Waking Sleeping Beauty (Book 2, Once Upon A Romance Series)

by leclair, laurie

  He squelched down on that fresh wave of desire. It was Black Friday. He was late.

  “I’ll drive you home,” he said, tying the silk tie like a noose around his own neck.

  “No time,” she said, slipping on a stocking and rolling it up her long, sexy leg.

  He moaned under his breath.

  “Take me with you. I have some clothes stashed at the boutique for emergencies.”

  Raising his eyebrows at that, he caught her gaze in the reflection of the mirror.

  “Late nights of putting all things King’s Department Store together.”

  The image of her changing there, slipping out of her clothes, made his mind go to places he should avoid. “This is going to be a very long day,” he muttered as he put on his watch.

  Her gaze dropped to his wrist, watching his movements. The gold piece felt laser hot on his flesh. A bolt of shock shot through him at her admission last night. How in the world had he not known he’d worn the gift she’d been a part of giving her father? She’d always been so near.

  “A brush?” she asked, trying to tame her tousled hair.

  “In the dressing area.” He nodded toward his large walk-in closet. He watched her until she disappeared out of sight, suppressing the ready groan at the slight sway of her hips. Even fully dressed now, she did things to him no other woman ever could. Marcus turned back to the rumpled sheets. Wrong move. Flashes of their lovemaking came quick and strong. Heat curled in his middle.

  Marcus blew out a hot breath. “I’ve got to get out of here,” he muttered. “What’s taking her so long?” Marching toward the dressing area, he became aware of the utter stillness. There was no sound, no movement. “Francie?”

  She stood at the vanity like a statue, clutching something. “You took it from the box?”

  Dawning hit him. He’d tucked her picture away in here, looking at her every morning and every night, trying to reason why he shouldn’t get involved with her. He guessed he’d lost that debate.

  He came up behind her, brushing her back. Francie gingerly replaced the photo. She faced him. Lifting her hands, she straightened his tie, and then smoothed down the lapels on his suit. He liked when she touched him like that. Hell, he liked when she touched him at all. “I’m flattered.” A blush dotted the tops of her cheekbones.

  “Call it a failed exorcism,” he said, putting his hands on her slim waist. She sucked in a sharp breath. God, she felt good.

  “I get it.”

  He rubbed his thumbs over the silk of her blouse, wishing he touched her flesh instead. “You’re fairy dust,” he said softly. Sleeping Beauty.

  “And you are?” she asked, matching his low tone.

  “Reality.” Hurt chased across her expressive cornflower blue eyes. It hit him in the gut.

  “Cold, hard reality.”

  “You want the forever after—”

  “The happily ever after. And you want your freedom, is that it?” She slowly pulled away, removing his hands. “You want to come and go as you please. You want to call the shots and put up the walls. You want to protect your heart. I understand.”

  He stepped back, allowing her to move past him. She paused at the door to look back once, and then walked away. Why did he ache so much whenever she was near? Why did the pain cut him in two when she left?

  ***

  Francine’s cheeks burned as she bumped into Rico. “You’re…you’re here so early.” Her voice cracked.

  “I got to get my sales items first, and then I’ll cover my shift.” He stopped, pulling back and pointing a finger. “Girl, didn’t you wear that outfit yesterday?”

  If possible, her face grew even hotter. “I’ve got something in the back to change into.”

  “You didn’t answer me,” he said in a sing-song voice as he followed close behind.

  “Not going to,” she said right back in the same sing-song way.

  “It’s a man. I just know it.”

  “None of your business,” she returned.

  He clapped his hands. “O-M-G, Francine King, who in the world would have thought? You got laid.”

  “She got what?!” Evelyn asked, coming into the boutique. “No way.”

  “Look,” he pointed. “It’s written all over her face.”

  Francine ducked her head. “Business,” she said between gritted teeth. “First, foremost. We open up in less than ten minutes.”

  “Well, looks like you opened up long before that,” Rico chirped with a hand on his hip.

  First Marcus, now this. Could the floor just part ways now so she could die in dignity?

  Thankfully, for Francine her customers didn’t flood in; it was more like a steady stream of interest. She directed the misguided ones to the correct department and helped the ones she could. Holiday and year-end weddings were on the rise, she suspected, after the fifth like-minded couple strolled out of the boutique.

  Since her mind was focused on Marcus and their night together, her heart wasn’t into the question after question the couples had peppered her with this morning.

  “Marcus…I wonder where you are, what you’re doing right now…”

  Longing rushed through her. She grabbed onto the sleek, black counter. Carried away on a swell of passion and under his spell, she’d lost her ability to question her decision. It was much harder to ignore in the cold light of day, especially after he’d pointed out the obvious.

  Her mind may be badgering her about her decision to sleep with him. However, her body betrayed her, aching for him still.

  Did he feel anything near what she had last night?

  “Hey, I’m back,” Rico announced, sauntering in the boutique, laden with bags. “I got such steals, girl.”

  “How’s the crowds?”

  “Packed tight, cash registers ringing, items flying off the shelves… Money, money, money,” he said, stashing the bags in the alcove behind the counter. “Evelyn here?”

  “I sent her to an early lunch.”

  “Oh, honey.” He held his hands to his mouth, and then touched her arm. “I forgot to tell you the best. Lunch, Dolly and Marcus, everyone’s a buzz.”

  Francine stilled. How could she have forgotten the cooking demo today? “Cover for me, Rico. I’m going to check it out myself.”

  On the way up the escalator, dodging excited shoppers, Francie consoled herself with the fact she had suggested the duo pair up their cooking talents, so why shouldn’t she be able to sneak a peek at them?

  Housewares hummed with activity. In the center of it all, she noted the staged kitchen area. On the mic, Dolly was saying, “Aw shucks, Marcus,” at something he’d just said.

  All the seats were filled, so Francie skirted the back of the gathering, getting a glimpse here and there of him between the milling crowd. She sucked in a sharp breath at the incredibly sexy man. His sure moves and confident air caused heat to gather in her middle at the memory of those hands caressing her.

  She caught sight of several department managers watching the unfolding demonstration. It was standing room only now, but she spotted Charlie sitting in the front row and slowly made her way to her stepsister.

  Now, coming upon Charlie, she lightly touched her shoulder. Her stepsister gazed back and smiled at her. “No chairs?”

  Francie shook her head. “I’m fine. I’ll watch from over here,” she said under her breath. “Talk to you later.”

  Marcus captured her full interest now. His easy way with the cooking instructions and answering audience questions sparked another wave of admiration. Is there anything he couldn’t do and do well?

  “Francie, over here, honey,” Dolly called out, her voice on mic cutting through the noise.

  With all eyes trained on her, Francine gulped. Tentatively, she waved, hoping that would be the end of drawing attention to herself.

  “Hey, everyone, here’s Francine King, the genius who cooked up this idea. Hey, get it, cooked up?” The many ladies and a few men in attendance chuckled at Dolly’s pun.
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  Francie took a step backward.

  “Come on up here so they can see you, honey.”

  Shaking her head, she tried to beg off.

  “Go on,” Charlie coaxed. “Take your bow.”

  When she hesitated, Marcus stared directly at her. “Afraid?”

  The ladies nearby swooned.

  “Of you?” she scoffed, lifting her chin a little higher.

  A smattering of claps echoed around her.

  He laughed. It sounded raw and low. “You tell me?”

  Another round of oohs tickled the air.

  If she didn’t go, she’d never hear the end of this. With measured steps, she made her way to the area, now feeling not only the heat of his stare, but the heat of the spotlights beating down on her. Looking out, she blinked several times at the harsh white light. She found looking at the audience members shielded her from the glare, but not their all-seeing stares.

  “Over here,” Dolly said, directing her between the two of them.

  She inadvertently brushed against Marcus’ arm.

  He sucked in a sharp breath. It echoed through the crowd.

  “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 casua
lty 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.

  Chapter 13

  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.