One Night Standards Page 5

  “Not as much as I’d like,” he admitted. “They’re not very big, but their products are amazing—really outside the box.” He smiled slightly, remembering. “I know that they’ve got a perfumed body lotion that is practically hallucinogenic.”

  “Really,” she said, her voice ripe with speculation. “I probably don’t want to know how you know that.”

  He realized he was letting something slip, and quickly clammed up. “I’ll buy their entire product line before I meet with Carol. And I’ll know a ton more by tomorrow.”

  “You know,” Simone said carefully, “I couldn’t help but notice you had a bit of a connection with that Diva Nation woman—Sophie, her name was. Right?”

  “She’s a nice woman,” Mark said carefully. “And just because we’re competitors doesn’t mean I need to hate her on sight, does it?”

  “I’m merely saying,” Simone continued. “She seemed to like you, too. Maybe you could see what you could find out. I’m sure she’d be happy to talk to you on some kind of neutral ground.”

  Mark felt it again—that dirty, unethical, icky feeling. “Trust me, she’s not the type.”

  “Already tried, huh?” Simone laughed, and in that moment, Mark wished he were anywhere but here. “I might’ve guessed. You’re going to be a great marketing guy, and you’re going to knock this one out of the park. You’ll be one of the best.”

  He smiled weakly, then fled. If being one of the best meant using a sweet person like Sophie…

  He shook his head. It wasn’t as if he had anything with Sophie, and even if he did…well, he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that, he promised himself. He just wouldn’t.

  3

  SOPHIE GLANCED AT THE CLOCK by her bed. Ten o’clock. Early, by a lot of people’s standards. Unfortunately, she knew that sleep would evade her for another three hours, at least. She felt wired, even though she’d deliberately only drunk decaf all day. She’d gotten a good chunk of work done: she had most of the slides ready for the Marion & Co. presentation. She was a little nervous, but more excited—the sign that it was going to go very, very well.

  But right now, she wasn’t thinking of the presentation. She was thinking, as usual, about Mark McMann.

  She pushed her face down into her foam pillow. They’d agreed not to have any contact other than professional—after all, they were in competition, their paths would cross. But they had to be very, very careful, so no one would suspect how close they’d come to…well, getting very, very close. No friendly chats in elevators, no random “bump-into” exchanges in the lobby. Certainly no drinks in the hotel bar.

  It also meant she sure as hell shouldn’t call him.

  She sighed heavily. Even without the competition, she knew they shouldn’t get involved in any way, shape or form. Men who looked like him did not under normal circumstances go for women who looked like her, for one thing. And while Sophie knew she wasn’t ugly, she wasn’t about to pass for a model any time soon. She also knew that he had plenty of women going after him. He probably had no shortage of willing applicants for the position of bed warmer, and no doubt had spent plenty of time with a variety of them. And that type of man wasn’t her type at all.

  She thought about Troy, her last and longest-lasting relationship. He had been tall, geeky, with blond hair and glasses. He was a finance analyst, and a good one. They’d met in the MBA program at the University of California, San Diego. In her case, it had been love at first sight. They’d been friends first, but she’d always known they’d shift over to lovers.

  What she had not known was they should’ve stayed friends. She’d nearly smothered in all that comfort and compatibility. And she had to admit, she’d been shocked when he’d said the same thing, just before he’d broken up with her. She’d been the best study-buddy he’d ever had, but he just couldn’t see himself marrying her.

  Not that you want to marry Mark.

  She flipped over. She ought to get up and do something. Clean something. Maybe do some more work, even though she doubted it would be usable, what with her mind highballing as it was at a million miles an hour. She really ought to start that meditation that Lydia had raved about. She ought to do something.

  Flashback to Mark, pressing her into the bed at the hotel…his weight, his strength, the gentleness of him covering her. How there had only been thin layers of cotton between the two of them and one night of what she felt sure would be unforgettable bliss.

  She shivered uncontrollably.

  You are insane!

  She only barely realized she’d picked up her cell phone and dialed his number.

  “Mark McMann,” he said, sounding tired.

  She stared at her phone, aghast. What are you doing?

  “I’m so sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean…”

  “Sophie?”

  “Is it too late for me to call?” She winced. “Certainly, it’s too late for me to call. You’re on the East Coast. It’s, what, one o’clock in the morning? Listen, I’ll—”

  “Don’t hang up.” He chuckled, and she reveled in the sound, wrapping around her like mink. “I’m glad you called. And don’t worry, you didn’t wake me. Strangely enough, I couldn’t sleep.”

  She closed her eyes, picturing him next to her. “Funny. Neither could I.”

  “You know, I can hear the smile in your voice,” he pointed out. “It’s nice.”

  She felt like a teenager, talking to a boy for the first time. Her hormones were probably off the Richter scale. “You know, of course, that this is utterly crazy.”

  “It’s one o’clock in the morning. Nobody knows how crazy this is more than I do.”

  She laughed. “Did you want to talk about anything in particular?”

  “No.” Now she heard the smile in his voice, and she trembled lightly in response.

  “Well…how was your day?”

  “It sucked,” he said, surprising another laugh out of her. “But it’s gotten exponentially better in the past five minutes. Yours?”

  “Marginally better. I got a lot of work done today.” She winced. “Which, of course, I shouldn’t talk to you about at all.”

  “I wasn’t going to ask.”

  “Yes, but it’s stuff like this that makes it even more necessary for us not to talk to each other.”

  “We managed to avoid talking about work for six hours. In a car, no less,” he pointed out.

  “So, what, we manage to do that for the rest of our lives?” she asked, then winced again. “Not that I’m implying…Oh, hell.”

  “I’m not reading into that,” he said, even though she could tell from the tone of his voice that he wasn’t scared off by her innocuous comment. He knew what she meant, she thought, relieved. Sort of. “My point is, we can talk tonight without touching on any taboo subjects.”

  She felt a mischievous grin cover her face. “Is sex a taboo subject?”

  There was a pause, and she felt the grin replaced by a blush. What was wrong with her? She’d never acted like this with any of her boyfriends, for pity’s sakes! Much less a complete stranger!

  Not that much of a stranger, she reminded herself…and her pulse raced.

  “Nope. Sorry,” he said, and she felt herself take in a breath, even though she hadn’t realized that she’d been frozen. “All the blood left my brain for a second. I had to lie down.”

  She let out an explosive burst of nervous laughter, a stress relief. “I’m already in bed,” she said.

  “Really.” His voice was rich with speculation. “Well, that’s another coincidence. So am I.”

  “So, here we both are. In bed,” she said, wondering even as she said it where she was going with it. This was ridiculous, she knew it.

  Yet she couldn’t bring herself to hang up. To tell him to hang up.

  “Thinking of each other,” he said.

  “Three thousand miles apart,” she added.

  “Hmm. Well, that’s a good thing, right?” His voice was soothing, comfortabl
e. “That shows it’s not just physical.”

  “Although, we are both in bed. And probably both thinking about sex with each other.”

  Did she just say that?

  He snorted. “That only shows we’re not dead, honey girl.”

  “I know this is dumb, but I do miss you,” she admitted, closing her eyes. “But I don’t know how that’s possible. I don’t even know you. How could I miss you?”

  “You know me better than you think,” he said. “But I’ve got an idea. If we’re going to miss each other, we might as well get to know each other better.”

  “What’d you have in mind?”

  “Twenty questions,” he said, and she laughed in delight. “First off—what are you most scared of in the world?”

  She thought about it, winced. “Snakes. You?”

  “Have to say, I’m not too fond of heights. What is your favorite flavor of ice cream?”

  “Ben & Jerry’s Karamel Sutra,” she said promptly. “Man, I could go for a pint of that right about now.”

  “Me, I’m a huge chocolate fan,” he said, and unbidden, she got the mental picture of herself, painted with chocolate…and him licking it off. “Double dark chocolate, with hot fudge.”

  She shook her head. “My turn. Desert island question—name three famous people you want to be stranded with, and why?”

  She could hear a rustling over the cell-phone line and imagined him rolling over in his bed as he answered her questions. She kicked off her own covers, even though it was fall, and her house still held a slight chill, despite being in Southern California.

  They ran the gamut for the next hour—books and concerts, college, childhoods. She finally yawned, glancing at the clock. “Oh, man, it’s eleven-thirty. You’re going to be exhausted tomorrow,” she said, feeling the creeping edges of guilt hit her.

  “Don’t worry. It was worth it,” he said with a slight yawn. “I like talking to you, Ms. Sophie Jones.”

  She smiled, cradling the phone to her ear. “I like talking to you, too. We don’t want to do this again, of course, but it was nice.”

  “One last question?”

  “I suppose…but then you’ve got to get some sleep, mister.” She made her voice mock-stern, then giggled.

  There was a long pause. “Could you describe your bed to me?”

  Her breath caught. “My bed?”

  “’Cause I’ve been picturing you in it for the past hour and a half. I’ve got you down…but I’m wondering if the bed is going to match my mental picture of it.”

  She felt a flush cover her body, culminating in heat between her legs. She cursed herself for it. “It’s a queen-size bed,” she said. “The sheets are jersey…T-shirt material. Very soft and smooth.” She ran her free hand over them, feeling the texture beneath her fingertips. “Very…inviting.”

  She could almost hear his body tense. “Really,” he drawled.

  “I’ve also got a pretty thick comforter. Lilac colored. And about a million pillows.” She let that sink in. “I’m lying on top of the covers, incidentally.”

  He groaned, and she couldn’t help it…she grinned. “Thanks,” he said, and his tone sounded a bit strangled. “That completes the picture nicely.”

  “Just curious, but what do you picture I’m wearing?”

  “Well, I don’t know what kind of clothes you own,” he said, “so I have to admit, I’m picturing you naked.”

  Her nipples tightened. “Right back atcha,” she said.

  “Easy enough,” he said. “I sleep au naturel, anyway.”

  She felt her heart start to hammer. “I remember how hot you get when you sleep,” she whispered, then tried to laugh, to lighten the mood. “I could’ve toasted marshmallows.”

  “I remember how you feel when you sleep,” he said, his voice low and warming. “Smelling your hair. Tucking you up against me.”

  “I remember how you touched me,” she said, and absently smoothed her own hand over the silky material of her nightgown. “I can practically still feel your hands on me.”

  She heard him take a deep breath, and she could almost whimper with wanting him.

  “I have to see you again,” he said, his voice ragged.

  She closed her eyes. Just like that, reality crashed in on her.

  “Mark, we can’t,” she reminded him. “You know why we can’t.”

  “But I’ve been thinking about that,” he said slowly. “We’re two fully grown, conscious, conscientious adults. I don’t see why the one thing has to influence the other.”

  She felt the delicious heat that had been crawling through her dissipate, like a cloud of steam. “You mean, you don’t see why our having sex should be at all related to our being business competitors?” she said, her voice laced with irony. “You’re absolutely right. It’s not like we’ll be going at it on the conference table at Marion & Co., after all.”

  “You can make fun of me all you like,” he drawled, “but it’s true. What business is it of theirs, if we’re involved?”

  “Involved,” she said slowly, wondering at the word. Was that what they were?

  “All I’m saying is, I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m starting to realize I don’t want to.”

  Sophie sighed.

  He had a history of charming people, she remembered. She also remembered the way he’d offered her a ride—and then had tried to pump her for information.

  She wanted to trust him, wasn’t sure she should.

  “I think about you, too,” she admitted.

  “Well, then…”

  “And then I think about how important all this is. To my company. And my business.”

  She heard him sigh over the line. “There’s more to life than business, Sophie.”

  “I know that,” she said, in a little snappish voice, then she sighed. “So—are you going to ask to be reassigned?”

  “What?” The shocked tone of voice would’ve made her laugh if it weren’t so painful. “Why would I do that?”

  “To make sure there’s nothing in our way,” she said, then as gently as possible, she repeated, “there’s more to life than business, after all.”

  A slow pause, then another sigh. “Point taken.”

  She felt a little dip in her stomach. Belatedly, she knew it was disappointment.

  “We’d better not do this again,” she said softly. “This…or, you know. The other.”

  “You’re probably right.” And the regret was obvious in his voice. “Good night, Sophie Jones.”

  “Good night, Mark McMann,” she said, then clicked off her phone.

  It was the smart idea, she knew that for a fact.

  So why do I feel like crying?

  MARK HADN’T SPOKEN TO SOPHIE since her late-night phone call, two weeks prior. He’d agreed to keep things professional. She was right: they both did have a lot at stake. But this was professional—this was business. Mrs. Marion had called both rival companies and invited them to a dinner meeting in San Francisco.

  “I realize this is unorthodox, but I wanted to meet with all of you and lay down some of the parameters of the competition, as it were,” Mrs. Marion said, sitting at the head of the table with all the confidence and authority of a Mafia don. Or donna, Mark thought.

  Mark sat there with his boss, Simone, and Carol, who had not been won over by his persistence and charm despite his concerted efforts. In fact, she openly resented the fact that Mark was there at all.

  Too bad, he thought, sending her a polite, sweet-tea-and-Southern-charm smile that she returned weakly. In the end, this account’s mine, sweetie.

  Then he looked across the table, and his smile faltered.

  The only person representing Diva Nation was Sophie, putting her at a distinct disadvantage. She was flanked by competitors, and while she wasn’t exactly buckling under the strain, it was obvious that she was uncomfortable. She was assiduously avoiding looking at him, for one thing…. Something Mark was afraid the rest of the table would pick up
on.

  Not that he and Sophie had done anything, he assured himself. Not that they were going to do anything. That thought brought a bit more regret than comfort. But if she kept acting weird, he was afraid they’d assume that something had already happened. Especially after Simone’s parting comment to him after the last trade show.

  “The competition will have two phases, one at the National Cosmetics Trade Show in Las Vegas, and the second here in Marion & Co.’s home city of San Francisco,” Mrs. Marion said smoothly. “While presentation is going to be important, I want emphasis on knowledge of the target market. And I want to be wowed, ladies and gentleman. If I’m not…” She shrugged, her demure smile hiding what Mark knew were barracuda-sharp instincts. “No one has to win this competition, necessarily. Your two companies are the best of the best, as far as I’m concerned, for what we’re trying to accomplish. But if I don’t get something that will knock my socks off, then I won’t award the contract to either of you. Those are the ground rules.”

  Mark watched as that sank in with his colleagues. Sophie nodded somberly, causing one of the tendrils of hair held back by a barrette to fall forward, curling slightly around her jawline.

  He felt his mouth go dry, and quickly took a sip of water. Stay focused, McMann. She’s a wonderful woman, no question—but business is business.

  It wasn’t fair, though. It simply wasn’t fair.

  “Trimera has been doing business with companies like yours for the past thirty years,” Carol chimed in, her tone just this side of smug. “I’m sure we’ll be able to present you with something satisfactory.”

  Sophie’s gaze darted to Carol, the slightest hint of a frown crossing her face before she smoothed her expression out.

  Mrs. Marion caught that, as well. “And what about you, Sophie? This is a big step for your company. Think you’re up to the challenge?”

  Sophie didn’t answer immediately, studying the broiled chicken on her plate instead of speaking. When she did, her voice was calm and clear. “I think that sometimes, big companies can be out of touch with what people really want,” she answered carefully. “I know that we’re small…but I also know that we’re much closer to the target. Being small gives us a distinct advantage.”