The blond man, who resembled a young Elton John, grinned. “I’m taking that as a compliment, sweetie. Phillip’s his name and he’s an architect. We exchanged phone numbers. Nothing more.”
“Well, that’s better than I did. Molly and I struck out. No wonder they call the place Club Zero.”
“Consider yourself lucky,” Francie said. “Men, present company excepted, are more trouble than they’re worth. You’re better off alone.”
Lisa rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to get married. I just want to get laid. It’s been so long I’m going to forget how to do it. And don’t tell me it’s like riding a bike. Even bike parts rust.”
“Why didn’t you just ask some guy for his phone number?” Leo took a seat on an overstuffed chair. “This is the new millennium. You’re entitled.”
“Quit trying to lead my baby sister astray, Leo. I don’t want her hooking up with a serial rapist.”
“Ha!” Francie’s sister rolled her eyes. “Fat chance of that happening. I usually attract serial geeks, not rapists.”
The phone rang and everyone froze, staring at it as if it were an evil entity out to do them harm.
“It’s Mom,” Lisa said.
Shaking her head, Francie took several steps back, wishing she had a string of garlic around her neck, or at the very least, a gold crucifix. “I’m not taking her call. Tell Mom I died, that I fell over the falls. Tell her anything, but don’t tell her I’m here.”
“Coward,” Leo said, reaching for the portable phone. “Oh, hello, Mrs. Morelli. Yes, Francie’s right here. Hold on. I’ll get her for you.”
“Bastard!” Francie took the phone from Leo’s hand, none too gently, and shook it at him. “I’ll get you for this.”
Lisa popped more nuts into her mouth and, like any good sibling, enjoyed watching her sister squirm.
Francie prayed that the floor beneath her feet would open up and swallow her whole. A trip straight to hell would be preferable to explaining to Josephine why wedding number three had been a no go.
3
TWO WEEKS AFTER what Mark always thought of as the “wedding from hell,” he stood outside the offices of Ted Baxter Promotions and adjusted his red silk tie.
Normally he didn’t wear suits and ties—he didn’t need to dress up in his profession—preferring jeans and T-shirts or sweatshirts.
But today was special.
Today he intended to put his plan into motion for seducing Francesca Morelli.
With a nod of thanks to the young, dewy-eyed blond receptionist, he entered the inner office to find the surroundings not nearly as attractive as the woman seated behind the massive oak desk.
She was wearing a red cashmere sweater set that hugged her firm breasts. On the ring finger of her left hand his brother’s diamond-and-ruby engagement ring was noticeably absent, bringing his mind back to the matter at hand.
“May I help you?” she asked, looking up from the papers spread out in front of her and gathering them up into a neat little pile before pushing them to one side.
Gazing into the warmest, most beautiful brown eyes he’d ever seen, Mark’s jaw nearly dropped to his chest. Long lashes, full lips, high cheekbones and a pert little nose made up a very arresting, exotic face.
Damn! His brother’s ex-fiancée was a knockout. He had thought that from a distance the day of the wedding, and the photos he’d taken had certainly proven that out, but seeing Francesca Morelli up close and personal cemented his earlier opinion.
And it was something he hadn’t planned on.
“I’m Mark Fielding. I was hoping to see Mr. Baxter. I’d like to arrange a publicity campaign to promote my first book, but I haven’t a clue how to go about it. I was hoping he might be able to help me out.”
She smiled sweetly at him and he sucked in air. “I’m sorry, Mr. Fielding, but Ted…Mr. Baxter isn’t here at the moment. Is there something I can help you with? Perhaps answer some questions? I often assist with clients when Mr. Baxter’s out of the office.”
Yeah, you can tell me why you dumped my brother.
And why you’re so damned attractive.
Pasting on his most charming smile, he heard her sharp intake of breath. Her reaction pleased him, on more than one level, for it made what he had to do a whole lot easier. For some reason, women had always found him attractive. They just didn’t want to have long-term relationships with him.
“I’m a photojournalist. My first book of photographs will be published next spring, and I thought it might be wise to do some pre-publicity and promotion for it. My publishing house isn’t likely to shell out any money, since I’m new a new author. I figured if I want the book to succeed I’d better do it myself.”
“That’s very wise, Mr. Fielding. May I ask what made you choose Baxter Promotions? We’re not a very large company and not widely known outside of the local area.”
Mark had rehearsed what he intended to say, and the lie rolled easily off his tongue. “A friend of mine recommended it several months back. I believe you handled some public relations matters for his law firm.”
She nodded. “That’s entirely possible. We have many satisfied clients. Baxter Promotions is proud of its reputation in the community.”
“Good to hear. There’s nothing worse than bad word of mouth for a business such as yours.”
Her eyes widened momentarily, then the phone buzzed and she excused herself to answer it. Apparently, Ms. Morelli was the only employee in the small firm, aside from the receptionist out front.
Francesca Morelli grinned at something the person on the other end of the line was saying and two charming dimples appeared; Mark’s gut responded with nine bars of “Hot! Hot! Hot!”
Damn her for being so attractive!
And damn you for noticing, Fielding.
Francie Morelli was a tight little package. Nice boobs—not too big, yet not small, either. Her legs, he recalled, were quite shapely, and he supposed that if she stood, he’d find that her ass was equally as appealing as the rest of her.
Taking Ms. Morelli to bed and making love to her wasn’t going to be much of a chore, that was for damn certain. Mark intended to enjoy every minute of it, before dumping Little Miss Fickle on that cute little ass and saying, “Hasta la vista, baby!”
“YOU BREAK a mother’s heart, Francie. I don’t know how you can treat me this way. Three times you have been to the altar in front of God, not to mention all of our relatives and friends, and three times you have disgraced me and your father.” Josephine crossed herself and then murmured a little prayer, clearly hoping for a little intervention from on high.
Seating
