sure,” she said finally. “We’ll call it a birthday dinner. But in that case, I should pay.”
He tapped the bottle of expensive liquor sitting on his desk. “I’d say you’ve spent enough already. Dinner will be my treat. Dress comfortably—I have no intention of wearing a tie. I’m celebrating my birthday and the end of tax season.”
She smiled. “Fine. You can write the expense off, anyway. Remind me to ask you an accounting question sometime during the meal.”
He chuckled and escorted her out of his office, agreeing to the details of the dinner date along the way. And then he returned to his desk, where he wasted the next half hour wondering what on earth he’d been thinking when he had impulsively asked out Miranda Martin.
Miranda was almost ready the next evening when her telephone rang. Her first thought was that Mark had changed his mind—come to his senses, maybe. Her second thought was, damn, she’d spent the past hour primping for nothing.
“Hello?”
“Hi. It’s me.”
“Lisa?” This was more of a surprise than having Mark cancel dinner. Miranda could hardly remember the last time she had spoken with her sister. “Are you here in town?”
“No. But, Miranda, I’m in trouble.”
Miranda resisted an urge to groan. “How much do you need?”
“No, it’s worse than that.”
Something in her sister’s voice made a chill run down Miranda’s spine. “Lisa, what’s wrong? What do you need me to do?”
“I just—I just want you to know I’m sorry. And I wish things had been different—for both of us. I really do love you, you know. I’ve always been able to turn to you when I needed you. And since Grandma died, you’re the only one in our family I can say that about.”
Miranda was getting more anxious by the moment. “Please, tell me what’s going on. Are you ill? Is something wrong with the boys?”
“I’m so sorry, Miranda. I need you again. It’s the biggest favor I’ve ever asked of you, but I know you’ll do the right thing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Tell me—”
“Damn, I’ve got to go.” There was a new note of tension in Lisa’s voice now, which had dropped to little more than a whisper. “Please, Miranda, don’t let me down.”
“Wait, you haven’t even told me what—”
But Lisa had already hung up, and when Miranda tried the call return function, the phone number was blocked.
She slammed down the telephone receiver in frustration. Lisa had always been prone to melodrama, but this mysterious call was unusual even for her. Miranda just hoped her older sister hadn’t done anything really stupid this time, though considering the tone of that telephone call, it seemed to be a futile wish.
Now she was running late and Mark was due any minute. Growling beneath her breath, she dashed for her bedroom—not exactly a long run since her two-room apartment was somewhat smaller than tiny.
She had just slipped her feet into her shoes when her doorbell rang. Fluffing her hair with one hand, she made a quick mirror-check before heading for the door.
She had debated what to wear, wanting to dress up a bit more than her usual weekend jeans, but not wanting to look as though she had put too much effort into her grooming. She had settled on a three-quarter sleeve sunshine-yellow blouse worn open over a white tank top and a short denim skirt with a wide leather belt at the hips. Leather wedge-heeled sandals and chunky gold and amber jewelry completed the casual outfit. Now she was rethinking her choices. Maybe she should have worn—
Bringing an abrupt stop to that line of thought, she shook her head at her uncharacteristic hesitation and opened the door.
Mark looked as delectable as always in a hunter-green cotton shirt and khakis. Admittedly more conservative than her usual crowd, but sexy enough to make her pulse rate increase, anyway.
“You look very nice,” he said, giving her a smile that held just a touch of shy awkwardness. Which, of course, only endeared him more to her.
“Thank you.”
He glanced around her miniscule, thrift-store furnished apartment. “Nice place. It’s very…cozy.”
“Which is your tactful way of pointing out how small it is.” She shrugged. “I would rather spend my extra money on fun than rent.”
Because he knew exactly how much she made, and how much she stashed into savings for a future in which she intended to retire young and spend a great deal of time traveling, he didn’t seem surprised by that choice. “It’s still a nice place.”
“Thanks.” She slung her purse over her shoulder and locked the door behind them as they headed outside.
This evening could be very interesting. Either she would find out that Mark Wallace wasn’t the stimulating company she had imagined he would be, or the night would end with her being just as fascinated by him as she had been to this point.
She figured she could handle whatever happened between them as long as neither one of them showed signs of getting too serious.
Chapter Three
Mark couldn’t remember being so nervous about a date since high school. It annoyed him that he was acting more like a teenager than a thirty-year-old father of two.
Maybe the problem was that he hadn’t dated much since his divorce just over two years ago. He had been too busy setting up his home-based accounting practice and raising two little girls, who had been barely more than babies when his ex-wife had left.
On the handful of occasions he had gone out during the past couple of years—usually at the urging of a friend who had someone he just had to meet—the women he had seen had been very different from Miranda. More subdued. More conservative. Usually divorced, themselves, and busy raising children of their own.
Mark hadn’t really clicked with any of them. As nice as they had been, he was usually relieved when the awkward evenings had ended and he’d been back at home. Was he really such a glutton for punishment that he was attracted only to women who were completely wrong for him?
“You’re kind of quiet tonight,” Miranda commented after their food was placed in front of them.
Worried that he hadn’t been holding up his end of the conversation, he forced a smile. “Sorry. This time of year, most accountants go into brain overload.”
“I can imagine. Especially if all your clients are as late getting their paperwork to you as I was.”
“Not everyone waits so late—but enough to make this season a challenge.”
“I bet.”
Mark sliced into his steak. “You’re a bit quieter than usual, yourself.”
“Sorry.
