Mark thought he heard Carol scoff quietly on his right. Simone simply smiled, even though her eyes were twinkling shrewdly. “Of course, that depends on the target. If you’re targeting a more youthful market—I’m guessing you’re in your twenties, if you don’t mind my speculating on your age?” She didn’t even pause for Sophie’s response to that gibe. “You’ll understand that younger generation. You’ll be able to make the wild and crazy marketing that they seem to plug into.”
“Although,” Carol added, “Marion & Co. has a slightly older and more affluent demographic.”
Bam. Like a one-two punch, Simone and Carol had managed to imply that Sophie was too young and inexperienced to handle this sort of account, and that she could only market to teenagers who shopped in supermarkets. It was like watching a contract hit.
Sophie didn’t even bother concealing her frown this time. “That’s not what I meant—”
“And you do have a lot of novelty products,” Carol added sweetly. “Those really are adorable. What’s that one…your Caliente lip gloss? Very trendy.”
Now, Mark was getting annoyed on Sophie’s behalf. They weren’t letting her get a word in edgewise, and he knew, personally, that she probably wasn’t working on a lot of sleep. Her eyes flared, and he had the feeling this was about to get ugly in a hurry—which was probably what Mrs. Marion had in mind to begin with. He could see Mrs. Marion presiding over the proceedings with a Cheshire-cat grin. She obviously liked seeing how people could react under pressure.
He suddenly hated seeing the pressure being exerted on Sophie. Not that he owed Sophie anything, he thought quickly. But his mama hadn’t raised him to watch a girl get bullied, in any circumstances.
“Caliente. That’s the lip gloss that has red pepper and chocolate, right?” he asked, his voice a shade too loud, effectively cutting across the polite verbal knife-fighting happening at the table.
Now all the women at the table turned to look at him—even Sophie. She nodded, her expression slightly puzzled.
“That’s selling really well right now, I understand,” he said, ignoring Carol’s glare. “The lipsticks and glosses that have an ingredient that causes lip swelling—mint, pepper, that sort of thing—is right on target, for any age group. Especially for women who don’t want to shell out money for collagen injections.”
Now all the women except Mrs. Marion were frowning at him, including Sophie. Which made no sense, since he was trying to help her out.
“I haven’t had the chance to actually study Diva Nation’s product line,” he said, addressing Mrs. Marion, since she was the only one at the table who didn’t seem put out with him. “But obviously, you can bet that I will. Really closely.”
Mrs. Marion laughed, delighted. “Well, Sophie, it looks like you’re in for a fight. Are you up for it?”
Mark looked over at Sophie, whose heated glare could probably melt an iceberg. “I never back down from a fight,” she said in a tone appropriate for a blood vendetta.
What the hell did I do? He frowned. Apparently, no good deed went unpunished.
“Neither does Trimera,” Carol put in, her tone equally fierce.
Mark shot Carol an annoyed look. Yes, they were competitors, but did she have to be so stupidly blunt about things? She was simply throwing gas on the fire.
“I’m well aware of Trimera’s business practices,” Sophie replied smoothly, and her tone made sure that everyone knew the comment was derogatory.
Mrs. Marion sat up straighter at that remark, still smiling.
“Our head chemist and product designer used to work for Trimera,” Sophie added, taking a sip of water to punctuate her sentence.
“Really?” Simone’s tone was surprised. Mark was surprised, himself. However, they were in marketing—and marketing never met the chemists. They dealt with the products afterward. “What made him decide to leave?”
“She decided to leave,” Sophie said, “because she was asked to.”
“You mean she was fired?” Carol interjected.
Now Simone and Mark both glared at Carol, who was oblivious, too intent on trying to insult Sophie to realize she’d screwed up. Smooth, Mark thought. He hoped Simone would report Carol’s obtuse behavior back to Roger.
“She was downsized,” Sophie said without emotion, as the waiter took their plates away. “Apparently, she didn’t really fit in with Trimera’s vision anymore for product development. While it wasn’t stated overtly, they thought perhaps her products were geared toward too mature an audience.”
Mark blinked a moment, floored that Sophie had so neatly turned the tables on them. She’d gone from being a young, inexperienced kid representing the teen market to a champion of the underdog, who obviously was fired because Trimera thought she was too old to develop cutting-edge cosmetics. If Marion & Co. wanted somebody trendsetting, they had Diva Nation…. And if they wanted someone who was mature, they still had Diva Nation. It also cast some doubt on Trimera’s business practices—especially if they were willing to fire people who were too old. Hints at age discrimination, which he knew would not sit well with Mrs. Marion.
Beautiful, Mark thought absently, as Sophie smiled serenely. Just beautiful. Sophie was playing them like a concert pianist.
He supposed he ought to be more upset about the whole thing. After all, Sophie was the competition here. But at the same time, he wasn’t a fan of crushing people who never stood a chance in the first place. And she’d made damned sure that Trimera would not write her off.
Carol, he noticed, was seething. Simone was only frowning, the slightest pucker in her otherwise inscrutable facade. Which he knew, from experience, meant that she was pretty angry as well, but knew enough not to show it.
Yup. It was going to be an interesting competition.
Mrs. Marion obviously felt the same way he did, because she looked practically gleeful. “I think we all understand each other, here,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “Nothing like some healthy competition to bring out the best products, I always say. I can’t wait to see what you come up with. Shall we order dessert?”
“I’ll just have coffee,” Carol said sourly.
“A latte,” Simone countered. “Decaf.”
Mrs. Marion looked at Sophie. “Tell me I don’t have to indulge on my own,” she said.
Sophie smiled, the edge of anger that had frosted her expression finally melted. “I never say no to dessert,” she replied. “And the Double Chocolate Suicide did look tempting. But I couldn’t possibly eat the whole thing on my own. It was huge.”
“I’ll split it with you,” Mark said. “I love chocolate.”
Sophie grinned. “I know.”
They smiled for a split second, then Mark quickly realized their gaffe. All the women stared at him—then at Sophie. Sophie, he noticed, looked aghast.
He shook his head. “My love of chocolate is legendary on the trade-show circuit,” he said lamely. Carol looked shocked. Simone looked smug. Mrs. Marion—well, her expression was one of amused inscrutability.
Oh, hell.
“Would you excuse me?” he said. “I have to make a quick phone call.”
He left, cradling his phone in his hand until he was safely in the hallway. Then he cursed himself under his breath. He didn’t need to make a phone call. He only needed a moment to think the situation through.
It was a tiny comment. Practically innocent.
Simone was going to have a field day with that one innocent remark, he just knew it.
Of course—if they assume you’re sleeping with her already, you might as well go ahead and do the crime you’re being punished for.
For the first time that night, he felt an anticipatory smile cross his face.
“HOW COULD YOU BE SO STUPID?” Sophie muttered to herself for the fiftieth time.
She was sitting in her hotel room, mentally reviewing the dinner meeting. It had all been going so well. She’d been professional, but she hadn’t backed down. She’d shown them tha
t she meant business. Then, with two little words, she’d managed to portray herself as a floozy—somebody who was obviously too close to the competition.
“How else was I supposed to know that Mark liked chocolate?” she said, covering her face with a pillow and groaning.
For somebody who prided herself on her professionalism, she was doing a damned poor job of maintaining it when it came to Mark McMann.
The worst part was it was all her fault. If only she hadn’t called him…If only she’d stuck to her instincts, kept it strictly business…
Oh, who are you kidding? The only thing you’re regretting right now is the fact that you don’t have more to feel guilty about.
And there it was, staring her baldly in the face.
She still wanted Mark McMann. Yes, it was foolhardy: he was a competitor; she was a professional; there was a whole litany of reasons why she shouldn’t get involved with him. But the bottom line was she liked the way he made her feel.
He’s charming. That’s his best weapon, her business instincts warned her. But her body was not listening to her common sense. It was more attuned to the siren call of his southern drawl, the way his blue eyes pierced through her like a hot knife through butter.
Damn, but she wanted him. Even after tonight’s fiasco.
I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want him.
There was a knock on her hotel-room door. She frowned, wondering who it was at this hour. She opened the door cautiously.
Mark was standing there, looking over his shoulder. “Sophie,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “Can I come in?”
She nodded, more out of surprise than anything. He hurried inside, closing the door behind him.
“Don’t worry,” he reassured her. “Nobody saw me come in here.”
He shouldn’t be here, her instincts kicked up again. Get him out, before you do something even more stupid.
“What are you doing here?” she asked instead.
He stared at her, silent, for a long moment.
“You know why I’m here.”
She swallowed hard. “Yeah. I guess I do.”
It was crazy. Beyond crazy. But she knew exactly why he was there.
She knew, because she felt the exact same way.
She went to the minifridge, getting out a bottle of wine she’d purchased with the intention of drowning her embarrassment. “Wine?” she offered, her voice breaking slightly.
He nodded. She poured the ruby-red liquid, her hands trembling slightly. She jumped when his large hands covered hers. “Allow me,” he said smoothly.
She let him take over, feeling a sensation of unreality wash over the whole situation. When he handed her a glass, she took a quick, large sip.
“Are you all right?” he asked in a deep, low voice.
She chuckled, her laughter sounding more hysterical than carefree. “Oh, I’m fine,” she responded. Just as long as I don’t think too clearly. She took two more large swallows of the wine, then put the glass down on the dresser. “So, how do you want to do this?”
He frowned. “Do what?”
“This. Us,” she said, making a vague sweeping gesture with her hands that encompassed him, her…and the bed.
He studied her, and she squirmed under his attention. “Come here,” he said, keeping his voice soft, as if he were approaching a wounded animal.
She took a deep breath, then stepped toward him.
No turning back now.
He took her into his arms, his body feeling hot and hard and fantastic against hers. But to her surprise, he only stroked her arms and her back. He didn’t kiss her, much as she wanted him to. She was trembling, and absently she realized it had nothing to do with desire—and everything to do with fear, at what she was doing, and what she might be ruining.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he murmured against the top of her head, pressing a soft kiss against the crown of her hair. “You don’t have to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable.”
She curved against him, her arms wrapping around his waist and holding him tight. For a second, conscience warred with desire.
“It’s different when we’re…you know. Actually in it,” she said slowly, pulling away from him enough to look into his eyes. His face was etched with obvious strain—and an overwhelming tenderness that almost took her breath away. “When I think about you, and the night we almost—you know—it’s the easiest decision in the world to make.”
He stroked her back, small, lazy circles that made her blood warm. She felt her nipples peak in a rush, and her breathing went shallow. “But…?” he prompted, his voice taut.
“But then I think about everything else,” she countered. “I think about what we’re doing, and what could happen. And I wonder if I’m making the biggest mistake of my life.”
He sighed, then sat on the edge of the bed, tugging gently until she sat next to him. He kept an arm around her, and she felt ridiculously comforted by it. She gave into the urge, and rested her head against his broad shoulder. “And what are you afraid is going to happen?” he continued.
She closed her eyes, picturing the worst. “I’ll screw up the account,” she said softly. “Someone will find out. Mrs. Marion will think I’m not taking it seriously. I’ll get Diva Nation tossed from the running because I look like I lack ethics.”
“You don’t lack ethics,” Mark quickly protested. “We haven’t shared any secrets, for God’s sake!”
“I know. But I also know that, if you asked me, I might let something slip,” she admitted, her voice shaking.
He processed that silently, and she wondered if he understood how big a concession that was—especially from someone like her, whose business was her life.
“I would never ask you,” he said. “I know I might’ve tried to charm you, a while ago, but this is different. Hell, I’ve never felt anything like this before.”
“I know,” she said. “It’s not even like we have a relationship. Who would believe that we just wanted each other so much, business had nothing to do with it?”
He sighed again. “If I hadn’t experienced it myself, I probably wouldn’t believe it, either,” he admitted.
“So why are we doing this?” she asked helplessly.
When she opened her eyes, his face looked haunted—tortured. “Sophie, I never meant to hurt you.”
She quickly kissed his jaw, causing the muscles beneath her lips to bunch. “Shh,” she breathed. “You asked how I felt. I didn’t tell you to make you feel guilty.”
“And yet,” he said, laughing bitterly, “that’s exactly how I feel.”
She silenced him by kissing his neck, then she felt her heart start to beat faster, her stomach tightening with desire. She felt her hands inch lower, her fingertips dancing over the hard planes of his abdomen. “You’re not making me do anything,” she said, and she gave in to temptation. She shifted her fingers lower, brushing over his erection, which sprang fully to life beneath her touch.
“You’re not making this easier,” he said through gritted teeth. “Sophie, I don’t want to do anything that you’re going to regret later.”
She paused, her hands perilously close to his waistband. “I don’t want to do anything that I’m going to regret later, either,” she said, desire battling against uncertainty.
She knew what was going to win.
“So what do we do now?” she breathed, her blood pounding hot and heavy in her chest.
His hand stroked her back, and his other hand cupped the side of her face. His face was the picture of perfection, harsh and gorgeous and full of passion.
“Would you regret it,” he asked, his voice fierce, “if we never slept together?”
That surprised her, but she knew that he was just trying to convince her…to convince them both. She thought about it, then finally made her decision.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I would.”
“No one will find out,” he said, almost to reassure himself as much as h
er. “And we won’t do this again, not if it makes you unhappy, or if you do wind up feeling regret. This won’t affect the competition, or any business matters, or anything else whatsoever.” He kissed along her jawline, and her pulse danced beneath his attention, causing his words to simply float in her mind, almost meaninglessly. “It’s a risk, Sophie. But I think it’s one worth taking.”
“Oh,” she murmured, as his hands cupped her breasts. “Yes…”
“I won’t do anything to hurt you,” he promised her. “No matter what this is, I swear I won’t do anything to hurt you.”
She arched her back, releasing herself back onto the bed. She started to unbutton his shirt with trembling fingers.
“I know you won’t,” she said, and gave herself over.
“I JUST WANT YOU,” he said, saying the thought that was blazing through him like electricity. “I want you so damned much….”
She leaned up and kissed him again, and this time there was nothing confused or tentative about it. Her lips teased at his, even as her hands tugged his shirt off. He swept his tongue into her mouth, tickling against hers, and she moaned, savoring the taste of him. They broke apart long enough for him to take off her blouse, and he kissed at the lacy edges of her bra as she sighed with pleasure and tugged off her skirt, leaving her only in matching midnight-blue lingerie. He growled with approval.
“Pants,” she said to him, undoing his fly.
They made quick work of his pants, socks, shoes and boxers. She was stretched across the chintz cover, her pale skin looking like cream against the lingerie. Her eyes blazed with invitation, her curls tumbling wildly about her shoulders.
She was the most amazing woman he’d ever seen. He reached for her like a starving man, all other thoughts leaving his head in a rush. He kissed her eagerly, wanting to taste all of her—her shoulders, the hollow behind her elbow, the slight indentations of her ribs. She was breathing in sharp pants, her short fingernails clawing delicately against his back, stroking him to incoherence. He leaned down, taking off her panties, and finding the matching curls between her thighs. He reached in, feeling her already damp and waiting for him. He kissed her hips, then her legs, before stroking a quick lick at the juncture between her inner thighs. The surprise of his motion quickly made her clench and tighten against him, involuntarily. His erection throbbed in response. Insistent, he spread her legs apart gently, before sweeping in to taste her, his tongue lightly delving until he found her clit.
One Night Standards Page 6