Real Romance - By Ginny Baird Page 0,29

said that."

"Yes, well..."

He choked on air as she unbuttoned her coat. He noticed she was wearing another one of those sweater dresses that showed off her curves so well.

"I was waiting." David clenched his fists and dug his fingernails into his palms. "Waiting for you to get here."

He smiled through gritted teeth, and looked for all the world like a naughty boy who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Well, here I am," she said, unable to keep her gaze off the warm gleam in his eyes, the broad musculature of his chest... the snug fit of his faded denim jeans.

"Well, there you are," he said, motioning to the book he'd already placed in her hands.

He shuffled his feet and glanced out the window. "I hope you're not still mad about last night. Because if you are—"

"David," she stopped him. "It wasn't you, necessarily."

He inhaled deeply and his chest swelled, the taut muscles rippling beneath cotton.

Marie blinked and continued. "I mean, in some ways it was. But look," she said, trying hard not to. Why, oh why, did her eyes keep roving over him? "What I mean is, there's been so much going on in my life, and if you can't be honest with me—"

"Honest?" He folded his arms in front of his broad chest and knitted his brow. "Just what is it you think I've done to deceive you?"

"You tell me," she said, clutching her book to her bodice.

David looked positively stupefied.

"Does this have something to do with Publishers Weekly?"

She stood motionless, a hard look in her eyes beneath those charmingly tilted frames.

"Well, look, Marie," he said, giving a little laugh. "If that's all it is, I can explain. Not that I really understand why a simple little magazine would cause such a reaction..."

"It's just that it all started when Cecil—"

"Cecil?!"

"Sure, yes. Cecil, you know—"

"I know damn well who Cecil is, but I thought you said you didn't."

"Didn't I? I mean, no, I don't. Just a little—"

"Are you and Cecil in this together somehow?" she asked, eyebrows arching.

"Together? Wait. Whoa. I don't think you're getting-"

"Oh, I'm getting everything just fine. I might not be from your sophisticated background, David. But I didn't just fall off the turnip truck. You and Cecil devised some kind of plan, didn't you?"

Plan? Holy cow, what was happening here? This whole thing was spinning way out of control. He'd never seen her so furious.

"You hit on me, get me out of the way, so he can run off to New York with Diane."

"Diane? No—"

"Good job, David. Bravo," she said, a cold dismissal in her eyes."What with your talent, maybe you should join Cecil in New York. Hear they're in need of actors there."

"Marie, please."

She turned, and he placed a hand on her shoulder.

She looked back and narrowed her flaming eyes. "You lay one more hand on me, David Lake, I'll call security. Now, I've got a life to lead," she said, striding away. "I'm sure you've got one waiting for your somewhere, too."

Chapter Eleven

Mark looked over his shoulder and called back into the house. "Hey, Marie! There's some turkey with a bird on your doorstep!" She didn't answer.

"Just kidding, pal," Mark said, giving David a slap on the arm. "Come on in."

"Oh!" Meg, John's fiancée, rushed over. "You must be the guy! Marie told us last month she was getting married, but we all knew—-just knew—it couldn't be to that old boring Cecil!"

Despite her willowy frame, Meg looked pixie-like with her bridge of freckles and short red hair. "Johnny," she called, leaning back into the living room. "Oh, John-boy, come here!"

A tall, muscular man with jet-black hair appeared from around the corner, his dark eyes widening with surprise. "Well, hey there! You must be David."

"How did you know his name?" Meg questioned, swatting her fiancé on the rump.

"Talked to him on the phone."

David shifted the heavy turkey pan uncomfortably in his hands.

"Here, let me take that." A pretty ponytailed blonde with apple-dumpling cheeks appeared and lifted the roasting pan out of David's hands. "Honey," she said, talking to the lanky fellow behind her, "this is David, Marie's fiancé."

"No, wait!" David held out his hand.

But a dark-haired woman about an inch shorter than Marie walked over and used the opportunity to slip off one arm of his coat. "Your true love's here," she sang back into the kitchen in a lilting voice, before yanking the other arm free, then carrying his coat to the closet.

"What in the world is all the..." Marie strode