Moon Over Miami: A Romantic Comedy

by Jane Graves

  Liz.

  No matter how hard Mark tried to devote his attention to Gwen, thoughts of Liz kept crowding his mind, kicking and shoving their way in, until they finally plopped themselves down and refused to go away. Every word Gwen spoke in that beautiful, lilting voice of hers made him realize just how desperately he wished he were here with Liz instead, having fun instead of just having dinner.

  This is a quiz, McAlister. Now, pay attention. Which woman should you be interested in? Which woman will help secure your future? Which woman will impress your superiors and make them finally see that you're partner material?

  As a logical, rational man he knew he should listen to that answer. Unfortunately his heart was screaming so loudly he couldn't hear a word his mind said.

  Then he heard a low rumble and realized it was thunder. He looked out the window to see storm clouds gathering.

  "Oh, my," Gwen said. "It looks as if we might get rained on."

  "It's possible. A storm is in the forecast."

  "That's a pity. I’d hate to have anything put a damper on this wonderful evening."

  Mark knew he should be happy that Gwen thought their date was so darned great, but the thought of it left him strangely apathetic. As they finished dinner, he tried tried to concentrate on her but failed miserably. It wasn't for lack of her trying to keep his attention, though. She prattled on as if she were a talking doll and somebody kept pulling the string. On, and on, and on...

  Damn it, would she shut up already about his job? Why did it fascinate her so much? Sometimes his job even bored him, and he was the one doing it. He wondered vaguely if this was what life with Tiffany was like. If so, for the first time ever, Mark actually felt sorry for Sloan.

  Then, as Gwen rattled on, turning the conversation to 401-K accounts and then asking him how he'd fared in the recent stock market decline, something slowly shifted in Mark's perception. He couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was--just something that cast a shadow across her perfect features and sent a feeling of unease creeping through him.

  "I'd love to dance," Gwen said.

  Mark barely heard the words. "Excuse me?"

  "I said I'd love to dance."

  He realized the band had started to play and couples were moving to the dance floor. He knew he should be jumping at the chance to have a socially acceptable way to get his hands on the woman he supposedly wanted--so why wasn't he?

  Finally he got up and led her to the dance floor. But when he took her in his arms, he decided he should keep her at a respectable distance because, after all, they really didn't know each other very well.

  "My assistant knows someone at your company," Gwen said. "I heard some interesting news about you."

  "Oh?"

  "You're up for a partnership. Is that right?"

  Gwen knew about his potential partnership?

  "Yes. That's right."

  "Interesting. I hear that can be very...lucrative."

  Gwen purred the words like a satisfied cat, smiling up at him with an odd, calculating expression that baffled him.

  "I suppose so."

  "Well, then. Good luck. I'll be pulling for you."

  It didn't hit Mark all at once. As they danced, though, bits and pieces of their evening started to come together to form a picture that was becoming clearer with each passing moment. She hadn't shut up about his job all night. She'd moved the conversation into discussions about every financial issue there was, easing personal information out of him so artfully he hadn't even realized he was giving it to her.

  That's essentially all they'd discussed. Money.

  Then another thought struck him. When had she found out about the partnership? Sometime at the beginning of last week, when she'd suddenly found him oh-so attractive?

  As the final piece fell into place, Mark felt like the biggest fool alive. And he thought Gwen's sudden interest in him was because he'd become so damned irresistible. He almost laughed out loud. She didn't want him for him. She wanted him for his money, and that positively astounded him. Growing up in Waldon Springs, he never could have imagined that he'd ever have a financial portfolio of sufficient size to be of interest to anyone.

  But there it was, as clear as the upturned nose on Gwen's face. Her calculating expression hadn't faded. She had a veneer of beauty and refinement, highlighted by a heavy dose of lethal charm, and if she played her cards right, some poor unsuspecting guy would eventually make her rich.

  But it damned well wasn't going to be him.

  At the same time, though, he realized that he hadn't been much better than Gwen. He'd wanted her for her cool sophistication, her social skills, and for what she could do for his career. He hadn't given a single thought to whether they'd even like each other or not.

  And then there was the way he'd treated Liz.

  How could he have led her on the way he had the other night, then shoved her aside for another woman? And he hadn't even spoken to her at Simon's tonight, ignoring her as if she meant nothing to him. How could he have done that to her?

  As he continued to dance with Gwen, he realized he was holding her so far away from him that a truck could have driven through the space between them. Then he thought about how he'd deliberately maneuvered Liz so close to him when they were dancing that he could practically feel her heartbeat, and all at once a longing swept through him that was so great it threatened to tear him apart. He had a huge void in his life right now that he'd never even recognized before, an emptiness that clawed at him, begging to be filled.

  He stopped in the middle of the dance. Gwen looked up at him questioningly, but he merely took her by the hand and led her back to their table.

  "Is something the matter?" she asked.

  He pulled out her chair and motioned for her to sit. "I have to make a phone call. I'll be back in a moment."

  * * *

  Liz felt as if she'd achieved at least a small victory when she held herself to only half a pint of Ben & Jerry's. Then she collapsed on the sofa to watch some dumb old movie on Netflix. Sherri had left the apartment a few hours ago, saying something about needing to buy an outfit that was sexy without being slutty, whatever that meant. Liz wished she'd come home. Anything to keep her from picturing Mark on his date with Gwen.

  She lay the remote on her chest and closed her eyes, wishing tomorrow would come, then the next day and the next, because after awhile, like maybe in a hundred years or so, she'd quit thinking about him and get a life again.

  Then her phone rang. She picked it up from the coffee table and looked at the caller ID. Mark?

  She sat up suddenly and swung her legs around, her heart striking up a sudden wild rhythm. She picked up the remote that had fallen to her lap and switched off the TV.

  "Hello?"

  "Liz. It's Mark."

  "Mark? Aren't you at the restaurant with Gwen?"

  "Forget her for now. I have a question for you. Are you listening?"

  Liz's heart skittered. What could he possibly want to ask her? "Of course."

  "The other night when we were out together and I kissed you, what did you think? I mean, right at that moment?"

  Liz's heart skittered at the memory—Mark's lips on hers, warm and inviting and oh-so-sexy.

  "Liz. What did you think? Tell me."

  I thought if it was a dream, I never wanted to wake up.

  But if she told him that, answered him truthfully, she had the most terrible feeling she'd be tossing her heart out to be trampled on. In the end, she just couldn't do it.

  "I thought it was…you know. Good. You're a good kisser."

  "That's all?"

  "Great kisser?"

  Silence. Then Mark's voice again. "I just thought maybe…"

  "What?"

  "That you liked it."

  "Of course I did. I just told you I did."

  "I guess I wasn't really asking you if you liked the kiss. I was asking you if you like…"

  "What?"

  "Me."

&nbs
p; Liz sat stock-still in total disbelief, her heart beating her chest to death. Did he want her to tell him that she didn't feel a thing for him? That going out with Gwen was the right thing to do? That he was a wonderful pupil, but that was where their relationship ended? That he was sorry if he made her think it was anything else?

  "Liz?" Mark said.

  She squeezed her eyes closed, scared to death to speak the truth. What if she gave him an answer he didn't want to hear?

  "Yes," she said.

  "Uh…yes what?"

  "Of course I like you," she said with a lighthearted laugh. "I've always liked you."

  Silence. Wrong answer? She had no idea.

  "So what you're saying is that you like me," Mark said, "but you don't like me?"

  No! That's not what I'm saying!

  Unless that was what he wanted to hear.

  But how was she supposed to know what he wanted to hear? All she knew was what she wanted to hear.

  "Well…do you like me?" she asked.

  More silence. "Well…yeah. Of course. I always have. Well, except maybe in the beginning with the tire thing, but then…"

  His voice trailed off. This was driving her insane. "So you're saying you like me, but you don't like me?"

  "Well, not exactly…"

  "So you do like me?" Liz said.

  "I said I do, didn't I?"

  "But I'm not really sure about the meaning of the word like. Could you explain—"

  "Okay, stop! That's it! No more!"

  "Huh?"

  "Enough with the junior high crap. We sound like we're thirteen years old. If we keep this up, pretty soon we'll be hanging around each others' lockers and passing notes in history class." He exhaled with frustration. "Okay. Here's the bottom line. What I said after kissing you was a lie because I thought it was the wrong thing to do. It wasn't the wrong thing to do. It was the best thing I've ever done. I like you, Liz. Yes, like that. The whole time I've been with Gwen tonight, all I could think about was you. Now do you understand?"

  Liz was dumbfounded. What did he say? What?

  What?

  "I can't believe it," she murmured, her voice full of disbelief. "My mother was right."

  "Huh?"

  "You did figure it out!"

  "Figure out what?"

  "She's the smartest woman alive. I know you haven't met her yet, but when you do—"

  "Hey, I just spilled my guts here," Mark said. "You want to return the favor?"

  "Oh! Yeah. Sorry. You want my bottom line, right?"

  "Yes!"

  "Okay. Here it is. I've been sitting here tonight picturing you on a date with Gwen and feeling sorry for myself, wishing I was the one at Rosario's with you. So I started plotting ways to knock her off."

  "What?"

  "Creative ones, too. Slippery floors and electrical outlets and poisonous snakes. But then you called, and…" She closed her eyes, smiling like a lovestruck idiot. "You'll be happy to know first degree murder is off the table."

  Dead silence.

  "I've been right all along, Liz. You are nuts."

  "I know. I was born that way. Can't fight genetics." She looked at the clock on her sofa table. "It's still early. Can you come over tonight?"

  "I don't care if it's two o'clock in the morning. I'm still coming over."

  "How fast can you get here?"

  "Thirty minutes, tops."

  "Hurry. But don't speed."

  "Can't promise that."

  "Mark?"

  "Yes?"

  "If I'd offed Gwen and ended up in prison, would you have visited me?"

  Big sigh. "Probably."

  "Why, I do believe that's the nicest thing any man has ever said to me."

  "Which means you've been dating the wrong men."

  "Not anymore."

  Then Mark's voice became soft and seductive, like moonlight and roses and all those romantic things Liz wanted to wrap both of them in forever.

  "I can't wait," he said.

  Liz sank back on the sofa, feeling a surge of elation that obliterated all the sadness and uncertainty she'd felt before. She didn't know why he'd changed his mind about Gwen, and she didn't care. She was just thrilled he was coming back to her.

  11

  Mark fumbled to shove his phone back into his pocket, fighting the urge to race out of the restaurant. He felt so electrified he could have run all the way to Coconut Grove.

  The moment he heard her voice on the phone, he had an irresistible urge to race to Liz’s apartment, sweep her into his arms, and kiss her for real this time. To hell with Gwen, to hell with his job, to hell with keeping up with the Sloans of the world. Liz was the one he wanted.

  He returned to the table, barely able to think. While he saw Gwen, he really didn't see her at all. It was as if she had shifted to some other dimension he could no longer relate to.

  "Is there a problem?" Gwen asked.

  "Yes. Something's come up. I have to go to the office."

  "The office? At eight o'clock on a Saturday night?"

  "I phoned an associate, and it was just as I suspected. A crisis with one of my clients. I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut our evening short."

  He was surprised at how easily the lie rolled off his tongue. But then again, Gwen hadn't exactly been up front with him, either.

  She smiled seductively. "But we were having such a nice time."

  "It can't be helped."

  She gave him another one of her long-suffering sighs. "Well, I suppose with the level of responsibility you're getting ready to assume, this could become a common occurrence." She gave him a phony smile. "I guess I'll just have to get used to it, won't I?"

  No you won't, because we're never seeing each other again.

  All at once Mark realized just how misguided he'd been. He didn't need to bring the right woman to his company function to show the management he was partner material. His new wardrobe and his new attitude around the office had already worked wonders. In just the last week, Edwin had consulted with him personally on a few management issues he never would have discussed before, and Mark noticed co-workers deferring to him more often. And Tina had become self-appointed personal publicist, using the company grapevine to boost his image every chance she got. This is a new Mark McAlister you're dealing with, she'd said in so many words. So look out.

  But it was Liz who'd given him the confidence to look like a sharp professional and to act like a man who expected to win, and when it came right down to it, that was all he'd ever really needed.

  * * *

  Fortunately, Gwen's apartment was on the way to Liz's, and Mark made good time. He could tell Gwen hated being brushed off, but he couldn't have cared less. He walked her quickly to her door. She angled for a kiss, so he relented and leaned in to give her a quick peck on the cheek. She shifted at the last moment, though, and turned his quick kiss into a lengthy mouth-to-mouth experience that he wouldn't have thought Miss Prim and Proper capable of. But it did nothing for him. Absolutely nothing.

  He couldn't believe this was the same woman he'd have once sold his soul to go out with. All he could think about now was checking himself in his rear-view mirror to make sure he didn't walk into Liz's apartment with lipstick where it didn't belong.

  "Call me," Gwen said in a breathy voice, then slipped inside her apartment and closed the door behind her.

  Not a chance.

  Mark ran back to his car, pulling off his suit coat at the same time. He opened the driver's door, tossed it into the backseat, then got into the driver's seat. He yanked off his tie, threw it mindlessly on top of his coat, and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt.

  There. Now he could breathe.

  He pulled out of the parking lot as quickly as he could without burning rubber. He swung his car onto Porter Avenue and proceeded to run three yellow lights in a row. After nearly rear-ending a mini-van, he stepped on the brake until he was going only ten miles per hour over the speed limit instead of twenty. In j
ust a few minutes he was going to be with Liz again. Where things might go from there, he didn't have a clue. He only knew where he wanted things to go. In his mind he saw himself taking her in his arms, kissing her softly and sweetly at first, then more passionately, and then…

  The thought of what might come next made his palms sweat. Could it actually happen?

  Tonight?

  Minutes later he was driving through Coconut Grove, growing more and more obsessed with the thought of discovering if his mental image of Liz naked bore any resemblance to the real thing.

  Then he had a terrible thought.

  What if it did happen tonight? He wasn't prepared. And there was no sense going through his wallet, glove compartment or console. His ID, money, proof of car insurance and a box of Tic-Tacs weren't going to do him any good.

  He swung his car into a beauty salon parking lot, hit the brake, and jammed his gearshift into park. He grabbed his phone and asked Siri where the nearest drugstore was. Two seconds later he heard her perky digital voice.

  "Okay, Mark. Here is what I found." A map popped up. Walgreens. Yes!

  Wait a minute. It was 5.7 miles away?

  "No!" Mark said, as if Siri hadn't quite heard him right.

  "The closest drugstore.”

  ”Okay, check this out," Siri said, and gave him Walgreens. Again. Five point seven miles away. Again. Apparently her hearing was just fine.

  Wait a minute. Drugstores weren't the only places that carried condoms. "Give me the closest grocery store," he told Siri.

  Two endless seconds later, she said, "Here’s what I found," and another map popped up showing a grocery store only a mile and a half away. He started to celebrate, only to realize it was Healthwise Grocer. He wanted condoms, not tofu, organic beets, and free-range bison. Coconut Grove was such a weird place. You could buy a lava lamp or a Fair Trade batik scarf, but something that was actually useful?

  "Condoms!" he shouted into the phone. "I want condoms!"

  "Okay, here you go," Siri said.

  Mark looked at his phone. Dildeaux? What the hell was that? It sounded like a French restaur—

  Oh.