Real Romance - By Ginny Baird Page 0,26

your women sweetheart?" Marie asked, nabbing a magazine off a cluttered end table and fanning her face.

"Beg pardon?"

"Sweetheart."

"Yes, dear—" he said, drawing closer, the fire in his eyes seeming to reignite.

"No, no," Marie said, pushing him back. "Answer the question."

David frowned. "Now, what would that be?"

"Do you," she asked, blowing out a hard breath and tugging at her dress again, "call all your women sweetheart?"

David stopped for a moment, as if to think, then walked to the window and threw it open wide.

"First," he said, as he slipped back behind her and linked his arms under her chest, "let's get this straight."

Marie bit her lip, as his hand brushed her hair and his heated breath tickled her nape.

"There are no other women. There have been no other women—ever since I first laid eyes on you."

He lowered his lips to her neck and trailed kisses to her ear.

"David—" Marie said, wishing he would stop and then wishing he wouldn't.

She let out a cry of half surprise, half pleasure as he turned her around slowly. His hungry mouth fell upon hers and ravished her lips, moving down swiftly to the soft, vulnerable spot at the base of her neck.

"David—" she groaned, as the magazine she'd been holding fell to the floor.

David pulled back, his hair disheveled, passion in his eyes.

"Oh, Marie. Baby. Sweetheart. You make me crazy. So totally crazy. But I promised... I know I did. If you want me to stop, tell me now." He sighed. "Because another minute or two of this and I don't think..."

Marie ran her sweating palms through her long, loose hair, knowing exactly what he meant. She had no business being here, putting herself in such a compromising position with a man who...

Her eyes dropped to the floor.

... reads Publishers Weekly!

"What's this?" she asked, swooping down like a raven and pulling the magazine off the carpet.

David swaggered back a step and straightened his shirt collar.

"Oh, it's just one of those book-biz magazines I subscribe to."

Marie flipped the Publishers Weekly over in her hand, but saw no address label.

David snatched back the magazine and smiled between his teeth.

"Not that I actually subscribe to this one. Gotta cut costs somewhere. Bought this issue at the newsstand."

She lifted one eyebrow. He was acting very suspicious. Publishers Weekly cost twice as much at the newsstand.

But, why oh why, should that surprise her? It appeared that all the men who read that rag had something to hide.

Red flag number three—or was it four, by now?—went up the pole.

Marie paled. Seeing red, she realized, made even the most mentally challenged of animals want to run.

Without another word, Marie walked over and grabbed her coat off the rack.

A befuddled David raced toward her. "Wait! What happened? What did I do?"

"I don't even know," she said, opening the door. "Guess that's the point." She walked out.

David stood there in utter disbelief, his tiny apartment still resonating from the sound of the slamming door.

"Thanks a lot Cecil," he said, chucking the Publishers Weekly into the trash.

And then he bolted out the door and sprinted after her.

Marie was crying so hard she couldn't see two feet in front of her. This was it. Absolutely it. With the exception of her romance heroes, from this point forward all men were off limits.

After all she had done to build a life, these—cavemen came along and scattered it to stones. Loving Paul was an innocent mistake, her first wide-eyed romance, so she hardly blamed herself—even at this point—for falling for him.

By the time she'd met Cecil, she should have known better. At twenty-seven, she wasn't exactly an innocent anymore. But, for all her savvy, she might as well have been Little Red Riding Hood.

And now, here was David—the man with the irresistible eyes who told such nice lies. First there was that little story about the bike. Environmental awareness—hah! She was sure now it had been a ploy to get her close to his admittedly perfect body.

And then, all that nonsense about literary fiction and the obviously unread copy of Publishers Weekly.

For all Marie knew, David probably didn't read anything without a centerfold.

She pulled herself to a stop at the corner near the familiar display of lights. Books & Bistro's elegant awning stood out among the group of shops that lined the outdoor mall.

David raced through the darkness, wondering where on earth she'd gone. He ran to the corner and frantically called left and right, before deciding to head back to the mall. If she'd gone anywhere, it