Just One Spark (2 page)

He filibustered on the importance of signing up as many customers as possible for instant credit accounts. “Whether they qualify or not. Our bonus isn’t based on the actual number of approvals, but on the applications.”

She listened to the hum in the room and fisted her hands to keep from rolling her eyes. Instant credit accounts were valued because store-card customers averaged eighty dollars more per trip than other customers. Gary missed the point behind the bonus incentive, but then he always did. He’d been a store manager for over a decade, his career stalling because of his short sightedness.

“You’ll lead up the credit team for the holidays, Hannah.” His beady eyes zeroed in on her.

“Christy does a great job with credit,” she offered. She wouldn’t contradict him publicly, but she’d be damned before putting her name on his unethical policy.

“You have much more experience than she does,” Gary said without looking at the crestfallen woman beside the desk. Hannah bit her cheek. She would never cut down an employee in front of an audience.

“The district training project is my responsibility. If you think credit is a bigger priority, I’ll change the schedule so I have more time to focus on it.” No way would he mess with the district manager, or the schedule. He had ten days off this month, more than any other store manager.

“You’re right. The district training program comes first. Christy, I know you can do it. We’re all counting on you.”

Hannah tried to stay cool for the rest of the meeting. She’d severely underestimated the challenge of working for this man when she’d transferred in that spring. He’d manipulated the numbers to make the store look better on a few key reports, the ones bonuses were determined from. But upper management had seen through his front and put her in place to make sure things ran smoothly through the holidays. Once the season ended, Gary would be asked to retire and she’d be in the running for a store manager position.

In the running. So many places in her life were empty because of all the time she devoted to her career. She needed the promotion. She needed the validation that she was good at something. If that meant placating Gary and keeping a ready supply of extra-strength breath mints on hand, so be it.

Hannah rolled over and flipped on the lamp. Just like every night for the last week, sleep eluded her. The numbers on her alarm clock mocked her, a digital reminder she had to be at work at five a.m. to get the markdown team rolling through the store.

She didn’t mind getting in early. It gave her a chance to move fixtures around without having to worry about customers tripping over them. Since she hadn’t been able to sleep all week, getting up any earlier than she had to was a chore.

Pulling open the drawer of her nightstand, she found her romance novels. She had to think of something else, someone else. The image that kept creeping into her mind irked her. She needed to fill her head with another man, a noble man to make her forget all about him.

She opened the pages and began to read. The little paperbacks shipped to her mailbox each month were Hannah’s vacation. She used them to travel without leaving the room, to relax without having to finagle time off. Her tired eyes scanned the well-read passages, flipping ahead to the good parts.

Hannah thought herself a sensual, sexual person. Or she would be if she gave herself half a chance. But ever since she’d found out Marty, a man she’d dated for almost a year, was actually married with three young children, she no longer trusted her instincts where men were concerned.

She’d been so stupid. Never questioning why she only had a work and cell number for him, never thinking it odd that she met so few of his friends. But Molly and her husband, Troy, had been suspicious and hired a private investigator that had provided her with pictures of Marty’s wife and babies.

She still hadn’t believed it, and when she’d called to confront him, he’d flown off the handle and accused her of being controlling, high-maintenance. Then he’d made some lame excuse about having another phone call and she’d never heard from him again.

Devastating didn’t begin to cover it. Their relationship had been so perfect, or so she’d thought. He hadn’t accused her of working too much or being obsessed with her career like other men she’d dated. They’d talked about getting married, buying a house, traveling to Europe. She’d never seen it coming.

Worse than anything was the humiliation. Her friends and family had all suspected, had all been scheming the best way to approach her. It sickened her to think how they’d whispered behind her back. Thankfully, no one from work knew. It would be hard to convince upper management she could run a multimillion-dollar department store when she’d made such a disaster out of her personal life.

Still, as a healthy woman with certain needs, the books came in handy. Each month, she found four new men in her mailbox. Four heroes to romance her and fuel her fantasies. It worked pretty well, at least until her little run in with the married fireman last week.

At least she thought he was a fireman. Maybe it was just some T-shirt his wife had laid out for him that morning.

Knowing he had a wife had her waking up all night long. Every time she let herself dream, she wound up horizontal with him. It always woke her up with a jolt. She’d unknowingly been the other woman once. She’d never do it again.

Letting out a resigned sigh, she rolled to her side and drank in the scene between the romance writer and the man she thought was a gigolo. Hannah followed them upstairs to the hotel room, heat pooling in her belly as the would-be gigolo began to strip off the heroine’s clothes piece by piece until she wore nothing but stockings and garter belt.

Hannah hugged the body pillow between her legs as he kissed his way down the heroine’s body. Squeezing her thighs together, she read how he licked his lover right there, how the heat from him conflicted with the feel of her buttocks pressed against the cool glass of the hotel room window. Hannah held the book open with one hand. Anyone might be watching them, becoming as aroused as she was.

As the heroine’s knees buckled and they moved to the bed, Hannah laid the book down. She closed her eyes and imagined it was her he touched while her hands mimicked his mouth.

She visualized him between her legs, felt the crisp tips of his hair as she massaged his scalp. She moaned, her muscles began to clench and spasm. She matched the rhythm, making the orgasm last as long as possible. She felt him move up her body, leaving hot little kisses in his wake. Stubble scratched against her nipples. Reaching for him, she opened her eyes.

Her heart stopped. It was
him
. The blue-eyed adulterer crashed her fantasy, smiling up at her.

Hannah found herself panting, sitting straight up in her bed, the blankets tangled at her feet. Her fists were clenched as she worked to catch her breath.

“Not again,” she groaned, flopping back against the pillows. “Never again.”

“They said what?” Derek asked, chuckling under his breath.

Mason kicked him hard under the table. He did not deserve to be laughed at. “If it weren’t for you and your stupid hypothesis, I wouldn’t have spent every spare moment in that damned coffee shop anyway.”

“She might have just not been into you, you know,” Derek shot back.

He’d thought of that a lot over the last few days. Even if he found her and made her understand he wasn’t a total jerk, he still might have blown it with her. Mason shook his head to dispel the thought. He still had to try.

“Too bad most of my charm lives in your imagination.” He slumped back against the leather booth.

“That’s it, lash out at me. Your anger has to go somewhere.” Derek grinned.

“You think this is funny? I had to explain to three different people that I’m not a stalker. They still might call the police. I know every cop in that precinct. I’ll be a laughingstock.”

After finishing a twenty-four-hour shift, Mason had spent the morning in the coffee house. Not too unusual, except he’d stayed there for four hours, just like he had for the last three days. Today, an employee had asked what he was doing. He’d explained, hoping for help in finding his mystery lady. But she hadn‘t found his interest romantic, she’d pegged him as a stalker.

“If you think about it, you are a little obsessed. Maybe you are stalking this woman. Maybe they have a right to be concerned about the guy commandeering a window seat and ogling women as they enter the building next door. Just look at it objectively.”

“I don’t want to hurt her, Derek. I just want a chance to explain.” He knew it sounded strange, but he just had to see her again. It wasn’t some psychological imbalance. It was a physical need.

“How long has it been?” Derek poured the last of the beer into his empty mug.

“What are you talking about?” Mason took a long swallow from his mug.

Leaning closer, Derek whispered, “Since you’ve had sex?”

Mason nearly choked. “None of your damned business.”
Too long.
“You’re the one who’s consumed by sex, not me.”
Unless it is sex with her.
He didn’t care to listen to sociological reasoning or psychobabble right now.

Derek ignored the jab. “Maybe you’re just fixating on this woman because you need a sexual release.”

Mason clenched his jaw. She had starred in every one of his dreams since they’d met. But his need to make things right with her was more about the way he’d felt when he’d seen her. As if he’d been magnetically drawn to her.

“That’s not it. There is just something about her. I don’t expect you to understand. I just expect you to help me explain why I had on that damned ring.”

Derek shook his head. “Just don’t get arrested. You may have an explanation for the ring, but you don’t have any excuse for stalking the woman.”

Chapter Two

“It’s all done but the guacamole,” Molly said, setting the giant platter of tortilla chips on the coffee table. “I’m so glad we’re doing buffet style. It’s a lot less work.”

Hannah had to laugh. “I didn’t think less work was what you were going for. You have two kinds of chips, three different salsas and four types of chili. How many armies are you planning to feed?”

“There will be ten of us. But the guys are big eaters, especially when they’re watching football,” Molly said, walking back to the kitchen. “I’m just glad I still had your crockpot. It makes serving easier.”

Hannah raised an eyebrow. So that was what her parents had given her last Christmas. Molly was right, she wouldn’t have liked it. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No, no,” Molly said with a wave of her hand as she tasted the black bean and then the vegetarian chili. “Everything is ready to go. People should be arriving soon.”

“Okay. I’m going to go switch my laundry while I have a minute.” Leaving Molly to her constant sampling, Hannah bounded up the stairs. For her, chili came in a can. To Molly, it was a culinary adventure.

Hannah opened the door to the laundry room and paused. She lived in a third floor walkup and her baby sister had a two-story house with a laundry room.
When had this happened?

Shaking her head, she pulled open the dryer and started folding. Sure, she could buy a house. She had plenty of money in the bank, but there just didn’t seem to be much point. She liked living with Kate, and with their apartment only a block from the light-rail. All the Mendelssohn’s in the metro area were on the train line, so it made her commutable to any of them. She’d worked in five stores in the seven years she’d been with the company.

Beyond wanting the flexibility for work, buying a house would mean making a home. She didn’t want to do that alone. Not that she needed a man to complete her life. She got by just fine on her own, thank you very much. But her parents were so conservative, so old-fashioned that they’d talked her out of it. She could hear it now. “A man wants to live in his own home, Hannah, not his wife’s”.

She laid her now-folded clothes in a basket and moved a load from the washer to the dryer. She still had sheets and towels to do tonight. If she had to be subjected to another matchmaking party, she could at least get some chores out of the way. She switched the machines on and turned to leave. Troy loomed in the doorway.

“I brought my own soap,” Hannah said in reaction to his scowl and crossed arms. When she’d first met Troy, he’d been a scrawny fifteen-year-old, all googly-eyed over her baby sister. In ten years, he had gone from an awkward teen to a towering presence. Hannah looked up and smiled at the man he had become.

“We need to talk,” Troy said.

Hannah arched her eyebrow. Troy rarely pulled his serious face. “Okay, what’s up?”

“Molly’s worried about you,” he said, still maintaining his bouncer stance in front of the door.

Hannah rolled her eyes. “Molly’s a worrier. You knew that going in, so if you’re looking for a refund now you’re out of luck.”

Not even a smile. This would be some party with him in this kind of mood. “You need to make a life for yourself outside of work.”

“Where do you get off?” Hannah said, straightening. She tried to move past him but he grabbed her arm.

“I mean it, Hannah. I don’t care if you have to fake it, but act happy. Go out with one of the guys tonight, give her some hope.”

Hannah shook off his grasp. “What is with you? Since when do you care about my love life?” She stared up at him with righteous indignation.

Looking into his eyes, she remembered exactly when he’d started caring. He‘d been the one who had changed her locks, hired a private investigator, had guts enough to stand up to her and make her face the issues in her relationship with Marty. Hannah dropped her glare to the floor. He had cared enough to make her realize what was going on.

“It’s been over a year and you’re still moping.” Stepping out of the doorway, his voice softened. “Stop cutting guys off at the knees and have fun. You used to be fun.” When she looked up again he smiled, his shoulders relaxed.

They both stood in an awkward silence and were startled as the doorbell rang. Troy bounded down the stairs to greet his guests and Hannah sighed in resignation. She’d give the guys a chance tonight. She owed Troy that. If they annoyed her too much she always had her laundry.

“There’s a biological basis for men having more spouses than women. Women have control over whom they will mate with. They have to be choosy because they can only have a limited number of offspring and so make fewer pairings,” Derek addressed the party.

What an idiot.
“Men just can’t keep it in their pants,” Hannah said from her perch on a barstool in Molly’s kitchen. This was bachelor number one? “Their wives keep divorcing them and they keep remarrying so they never have to learn how to pick up their own dirty socks.
That’s
why men marry more than women.”

He pushed his glasses farther up his narrow nose. “Historically, women are the ones more likely to cheat, especially around ovulation. They seek out the alpha male to mate with, but the beta male to live with. It’s women who have their cake and eat it too, not the other way around.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” Hannah plunked her beer down on the counter with a thud.

“He knows his stuff.” Bachelor number two tried to defend Derek. “He has a Ph.D.”

“I don’t care what his degree is. His theory doesn’t hold water,” Hannah said, her eyes narrowed and ready for battle.

“To be fair, Hannah, neither does yours.” Troy moved between the two warring factions. “You can’t reduce people to generalizations.”

Hannah pursed her lips together and squinted at her brother-in-law. For a brief moment, she thought about telling him exactly what he and his friends could do with their theories. But then half the room erupted into hoots and hollers when one team scored a touchdown.

Hannah retreated upstairs to finish her laundry. She slammed the dryer door shut and flipped the machines on before checking her watch. Her laundry would be done at about the same time the game ended. Which she’d planned for, but now she wished she could just bail.

She closed the laundry room door behind her and crept down the stairs. At the bottom she turned to go into the kitchen and paused. Troy and Molly stood all wrapped up in each other, their heads bowed and they shared secrets.

Retreating, Hannah went up a few steps and sat on the stairs. It wasn’t right to be jealous of her sister. She hugged her knees to her chest and allowed herself an indulgent moment of heartache. Why hadn’t she found a man who looked at her that way?

Troy wasn’t perfect—he was too tall and completely sports obsessed—but his quirks never bothered Molly. Why couldn’t she find a man whose oddities didn’t drive her crazy? Hannah realized everybody had their faults, but she had a knack for finding the guys who needed professional help. The last guy she’d gone on a date with had major credit problems, and the one before him talked to his mother on his cell phone during dinner—twice.

Tonight’s pool of suitors wasn’t any more promising. One laughed like a cartoon character, another had reached thirty without leaving the nest, and Professor Know-It-All and his ridiculous notions. No one even remotely interesting, and yet she had to make some kind of date to get Molly and Troy to lay off. She just couldn’t win.

Things would be easier if she were attracted to just one of them. Adrenaline coursed through her as she thought of the way she’d reacted to the cheating pig at the laundromat. Sure, he looked like sex on legs, but something more about him stuck in her brain. And her dreams. Why couldn’t she just feel like that about one of these guys?

“Sorry, I didn’t know anyone had come up here.”

Hannah jumped at the sound. Professor Know-It-All in the flesh. Hannah scooted to the side of the staircase. “Take a left at the top of the stairs. The bathroom is the first door on the right.”

“Thanks,” Derek said, placing a foot on a riser. With his hand on the railing, he paused and looked down at Hannah. “I’m sorry if I upset you before. Sometimes I forget I’m talking to friends and not students. My brother tells me not to give my opinion to people who aren’t specifically paying to hear it, but I don’t listen to him as often as I should.”

Hannah smiled in acknowledgement. A wordy apology was better than none. “It’s not you. It’s a touchy subject for me.”

“Oh,” Derek said. His mouth formed the vowel far longer than the word hung in the air. “Adultery is interesting to me.” He sat below her on the stairs, looking up at her, and continued. “I’ve always found it fascinating. I’ve worked on all sorts of studies about what causes people to cheat. I’m working out a theory that married men may wander because women hit on them more.”

“What?” Hannah asked, feeling her temperature drop.

“I think women proposition married men more. It makes sense. Women would know going in the man is a provider and women who only want sex wouldn’t have to deal with the emotional side.”

“You’re insane.” Is that why she hadn’t seen the red flags in her relationship with Marty? “When a woman gets involved with a married man it’s because she doesn’t know he’s married. And he doesn’t tell her.”

Derek shrugged and looked up at her. “You might be right, but you might be wrong. I’m looking to find out.”

“Don’t waste your time. If women see a ring, they look the other way.” Hannah examined Derek’s face as he spoke. Something struck her as vaguely familiar about him. She must have seen him at one of Troy and Molly’s parties before.

“Not all women.” Derek shifted on the step and his eyes widened. “Hey, your eyes are two different colors.”

Ignoring his comment, Hannah continued. “Men don’t cheat because some woman comes on to them. They cheat because they’re pigs and can’t keep it zipped. Cheaters get off on fooling women into thinking they care. They do it for the thrill, not because a pretty girl makes it easy.”

“Did you…were you…” Derek stammered. Finally, Mr. Opinions didn’t have one. Hannah hoped he wasn’t trying to ask exactly why the subject was touchy for her. He cleared his throat. “So you have never propositioned a married man?”

“Never would.” Marty had romanced her for months before she’d slept with him. She never would have even had a drink with him had she known he had a wife and kids.

“And if a man came on to you that you suspected was married?” Derek asked, leaning back. Hannah noticed he stared directly into her eyes instead of looking her up and down the way most men did.

“If he had his ring on, I wouldn’t let it get that far. Most guys take it off. You can’t tell they’re married if their pocket is full of gold.”

Derek shook his head vigorously and swallowed hard. “Do married men hit on you?”

Hannah laughed. “I’m something of an anomaly. It seems like every man who hits on me is married. Just last week some guy tried to pick me up at the laundromat. His wife’s clothes were probably in the washing machine. The pig didn’t even bother to take off his ring. But he had a stellar excuse. He said he forgot it was on. Can you imagine?”

Hannah shook her head, and reminded herself she hated the pig no matter how sexy he was.

Derek laughed at her misery. It would be funny if it had happened to someone else, if she hadn’t dreamt of the man every night since.

Clearing his throat, Derek said, “I’d like to talk more about your theories. Maybe we could meet for coffee. Do you live out this way?”

Coffee? She hated coffee. But it would get Molly off her back. “I live downtown, not far from the university campus actually. I’m swamped with work though.”

“My schedule is pretty flexible,” he said with a smile.

“Wednesday morning? I don’t have to be in to work until the afternoon.” Hannah gave him directions to the coffee shop next to her apartment. The man looked as pleased as punch. Her good deed was done for the day.

Hannah’s ears pricked to the conversation while her eyes stared blankly ahead. A group of women of every shape and size sat in the corner of the usually quiet coffee shop, ignoring their laptops and talking up a storm. The best Hannah could make out was that they all belonged to some writing group. Fighting the urge to eavesdrop, Hannah sank into a plush purple wingback and held her peppermint tea closer to her nose.

As the women discussed salacious plot twists, Hannah gave in. She always wondered how her favorite writers came up with their ideas. After all, it would be easier to ignore the stench of coffee than overlook these women.

“But is it romantic or scary? You can’t be too careful these days,” a redheaded woman said with a slight southern drawl.

“I’m writing a romance novel, so it has to be romantic,” a tiny brunette answered back. “I’m telling you it was fate. There I sat, staring at a blank page and I overheard him say how he just had to find this woman. A gift from the writing gods.”

“It’s just not right,” the matron of the group said as she stroked the head of a nervous terrier she kept in a papoose. “You said he was a stalker. You might be using some poor woman’s demise as inspiration.”

The brunette waived her hand in dismissal. “He’s too cute to be a stalker.”

“I know,” the redhead chimed in. “You can write it as a romance and I’ll write it as a thriller. Like parallel universes. I hate what I have so far anyway.”

“I’m so glad I write fantasy,” the elderly woman said, still petting the dog. Hannah looked away quickly, not daring to be caught eavesdropping. Sometime while she’d been listening, Derek had arrived.
About time.
Hannah checked her watch. Eight minutes late, as if his time were more important than hers.

He made his way toward her with an oversized mug Hannah dreaded would be coffee. She took a long whiff of her tea and braced herself. At least the writing club would get a kick out of him. If some man’s plight to find a mystery woman inspired two novels, Derek and his theories would send this group reeling.

“What are your theories on stalkers?” Hannah asked as he sat down opposite her.