Every Woman's Fantasy

“You’ve never had bad sex?” Charlie asked incredulously.

“No. No, I haven’t,” Mark said as they walked into the elevator. He sounded surprised that she’d even ask. “Why, have you?”

“Of course. I thought everyone had.”

“Not me. How could you? I mean, everything about it is so wonderful. It doesn’t matter if you’re cramped, or the temperature’s not right, or you don’t have a lot of time. It’s still…” Mark’s eyes glowed as he gazed into hers. “Making love is great,” he finished softly. “And this will be the best.”

Charlie looked away from him. “Now I’m really intimidated. I could be your first disaster.”

“No way. After all, women are designed for pleasure. How could you end up with anything else?” He took her hand and pulled her closer. “Hold on, let me show you what I mean.”

As he brought his lips down to hers in a kiss that set her pulses racing, Charlie moaned her appreciation. Apparently she’d stumbled onto a man who was an artist when it came to making love, and tonight he planned to create a masterpiece.

Who was she to argue with that?

Dear Reader,

I’m a catalog shopper, so the MAIL ORDER MEN series makes perfect sense to me. It must make sense to you, too, because it’s been so popular the first and second time out that we’re offering a third batch of cuties, just in time for spring! So set aside your Neiman-Marcus catalog for a minute and imagine that a copy of Texas Men has just landed in your mailbox. Hey, who wants to look at clothes and shoes when you can admire the likes of Mark O’Grady, Texas Men’s Bachelor of the Month?

Watching bachelors become husbands is a favorite part of my job as romance writer, but this time the familiar story held special significance for me. As I recorded Mark’s progress toward the altar, my son Nathan was making a similar journey. He married his dream girl, Lauri, shortly after I provided Mark with his happy ending. But for Nathan and Lauri, this is only the beginning of the story they will write together. And I wish them a lifetime of happiness…without end.

Best wishes from the mother of the groom,

Vicki Lewis Thompson

P.S. In June look for my novella “Mystery Lover” in Midnight Fantasies, the 2001 Blaze collection. And in August don’t miss Notorious, one of the launch books in Harlequin’s sizzling new series BLAZE.

Every Woman’s Fantasy

Vicki Lewis Thompson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Nathan and Lauri—

Your courage and belief in each other inspires me.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

Prologue

“I CAN’T BELIEVE you did it again.”

Mark O’Grady glanced across the table littered with peanut shells and a couple of half-empty beer bottles. His very pissed-off best man Sam Cavanaugh, who’d uttered those words of disgust, sat across from him, still dressed in his tux. So was Mark. Going back to his apartment to change had seemed too risky.

Fortunately he and Sam were the only ones of their crowd who patronized this little bar in downtown Houston. Their friends considered it too shabby, which was fine with Sam and Mark, who had designated it their special hidey-hole ever since they’d been old enough to drink legally. And Mark needed a place to hide…again.

He tried to come up with something to say to Sam, but he couldn’t think of a damned thing. He was slime. Somebody should just shoot him.

“Ten minutes before the processional! Ten friggin’ minutes. How could you do that?”

“It was her cell phone,” Mark said.

“What do you mean, her cell phone? I fail to see how anything about a cell phone could cause you to back out of your wedding ten minutes before the ceremony. If Deborah hadn’t smashed her wedding bouquet in your face, I would have done it for her!”

Mark gazed at his long-suffering friend. “You’re right. It was horrible, and I should have figured it out sooner. We’d had some big arguments about how much she used that phone. She took it everywhere, and I mean everywhere, and it’s not like the calls were critical or anything. Most of them sounded like a lot of gossip to me. But I kept thinking it was a small issue. I could deal.”

“It is a small issue. The woman has friends. She likes to talk to them on the phone. If you love somebody, you put up with a few things that aren’t perfect about them.” Sam gave him another disgusted look before taking a swallow of his beer and setting it on the table with a clunk. “God knows you’re a long way from being perfect.”

“You’ve got that right.” Mark turned his beer bottle around and around in his hands. “And I told myself all that. I thought I was fine with her cell phone habit. Then, remember how we were going up to the altar to take our places, and we passed by that room where Deb and her bridesmaids were waiting, and the door was open?”

“Yeah, I most certainly do. Because that’s when you lost it and called the whole thing off.”

“There she was, in her wedding dress, looking gorgeous, and she had that damned cell phone to her ear, jabbering away to somebody. I couldn’t even imagine who she’d find to talk to! Every person she knew was sitting in the church!”

“That is kind of amazing, when you think about it,” Sam conceded. “Maybe she was talking to somebody who was in the church, someone who also had their cell phone turned on.”

“No doubt! And I don’t want any part of that! I saw our whole married life dominated by that thing. The wedding night, the honeymoon, the delivery room when we had a kid, the family vacations, the visits to the folks. I mean, if she had to talk on the phone ten minutes before we were about to say our vows, then nothing was sacred.”

Sam blew out a breath. “Okay, I can see your point. I wouldn’t like that prospect myself, but I sure as hell wish you’d figured all this out sooner.”

“So do I.”

Leaning both arms on the table, Sam trained his no-nonsense look, the one he used to intimidate juries, on Mark. “In case you’ve lost count, this is the fifth time this has happened. None of your friends except yours truly will show up anymore. Even your mother refuses the invitations. Is it possible you don’t want to get married?”

Mark had given that considerable thought himself. He’d been raised by a single mother who’d divorced his father when Mark was two. She’d never remarried, and when he was old enough to ask about that, she’d told him she found marriage too confining and time-consuming.

Because she was all he had, he’d tried to see things her way. But he couldn’t help envying kids like Sam, who had a cozy family with two parents and a bunch of noisy siblings. Finally he’d decided he couldn’t agree with his mother. Although the single life might suit her, he wanted to find a woman to share his life and be the mother of their kids.

He met Sam’s gaze. “I do want to get married. It’s divorce I want to avoid.”

“At this rate you’ll never have to worry about divorce, old buddy. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the can. You can sort through your options while I’m gone.”

Mark watched his friend leave. Sam appeared to be in no rush to get married, and yet the guy was extremely eligible. With his dark blond mustache and lean good looks, he was often mistaken for Alan Jackson. Plus he was a successful lawyer and drove a beautifully restored red ’57 Chevy that always drew attention. Yet he’d only been engaged once, and that hadn’t lasted more than two months before they’d both decided they weren’t right for each other.

Obviously Sam wasn’t desperate to create a family for himself because he’d had that growing up. Mark had hungered for that kind of stability ever since he could remember. But he wasn’t any closer to getting it than he had been seven years ago, when he’d proposed to Hannah, his first fiancée. Something had to change, but he didn’t know what.

The waitress came by and he ordered another round. Then he called her back. “Add a shooter to the beer,” he said. “No, wait. Five shooters.” It seemed like a fitting number.

The waitress blinked. “Five? All at once?”

“Yep.” Mark held up his hand, fingers spread. “And you might as well bring five for my buddy, too.” When the waitress continued to stare at him, he added, “We’ll both be taking cabs home, so don’t worry.”

With a nod, the waitress left.

Mark decided if he couldn’t figure out how to fix his sorry situation, he might as well get drunk with Sam. He could bail his Lexus out of the parking garage in the morning.

An extra few hours of parking expense was nothing compared to the bills he had run up with these five canceled weddings. In each case, he’d let his fiancées keep the rings and even go on the honeymoon if they could find somebody else to go along. Three had taken that option, and two had said they’d rather rot in hell. Deb had been one of those.

On top of that, Mark had covered the cost of the reception and other incidentals. He hadn’t wanted his fiancées or their families to suffer financially, considering they’d be suffering emotionally. If he hadn’t brokered his talent for playing the stock market into a lucrative career, he’d really be in the poorhouse. As it was, the weddings had eaten up any financial gains he’d made.

With that depressing thought, he started on the shooters the waitress had brought.

Sam took quite a while returning, and when he finally did, he eyed the shot glasses lined up on the table. “I take it the number is significant?”

Mark had already polished off three of his. “You betcha. Pull up a seat and get started. You’re behind. What took you so long?”

“The waitress stopped me to ask if we were in here for the same reason as the last couple of times. I had to offer her ten bucks to keep her from coming over here and pouring a pitcher of beer on your head.”

“Thanks.” The shooters were starting to kick in, slowly taking the tension out of his body. Ah, this was much better.

Sam sat down and threw a magazine on the table. “I found some interesting reading material in the john,” he said. “I think this might be the answer.”

Mark tossed down the fourth shooter and picked up the magazine. “Texas Men?” He leafed through the ads for eligible bachelors, then glanced over at Sam and grinned. He was getting very relaxed, relaxed enough to find Sam’s gesture hilarious. “Sorry to dis’ppoint you, but I’m stickin’ with girls.”

“You are so dense. No wonder you’re such a mess. I’m suggesting we put you in that magazine.”

“Why?” Mark was beginning to feel really goofy. “So I can rack up more broken engagements? Get in the Guinness Book of World Records?”

“No, the exact opposite. I’m trying to prevent another broken engagement. Here’s what we’ll—”

“Hey. I’ll be a monk. Should’ve thought of that before. Where’s the nearest monastery? I’ll turn myself in.” He picked up the last shooter. “Come on, Sammeeee. Get blitzed with me.”

“Shut up and listen. I’ve thought about this, and the reason you get engaged to the wrong women is that they’re beautiful, and so naturally you have sex with them.”

“Nat-u-ral-ly.” Mark spoke carefully so he wouldn’t slur. “Sex’s good.”

“Except underneath that swinging bachelor exterior of yours, you have old-fashioned ideas. You think because you had sex, you should get married.”

“True-de-doo-doo. And I’m grateful.” He smiled at Sam. “Sooo grateful. Women are wunnerful, Sam. They smell so good, and they feel terrific, and…I love ’em, Sam. I want to marry one of them. I really, really do.”

“You are stewed to the gills, aren’t you?”

“Yep.”

“Maybe that’s just as well. You’re more likely to agree to my plan if you’re pickled. Here it is—we put an ad for you in this magazine, and then we sort through the prospects and find somebody perfectly suited to you. After that you write letters for a long time. A very, very long time. And during that correspondence, you find out if they’re addicted to cell phones, or hate camping, or any of the other stupid reasons you’ve backed out.”

“Not shtupid.”

“Okay, they’re not stupid. But with this woman, you’re getting that all settled way in advance. Every possible glitch that would be a sticking point will be discussed, and analyzed, and dissected, ad nauseum.”

Mark frowned. “Don’t like writin’ letters.”

“I don’t care. I don’t frigging care!” Sam jabbed a finger at him. “This is tough-love time. You are going to write those letters, and you’ll get to know this person before you meet her, before you even think of going to bed with her. Because I know you, and once you do the nasty, you’ll propose. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yeah.” Mark nodded slowly, so the room wouldn’t start spinning. “I’m gonna have a pen pal.” He paused to think. “And I’m not gettin’ any for a long, lo-o-o-ng time.”

1

Six months later

“ASHLEY, I’M SCARED.” Charlie McPherson watched her older sister close out the cash register for the day. Ashley had worked her butt off in retail for five years and now owned Glam Girl, home to some of Austin’s trendiest fashions.

Ashley glanced up. “About what?”

“Mark wants to meet me.” Charlie wasn’t into fashion, which was why she desperately needed advice and moral support from her big sis.

“Hey, you’ll be fine.” Ashley smiled. “Perfectly fine. He’s a lucky guy.”

“You’re my sister. You’re supposed to say that.”

Ashley gazed at her. “I don’t blame you for being nervous,” she said gently. “Let me finish up here and we’ll go get a couple of big old margaritas and talk about it.”

“That would be good.” Margaritas would definitely help give her the courage to explain her problem.

If she looked more like Ashley, she might not be so scared. Her sister could just as well be modeling fashions as selling them. Charlie envied three things about Ashley. She was nearly five-eight, which allowed her to wear every outfit in the store without hemming it. Secondly, her rich brown hair was wavy, not curly like Charlie’s, so she could wear it long. Last of all, their parents had given Ashley a terrific name which required no fiddling to make it sound right.

Charlie had to hem up almost everything she bought, and if she didn’t keep her blond hair short, she looked like Medusa. As for her name, she was still ticked off at her folks for saddling her with Charlene. Nobody these days was named Charlene.

She’d shortened it to Charlie, which sounded more twenty-first century and suited her outdoor lifestyle, but it wasn’t half as distinctive as Ashley. Of course, Charlie had to admit she didn’t look like an Ashley. Ashley belonged to someone elegant, like her sister. Nobody had ever accused Charlie of being elegant. Cute, bouncy, full of energy, yes. Never elegant. Making Charlie elegant would take a miracle.

Twenty minutes later, as Charlie sat across from Ashley at their favorite Tex-Mex restaurant, she was hoping her big sister would help her pull off that miracle.

“Here’s to a great first date with Mark O’Grady.” Ashley lifted her frosty glass and touched it to Charlie’s.

“Amen.” Charlie took a sip of her drink and set it on the square cocktail napkin. Then she looked over at her sister. “The thing is, when Mark suggested we write to each other for several weeks so we could really learn about each other before we met, I got this idea.”

Ashley put down her drink, too. “Which was?”

“I decided to change my image.”

She had Ashley’s total concentration now. “To what?” she asked carefully.

“Well, you know how most guys treat me like the girl next door. They see me as wholesome, low-maintenance, stuff like that.”

“Charlie, that’s because you are those things. They’re all pluses, in my book.”

“Whatever. The point is that in my whole life, I have never made a guy drool.”

“Oh.” Ashley gazed at her and the wheels were obviously going around. “So what kind of image does Mark have of you?”

“I didn’t lie or anything,” Charlie said quickly. “I mean, he knows I work for an outdoor adventure company, and he’s seen my picture so he knows what I look like. But I made him think that underneath that girl-next-door persona I’m also this…well, this really hot babe. I, um, wrote some pretty racy stuff, things I probably would never have the nerve to say in person.”

Ashley looked taken aback, but gradually her green eyes warmed. “Ah, I get it. You’re afraid that when you two meet, he’ll expect to jump into bed right away, and you’re not ready for that.”

“But I am ready for that.”

Ashley blinked. “You are? Oh, Charlie, I don’t think that’s a very good idea. You need to—”

“I need to experience unbridled passion for once in my life! With every other guy I’ve dated, there’s no mystery, no tension, no lust. But now I have that. We’ve had three months of postal foreplay. We are so loaded with tension. I just don’t want to mess up and diffuse it.”

Ashley stared at her. Then she took a quick drink of her margarita and cleared her throat. “Okay, let me get my bearings here. I can understand wanting to make a guy lust after you. But I can’t go along with the hopping-into-bed part. I realize you’ve exchanged a lot of letters with Mark, but that’s not the same as face-to-face contact. You need to give it more time before you get into a physical—”

Charlie let out a gusty sigh. “You sound so ‘older sister.’ Haven’t you ever gone to bed with a guy on the first date?”

Ashley blushed. “We’re not talking about me.”

“What? We should live by different rules?”

Her sister looked disconcerted. “Well, I—”

“Exactly. We shouldn’t. Now I’m not saying I will go to bed with him right away, but I might, if I don’t mess it up and come on like a camp counselor on the first date. I want you to help me look like a sex goddess.”

Ashley’s eyes widened. “If Mom and Dad could hear this conversation, they’d have a hissy-fit. I’m supposed to look out for you, not help you get into trouble.”

“Oh, so that’s it. Look, when I moved to Austin I was twenty-two. Maybe I needed some looking after. But hel-lo, I’m five years older now! I’m even older than you were when I got here. And, damn it, I want to feel sexy and glamorous for once in my life. Will you help me or not?”

Ashley studied her for a long moment. “I don’t know. This feels sort of weird. Do you have any idea where he’ll take you on this first date?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, once you know that, I’ll…I’ll at least help you find something great to wear.”

“Great as in nice, or great as in hot?”

“Oh, God.” Ashley looked at her and shook her head. “Unbridled lust? Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Yep.”

Ashley rolled her eyes. “Mom and Dad would have a cow.”

“CHARLIE’S PERFECT. My dream girl. My soul mate. My happily-ever-after.” Mark brushed peanut shells from the table and wiped away a ring of moisture left by his empty beer bottle before laying a dog-eared picture on the table in front of Sam. “Look at that face and tell me she’s not perfect.”

“I’ve seen her face. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one who picked her out of the stack and told you she had promise.”

“And you were right!”

“It remains to be seen whether I was right,” Sam said. “All the information isn’t in yet.”

“Most of it. And her letters are so…friendly. I think she looks exactly the way her letters sound, don’t you?”

Sam picked up the picture and studied it. Then he handed it back to Mark. “Okay, so she’s a good prospect on paper, but with your record, I don’t think you should rush into—”

“Sam, I’m ready to meet her. I’m so ready to meet her.” He tucked Charlie’s picture in his shirt pocket, right next to his heart.

Sam gave him the evil eye. “You said that with a little too much relish, good buddy. Just exactly what do you mean by meet?”

Mark threw up both hands. “I mean just meet! Like drive to Austin for the weekend, and—”

“Slow down, lover-boy! Are we talking an overnight here?”

“Well, yeah. If I take her out for a nice dinner somewhere, with wine, and candlelight, and…and stuff, then I don’t want to drive all the way back to Houston that same night.”

Sam leaned forward. “Dinner’s fine, candlelight and wine is terrific. But it’s the and stuff part that’s got me worried. I’m coming with you.”

“No way! Nobody’s chaperoned my dates since I was fourteen, and I’m not about to reactivate the custom now.”

Sam gazed at him for a long time, as if he was turning something over in his mind. Finally he settled back against the worn cushion of the booth with a sigh. “I hate to do this, because you’re like a brother to me and I’ve tried to stick by you through everything, but here’s the way it has to be. If you mosey on up to Austin and everything goes the way it always does with you, and you come back engaged after one romp in the sack, you’ll have to find yourself another best man this time.”

A cold chill washed over Mark. He’d known Sam all his life, and when he set his jaw like that, he was deadly serious. Apparently he’d had enough. To be honest, Mark couldn’t blame him.

“I ran into Deborah at the grocery store last night,” Sam said casually. “You know, it’s a wonder she didn’t sue you for breach of promise.”

“You’re right. She had grounds.” He glanced nervously at Sam. “Is she still upset?” He was hoping that six months had soothed her feelings.

“I would say she’s still upset. She asked if you’d contracted any deadly diseases yet. I think she’s sticking pins in a voodoo doll or something.”

“So she’s not over it.”

“Doesn’t look like it.” Sam signaled to the waitress and glanced at Mark. “Want another beer?”

“I think I’m gonna need one if we’re discussing Deb.” He waited until Sam had put in their order for two more long-necks. “So what else did she say about me?”

“Oh, the usual. That you’re a pimple on the backside of humanity, a virus on the Internet of life. That kind of thing. From the look in her eyes, she was thinking even worse insults than that, but I think she held back because she knows I’m your best friend and we were in a public place.”

“I really was hoping she’d be over it by now.” He was a rat, no doubt about it. Whenever he thought of how he’d left her high and dry, he used similar expressions to describe himself.

“Well, she’s not over it, but she’s trying to be. In fact, she’s linked up with your four other victims.”

“I wish you wouldn’t use that word.”

“I didn’t. She did. She said they’ve formed a support group. Either they’ll help each other to heal or they’ll figure out a really hideous form of revenge, whichever comes first.”

Mark gazed at Sam uneasily. “A support group? You mean with meetings and everything?”

“Why not? There’s five of them, so that makes a group.”

“I don’t know what to think about this.” Mark grabbed the bottle the waitress had just set in front of him and took a generous swig. “I mean, that’s kind of scary, Sam. Five women plotting against me.”

“You should be scared. Scared straight. They’ve even given themselves a name.”

Mark gazed across the table at his buddy. “Do I want to know what it is?”

“Probably not. But I’m going to tell you anyway. They call their group DOA.”

Mark choked on his beer. “Dead On Arrival?” He coughed and sputtered as he tried to assimilate the information. “Good God, Sam, what are they planning?”