One Night Standards (12 page)

That was, when he wasn't dreaming about Sophie.

He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms. No. He wasn't thinking about Sophie until he absolutely had to, which would be tomorrow at four o'clock, when they faced off again in front of Abigail Marion. When he saw if he had what it took to win the second “challenge.”

It would be an uphill battle without question. He hadn't had a lot of help from Trimera. Carol, bitch that she was, had quickly spread around the rumor mill that the reason Trimera had performed poorly in the first challenge was that she'd been handicapped by having Mark as a teammate. Because no one else had been at the presentation, and everyone knew what a sales barracuda she was compared to Mark's easygoing style, they all assumed that she was telling the truth. Now, everyone in sight refused to have anything to do with what they were calling the “Marion Disaster.” Mark had fought to get information he needed for his report, and to get mock-ups ready, but he'd gotten static at every turn. He'd kicked butt around the office, something he rarely did in order to get his work done. Of course, in his current snarling state of mind, it hadn't been hard to kick some butt. He wasn't some pretty-boy model who had made it on just his looks—or by screwing his way to the top sales position.

He frowned. Which brought him right back to his problem with Sophie.

He didn't know who he was more mad at: Sophie or himself. She had valid points. It wasn't as if he'd ever promised her a relationship when they'd slept together, images of which were burned indelibly in his memory. It wasn't even as if she were evil for wanting some sex to get rid of stress. He was currently in an insane pressure cooker of stress, and if sex would relieve it, then he would probably do the same thing.

But Sophie was different, damn it.

It was unfair of him to get angry with her. He was trying to make her pay for the fact that almost everyone in his life—from his modeling days, to business school, to Trimera itself—had always looked at him as someone they could use for superficial purposes, not someone who made a valuable contribution. He wanted to feel valued. And with Sophie, he supposed he'd been starting to feel that way. Then he'd lashed out at her, because of the Carol fiasco, because he could see his professional future circling the drain. Because Sophie couldn't seem to see how important everything was to him, and only focused on the physical.

And why shouldn't she? She's not your wife. She's not your girlfriend. She's just somebody you slept with.

There was a knock on his door, and he sighed, thinking about the last time there had been a knock on his hotel-room door. But after the way his last exchange with Sophie had ended, he couldn't imagine she'd be back. He certainly wouldn't be.

He peered out through the peephole.

Sophie stood there, yet again.

He opened the door, feeling numb. He couldn't say anything for a long moment. Her hair was down, tumbling loosely around her shoulders, looking like ribbons of caramel, luscious and rich. Her eyes were luminous. She wasn't wearing much makeup. What she was wearing, he noticed, was an expression of hesitance.

“Hi,” he finally said, feeling unsure himself.

“I won't blame you if you don't want to let me in,” she said, her voice speeding up a little. “But I hope you will.”

He moved away from the door frame, letting her walk past him, and then shut the door behind her, still at a loss for words.

She turned, wringing her hands slightly. “I came to apologize.”

Now she'd really caught him flat-footed. “Okay.”

“I'm not sorry I wanted to have sex with you,” she clarified.

“Uh, that's good.” Because at the moment, his body was going into full alert, the way it always did around her. The scent of her tickled his nose, and his body tensed pleasurably.

“I'm sorry that I made it seem like I saw you as a body.” Her eyes were sorrowful. “That I was using you.”

It was like being splashed with cold water. He turned away from her, getting his bearings. “I should probably say it's fine,” he said slowly. “I mean, we didn't have any kind of understanding. Hell, every other time, I was the one convincing you.”

“I know,” she answered. “I took that for granted. I took
you
for granted.” She walked over to him, stroking her hands over his shoulders and back. “I didn't mean to.”

“It hurt,” he admitted, surprising himself. “I'm used to being underestimated and written off because of the way I look. I just wasn't expecting it from you.”

She tugged at him, turning him to face her. “I'm so sorry, Mark,” she said simply.

He wanted to resist, but she pulled at him, and it was as futile as fighting the tide. He leaned into her embrace, letting her hug him, feeling the knots of anxiety and pressure start to slowly ease away in the face of her warmth. He clung to her, holding her against him like a lifeline. “You shouldn't have to be sorry,” he told her.

“Hush. Let me make it up to you.” She smoothed her hands over his chest, around his waist. “How can I help you feel better?”

He chuckled weakly. “Isn't this how we keep getting into trouble?”

“It doesn't have to mean sex,” she said. “Sit down for a second.”

She nudged him toward the bed, and his body hardened in a rush as it did every time he was near Sophie and a bed. His responses were almost instinctual now, when it came to her.

She stood in front of him, framing his face in her hands. “That presentation—and Marion & Co.'s response to it—wasn't your fault,” she said. He blinked, surprised by the turn of the conversation. “That idiot woman didn't know who she was dealing with. I could tell that you didn't agree with what she was doing. And I know you. You're a better businessman than that.”

“How can you tell?” He felt like an idiot, but a small part of his heart warmed at her words.

“Because I've talked to you. I've spent time with you,” she continued, stroking his cheek. “You're intelligent, you're intuitive, and you're amazing with people. I bet, given the opportunity, you'll be fantastic.”

“Of course,” he added, his hands reaching for her hips and holding her lightly, “that means being ‘fantastic' against you.”

“I'm not worried about me,” she responded, kissing his jaw. His grip on her hips tightened. “If I can't compete, that's my problem.”

“Easy for you to say.” He inched his hands up slightly on her rib cage, resting below her breasts. He'd felt the same way, until she'd trounced him at the Vegas competition.

“I mean it,” she said. “When it's business, it's business. It has nothing to do with what we have in private. I promise you—we can keep it separate.”

He groaned, leaning his head against the crook of her neck and breathing in her sweet perfume, feeling her breasts fill his hands. “Damn it,” he said, “it would be so much smarter if we could leave each other alone.”

“Shh,” she said, pressing him back against the bed. “It's not a matter of smart or stupid. We need each other. We want each other. And more importantly, we care about each other.”

The moment she said the words, he knew they were true. He cradled her against him, kissing her hair, her neck.

“This isn't just physical,” she murmured. “That's why I keep coming back.”

“Sophie,” he breathed.

She reached for his pants, unbuckling them, lowering them down off his body. He reached for her jeans, taking them off, enjoying the lovely view of her. He took off her tank top; she took off his shirt, until they were both naked. She shook her head when he reached for her, though.

“I want to make you feel better,” she said, her gaze slightly naughty, but with an undercurrent of seriousness. “This isn't about me.”

“But I…
oh.
” He stopped abruptly when she leaned down, pressing heated kisses down his torso, around his belly button. He stopped breathing altogether when she got lower, kissing his thighs, creeping higher. She cupped his balls, and he let out the breath he was holding in an explosive whoosh. “Sophie,” he growled.

She took his cock into her mouth, tickling the tip gently, grazing him ever so minutely with her teeth. He grimaced, his hips bucking slightly of their own accord. She started sucking on him, slow, measured draws, flooding his body with sensation. His breathing went harsh and ragged in response. He could feel her tongue dancing over him, sliding around the length of him as she took him in as deep as she could. The wet, heated caress of her mouth pushed him toward the breaking point.

“Sophie,” he said, his fingers twining in her hair. “I need you.”

She pulled away, and he could see her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed. “You have me,” she said with a small smile. “This is all for you.”

He moved quickly, shifting her onto her back. “As great as it feels,” he said, kissing her breasts, “it isn't for me unless you're there, too.”

He got up, hastily getting a condom and rolling it on. Then he reached for her again, and she arched her hips up to meet him. He slid in, surprised to find how wet she was, simply from pleasuring him. “How did I get lucky enough to find you?” he said.

Then all talking ceased, as he felt her body tighten around him. He moved slowly, savoring each stroke, until she was wild beneath him, her hips pistoning against his, her legs curling around his waist. Despite his best intentions, he found himself picking up speed, as her nails clawed gently down his back. Soon they both were panting, clutching each other, until the pressure built inevitably to its explosive conclusion. He shouted her name as he slammed into her, and she cried out as she clung to him, their bodies so close that they seemed inseparable.

After long moments, he felt his mind return from the blissful release. He rolled to his back, taking her with him, resting her on his body. “I mean it,” he said. “I'm so lucky I found you.”

“It'll be all right, Mark,” she assured him. “I promise. We can do this.” And she kissed him, her smile wide and hopeful.

“If you say so,” he said, even as worries started to return, too. She said it would be all right. She said she believed in him. She knew he could do well.

Now, all he had to do was actually do the job—and see if she felt the same way in the morning.

“W
HERE WERE YOU LAST NIGHT
?” Lydia whispered to Sophie in the small conference room in the hotel. “I called your room to do some last-minute walk-throughs, but there was no answer. I worried!”

Sophie forced herself not to glance over at Mark. “I was going stir crazy and decided to go out.” She grinned. “What are you, my mother?”

“You're lucky I'm not Mom,” Lydia muttered back. “I still can't believe you convinced her to stay home for this as it is. But don't change the subject. Where'd you go?”

“I took a walk,” Sophie improvised. “Wanted to get my head clear for today, that's all.”

Lydia looked unconvinced, but let it drop, thankfully. “I hope it worked. Those guys look mean.”

Sophie used the excuse and shot her gaze over to the other side of the room. Mark looked…Well, she wouldn't say
mean,
unless
mean
meant razor-sharp and smokin' hot. He was every inch a professional in an expensive charcoal-gray suit with a royal-blue silk tie over a sparkling white shirt. His face was clean shaven and surprisingly stern. Nothing of the carefree lover she remembered from the previous night remained.

“He looks like he means business,” Sophie mused, then winced when Lydia's eyebrows shot up at the comment. “And the, er, other lady. His boss. She looks pretty fierce herself.”

Lydia did not look appeased, but before she could remark further, Mrs. Marion and Lily Hunter walked into the room.

“Thank you all for coming.” Mrs. Marion sat at the head of the table. She always sounded amused—and not necessarily in a nice way. The habit was starting to make Sophie uncomfortable. “I'm very interested in seeing what you came up with for this next round of presentations. I trust you have everything you need?”

Before Sophie could answer, Mark spoke up, his voice clear and authoritative. “We're ready.”

Sophie's eyes widened. She'd never heard him sound like that, either. Usually his drawl was just this side of casual. Now, there was an underlying tension. She knew how much this meant to him. Hadn't she encouraged him last night?

Don't be nervous,
she silently counseled. Then she saw that Mrs. Marion was staring at her expectantly. “We're set,” she added, but it sounded hesitant compared to Mark's ringing assertion.

“Since Trimera started off at the first presentation, I thought Diva Nation ought to have the first shot this time,” Mrs. Marion said, steepling her fingers together and sporting a wry smile. “You'll be starting, Ms. Jones. After your last presentation, I'm looking forward to being impressed.”

Sophie smiled back easily. “I certainly hope you will be. We've been working hard on developing a line of cosmetics that I think will impress your most discerning customers.”

With that, she launched into her presentation, using Lydia's examples. She was proud of what they'd come up with. The packaging was midnight-blue with silver detailing, just as she'd suggested. The ads they'd mocked up were both classic and modern—hip, without being dated. They then handed Mrs. Marion the cosmetic samples themselves, which Sophie considered their ace in the hole. “As you can see, the cosmetics themselves are of the highest quality material and feel as luxurious as the packaging. Our cosmetics are noted for feeling ‘naked'…that is, you won't even be aware of wearing them. They're light, fresh and hypoallergenic.”

Mrs. Marion brushed some of the foundation over the back of her hand, sniffing experimentally. “And a nice fragrance, too.”

“Another one of our signatures,” Sophie said with pride.

“I see you've expanded on the promise you showed in Vegas,” she said, and Sophie felt a thrill zip through her system. “This is very, very exciting.”

“Thank you. I assure you, it's just the start.” With that, she sat down. Lydia reached over and squeezed her hand. Sophie had done well—she'd done her best, and it looked very good for her, her family and Diva Nation.

“All right, Trimera,” Mrs. Marion said, turning to Mark and his boss. “I'd hate to follow that act, but you're on.”

Mark wore a slight frown, a less intense version of the frown his boss was sporting. For a second, Sophie felt a pang of remorse. She knew how much this presentation meant to him. He was trying to prove himself as a businessman, and this was a big deal. He was used to being considered a pretty face and nothing more…. Used to being the salesman who closed deals simply because female buyers found him attractive. That wasn't going to work here. Still, they were in competition. He knew that. Sophie couldn't feel bad that she'd tried hard—this meant a lot to her, too.

“Diva Nation's products are incredible,” he started, surprising her. “They have all the advantages of being a boutique line—unique products, niche marketing, a definite cachet among their clients.”

Sophie's eyes widened, and she noticed a similar look of surprise crossing his boss's face. What was he doing? He was helping out his competitor, not pushing his own product!

“What they can't do—and what they won't tell you—is that they have all the same problems of a boutique line,” he continued. “They are small enough to have difficulties producing their cosmetics. They can't place orders large enough to get the materials they need in a timely fashion. When they can place large orders, they are used to producing in smaller batches, so there are quality issues that crop up. Their packaging is innovative, but not necessarily able to make the profit margin that you'll want….”

Sophie watched as Mark produced a slide show. In a matter of minutes, he'd illustrated all the problems of working with her company—using information she didn't even know he had. He'd talked to all of their most problematic vendors, and he was dead-on when it came to the flaws in their business. She felt her face redden. She felt as if she were standing in the middle of the conference room in a pair of ratty granny panties with holes in them. She was exposed—and humiliated.

“Trimera may not have the innovation that a small company has,” he said, sounding like a lawyer at a hanging trial. “But what we do have is the ability to produce on the scale that Marion & Co. will want, with a price point and profit margin that your company will need. Creativity is important.” He glanced over at Sophie, and she swore his look was one of contempt. “But then…so is the bottom line.”

Mrs. Marion took the whole thing in, nodding thoughtfully. “So—do you have a product line for me?”

He produced a silver cosmetics box, similar to the type professional makeup artists use. “This is the mockup,” he said. “But you'll be emphasizing high quality and discretion. Like the Tiffany pale blue box signifies quality, the Marion & Co. ‘silver box' can become a symbol of high-end makeup…. Its own brand recognition.” He glanced at the Diva Nation packaging and example ad, and sneered slightly. “Your customers are discerning enough to know what they want, without a bunch of hype.”

And with that, another body slam to Diva Nation. Lydia looked pale. Sophie imagined she didn't look much better.

Mark had done more than his homework. He'd systematically
demolished
Diva Nation with that presentation. And she felt devastated.

“And please keep in mind if any of the cosmetics need improvement,” he added quietly, “we can always change formulas—and mimic things that are going on in the market.”

Lydia gasped, and Sophie saw red. “You're not suggesting that you could knock off Diva Nation products,” she interjected, between gritted teeth.

He shrugged. “Business is business.”

“Well, this has been a big day,” Mrs. Marion said, before Sophie could growl back a retort—and possibly jump over the conference-room table and strangle Mark. “You two have given me a lot to think over. I'd like to see one final presentation in two weeks in New York, at our office there. I need to see how you both envision your companies working with ours, as it were.” She smiled. “Meaning why it would make financial sense for Marion & Co. to work with you, rather than your opponent. Although I must say, Trimera seems to have gotten a jump-start on that today. If you need anything, feel free to contact Lily in the interim.”

With that, Mrs. Marion and Lily left, after shaking hands with everyone.

“Oh, my God,” Lydia breathed, her voice faltering. “Mom's going to freak out when she hears about this. What are we going to do?”

Sophie didn't say anything. She glared at Mark, who was shaking hands with his boss. That woman had a broad smile on her face, full of satisfaction, like a cat in front of a bowl full of cream. Mark didn't share the look, a small comfort. He still had that stern expression, like a soldier at war.

Then, for a second, he glanced over, his gaze locking with Sophie's. He looked…resigned. Possibly even apologetic. Within seconds, he looked determined again, as he snapped his attention back to his boss and his side of the table.

It's just business, Sophie.
She closed her eyes, mocking herself. Certainly she'd said it was just business. She wanted him to feel better about the fact that they were competitors. She knew that he had talent.

She just didn't realize that he would use that talent, intelligence and drive, and focus it on a character assassination of her company.

“What are we going to do?” Lydia repeated, her voice injected with a note of hysteria.

“Calm down,” Sophie said in a low, sharp tone. “I'll handle it.”

“But how?”

“I don't know,” she snapped, causing Lydia to finally quiet down, looking a little wounded. “I was expecting them to push harder, but I wasn't expecting them to play dirty.”

“They wouldn't really knock off our products, would they?” Lydia said.

Sophie continued staring at Mark, watching as he and his boss disappeared out of the conference room. “I wouldn't have thought so,” she admitted. “But after today…I expect anything.”

“Mom was right,” Lydia said. “They're heartless. They'll do anything to win.”

Sophie closed her eyes. She didn't want to believe it. Not of Mark.

“Maybe,” she forced herself to admit. Then she opened her eyes. She had gotten herself into this mess. Crying about it wasn't going to help her situation any. “It means we'll have to toughen up, that's all.”

And it means I'm going to rethink my “relationship” with Mark McMann,
she thought, agitated. She wouldn't be his judge and jury. But she still couldn't help but wonder why he'd done what he'd done—and whether or not he was the man she'd thought he was, or if she'd just made a colossal mistake.

“S
OPHIE
, I
NEED TO TALK
to you.”

Sophie was sitting by herself at a table in the hotel bar when she heard Mark's voice behind her. “I don't think I've got anything left to say to you, Mark.” She glanced around. “Besides, we shouldn't even be seen together.”

He was still in his suit, and his expression was bleak. “I wanted this to be more private,” he murmured. “But you wouldn't return my calls.”

“Lydia's upstairs packing, Mark,” she said. “She'll be down any minute. And there really isn't anything else to say.”

He sat down, and Sophie felt a lash of pain shoot through her. Here he was, his face the picture of concern. But he was the one who had hurt her in the first place. What good was it now that he seemed to be sorry for it?

“I was afraid this was going to happen,” he said. “You said when it's business, it's business and we can keep it separate, and I wanted you so badly I ignored my damned common sense and let myself believe it.”

“This isn't about business,” Sophie corrected.

“Oh, come on.”

Sophie felt the blush heat her cheeks, and glared at him. “You're right. It is about business. Specifically, it's about how you chose to do business.” She lowered her voice to a hiss. “Is Trimera so bankrupt of ideas and innovation that your idea of a great business move is offering to knock off whatever we come up with?”

“I'm not proud of that,” he answered. “But it happens all the time, Sophie. That chocolate-cayenne lip gloss your company's so proud of? Three other cosmetics companies will be coming out with it next year, I promise you. I didn't want to have to go that route, but it's a fact of life.”

“I thought you'd be winning by pointing out what you guys do well,” she countered stubbornly. “Not by underhandedly attacking our company and stealing our ideas.”

“It was just business.”

“Yeah, well your business
sucks.
”

He sighed with obvious frustration. She took a slug of her vodka tonic, gasping back a cough as she gulped too fast.

“It doesn't have anything to do with me and you,” he whispered. “It didn't have to do with last night.”

She closed her eyes. “I know that.” She took a deep breath. “And I finally understand how incredibly naive and stupid I was, to have thought that our arrangement would work.”