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 herself at the ancient red Formica table in her parents’ kitchen, Francie sighed at the hurt flickering in her mother’s dark eyes, then filled both of their cups with strong, hot coffee.
Josephine’s coffee was so strong you could stand a spoon up in it. And coffee did seem to make bad news digest better, though chocolate was better, of course. But this morning wasn’t a good time for chocolate. It wasn’t a good time for conversation, either. But like Leo said, now was as good a time as any. Francie couldn’t run from the truth indefinitely. She’d already tried that these past two weeks.
“Ma, I never wanted to hurt you or Dad. But you keep harping on me to get married and have babies, and I’m just not ready to take that step.” Not that she’d ever be ready, but there was no sense in dashing all of Josephine’s hopes in one fell swoop.
“What do you mean, you’re not ready? You’re twenty-nine, Francesca, practically an old maid.”
Francie did her best not to wince.
“Your aunts talk behind my back about how you’re never going to have a husband and children. And your sister is no better. She doesn’t even date nice men. Soon they’ll be saying that both of my daughters are lesbians.” Josephine crossed herself again, on the off chance that it might be true.
Her mother tolerated Leo, but Francie didn’t think for a minute that tolerance would extend to any of her children or family members should they choose an alternative lifestyle.
Francie was a tried and true—not to mention, proven—heterosexual woman, but she thought there was a lot to be said for the lesbian lifestyle.
First, if you were lucky enough to find another woman who wore the same size, you could expand your wardrobe. That couldn’t happen with a man, unless you were built like a fullback. A woman didn’t care about another woman’s lack of makeup or weight gain. And they had oodles more experience when it came to knowing what women wanted in the sex department.
Some of the men Francie had dated hadn’t known which end was up and could have benefited from a sex education class. Lesson One: Orgasms We Have Known and Loved.
“My heart is breaking from this, Francesca. I want to see you married and settled before I die. Is this too much to ask? I’m not getting any younger and neither are you.”
“Before I die” was one of Josephine’s favorite expressions. It was conjured up whenever guilt was needed to make her children toe the line. No matter that she was as healthy as the proverbial horse, in Josephine’s mind death was imminent if she didn’t get her way.
“Stop it, Ma! You’re not going to die.” In the immortal words of Billy Joel, “Only the good die young.” Francie left that unsaid, however. Her mother had never been a Billy Joel fan, preferring Placido Domingo instead.
“You can’t keep trying to run—” make that, ruin “—my life. Yes, I’m twenty-nine years old. But I’m very happy being single. I don’t need a man to complete me, and I’m not a lesbian.”
Josephine seemed inordinately relieved by that admission.
“Someday maybe I’ll meet someone.” Mark Fielding’s face flashed before her eyes, but Francie blinked it away, wondering why she suddenly thought of the handsome photographer, a man she hardly knew—a man who set her toes to tingling.
Sipping her coffee, she wished fervently for chocolate and issued a cease and desist order for her toes to stop misbehaving.
“But I’m not ready now. There are things I want to do with my life—travel, meet interesting people—” men who worked for the Associated Press were definitely interesting “—achieve success in my career. I’m just not ready to settle down.”
Eyes raised heavenward, Josephine clenched her hands and shook them. “All meaningless things. Without a husband and children, a woman’s life is nothing. Why would you want to work when you can find a good man to take care of you? You women of today don’t make any sense at all.”
“These are different times, Ma. Women don’t need to be married to feel fulfilled. You’re happy doing for Dad, and that’s great. But it’s not what I want.
“Didn’t you ever just want things for yourself, without thinking about how it would affect other people? I know it sounds selfish, and maybe it is, but so what? Since when did it become a crime to want independence? It’s what this country was founded on.”
Josephine stirred more sugar into her cup. The spoon hit the sides, clanking and clanking as she formed her answer. “I would not have done anything to disappoint my mother and father. It was expected that I marry, and I did. In my day children were dutiful.”
In your day women were orgasm-less.
“But what about falling head over heels in love?”
Looking somewhat insulted, her mother sat back in her chair, her mouth opening and closing like a floundering fish. “I love your father. Don’t talk crazy. You young people