The Marriage Campaign

Chapter Three

She was going to kill him. The moment she got Mark Smith aside later, in private, she would rip him limb from limb. Being drawn and quartered would be too good a death for him.

Lisa tried to contain herself as the waiter set down her plate. While she’d planned on eating dinner, she hadn’t planned on eating her meal out here, with all the paying guests.

Of all the infernal things…Mark Smith was impossible. First he kissed her and left with another woman, and now…could he not see that she did not need defending? She did not need him to be some pompous Sir Galahad from theArthurian period. She did not need him to gallop to her rescue, much less misguidedly believe he should.

She had a job to do—one she was very competent at, thank you very much—and said job did not include sitting next to him, eating chicken divan and drinking the glass of white wine he’d bought for her at the cash bar.

The man had knocked her down, out and slightly sideways, but Lisa was a consummate rebounder. Always had been, always would be. No man ever got the best of her—except Mark Smith. Tonight he was two for two. Count the wedding reception and you had three times too many.

She controlled her tapping foot, lest her internal seething become too obvious to her tablemates. She’d literally been had. Shortly after their return to the ballroom, Herb had greeted Mark like a long-lost son. And when Mark had repeated his request, Herb had insisted that of course Lisa should occupy the empty seat as Mark’s companion.

So here she was, enduring polite small talk with a way-too-good-looking, arrogant man who had rattled her cage. Didn’t he realize she didn’t want him leaning close? Didn’t he understand he didn’t have the right to whisper in her ear after what he’d done?

But then, wasn’t he just being true to his stripes? Mark was the type of man who wouldn’t even recognize his obnoxious behavior. And while tonight Lisa could watch her step and stay aloof, something inside her still wanted to flirt with danger.

For Lisa, Mark Smith had always been danger. The man was too darn sexy for his own good. His smile had always been to die for; those dark eyebrows arched perfectly over brown bedroom eyes.

But what really made matters worse was that tonight, even eight years later, Lisa couldn’t say she was immune. Despite his actions following their kiss, when he turned up the charm, Mark was like a beacon in the night to which women naturally gravitated.

Part of her screamed, Run! while the other part claimed she was a big girl now and she should toy with Mark Smith, serve him some well-earned payback.

He had led her on, promised her things, given her momentary hope that dreams do come true. Oh, she admitted to herself at least that when she’d first met Mark eleven years ago, she’d fallen hard and fast. She’d had the biggest schoolgirl crush, which was pathetic considering that he’d only come for a weekend visit to see his sister during their freshman year of college.

For the first time in Lisa’s life, the outgoing class leader had found herself tongue-tied. She’d simply been aware of him. When she’d managed to find her voice, their conversations would be charged and heated, often a series of put-downs. She knew her reasons—by slamming him, she could pretend she wasn’t interested. That she was aloof. Unaffected.

All lies. Her crush had never waned, although she deliberately dated people just to prove her immunity to the man. Why not? Crushes were juvenile, and it was clear Mark wasn’t pining for her. Lisa heard enough stories over the years from Joann to determine that Mark wasn’t anywhere close to Lisa’s type.

As was tradition, Mark had followed in his father and grandfather’s legacy and attended the University of Missouri–Rolla and joined the Pi Kappa Alpha fraternity. While Tori, Joann and Cecile had made the yearly pilgrimage to Rolla for St. Patrick’s Day festivities, Lisa had often skipped, knowing she’d hear about the wildness anyway. The stories had often centered on Mark’s exploits.

For four years Joann had described edited versions of Mark’s escapades. It was obvious that Joann adored her fraternal twin brother despite what she referred to as his flagrant indiscretions. In other words, Mark Smith was a rogue playboy to the nth degree.

So Mark had reached a mythic disproportion, and his branding kiss had simply seared his reputation firmly and forever into Lisa’s mind, making it ironic that she was now his “date” to her own fund-raising event.

Instead of fading into the woodwork, taking notes and drumming up potential political alliances, she was subject to Bradley’s displeasure and Andrea’s soon-to-occur endless questioning. The redhead’s wink and thumbs-up when Mark had pushed in Lisa’s chair had said volumes.

One thing certainly hadn’t changed about Mark Smith. He’d been cocky and self-assured when she’d first met him and he obviously was the same now, if not even more so.

She had to admit, she’d never seen Bradley Wayne so floored as when Mark had announced his ultimatum. Perhaps there was some justice in the world. Bradley, who was hovering on the room’s periphery, had been a little hard to deal with this past year after she’d left his employ and begun working for herself.

He could only be described as a micromanager and nitpicker. He would become even more impossible henceforth, that was a given. Not ever having met Bradley, and just from Lisa’s conversations, Joann despised him and had railed against the man for years. She would probably pat her brother on the back for what he’d done.

“What’s so funny?” Mark’s whisper tickled Lisa’s ear, his warm breath bringing her back to the reality that he was seated only ten tantalizing inches to her left.

And this time Lisa wasn’t a silly freshman who’d lost her voice. This time she wasn’t some starry-eyed bridesmaid high on wedding magic and illusions. She was all grown-up. Confident. Daring. Definitely a woman who could hold her own against the playboy whose conquests had been regaled and reviled over many cups of morning coffee.

Maybe some torture before she killed him for out-maneuvering her and probably hundreds of other women was in order.

She’d never considered herself a knockout; to be honest, she knew she was far from “ten” status. While she’d never grace the big screen or a rock video, she knew beauty was all about attitude and she’d learned to work with what she had. She angled her head and gave him a dazzling smile.

“I just find it funny that fate brought us together like this. I’d planned on going with you that night,” she admitted purposefully, lifting her wineglass to her lips and holding his gaze over the rim. “That is what you wanted to talk about, wasn’t it? That night?”

But Mark Smith was suave, proving his control when the corners of his eyes crinkled and he said, “So why didn’t you leave with me, then?”

She laughed and toyed with her wineglass stem as she drew on eight years of jaded political-arena experience. “Maybe you should be the politician. Turning the question around and volleying it back to me. Such ego. Joann always said you had one, but I always tried to give you the benefit of the doubt. At least I did up until that night.”

“Of course you did,” he said, a cheeky smile easing over his face as he played along. Her stomach did a figurative flip. He lowered his voice. “The benefit of the doubt is a very powerful thing. It’s like the seat of your pants or your gut instinct. Intangible but very real. Like that kiss.”

“Exactly,” Lisa said, her brain racing to process the multiple innuendos. The man was good.

“So tell me, Lisa, now that fate has given us another chance, what is your gut instinct telling you tonight about me?” he queried, not giving her a chance to retrench, reload or rethink.

Oh, he was master of his game. But now so was she. While she hadn’t a tenth of his sexual experience, she’d still learned to play ball and play well. “It tells me that you haven’t changed a bit. You’re older, certainly, but I don’t know if that makes you necessarily wiser.”

“I was wise enough to have you as my dinner companion.” His gleam spoke volumes.

He’d left her the perfect opening and she took it. “I’m only here because it’s my job.”

He leaned back and studied her, and she knew she’d scored a direct hit. However, the conflicting emotions flickering in his dark eyes lasted for only a moment until he again smiled, although not as brightly as before. His words were measured yet delivered smoothly. “At least we know that you have the capacity for honesty. That’s rare in the political world, isn’t it?”

She had to give him credit. A compliment and a dig, both at the same time. “Perhaps,” she said with a slight incline of her head. “Although, I must say that Herb is honest. He means each and every thing he says and he plans to fulfill every campaign promise he makes.”

Pure skepticism crossed Mark’s face, and he had the courtesy not to laugh. “Oh, they all do, Lisa. And everyone knows the road to hell is paved with good intentions and broken promises. That’s the nature of the beast. Politicians have to have some sliver of raw ideology that lets them be idealistic. It lets them feel good about themselves, convinces them that they aren’t addicted to the allure of wielding power. It proves to them that they have a higher calling, that they are somehow fated to save the world. Business is the same to some extent. We’re all about making the world a better place for everyone, but not without padding our own pockets first. At least corporations admit that it’s all about the bottom line.”

“Cynical,” Lisa observed.

“Always,” he said, the sharpness in his tone driving his point home.

“Herb—”

Mark cut her off. “Not to be rude, but I don’t want to hear about Herb’s promises. I’ll vote for him because he’s my father’s friend and because he’s better than the other two candidates.”

“I will personally guarantee Herb is honest.”

Mark stared at her for a minute. “Sure, for as long as he can be before the job changes him.”

“It won’t,” Lisa declared. “He’s proven himself for a long time. That’s why I’m working for him.”

An arched eyebrow conceded that point before Mark attacked on another front. “But everyone knows Missouri politics are family affairs. The Danforths. The Blunts, the Carnahans, the Clays. In office or not, they all have a lot of influence.”

“True, but Herb has a history of interactions with all of those families on both state and national levels. He’s the best candidate for Missouri.”

Mark took a long sip of water, his study of her never ceasing. “Do you have an answer for everything?”

Lisa didn’t hesitate to nod. “It’s my job. I’m sure you can understand that. After all, isn’t your job important?”

“Very,” Mark said with a corresponding nod.