Moon Over Miami: A Romantic Comedy

by Jane Graves

  "You're a good dancer," Liz murmured.

  "My mother taught me. It was one thing she really loved to do. She always told me that someday I'd have a girlfriend and I had to know how to dance."

  Liz moved closer to him, so close her breasts brushed against his chest, and no matter how hard Mark tried to hold onto an image of Gwen in his mind, she faded away, like a dream he couldn't quite remember. But he remembered with astonishing clarity how comfortable he'd felt with Liz at Gino's a few nights ago. How comfortable he'd felt with her tonight. And how good it felt to hold her now. He felt as if he was getting bombarded by sensations from all sides, rendering his usually orderly mind into chaos.

  "Liz?"

  "Hmm?"

  "Can I ask you a question?"

  "Sure."

  "It's about the kissing thing."

  For a split second, Liz actually stopped moving. Then she recovered and followed his lead once again. Holding her close as he was, each of them was looking over the other's shoulder, not meeting each other's eyes.

  "I'll admit it," he murmured. "I've been burying myself in my work for a very long time. It's been awhile since I've even been out with a woman, much less kissed one."

  It was as if his evil, sex-starved twin had suddenly taken over his body. He needed to be thinking platonic thoughts about Liz, yet here he was asking her to give him pointers on kissing. And why was he asking in the first place? Because he needed the pointers, or because he'd been staring at those soft, silky lips of hers all night and couldn't get kissing out of his mind?

  "Exactly what is it you're unsure about?"

  "Well...should I wait until I actually take her home, or take advantage of a moment earlier in the evening if it seems right?"

  "Oh, if the right moment arises, you should always take advantage of it."

  The tone of her voice had slipped into a lower register, lending it a seductive quality. She'd turned her head slightly, and because she was tucked so snugly in his arms, the soft, breathy words she spoke fanned against his ear. The warning bells in his mind sounded a little louder, telling him he was playing with fire.

  But still he turned up the heat.

  "How should I go about...taking advantage of the moment?"

  Words were coming out of his mouth he'd never planned to say--suggestive words that really had nothing to do with Gwen and everything to do with Liz--but he just couldn't seem to stop himself. When Liz responded, her voice was low and whispery, her breath warm against his ear again.

  "When the moment is right," she said, “stare at her intently for several seconds. Don't blink, and don't back down. Make her feel that your kiss is inevitable, and there's no way she could stop you if she tried." She eased her hand around his neck, her fingers teasing his hair just above his collar. "But trust me. She won't want to stop you."

  Mark knew if he were smart, he'd shut up, push Liz away to arm's length as if he were dancing with his grandmother and pray the song ended quickly. Instead he found himself pulling her so close that the length of her body was pressed against his.

  He had no business doing this. No business at all. But he just couldn't seem to stop himself. The moment he'd taken Liz in his arms his common sense had evaporated, and the chances of regaining it now were just about nil.

  "Okay," he murmured. "Then what?"

  "Then kiss her," Liz said, "like you've never kissed a woman before. It's not a time to be chaste. Don't even let her come up for air. Make it so hot, so exciting, so memorable that she can't stop thinking about you for days afterward. Do you understand?"

  "Yes. I understand."

  "If you do that," Liz said, her voice dropping to a whisper, "she'll be yours. I absolutely guarantee it."

  The music wound down, then came to an end. Couples all around them eased away from each other, applauding softly. Liz pulled away slightly and stared up at him, those soft, sweet lips beckoning him like a siren song.

  If the right moment arises, you should always take advantage of it.

  She slipped out of his arms. He caught her and pulled her gently back around. She looked up at him, her eyes widening with surprise. He slid his hands up until they were cradling her face. He didn't blink, and he didn't back down. He stared directly into those emerald green eyes for several long, intense moments, until there was no way she could possibly mistake his meaning, until he was sure he'd impressed upon her that she couldn't stop him if she tried.

  And then he kissed her.

  9

  The moment Mark's lips touched Liz's, a rush of desire swept through him that almost knocked him to his knees. He'd been adoring her lips all evening, and now he was kissing them, savoring their warmth, and when he heard a tiny moan in the back of her throat that told him she wanted it as much as he did, he knew right then that kissing alone was never going to be enough. The feeling was so intense that it blocked out everything else around him. He slid one hand around her neck and laced his fingers through her hair, then wrapped the other one around the small of her back, pulling her toward him until her breasts were crushed against his chest.

  Then she wound her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, and when she kissed him back with an intensity that matched his own, the words hot and exciting and memorable spun through his mind, though he was surprised he could comprehend then at all since his brain wasn't doing much thinking while his body was feeling.

  Couples were leaving the dance floor, but Mark barely noticed. He finally pulled his lips away from Liz's, but the spell wasn't broken. He was still mesmerized by the feel of her warm body beneath his hands and the sight of those beautiful green eyes staring up at him. Her cheeks were tinted bright pink and her breath was coming more quickly now, as if she'd forgotten to breathe for the past fifteen seconds.

  He wanted to take Liz home with him. He wanted to continue his exploration past her lips to the rest of her beautiful body, to spend the long hours of the night so close to her that nothing could come between--

  Wait a minute. What was he thinking?

  He awoke from his fantasy with a jolt of realization, finally comprehending the enormity of what he'd just done.

  He'd kissed Liz.

  In a fraction of a second, a mass of contradictory thoughts whipped through his mind. He'd finally kissed her because he'd wanted to so badly, and now here she was, looking up at him all flushed and breathy and beautiful, tempting him to toss her over his shoulder and carry her straight back to his condo. But while she fun and exciting and extraordinary in so many ways, she wasn't his future. Gwen was. She could help him get that partnership, and wasn't that what he'd wanted since the day he walked into Nichols, Marbury & White?

  But what about Liz, whom he loved to be with, who was warm and generous and funny, who could light the darkest corners of his life with a single smile? Why couldn't she be the one?

  Because one look at her and the big boss would have a heart attack.

  He'd lost sight of that somewhere along the line tonight, and because he'd been stupid enough to give in to the moment, he was going to end up hurting Liz in a way he never would have chosen to in a million years.

  Damn. How could he have done this to her? He'd kissed her, and she was going to think--had every right to think--

  There was only one way out of this.

  He turned away quickly so she wouldn't see his face change from ecstasy to apprehension. Taking her by the hand, he led her back to their table, careful not to look into those tempting green eyes of hers or he'd be lost all over again.

  After they were seated, he managed an offhanded smile.

  "So how did I do?"

  She blinked with surprise, then swallowed hard. "Huh?"

  Her confusion told him that she'd wanted the kiss as much as he had, which made the next words coming out of his mouth even more impossible to say.

  "On a scale of one to ten. Come on, teacher. Give me my grade."

  It took Liz a full five seconds before she realized Mark's meaning, and w
hen she did, her stomach swam with that sickening feeling reserved only for the most heartsick moments of her life.

  "I'm a little rusty," he said. "I hope it wasn't too awful."

  Awful? Awful? Was he crazy? Somewhere along the line the poor boy from the dinky little town had learned how to kiss. If this was rusty, what would it be like when he got back in the swing of things?

  Then it struck her: She'd never get the opportunity to find out.

  She was his practice date. And he was practicing. And she'd been stupid enough to think it was the real thing. She'd told him exactly what to do, after all. And then he'd done it.

  Excruciating disappointment swept through her. She was sure he'd meant it as so much more, that he wanted her as much as she wanted him, and now...

  "Sorry, Mark," she said, struggling to keep her voice even. "You only get a nine. I'd give you a ten, but then you'd get conceited."

  "Like I said, it's been awhile."

  "It's like riding a bicycle," she said.

  "You never forget."

  "Right."

  He smiled. "So I passed?"

  "Gwen will be...impressed."

  Liz was so filled with disappointment and jealousy she could barely speak. Mark paid the bill, then tucked his credit card away and rose from the table.

  "It's getting late," he said. "We'd better be going."

  Liz looked at her watch automatically, but the time didn't even register in her mind. "Yes. I suppose we should."

  The sick, sinking sensation she felt as they left the restaurant was almost incapacitating. She'd fallen into her own trap--the man she'd created was the man she wanted. Only he wanted Gwen, not her, and after tonight, she'd be forced to step out of the picture. And the thought of doing that just about ripped her heart in two.

  Liz tried to keep some light chatter going on the way home, but she couldn't, and finally the silence loomed between them. When they arrived at her apartment, Mark insisted on walking her to her door. She wished with all her heart that he'd think about the way he'd kissed her and want to repeat the experience, only this time for real.

  They climbed the stairs. When they reached her apartment door, she turned to face him.

  "Good luck on Saturday," she said, forcing a smile but feeling as if she were falling apart inside.

  He looked at her questioningly.

  "On your date with Gwen."

  "Oh. Yeah. Gwen."

  He paused, and it was all Liz could do not to grab him by his eighty-dollar tie, drag him into her apartment, lock the door behind them and make him forget all about that snooty, condescending woman he was so hell-bent on having.

  "Thanks again, Liz."

  Then he did kiss her, but it was nothing more than a soft peck on the cheek, one friend to another, a kiss that wasn't even in the same universe as the one he'd given her at the restaurant.

  "I guess I'll see you around."

  I'll see you around. In other words, it's been fun, but now it's over. Surely you didn't think it was anything more, did you?

  He turned and headed for the stairs, and she thought for a moment that maybe he'd turn back, their eyes would lock, and he'd realize what a fool he'd been and that it was really her he wanted and not Gwen.

  He never looked back.

  He walked down the stairs, his footsteps echoing through the building, then took a right turn and disappeared around the corner. She heard the door open, then click closed, and realized he'd left the building and probably her life for good.

  She slipped into her apartment and closed the door behind her, tears filling her eyes, hating herself that she couldn't control them. She leaned against the door, wondering how her mother and grandmother would have handled this one.

  Who was she kidding? Her mother and grandmother would have dispensed the advice, then stood back and let the advisee take it or leave it. They would not have tried to implement that advice by wading knee deep into the situation, only to end up getting hurt by the very advice they'd given. And above all, they'd have offered plenty of sound wisdom but never, ever a piece of their own hearts.

  * * *

  Mark sat in a rattan chair on his balcony, the nighttime heat surrounding him like a heavy shroud. He stared out at the city lights, hating himself for what he'd done to Liz, making her think he wanted her and then acting as if he didn't.

  She wanted it as much as you did.

  He had to stop thinking about that. He'd just gotten caught up in the moment. That's all. It had been way too long since he'd been on a date, and he'd lost his head. As soon as he swept Gwen into his arms on the dance floor on Saturday night, he'd forget all about the way he felt right then about Liz. He'd forget all about her sweet, tantalizing lips, the way her hair smelled, and the way she'd felt beneath his hands as they moved together to the music. He'd have Gwen instead, and wasn't that what he'd wanted since the first moment he walked into Simon's? She was the kind of woman who could make him look like partner material, so she was the woman for him.

  Liz wasn't.

  He could just imagine the look on Edwin Nichols' face if he found out he was keeping company with a woman who worked as a bartender and wore dresses so hot they set off fire alarms. Those bushy eyebrows of his would rise all the way up to his artificial hairline, and then he'd make sure Mark's career stayed on a back burner for the rest of his life.

  But you made her believe you wanted her...

  He yanked himself out of his chair and went back inside, frustration still eating away at him. He headed for his bedroom, telling himself for the hundredth time that he'd done the right thing. He'd ended his relationship with Liz before it had even gotten started.

  What he couldn't figure out, then, was why, when he went to bed and closed his eyes, he couldn't see Gwen's face at all because Liz's kept getting in the way. Why he dreamed that night about Gwen eating hot dogs at a baseball game on a linen-covered tray with nine pieces of silverware, while Liz led the waiters at Rosario's in a chorus of Take Me Out to the Ballgame. And why, when he awoke the next morning, he stared at the empty pillow beside him and imagined long red hair fanned out across it and beautiful green eyes staring up at him. He'd done the right thing.

  So why did it feel so wrong?

  * * *

  Liz dreaded Saturday night, and when it finally arrived, it was all she could do to keep her mind on her job and her thoughts focused somewhere else besides on Mark and Gwen. She hadn't seen Mark or heard from him in the last two days, but why should she? He had a date with his dream woman. What did he need with her?

  Maybe if she told him how she felt about him, he'd see her in a different light. Things would change. He'd reconsider his overwhelming attraction to The Most Perfect Woman on Earth and realize who he really belonged with--

  No.

  She couldn't say a word to him about how she felt, because he didn't feel the same way about her. His kiss that really wasn't a kiss had proven that. If he had any feelings for her at all, he would never have been able to kiss her like that and then walk away as if it had meant nothing. Anything she said to him at this point would only make her look like a fool.

  She glanced at her watch. Well, it was all a moot point now, anyway. Undoubtedly Mark was with Gwen, heading for Rosario's. And by the time the evening was over, Gwen would know what a wonderful man she had her hands on, and she'd never let him go.

  Sherri came up beside her. "Look! Isn't that Mark?"

  Liz whipped around. Mark and Gwen were coming into the club and taking a seat at a table by the window, evidently stopping by for a drink before dinner.

  Liz thought she was going to be sick. If Mark had looked wonderful before, he looked spectacular now. And Gwen, she had to admit, looked positively radiant. They looked good together. The picture was so right that Liz wanted to cry. A stunning, sophisticated woman and a handsome professional man. How could she argue with that?

  "Sherri, watch the bar for me, will you?" Liz asked.

  There must have been a
catch in her voice or something, because Sherri got a worried look on her face. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine. I just need to go to the bathroom." So I can fall apart in private.

  Sherri gave Liz one of her rare sympathetic looks, and Liz wondered if she really looked that despondent. Then she went into the bathroom, saw herself in the mirror and had to agree with Sherri. And if she looked at her pitiful self for one more second, she was probably going to cry. It would accomplish nothing, of course, except make her mascara run, but she wasn't running high on logic right about then.

  When she felt that telltale burn behind her eyes, she slipped into one of the bathroom stalls and closed the door behind her. She dabbed at her eyes with a square of toilet paper, trying to keep the tears from falling. How could he want that awful woman? Liz trembled as she dabbed, then sniffed a little, determined that her emotions were not going to get the better of her.

  Then all at once she heard the bathroom door open, accompanied by the click of heels and women's voices.

  "You're right, Gwen. He does look good. A whole lot better than he did last week. What prompted his sudden change of wardrobe?"

  "I don't know, but it'll save me the trouble of dressing him right."

  Liz recognized Gwen's voice, along with the voice of the woman who came here frequently with her. They had to be talking about Mark. She peered out the gap between the stall door and its frame. Gwen was standing at the mirror, pulling a small makeup bag from her purse.

  "Attractive, well-dressed, and a six-figure salary," Gwen's friend said. "Nice package."

  "If it's six figures now, imagine what it'll be when he gets that partnership he's up for at his accounting firm."

  Partnership? Mark was up for a partnership? He'd never told her that. But then again, he wasn't one to go around tooting his horn about how rich and successful he was, either.

  "How did you find out about that, anyway?" Gwen's friend asked.

  "My assistant knows someone who works at his firm. I had no idea the first time he came on to me what potential he had. I mean, you saw him last week. Would you have thought--"