… She’s so tenderhearted that she couldn’t see through the smoke and fog.” He sighed. “I guess she loved them. Sometimes the marriages came only weeks after she met them.” He smiled then. “She’s old-fashioned. No hanky-panky until after the ceremony. But, she rushed in too many times.”
Looking at his stony profile, she let the silence settle until he was ready to continue.
“The divorces were brutal. Once they found out who I was, they upped the ante.”
Her middle sank. “Money? Really?”
“Pay-offs. I’ve set up a trust for my mother, one no one else can touch, so they find other ways to get her to buy them things. Then, when it’s over, they bargain with me. Cold hard cash and fast or they drag out the proceedings and draw out my mother’s suffering.”
“Oh, Marcus.” She reached out to touch his arm. His muscles tightened. She yanked her hand away as if burned. “I’m sorry.”
“Now you see why I don’t want another romance?”
In the back of her mind, she wondered if he was speaking of himself also, warning her away from him. “To protect her.” To protect your heart, too.
She got the message loud and clear. He didn’t want her. But that didn’t mean it stung any less.
***
Marcus must have chased her away, he figured when she scooted out of the kitchen to go back to see his mother. Now, balancing the tray with four mugs of cocoa and a plate of cookies he’d found tucked in the back of a cupboard, he opened the door to his mother’s room.
Two things hit him at once. Wilbur sat in the corner chair, head back and snoring lightly. Francine, with a chair pulled up to
his mother’s bedside, held his mother’s hands in hers, each of them chatting and giggling like school girls.
He tuned into their conversation.
“Oh my, a wedding consultant. How lovely. And did you say pink? I love that color.”
“You should see the boutique. You’ll have to ask Marcus to show you the pictures. The ad will be out Monday morning, but there are so many shots they weren’t able to use them all.”
“Tell me about the weddings.” His mother’s voice was dreamy.
“I already have contacts from when I worked in the jewelry department. I have three appointments for Monday already. One is an older bride. She’s never been married and wants the works.”
He let the rest drown out; he focused on both their faces. A jolt shot through him.
Why hadn’t he realized it before? They both were romantics and both loved weddings.
Francine. The wedding dress he’d found her in that night. The overwhelming joy on her face in his office when she jotted down her new ideas. The look of wonder on her face after he’d kissed her—twice.
She believed in fairy tales. She believed in happily ever after.
He believed in the real world.
In that moment, he vowed he wouldn’t be a part of a fantasy any longer. Especially when it came to Francine King.
So why did his chest hurt so much after making that decision?
***
Francine fidgeted with a pillow. Monday morning was here and she couldn’t sit still.
“Girl, you’re a ball of energy,” Rico said, touching her arm. “Cool it, will ya? You’re making me a nervous wreck.” He fluffed his close-cropped hair and straightened out his false eyelash.
“Got them.” Evelyn rushed in with the bakery delivery boxes. “Ta-dah! Petit fours, just like you requested.”
“Thank you,” Francine cried, reaching out for the stack of boxes. “Now, we can put these out and, in five minutes, open the curtains.” Her voice squeaked as her stomach flip-flopped.
Waking Sleeping Beauty (Book 2, Once Upon A Romance Series) Page 5