Waking Sleeping Beauty (9 page)

She knew the ladies would come in droves to see
the
Marcus Goode with his sleeves rolled up, his twinkling green eyes, and that heart-stopping lop-sided grin. She’d pay to be the recipient of that smile. What woman wouldn’t? Yeah, maybe she’d have to skip that show-stopping performance. After all, who wanted to watch when they knew it only made the ache inside her grow bigger than it already was. Why did she always want what she couldn’t have?

“I’ll be fine, Dolly,” she said, bundling up in her coat. “The taxi service said it would be only a few minutes for the driver to get here.”

“Why don’t you wait in here until he comes? You know, if you want, when Eddie gets here with Mr. Alex, he’d be happy to run you home.”

“Thanks again.” Tears stung the backs of her eyes as she realized how much this sweet lady had done for her most of her life. Suddenly, she hugged her close and whispered, “I’m sorry I never took the time to know you, really know you, before now. I hope that can change.”

“Aw shucks,” Dolly said, pulling back and wiping away a tear. “Your momma didn’t want you fraternizing with the help or else you and me would have been pals. You sure would listen to me run off at the mouth, though, wouldn’t you?”

With another quick hug, she said, “You made me laugh. Now, I’ve got to go. I have an early morning. Tell Charlie I’ll call her soon.”

“Shame she and Marcus holed up in Mr. Alex’s study, talking business. But you know Charlie, she wants all the details. I’ll tell them you said bye. You be careful now.”

The blast of winter air hit her as she opened the door. It sucked the breath right out of her. She gasped, waved goodbye and doubted her choice when Dolly closed the door, shutting off the stream of warm, inviting light from the foyer. Under the lone porch lantern, regret slashed through her, quick and sharp.

The cold seeped in all the nooks and crevices she hadn’t covered. Francie tugged her scarf tighter around her neck and steeled herself for the walk down the stone walkway. The quiet, dark night engulfed her, swallowing her whole.

There was no taxi at the curb. Her middle dipped as she looked up and down the empty street. “Where is he?” Her feet were already going numb.

Something fluffy and white drifted down from the sky. “Snow!” It came in big, soft flakes. Tipping her head back, she giggled as they landed on her cheeks. She couldn’t remember the last time the air smelled so clean and fresh.

After a moment, she shook it off, wondering where her ride was. “Did I recite the right address?” she mumbled, trying to recall the numbers that Dolly called out as she repeated them over the line.

Francie went to pull back the sleeve of her coat to check her watch, but quickly recalled Prissy borrowing it yesterday and not returning the slim gold band. Right now, Francie wished she had a cell phone.

She chewed on her bottom lip, throwing a glance over her shoulder and back to the house. Marcus was still in there. She didn’t want to encounter him again so soon. Her heart still wasn’t recovered from the earlier bruising.
No touching.

Why had she said no kissing? Shaking her head, she turned back to the desolate road. It looked as lonely as she felt right about now.

Was there a bus stop at the corner?
Why couldn’t she remember?

Francie jumped at the sound of a car door slamming. “Where did that come from?” Her heart thudded as she glanced around, seeing the red tail lights back down the driveway. “Marcus!” she squeaked, turning around and marching in the opposite direction. “You could have gone back to the house,” she scolded herself, realizing it was too late to turn around.

Her ears pulsed in the cold, but she tuned into the vehicle, the motor purring, and the crunch of the tires meeting the asphalt. She was certain he was in the street; the sound had stopped. He must be shifting to drive.

All of a sudden, she heard the motor edge closer. She quickened her steps. It outpaced her. “Francine?” he called out the open passenger window. “Where in the hell are you going? It must be thirty degrees out here. And it’s snowing.” Backing up, he followed her.

“I’m good.”

“I am not letting you walk in this weather. Come on. Get in, will you?”

Stopping in her tracks, she pivoted to face him. “No public contact, remember?” She wanted to toss out all their rules.

“For God’s sake, Francie, this is an exception, all right? Now please get in.” He leaned over and shoved open the door.

Warmth, shelter, and Marcus were calling. Nodding, she scurried over and climbed in. She hoped she’d made the right choice as she slammed the door shut and came face to face with him.

He reached out, brushing back her wet hair. His hot fingertips grazed her cold cheek, burning a trail of fire across her flesh. The way he was looking at her made her tingle all over. Or was it just the blast of heat after the frigid cold? Either way, her chilled body buzzed and her toes curled. “Thanks,” she whispered, glancing down at his lips and then gazing into his eyes.

In the dark she could barely see his expression, but the intensity rolling off him seared her to her core. “Francie, what in the hell are we doing?”

***

She put one foot in front of the other, climbing the steps to her loft apartment. “You really don’t have to see me to my door,” she said, cringing at how it sounded like the end of a date.

The ride over had felt like heaven. Being so close to Marcus in the confined space, inhaling his intoxicating cologne, and highly aware of his every move stirred every sense in her body. She didn’t want to spoil any of it nor did she want to say goodnight.

“I insist.” He glanced up at the flight of stairs. “Third floor?”

“’fraid so.”

He walked beside her, his sexy, powerful presence a comfort and a distraction all at the same time. “I hear you attended the first wedding yesterday.”

“Peg told you.” It wasn’t a question.

 “In the park. In the rain. And you held the umbrella over the couple.”

Warmth spread in her at his acute interest in her. “Yes. The bride rushed into the boutique on opening day, nearly in tears. She’d looked everywhere and couldn’t find the dress she wanted.” Francie still couldn’t quite believe the lady’s choice. “Gold lame. Who would have guessed?”

“Alterations worked overtime to get the fitting done—”

“You should give them a raise. They yanked a bolt of fabric and actually created something out of nothing.”

They hit the first landing and he chuckled. “My ears are still ringing with the praise they heaped on you and your team.”

“Well, we did provide food-take out, nothing as good as you and Dolly could whip up, of course.” She shrugged. “Coffee and chocolate, too. I’m glad they were so cooperative. The bride was ecstatic. The groom is being deployed today.”

“Good job.”

She glanced at him under her lashes. Her next step brought her closer and she brushed against his sleeve. She sucked in a sharp breath, and then moved away. “Thanks.”

He turned to her, his breath warm against her cheek. He sighed. “And what’s this about a fur vest?”

Francie giggled, and then rolled her eyes. “Peg really is the ears, eyes, and mouth of King’s, isn’t she?”

They reached the second landing and he held out his arm to guide her, not quite touching her, but still she felt the heat. “A hidden treasure. Makes my job easier.”

“Priscilla helped find the fur vest and boots in the Juniors’ department. Just in time for the Renaissance wedding this weekend.” How could she speak to him so calmly when her blood thumped in her veins and her heart threatened to gallop out of her chest?

“Ah, resources.”

“Teamwork.”

His steady breathing drummed in her middle. “I think it has more to do with you than you give yourself credit for, Francie,” he said softly.

The way he said her name, whisper-low and intimate, made her quiver.

Reaching the top of the third flight of stairs and then taking the last few steps to her door, Francie reluctantly turned to Marcus. This was it. He’d leave soon. “Thanks for the lift and for walking me to my door.”

He shoved his hands in his coat pockets. “It’s the least I could do,” he murmured.

Silence grew as she tried to look away from him. This would be the last time she had him all to herself, the last private moments before they enforced the rules. She didn’t want it to end.

“Take care of yourself, Francie.”

“You, too.”

Still they stood there, only a foot apart. He sighed. “One farewell kiss?” Before she could reply, he pulled his hands out of his pockets and cupped her face. His large, warm palms cradled her cheeks and with his right thumb, he traced her bottom lip.

A flood of longing lanced through her. She closed her eyes, waiting for his kiss to follow. It didn’t. Opening her eyes, she gazed into his hooded green stare.

“Why?” he whispered, frowning.

Francie didn’t have an answer; she had the same question herself.

“God, your eyes, incredible blue. I could drown in them. You’re beautiful, smart, sexy as hell, and I want you. But why do I feel like it’s such a damn crime?”

His fingertips grazed her skin. She sucked in a breath at the rush of desire. Her pulse beat at the base of her throat. She reached out, touching his overcoat. Not happy with that, she brushed away the thick barrier and parted his suit jacket also. Tentatively, she ran her hands over his white buttoned-down shirt. Muscles, hard and supple, lay just beneath. This time he was the one to suck in his breath.

Leaning down, he feathered light kisses over her lips, barely grazing hers. “Marcus,” she moaned, yearning for more.

He groaned in return, deepening the kiss, his tongue teasing her flesh apart so he could gain entrance.

She parted her lips, allowing him access. Soon she met him in a slow, dizzying dance. When her knees threatened to buckle, she clung to him. But as she trailed her hands down his back, she felt him drawing away, disengaging. Her middle sank. “What’s wrong?”

“Is something burning?” he asked, dropping his hands and setting her away from him. “Fire?”

“Huh?” Then she sniffed the scorched air. It was coming from the apartment. Fishing for her key, her hands shook.

“Here, let me,” he said, inserting the key in the lock and turning it. “Stand back.” He shoved open the door.

Smoke curled from the kitchen into the small loft living area. She spotted her sister frantically waving a towel. “Prissy!”

The smoke alarm began to blare, the sound ripping through her ears. Marcus rushed in and she followed close behind. He shifted Prissy out of the way and barged into the tiny kitchenette. “Marcus, be careful,” she warned, running after him. With Prissy gripping her, Francie watched as Marcus found a nearby towel and grabbed the smoking pot off the stove. He dropped it in the sink and turned on the cold water. The loud hiss of water hitting hot metal mixed with the alarm and a new stream of smoke flashed in front of her.

It was more than a half hour later before she’d gotten Prissy calmed down and opened up the windows to let the smoke escape. “Sorry, water left on the stove. No damage. Don’t worry,” she soothed the last of her scowling neighbors as they marched back down the hall and back to their apartments. Thankfully, Marcus had climbed on a chair and yanked the batteries from the alarm, but her eardrums still rang from the racket.

“Oh, Francie,” Prissy cried, throwing her arms around her. “I’m so sorry.” She pulled away, gulping through her tears. “I was trying to make some noodles. I fell asleep. The smoke…woke me up. Thank God you got here. I was so scared.”

Her sister’s face was pale and her eyes flooded with moisture. Francie’s heart clenched. How could she be mad? Prissy was already beating herself up enough. “I’m glad you’re all right. It’s just a pan and some smoke. Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

Her sister sighed, but she began to shiver. Francie led her to the couch, and then wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. “Sit,” she coaxed, easing down beside her and pulling her close, trying to absorb her shaking.

Marcus came out of the kitchen, carrying two cups of steaming tea. “This might help. The pan is ruined, but not the stove burner.”

“Thank you,” Francie said, catching his stare. Her gaze dropped to his lips.

“It was a close call.”

The fire or their kiss?
she wondered.

***

Weeks had gone by and still Marcus couldn’t get the memory of that passionate embrace out of his head. She’d haunted him every second of the day. If he didn’t catch a glimpse of her at work, he’d make sure he checked with Peg on how the boutique was fairing, or he’d casually stroll by and see Francie with a customer. Anything just to know a little piece of information about her.

At meetings, she kept her distance, reporting the basics. He studied her profile mostly, sensing her awareness of him. And his admiration for her grew with each passing managers’ meeting. She’d found a way to include them, each department, spotlight them one at a time, and allowed them to share in each small success of the new wedding boutique. She’d done the impossible. She’d gained their respect.

So why was he so disappointed she was keeping to her side of their bargain?

Now
, he scolded himself. He had work to do. He had to concentrate. It was only two days before Black Friday. Sales would determine how much longer King’s could carry on.

 Walking through the men’s department, he noticed Priscilla dressing a mannequin.

“Like it?” she asked, standing back with her hands on her hips. “I thought the jean jacket would be just the right touch—classic, but inexpensive.”

He nodded. “I hear you’re good at this.” The men’s department manager sang her praises. She knew when to turn on the charm and when to back off, never overriding the customer. She assisted wives and girlfriends with the perfect item and challenged the tried and true styles of some of the men to get them to venture out.

On the other hand, he’d heard of her dodging shifts and her chatterbox ways. That could turn into a problem, bigger than the slight annoyance it was at the moment.