Hiring Cupid (15 page)

"I've left copies of the design on the table. I'll wait to hear from your company,” she said. She couldn't say ‘hear from you'. That would be too much.

Marco's blue eyes darkened to deepest sapphire as he watched her. But he didn't try to stop her.

The lift doors closed with a soft hiss, shutting Marco from sight and as it lowered to the ground floor, Carly shoved a clenched fist in her mouth to stifle the harsh wracking noises that choked her.

"Oh baby, what are we going to do?"

Finally outside and free of the constraints of the building, she looked back up.

Carry on. Keep going. No looking back
, the soft voice in her head instructed.

"What the hell's the matter with you?” Chad Burns railed at him as he marched into his office. He didn't bother to close the door.

Marco let out a heavy sigh and dropped the papers he'd been trying to read—without much success. He looked up at his off-sider. Chad Burns was good. They'd worked side by side for years, but that was as far as it went. Marco wasn't about to parade his private life to anyone.

"Let's just say Ms. Mason and I are acquainted."

"Acquainted hell. You just about ate the woman alive in there."

Marco snorted. “You exaggerate."

Chad was probably right. Unfortunately. From the moment he'd walked in the room, he hadn't been able to keep his eyes off Carly. How the hell had he stopped himself from pulling her into his arms and kissing her till she melted, which if recollection served him, would be no more than a second. Oh, yeah, he remembered every single moment of it.

"So I take it she is why you've been like the proverbial bear with a sore tooth these last few months?"

Marco refused to answer.

"No. Don't bother. I can read you a mile away mate. You've got it bad."

"Don't be melodramatic. You make it sound like a disease."

"It is. Remember Gloria, my ex-wife, and Lara, my other ex-wife? Drain you dry, Marco. Take my advice and keep well away. Besides, I thought you learned your lessons with Rosaria."

"Never fear, I'll be a good boy and do as I'm told,” Marco uttered with good humor; all the while his insides ground as if under attack from a bulldozer. He was distinctly aware of tightness in his groin. It hadn't stopped throbbing from the moment he'd seen Carly. But the mention of Rosaria only added to his woes. The woman was one she-devil he had no intention of igniting with ever again. He was over her teasing, enticing, lying ways.

"Right, I'm off for the weekend. Mary is taking me home to meet her parents."

Despite himself, Marco chuckled. “And you think I don't learn. Have you looked at yourself lately?"

"So, I made a mistake,” Chad shrugged sheepishly.

"Twice."

"Test runs before the real thing. See ya.” As the door slammed shut Marco was left alone with the haunting memory of auburn hair and teasing green eyes.

"Sh..."

Three months
he cursed silently. Three months of hell, loneliness—and remorse.

He swiveled in his chair and looked down at the world. It was home time, everyone rushing for Friday night and freedom. But he felt trapped. Ten floors up in his office, it was like being confined to a gilded cage, entangled by emotions he didn't know how to deal with and wasn't sure he wanted to.

What was he going to do about it?

He eyed the clock on the central shelf of his mahogany bookcase.

Time was passing.

Snatching up the phone, he punched in some numbers. The phone rang and his breathing halted as he waited with anticipation.

It kept ringing and his gut churned.

Marco realized he was very, very nervous. A new experience.

Suddenly, an answer phone clicked in. It was Carly at her crispest and most professional. The office was shut. He tried her mobile and got another answer phone, the same voice, the same tone. It was driving him nuts. He didn't want to speak to a machine; he wanted the real live thing. He wanted Carly in person.

There was only one other avenue. Marco dialed the phone service operator and quickly identified his problem. The operator asked him to wait. He did. But it bugged the hell out of him. His fingers thrummed on the desk in an impatient drone and he fidgeted with the plans Carly had left behind. They were by far the best.

"Sorry sir, that number is confidential."

"What do you mean?” He had to have it. He couldn't wait.

"Sorry sir,” the operator replied, obviously trained in patience, something Marco was quickly running short of. “We can't give the number out."

"Can't or won't?” he accused.

"Can't sir and won't,” she reiterated but there was a firm tone to her voice and Marco ungraciously realized she had him beat. The woman wasn't about to budge one iota. Frustrated to hell, he slammed the phone down. Damn it. There had to be some way he could contact her. Family? Would they give out her number? Besides, he reasoned with renewed hope—how many Masons could there be in the phone book?

He found out.

One hundred and twenty eight to be exact.

One after another, after another.

Bleary eyed, Marco dialed number seventy-four. He wanted to be positive, but was fast losing any hope after the last guy accused him of having an affair with his wife. He'd begun to wonder if phoning all the Masons in the phone directory in the hope of hitting dirt and finding someone, anyone, who knew Carly, was worth it.

Unbidden, an image of her on the beach came to mind. Her aquamarine colored bikini, the firm swell of her breasts, the feel of her skin under his fingers as he'd covered her with sun cream.

He swallowed hard. Yes, she was worth it.

"You've got to come Carly, little Damian is so looking forward to it,” her sister Margaret whined down the phone line.

"Okay,” she reluctantly agreed. Little Damian she knew wouldn't care less whether she was there or not. He was only one year old. Whereas little Damian's mother would and it wasn't particularly pleasing to realize her sister wanted her mainly for the present she would give Damian.

Carly sighed. Three sisters whose husbands or boyfriends came and went with regularity and an assortment of nieces and nephews who kept her poor, but then, she supposed she had more than they did.

You work harder.

Carly shrugged. It was true. Though now, with her own baby on the way, she wasn't quite sure what to expect. One thing was certain however; she wasn't prepared to let her business go. Somehow she would cope.

"Carly. Please come."

Carly really wanted to say no and to go home and sleep. The thought of having to deal with her boisterous family felt daunting, especially after the upsetting day she'd had.

But as always, family came first.

At least the presentation was behind her. For what that was worth, she thought with increasing despondency. She'd set her heart on the contract, but finding Marco at the helm had seriously undermined her confidence that the contract would be hers.

She couldn't disappoint Damian, however. The small boy held a special place in her heart; his father was as scarce as hers had been.

Instead of going back to the office, Carly spent the remainder of Friday afternoon toy shopping at a major children's store. As she browsed along each isle, she was struck dumb. What normally would be a chore, Carly suddenly found riveting beyond all reason. She fingered the tiny lemon colored booties, so small they'd only fit two fingers at most. Would her baby be so small? Just thinking about it caused a warm flush to invade her body.

Her baby. It sounded pretty darn good.

"You came,” Margaret called as she stepped off the front porch, little Damian slung on one hip, his bib still grubby with the last meal.

Carly grimaced and stifled the urge to tell her sister to clean up her act. “I said I would."

Margaret snatched at the large gift. “What did you get him?"

"Some welcome,” Carly muttered as her sister left her standing alone.

Inside was bedlam. When the Mason clan gathered it usually meant chaos in the extreme and today was no different. Carly gave her mother a kiss, but was barely acknowledged as the older woman succumbed to the throng of grandchildren at her feet.

"Look after yourself Carly, I can't get up,” she prompted.

"What's new?” It was the story of her life. Everyone expected her to look after herself—and them. But for some reason she kept coming back. Family was family she supposed. Carly rested a hand on her stomach. Soon, she'd have her own family.

"You lookin’ a bit peaky, Carly,” Laura yelled from across the room.

Carly's hand dropped from her stomach. “I'm fine,” she lied. “Just working too hard, that's all."

"Hey, Auntie Carly, you wanna sausage roll?” Bryce shoved a loaded plate under her nose.

Carly balked at the greasy offerings, averted her face and slapped a hand over her mouth. She wanted to be sick, her stomach roiling at the merest whiff of the pasty and fatty sausage concoction.

Her sister's eyes narrowed, a tell tale hint of recognition fluttering across her face. “You never were a good liar, Carly. What's up?"

"Nothing."

"You're pregnant."

The room went quiet. “Don't be silly,” she denied hotly. She should never have come. Should have known she couldn't hide
anything
from her family.

"Silly, my foot. Come on, you can tell us. Heck, we've all been there, done that."

Carly's gaze traveled around the room. Laura's boyfriend now resided in prison and Margaret's husband wasn't much better. He came and went, each time leaving Margaret pregnant. Her sisters stared back, interest blatantly piqued.

"You're just like the rest of us single mothers,” Laura chuckled, slapping her fat thigh. “Hey Mum, Carly's pregnant."

"Is she now, well who would have guessed."

Under this scrutiny there was no way out. Her family would hound her until they unearthed the facts. “I've only just found out,” she finally admitted.

"Hey get a look at that car,” one of her nephews called out. He yanked down one of the slats of the Venetian blinds and pressed his face to the window. “Cool as. Bet it's fast."

Carly didn't really care what they were talking about and turned away as the boys raced outside. All she wanted to do was to control the urge to scream while her sisters interrogated her.

With everyone gone from the office, Marco had spent hours phoning virtually every Mason in the book. He didn't succumb to defeat easily and now as he parked his car, his heart raced with expectation. This was it. He'd spoken briefly to someone and they'd confirmed that Carly was a family member and expected later that evening.

From the safety of his car he stared at the house in the gloom of the evening. It didn't look much; in fact it was pretty dilapidated. He checked the number on the piece of paper lying on the car seat beside him, against the letterbox. They were one and the same. Just then, two scruffy boys raced out the front door. Marco sat up. One boy's hair was an exact replica of Carly's burnished copper. Hope soared in his chest. Perhaps he
had
found her.

Taking a deep breath he pushed the car door open and exited the Jaguar, automatically locking it. This wasn't a neighborhood to leave anything unattended or unlocked for too long. He glanced up and down the dimly lit street. It was a sad place. Upturned rubbish bins, houses needing a coat of paint and dilapidated cars lined both sides of the street. Although most houses had small front lawns, there were no gardens to speak of.

"Hey mister, this your car?"

Marco stared down at the boy. The child had the same intense forest green eyes as Carly.

He smiled. “Sure is. Maybe one day, I'll give you a ride."

"Really?” The boy's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Sure thing.” Marco sidestepped and pushed the gate open, grimacing as it lurched back on one hinge and threatened to fall off any second. He strode to the door, knocked once, aware the little boys were right behind him.

"Who you want to see mister?"

"Well, that depends. I'm hoping I've got the right place.” Hoping like hell he thought.

The door was opened by a large woman, a child resting on her hip. Her coloring was so very much like Carly's. One of the little boys pushed past him. “Ma, he said he'd take me for a ride."

"Hush Bryce. Go inside right now. Tell Auntie Carly to cut you some cake."

Carly? Marco's smile broadened.

Bingo!

"Is Carly here?"

"Who wants to know?” The woman's assessment was blatant, but he refused to acknowledge it and kept his expression carefully masked.

"A friend,” he offered as a reply.

"Really?” Interest washed across the woman's eyes. She turned and yelled into the house. “Carly. Someone to see ya. A friend."

In the background the raucous cackle of children shouting and arguing increased by the second. It made Marco smile. How different from his childhood.

"He's gorgeous, definitely hunk material. Sounds foreign,” he heard Carly's sister inform the others. But he wasn't interested in her thoughts, only Carly's.

Carly stepped up to the door. “Marco!” Her shock was obvious and she gave him a darkly angry and unwelcoming glare. “What are you doing here?"

Marco's practiced speech suddenly disappeared. “I..."

"How did you find me?"

"I phoned your office, you were gone, and your mobile was switched off,” he responded flatly. “Carly...” But one look at her cold expression and he froze.

"Go away, Marco."

"I can't. This isn't how I wanted it to be."

"So what did you expect? That'd I'd jump into your arms?"

He offered a sheepish grin. “That would be nice."

But Carly gave him a withering scowl, which he chose to ignore and continued. “Why did you leave?"

"I wasn't feeling well."

"That much I know,
cara mia.
I was there, remember?"

"Don't say that.” Her lips pursed into a thin white reproving line. “How did you find me? Why Marco?"

"I was concerned,
cara
.” He saw her tense again at his endearment and cursed himself. He needed to go slower. He needed control.