by Ann Evans
“Lundquist hopes my papers will give him lots of free PR. If I’d been in Orlando, I wouldn’t have bothered to come, but since I was here, I thought I’d make an appearance. And actually I’ve run into quite a few people I know but seldom get a chance to see.”
“Like the woman you were just dancing with.”
He looked at her sharply. It would have been nice to think she cared one way or the other. “Catherine Mevane,” he told her. “Yes, she’s an old friend.”
“She’s very pretty.”
“Yes.” Some perverse instinct kept him from elaborating.
“You looked good together. Dancing, I mean.”
“Would you like to dance when the orchestra starts up again?”
“Not in these shoes.”
There was a sudden burst of applause from the ballroom. They both turned to look through the multipaned windows. On the stage Avery was acknowledging all the costumed models who’d been wandering through the ballroom as lovers. A very dour and dangerous-looking Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights took a bow next to a pretty Cathy. Then another attractive couple, dressed in early-twentieth-century clothes came forward.
“Who are they supposed to be?” Mark asked.
As Jenna shrugged, they heard Avery Lundquist announce to the audience, “Jay Gatsby and Daisy!”
“Oh, brother,” Mark muttered.
Jenna glanced his way. “You don’t like the lovers-throughout-history angle? I think it’s eye-catching and clever.”
“I suppose people will remember it. But I think they should have given this idea more thought. Lundquist is trying to sell wedding attire. Do you realize that most of these ‘lovers’ didn’t have happy endings? They’re star-crossed or tortured or… Hell, Gatsby ends up facedown in his swimming pool! Not exactly wedded bliss there.”
“Such a cynic,” Jenna tsked. They watched as one of the couples went past the windows, heading for the stage. “What about them?” Jenna pointed. “Scarlett O’Hara and Rhett Butler represent true love.”
He turned his head to give her a skeptical glance. “Did they end up together?”
“Of course.”
“No, they didn’t. Not in the Gone with the Wind I remember.”
“But it’s understood that they will get back together.”
“Not by me it’s not.”
“Did you even read the book?”
“No.”
“How many times have you seen the movie?”
“Once.” He frowned at her. “How many times would I see any movie?”
She shook her head. The expression on her face told him she clearly thought he was hopeless. “I’m not sure I could ever trust anyone who doesn’t get Gone with the Wind.”
“I take it you’re a big fan?”
“Not that big. In fact, I think it’s rather overrated. Scarlett’s so annoying. I’ve always identified more with Melanie. She certainly put up with a lot.”
“You’re not at all like Melanie. She blends into the woodwork. That’s something you could never do.”
She gave him a quick, uncertain glance, then returned her gaze to the stage. A scowl marred her delicate profile as she watched Scarlett and Rhett take their bows.
Finally she said, “I’ll admit, they seem destined to be at odds forever. But clearly, in the end, Scarlett realizes that Milquetoast Ashley isn’t the man for her, and she’ll never be happy unless she goes after Rhett.”
“I have to agree with you there. After all, Rhett has power, money, sex appeal—everything Scarlett wants and needs.”
She gave Mark a narrowed sideways glance. “Spoken like a typical guy and a truly unromantic male. Is that what you think the book and movie is about? What Rhett can do for her?” She shook her head again. “You just don’t get it. Don’t you realize that it’s really a love match between them? Rhett is Scarlett’s emotional, sexual, intellectual twin. They’re soul mates.”
“Hogwash,” he snorted. “He’s better-looking than pasty-faced Ashley. He’s got charisma. When Scarlett has sex with him, she sees stars.”
She sighed heavily. “No wonder you’re single.”
The remark was only a playful insult, softened with a ravishing smile. Mark discovered that he wanted to keep that look on her face. He felt his heartbeat quicken. Sometimes she had that effect on him without any effort at all. “I thought we were talking about Rhett and Scarlett. But if you want to talk about us, I’m game.”
“Oh, never mind,” she said.
She turned away from the windows. Clasping her hands behind her back, she leaned against the white column again. He swung to face her, placing one hand just above her head and leaning forward slightly.
“You know,” he began lightly, “Scarlett’s problem isn’t that much different from that of a lot of women I know. They think they want something or they go after the wrong guy, when all the time what they really want and need, the guy who’s perfect for them, is right under their nose. But they can’t—or won’t—see it.”
Jenna’s chin lifted. “You’re referring to me, I assume. And the perfect guy, that would be you?” Her smile was mischievous now. “Do you ever get back strain from carrying around that enormous ego?”
“No more than you do by carrying all that protective armor,” he shot back with a grin. He had a feeling he shouldn’t have used Gone with the Wind as a metaphor for their relationship. What did he know about such romantic foolishness?
Jenna had dipped her head. He brought it back up with a finger under that strong, determined chin, and watched her throat work as she swallowed. “Stop fighting this so hard, Jenna,” he said softly.
Her eyes captured him, froze him in place for a moment. Then he continued, “You know we’d be good together. Like Rhett and Scarlett without the corny accents.”
“I already know what we’re like together that way, and I won’t deny it was…lovely. But good sex doesn’t make a good marriage.”
“It doesn’t seem like a bad place to start.” He arched a brow. “And frankly, my dear,” he said in his best Rhett Butler voice, “it wasn’t good sex. It was great sex.”
She sighed dramatically. “You overestimate yourself, Rhett.”
“I didn’t overestimate your response,” he said, suddenly serious. His fingers moved slowly down her throat, drawing a lazy pattern. “When I touched you here, you gasped.” He let his hand move lower, across the soft slope of her breasts. She didn’t move, didn’t even draw a breath, as though captured in that hypnotic, idling descent. “When I kissed you here, you moaned.” He bent his head and nuzzled the soft skin beneath her ear. She’d put some perfume there, and its scent stole into his senses. “And when I put my tongue in your mouth, you didn’t shy away.” He lifted his head just long enough to find her eyes. “Did you?”
“No,” she admitted on a shaky whisper.
“You don’t have to be afraid of experiencing all those things again, Jenna. I’d never hurt you.”
“I don’t think this—”
In the pure light of the moon, her delectable mouth was an invitation he was weary of refusing. He pulled her closer, and she felt good in his arms. Better than good. “Don’t think, Jenna. Don’t move. You can hate me later. Right now I just want to kiss you.”
He touched his lips to hers in a warm and deliberate way designed to encourage her, gently at first, waiting for her response to bloom. And it did. Her lips parted. He felt the brief touch of her tongue against his. A soft moan, a deepening breath. Then she kissed him back as if she’d been wanting to do this every bit as much as he had.
She clung to him, pressing her breasts against his chest. He slipped a hand inside her gown and stroked the soft swell lightly, until he felt her push against his palm for more. He touched her nipple and found it swollen and hard, a delight he wanted to spend more time with.
“Mark…” she breathed.
And then everything changed abruptly. She stiffened in his arms, and that meager glimpse of paradise disapp
eared completely. Pulling her lips from his, she lifted candid, troubled eyes to him.
“Mark, we can’t do this,” she said with unsteady conviction. “We’re outside…”
He’d seduced women in far more unorthodox places than these obliging shadows. A little longer, and he knew he could have taken her over the edge. But in spite of that one, wild night in New York, he knew that Jenna was the kind of woman who’d spent her whole life playing by the rules. Seducing her now would serve only to intensify her unhappiness and destroy the tiny, fragile trust they’d begun to build. Mark found he didn’t want to risk losing it.
He straightened and released her. He stepped back while she pulled at the top of her dress. He followed that action with open admiration and longing. He couldn’t look repentant when he regretted nothing.
When she finished, she looked up at him. In her eyes he could see everything she was feeling—confusion, regret, wanting. Her body had been in rebellion against her mind.
“I want to go back inside,” she said quietly.
He nodded, determined to ignore the tight, throbbing heat that still engulfed him. Instead, he took her hand and bent low over it. He touched her fingertips with his lips.
Lifting his head, he gave her a smile. “Good night, Scarlett.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BY LATE AFTERNOON of the next day, after hours of trying to balance the books and do the accounts-payable monthly report, Jenna had a headache that wouldn’t quit. Luckily the task was so annoyingly unwieldy that it left little time to think about difficult parents, unexpected pregnancies or moonlight kisses that could make a person feel endangered and spellbound both at the same time.
Vic showed up at Jenna’s office, later than Jenna had expected her. But Vic evidently had more important questions in mind than why Jenna had left the party early. “Why didn’t you tell me you were dating Mark Bishop?” she accused from the doorway.
Jenna put down the computer report and made a show of pretending to think. “Hmm, let’s see…” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, I know! Because it’s no one’s business but mine?”
Vic ignored that defense of course and strode into the office. “Don’t be ridiculous. Anyone dating one of the South’s Ten Most Eligible has to expect to explain herself.”
“I don’t see why,” Jenna said mildly.
“This is Mark Bishop we’re talking about. A multimillionaire. A multimillionaire who just broke up with a senator’s daughter under very mysterious and confusing circumstances.”
“Vic, really. This is none—”
“You and Lauren claimed he was the most unromantic male since Attila the Hun. Now you’re dating him? Lauren was uncharacteristically oblique when I tried to get something out of her last night, so I’m coming to the source. Explanations are in order. Start talking. You know I won’t leave until you do.”
That was true. Resigned, Jenna asked, “What makes you think we’re dating?”
“Because Mark Bishop told me you were. I almost choked on my shrimp puff when he dropped that little bomb.”
Jenna sat up straighter. “When did you talk to him?”
“At the party. He said you were going out tonight.”
“He’s joining the boys and me for pizza. That’s hardly a date.”
“Close enough. Now what’s all this about? I tried to get the scoop from him, but he wouldn’t furnish details.”
Vic levered one hip on the corner of Jenna’s desk, prepared to listen. Evasion with Vic was out of the question. Jenna sighed and sat back in her chair, trotting out the amended story she and Mark had agreed on. She made no mention of what had happened in New York or her pregnancy. Just J.D. and Petey’s efforts to find her a husband. It was close enough to the truth, and Jenna had repeated it so many times for various McNab relatives that it no longer made her uncomfortable to tell it.
“Satisfied?” Jenna asked at last.
“No. There’s something more you’re not telling me.”
“There isn’t. Now can I please get back to work?”
Vic tapped her chin thoughtfully with one red fingernail. “You know, something he said last night makes me think there’s more to this than just a little casual dating.”
Jenna couldn’t help it. Against her will, her heart bucked. “What did he say?” she asked.
“Tony Landon was at the party,” Vic told her in a voice primed for confidences. “I mentioned to Mark that I’d been trying to get an interview with him for two years.” She waved her hand dramatically. “The next thing I know, Mark’s bringing him over for introductions, and the guy’s asking when we can meet. Mark had convinced him. I was so stunned I almost fell off those ridiculous red heels I bought. When I tried to thank him later, he just winked at me and said, ‘Tell Jenna. With her, I need all the good press I can get.’”
Jenna felt a flicker of amusement. That sounded like something he’d say.
She must have started to smile, because Vic narrowed her gaze. “Why is he trying so hard to get in your good graces?”
Jenna hardened her features, along with her posture. “Because I represent something he’s never run up against before. A woman who’s not interested in him.”
Vic gave her an incredulous look. “Well, for heaven’s sake, why wouldn’t you be? He’s one of the South’s—”
Jenna cut her off with a sharp movement of her hand. “Don’t, Vic. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“Very well,” Vic said with a disappointed sigh. “Let’s talk about something else. Debra Lee called today. She was on cloud nine. Her husband may finally have found a job.”
“Wonderful!” Jenna replied, knowing that Vic had been very worried about her friend’s recent problems. “Something in his field, I hope.”
“Head of development for some big copy-center chain. Mevane Corporation, I think. She said it was completely out of the blue. Nothing definite yet. But I think the poor girl feels she can finally stop worrying.”
Jenna frowned. “Mevane? Where have I heard that name before?” The answer was just out of reach, but something about the name struck a chord. And then it hit her. “Is Catherine Mevane the CEO?”
“Haven’t a clue,” Vic responded without much interest. “Why?”
“She was at the party last night. I saw her dancing with Mark.”
One of Vic’s finely arched brows lifted. “Well, well. What a small world. I wonder if he had anything to do with setting this up for Deb’s husband. And if he did, I wonder why he didn’t mention it.”
Jenna wondered that, too. There had certainly been opportunity when she’d pointedly questioned him about the blonde he’d been waltzing with. It seemed too much of a coincidence that the night after Mark had danced with Catherine Mevane, his assistant’s husband would get a job interview at her company. But if that was the case, why hadn’t he bragged about his good deed? He’d wanted Vic to sing his praises to her about setting up the Landon interview. He’d have to think that helping an old friend like Debra Lee would go a long way toward melting Jenna’s defenses against him.
Generous. Unselfish.
Mark Bishop was even more dangerous and diabolical than she’d thought.
MRS. WEATHERBY dropped Petey and J.D. off at Jenna’s office shortly before five. They were keyed up, noisy and rambunctious. She made a mental note to speak to the older woman again. She was a godsend as a sitter, but she tended to get Petey and J.D.’s cooperation by bribing them with candy bars.
By the time Mark arrived to pick them all up, Jenna was almost looking forward to the evening. Work that day had been its most frustrating and tedious, her back ached, and the boys had been driving her crazy.
“Ready to go?” Mark asked as he entered her office.
J.D., who had been running around the room looking for someplace to hide from Petey, bumped into Mark’s legs by accident, then evidently decided he might need an adult to help him out.
“Don’t let him get me!” J.D. squawked dramatically
. “He’ll turn me into plasma-burgers!”
Petey was doing a passable imitation of a Cyberlon, all menacing growls and swiping claws. Suddenly surrounded, almost unbalanced by J.D.’s grip on his knees, Mark had become the only barrier that stood between Petey and J.D.’s annihilation.
He glanced up at Jenna, and it was the first time she’d ever seen him look uncertain. He clearly didn’t have a clue how to handle two energetic young boys who were determined to make him part of their playacting.
“Too much sugar after school,” Jenna told him as she pulled her purse from one of her desk drawers.
Ahh, of course, Mark’s nod seemed to say.
In that moment she could almost feel sorry for him. The boys were going to be a handful tonight. Mark claimed he wanted to experience family life up close, and he was going to get the full treatment by two little experts.
When they were both like this, there were times when even she wanted to run away.
Jenna came around the desk. The lower half of Mark’s body looked as if it had grown two pint-size attachments, but she ignored the plea she saw in his eyes.
“All set,” she told him. “Let’s go eat pizza.” And then, because she could hardly hear, thanks to Petey’s roars and J.D.’s squeals of terror, she added sternly, “Boys! Settle down.”
They stopped immediately and ran ahead to fight over who was going to push the elevator button. Jenna smiled as she watched them charge down the corridor. Her secret weapons.
“Are they like this very often?” Mark asked as he tucked the tail of his khaki shirt back into his pants.
She thought she heard disapproval in his voice, and he definitely frowned as he spied evidence of a small, grubby handprint on the leg of his pants. No way to remain elegant around her two hooligans.
She grinned at him. “No. Usually they’re much worse.”
PEPINO’S PIZZA and beer weren’t the finest in Atlanta, but the place did offer one of the best perks any parent could wish for. An extensive games room complete with indoor playground.