Chapter Two

Mark Hayden glanced up from his plate of beef and broccoli when the door of Mei’s opened, bringing in a most-unwelcome blast of freezing mountain air. The woman that entered was welcome, though. Very welcome.

Mark felt a grin spread across his face when he saw Francine standing there, stomping the snow off her boots, and peeling off her heavy coat. She looked as good as he remembered; he wondered if she remembered him. It was fifty-fifty, he guessed, since he didn’t recall her actually looking at him again after they’d been quickly introduced at Dallas and Olivia’s wedding last summer, and they’d barely spoken after exchanging a few pleasantries over a handshake. He hadn’t laid eyes on her since.

None of this had been his choice, of course. If he’d had it his way, Mark would have planted himself at Francine’s elbow for the whole damn post-wedding party. He’d have asked her to dance – but only to the slow ones, ‘cause fuck fast dancing with a woman like this, man – and he’d have held that lush, curvy body as close to himself as humanly possible.

And? If things had gone well? He’d have asked for her number, and he’d have called her the very next day, and taken her to dinner, and he’d have seen her as much as possible over the past seven months.

But Francine hadn’t encouraged his attentions, not in the slightest. This was a bit puzzling to Mark, if he were being honest, since most women went out of their way to get his attention, and then they fought like hell to keep it. Francine’s clear and pointed avoidance of his gaze and smile at the wedding had brought him up short, but he’d heeded her silent communication, and he’d kept his distance. But it still made him scratch his head.

Mark knew – without arrogance, ego, or vanity – that he was a good-looking guy. He’d known it his whole life, and he rarely had reason to be sorry about it. It was a fact, and it was also the equivalent of hitting the genetic jackpot: the right combinations of things had all happened in just the right order, and the end result was Mark. It had nothing much to do with him, at least not initially, and he knew that, too.

So, OK, yeah. He was attractive. But he’d made damn good and sure to be a hell of a lot more than just that. He’d worked three jobs to pay his way through college, he’d busted his ass at medical school, and the second he’d gotten that MD after his name, he’d enlisted, and served his country with nothing but pride.

He’d excelled as a trauma surgeon when he was an intern, and he’d carried that skill and calm over to the fields of battle in Iraq and then Afghanistan. He’d stayed overseas for six years, and as soon as he’d set foot stateside, he’d applied to join Dallas Foreman’s private security firm as a bodyguard. That was five years ago now.

Mark stared across the almost-empty restaurant at Francine, wondering if she was going to see him. And if she did, would she recognize him? And if she did, would she come over and talk to him? And if she did, would she let him buy her dinner?

Lots of ‘ifs’ and ‘woulds’ there, man.

She was smiling at Mei, chatting and laughing, and Mark watched as that stunning, heart-shaped face just lit up. She was all blonde hair and blue eyes, all generous curves and open smiles. She was also a giving, patient, smart-as-a-whip woman who had pulled Olivia Foreman, née Jameson, through nothing less than a living hell. Liv was a happily-married woman now, largely thanks to Francine, and as dazzled as Mark was by Francine’s looks, he had an even deeper admiration for her good heart, and her razor-sharp brain.

She turned now, and those gorgeous eyes scanned the tables. Her gaze moved over him, past him, slid back to him. They widened in surprise, and he gave her his warmest smile. He also gave her a little wave with his fingertips, feeling like an idiot as soon as he did it.

Francine blinked, cocked her head at him. Mei said something, Francine looked away to answer, and Mark felt the loss of contact right away. God, he’d actually felt those eyes burn right on through him, and that was a new experience for him. Usually, Mark was the one staring through people, gauging emotions, reactions. Gauging threats.

Does she see me as a threat?

Mei went back to the kitchen, and Mark saw Francine hesitate. He knew that her innate sense of good manners was at war with an urge to rudely pretend to have not seen him, and he watched with interest to see which one was going to win out.

It was politeness, of course. They did, after all, have friends in common – Dallas and Liv, namely – so just ignoring him wasn’t really the best option. Especially since Mark was Dallas’ number two at Solid Security. Dallas was the owner and the boss, but Mark was his right hand. Francine knew all of this, and she’d think it the height of bad manners to blow him off.

Sure enough, here she came now. Mark stood to greet her as she arrived at his booth, and she gazed up at him.

“Hi, Francine,” he said. “You remember me?”