Waking Sleeping Beauty (12 page)

He slipped down the zipper on her skirt and tugged it off her. “Sweet Jesus,” he murmured, sliding his hand over the lace and silk garter belt and matching panties. In moments, he undid the buttons on her silk blouse and parted it. “Sexy, hot,” he said as he used his lips to follow the trail of his hands, stopping to dip his tongue in her dainty belly button, and then teasing her as he followed the line of lace further down her hips.

She couldn’t stop him even if she wanted to.
Exquisite torture
.

Flames, hot and searing, licked through her.

Everywhere he touched and tasted flared to life, leaving a blaze of fire in its wake.

She tugged at his shirt. He shrugged it off. Now, she could explore every inch of his torso, every big, supple muscle. She skimmed her fingertips over his flat abdomen, enjoying his heated response.

She hesitated when she found the waistband of his jeans. “Don’t stop,” he pleaded, gently guiding her hands to the button.

Her cheeks warmed even more as she undid it. Gingerly, she parted the zipper; the sound of gliding metal echoed in her ears. But it was his sharp gasp when she brushed against his hardness that sent a thrill of desire coursing through her veins.

He wanted her. She wanted him.

No one else mattered right now. Nothing else mattered but this moment.

In awe, she touched him now, first through the denim and then after he helped her remove the last of his clothes. Hard, firm, pulsating, yet such smooth skin. “Beautiful,” she said, running her fingers along the hot flesh.

He chuckled. It caught in his throat. He groaned.

She smiled. He allowed her to linger. She grew bolder, wrapping her hand around him.

Another gasp, another groan. “Come here,” he growled, pulling her to him and kissing her in a long, hot drugging kiss.

Lost, she surrendered, assisting him with shedding the rest of her clothes. It was a dance of desire. One she loved to fully participate in.

His hands, large yet tender, caressed her in places she never knew were that sensitive, that erotic. His mouth soon followed. She moved with him, against him: fluid, graceful motions that made her realize how perfect they fit together.

Above her now, looking down, already sheathed, Marcus parted her legs and slowly pushed. A twinge of pain shot through her. Holding her breath, she reached out and pulled him to her, clinging to his shoulders. He was gliding in. Perspiration dotted her forehead. The surge of pain was now a dull ache. Fully in, he stilled. “Stay,” she whispered, hoping he didn’t end it now.

He moaned. He throbbed inside her, and she felt herself squeezing around him in response.

Capturing her lips, he also captured her breaths as he moved inside her.

Something hot swirled in her, growing and building. She raised her hips to meet his, wanting to stay connected forever. His hand cupped her bottom, pulling her to him. She discovered the motion, the movement elicited even more heat.

All of a sudden, her body jerked, and waves of hot flames coursed through every nerve ending. She groaned as another wave struck.

Marcus threw his head back, moaning. His body matched hers, stilling and jerking.

Time passed; she was still drifting down from wherever she’d floated to. His warm, damp skin slick against hers shifted. She cried out in protest.

“Shhh!” he soothed, lying beside her. Marcus gathered her in his arms.

Francine laid her head on his shoulder, sighing deeply.
Heaven
.

***

Marcus slipped away from a resting Francine and tugged the white comforter over her very sexy, very naked body. He brushed back the sweep of blonde hair. A smile teased the corner of her lips.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, searching her heart-shaped face. A lick of desire flared to life. He still wanted her.

He shook it off, padding to the bathroom. But he couldn’t shake off her willing response to him, nor the ensuing throb of passion that swept over him.

He stomped down on his urge to go back and take her again and again.

The hot spray of water cascaded down on him and still he couldn’t erase the guilt he felt for taking her virginity. He ducked his head, letting the spray hit the bunched-up muscles in his neck and along his shoulders. It didn’t help.

A soft knock on the tile had him jerking around to see her step in behind him. Slowly, he turned. Naked, sexy as hell, and with a hesitant smile she stood before him. “Can I join you?”

He contemplated every reason why she shouldn’t, every wrong he was committing. Yet none of them mattered. He held out his hand.

When she took it, he felt the quiver go through her. “I’ll wash you, if you wash me,” she whispered.

A flame of passion flared. “Best invitation I’ve ever gotten.”

Marcus gathered her in his arms, searching her gaze. There was no doubt or regret. That should have eased his sense of guilt. It didn’t. There was a special place in hell just for him. A hell he now willingly accepted.

The next morning, he scrambled to get dressed as she dragged on her clothes. He longed to stop her and reverse the order, hoping to replay the long night of lovemaking.

He squelched down on that fresh wave of desire. It was Black Friday. He was late.

“I’ll drive you home,” he said, tying the silk tie like a noose around his own neck.

“No time,” she said, slipping on a stocking and rolling it up her long, sexy leg.

He moaned under his breath.

“Take me with you. I have some clothes stashed at the boutique for emergencies.”

Raising his eyebrows at that, he caught her gaze in the reflection of the mirror.

“Late nights of putting all things King’s Department Store together.”

The image of her changing there, slipping out of her clothes, made his mind go to places he should avoid. “This is going to be a very long day,” he muttered as he put on his watch.

Her gaze dropped to his wrist, watching his movements. The gold piece felt laser hot on his flesh. A bolt of shock shot through him at her admission last night. How in the world had he not known he’d worn the gift she’d been a part of giving her father? She’d always been so near.

“A brush?” she asked, trying to tame her tousled hair.

“In the dressing area.” He nodded toward his large walk-in closet. He watched her until she disappeared out of sight, suppressing the ready groan at the slight sway of her hips. Even fully dressed now, she did things to him no other woman ever could. Marcus turned back to the rumpled sheets. Wrong move. Flashes of their lovemaking came quick and strong. Heat curled in his middle.

Marcus blew out a hot breath. “I’ve got to get out of here,” he muttered. “What’s taking her so long?” Marching toward the dressing area, he became aware of the utter stillness. There was no sound, no movement. “Francie?”

She stood at the vanity like a statue, clutching something. “You took it from the box?”

Dawning hit him. He’d tucked her picture away in here, looking at her every morning and every night, trying to reason why he shouldn’t get involved with her. He guessed he’d lost that debate.

He came up behind her, brushing her back. Francie gingerly replaced the photo. She faced him. Lifting her hands, she straightened his tie, and then smoothed down the lapels on his suit. He liked when she touched him like that. Hell, he liked when she touched him at all. “I’m flattered.” A blush dotted the tops of her cheekbones.

“Call it a failed exorcism,” he said, putting his hands on her slim waist. She sucked in a sharp breath. God, she felt good.

“I get it.”

He rubbed his thumbs over the silk of her blouse, wishing he touched her flesh instead. “You’re fairy dust,” he said softly.
Sleeping Beauty
.

“And you are?” she asked, matching his low tone.

“Reality.” Hurt chased across her expressive cornflower blue eyes. It hit him in the gut.

“Cold, hard reality.”

“You want the forever after—”

“The happily ever after. And you want your freedom, is that it?” She slowly pulled away, removing his hands. “You want to come and go as you please. You want to call the shots and put up the walls. You want to protect your heart. I understand.”

He stepped back, allowing her to move past him. She paused at the door to look back once, and then walked away. Why did he ache so much whenever she was near? Why did the pain cut him in two when she left?

***

Francine’s cheeks burned as she bumped into Rico. “You’re…you’re here so early.” Her voice cracked.

“I got to get my sales items first, and then I’ll cover my shift.” He stopped, pulling back and pointing a finger. “Girl, didn’t you wear that outfit yesterday?”

If possible, her face grew even hotter. “I’ve got something in the back to change into.”

“You didn’t answer me,” he said in a sing-song voice as he followed close behind.

“Not going to,” she said right back in the same sing-song way.

“It’s a man. I just know it.”

“None of your business,” she returned.

He clapped his hands. “O-M-G, Francine King, who in the world would have thought? You got laid.”

“She got what?!” Evelyn asked, coming into the boutique. “No way.”

“Look,” he pointed. “It’s written all over her face.”

Francine ducked her head. “Business,” she said between gritted teeth. “First, foremost. We open up in less than ten minutes.”

“Well, looks like you opened up long before that,” Rico chirped with a hand on his hip.

First Marcus, now this.
Could the floor just part ways now so she could die in dignity?

Thankfully, for Francine her customers didn’t flood in; it was more like a steady stream of interest. She directed the misguided ones to the correct department and helped the ones she could. Holiday and year-end weddings were on the rise, she suspected, after the fifth like-minded couple strolled out of the boutique.

Since her mind was focused on Marcus and their night together, her heart wasn’t into the question after question the couples had peppered her with this morning.

“Marcus…I wonder where you are, what you’re doing right now…”

Longing rushed through her. She grabbed onto the sleek, black counter. Carried away on a swell of passion and under his spell, she’d lost her ability to question her decision. It was much harder to ignore in the cold light of day, especially after he’d pointed out the obvious.

Her mind may be badgering her about her decision to sleep with him. However, her body betrayed her, aching for him still.

Did he feel anything near what she had last night?

“Hey, I’m back,” Rico announced, sauntering in the boutique, laden with bags. “I got such steals, girl.”

“How’s the crowds?”

“Packed tight, cash registers ringing, items flying off the shelves… Money, money, money,” he said, stashing the bags in the alcove behind the counter. “Evelyn here?”

“I sent her to an early lunch.”

“Oh, honey.” He held his hands to his mouth, and then touched her arm. “I forgot to tell you the best. Lunch, Dolly and Marcus, everyone’s a buzz.”

Francine stilled. How could she have forgotten the cooking demo today? “Cover for me, Rico. I’m going to check it out myself.”

On the way up the escalator, dodging excited shoppers, Francie consoled herself with the fact she had suggested the duo pair up their cooking talents, so why shouldn’t she be able to sneak a peek at them?

Housewares hummed with activity. In the center of it all, she noted the staged kitchen area. On the mic, Dolly was saying, “Aw shucks, Marcus,” at something he’d just said.

All the seats were filled, so Francie skirted the back of the gathering, getting a glimpse here and there of him between the milling crowd. She sucked in a sharp breath at the incredibly sexy man. His sure moves and confident air caused heat to gather in her middle at the memory of those hands caressing her.

She caught sight of several department managers watching the unfolding demonstration. It was standing room only now, but she spotted Charlie sitting in the front row and slowly made her way to her stepsister.

Now, coming upon Charlie, she lightly touched her shoulder. Her stepsister gazed back and smiled at her. “No chairs?”

Francie shook her head. “I’m fine. I’ll watch from over here,” she said under her breath. “Talk to you later.”

Marcus captured her full interest now. His easy way with the cooking instructions and answering audience questions sparked another wave of admiration.
Is there anything he couldn’t do and do well?

“Francie, over here, honey,” Dolly called out, her voice on mic cutting through the noise.

With all eyes trained on her, Francine gulped. Tentatively, she waved, hoping that would be the end of drawing attention to herself.

“Hey, everyone, here’s Francine King, the genius who cooked up this idea. Hey, get it, cooked up?” The many ladies and a few men in attendance chuckled at Dolly’s pun.

Francie took a step backward.

“Come on up here so they can see you, honey.”

Shaking her head, she tried to beg off.

“Go on,” Charlie coaxed. “Take your bow.”

When she hesitated, Marcus stared directly at her. “Afraid?”

The ladies nearby swooned.

“Of you?” she scoffed, lifting her chin a little higher.

A smattering of claps echoed around her.

He laughed. It sounded raw and low. “You tell me?”

Another round of oohs tickled the air.

If she didn’t go, she’d never hear the end of this. With measured steps, she made her way to the area, now feeling not only the heat of his stare, but the heat of the spotlights beating down on her. Looking out, she blinked several times at the harsh white light. She found looking at the audience members shielded her from the glare, but not their all-seeing stares.

“Over here,” Dolly said, directing her between the two of them.

She inadvertently brushed against Marcus’ arm.

He sucked in a sharp breath. It echoed through the crowd.