Until Now

“Excellent,” Marshall said. He started for the doors with her. “We’ll go together.”

Tamara’s eyes widened in horror. “What?”

Marshall placed a hand on her upper back and kept walking with her.

“W-what are you doing?” Tamara asked, looking over her shoulder at him in disbelief.

“Not what you think I’m doing.” With one hand, Marshall pushed open one of the double doors, and with the other, he whisked her out of the ballroom. “I just want to talk.”

Tamara expelled a frustrated breath. “You’re following me because you want to talk?”

“You’re having fun with this, aren’t you?” Marshall countered, coming to a stop several feet away from the reception-hall doors.

“Because I have to go to the bathroom?”

“You dance with me, leave me thinking you’re interested, and now you seem as though you can’t get away from me fast enough.”

Tamara stared up at him...and her vision momentarily blurred. She felt a little odd. A bit dizzy. But she forged ahead. “I need to go to the bathroom, and you take that as rejection?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” Marshall countered, his full lips twisting. “I just want to know—what happened to the woman on the dance floor earlier? The one who made it clear she wanted me to chase her?”

Tamara guffawed. “Chase me?”

“I bet you’re planning to leave here and not give me a way to reach you. And tonight in your bed, you’ll have a laugh at my expense, right?”

“You know you sound crazy.”

“And you called me the heartbreaker,” he went on, shaking his head while his eyes danced with humor.

Amazing, Marshall didn’t seem perturbed by anything. He had the carefree manner of a man who had it easy in life.

“I’m sorry if you think—”

“Here’s the interesting thing, Tamara. Nigel’s my best friend. We work together. So whether or not you give me your number, I’ll be seeing you again. So why don’t we get past this game part—as fun as it is—and just exchange numbers now.”

“My, my, my. You certainly have a way with women, don’t you?”

Marshall threw his head back and laughed. “Am I coming off too strong? Sorry. It’s just...” His eyes roamed over her face. “Damn, I’m not sure what it is. All I know is that I’m interested.”

“What exactly are you interested in?”

“In getting to know you better.”

Tamara felt a little woozy again and knew she needed to splash some cold water over her face. “Can we please continue this conversation when I come out of the bathroom?”

“Sorry. Of course.”

Tamara found the door to the restroom a few steps away. Before she went inside, she glanced over her shoulder.

Marshall was still there, waiting for her.

He grinned. “I’ll be right here.”

Tamara said nothing, just escaped into the bathroom. Once inside, she headed directly to the sink, turned on the faucet and then splashed her face with cold water.

Tamara raised her head and looked at her reflection. Not only did she feel out of sorts, she looked a little flushed. She didn’t think she had overdone it with the alcohol, but perhaps the punch had pushed her over the edge.

For goodness’ sake, what had she gotten herself into with Marshall? She hadn’t expected him to be like a dog with a bone.

“He sees this whole thing as a game,” she said to her reflection. “He’ll get bored soon enough.”

She should have known that with a man like Marshall, once she had taken on the role of the mouse, he would take on the role of the cat.

Taking one of the hand towels from a wicker basket, she delicately dried her face. She was feeling even more light-headed than minutes ago and wondered if she was coming down with something.

She went into a stall and then came out and washed her hands. Perhaps she should just put Marshall out of his misery now. Tell him that she knew who he was because he had played this very game with her cousin. And she’d heard about him with other women, as well.

The Marshall she had known years ago had loved the chase. And he was good at conquering.

All of the time spent with him this evening had proved to Tamara that he hadn’t changed over the years.

The heir to the auto fortune that his father had built, Marshall went after women as though it was a sport. Callie told her that he’d never been married. He was what now—thirty-four, thirty-five? It wasn’t a crime to be single at that age, but Tamara would bet her last dollar that Marshall didn’t want to settle down because he didn’t believe in commitment.

Which had actually made him a perfect candidate for flirting with tonight. Their banter had been entertaining and had totally kept her from thinking about Patrick.

She exited the bathroom, noting that she seemed to be walking a little bit unsteadily. As promised, Marshall was standing there, waiting.

Her eyes roamed over him from head to toe. The black suit that looked like a million dollars on him. He truly was one incredibly fine specimen of a man. There was no doubt as to why the women swooned over him.

“You want to get to know me better,” Tamara said without preamble as she walked toward him. “Really get to know me?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then how’s this?” None too gracefully, she closed the distance between them. And as she eased up on her toes, the thought that came into her mind was that she was definitely drunk. Because she had no clue why she was doing what she was doing...nor could she stop herself.

Completely out of character, Tamara tipped up on her toes and planted her lips firmly on his. She gripped his shoulders, more for support than anything, and after about five seconds, she ended the kiss as quickly as she had initiated it.

Easing back, she looked up at Marshall. Saw the confusion on his face. And felt it in herself as her head swam.

Why’d she just do that?

Marshall’s expression said that he was stunned but also delighted. He raised an eyebrow. “Wow.”

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” she asked, her tongue feeling heavy. “To score?”

“Come again?”

She took a step backward, swaying unsteadily. “I gave you what you wanted, so now you can move on. The chase is over.”

Marshall frowned. “You kiss me like that, and then you tell me...”

Tamara didn’t hear the rest of what Marshall was saying, because the room began to spin violently. She reached out but there was nothing to grab onto.

“Tamara?” she heard him say.

The last conscious memory she had was of strong arms encircling her waist.

And then the world went black.

* * *

Holding Tamara’s limp body in his arms, Marshall looked down at her with a sense of disbelief. What the heck had just happened?

Her eyes were closed and her plump lips were slightly parted. She was undoubtedly out cold.

Marshall felt for a pulse. It was there, and it was strong. Her breathing was shallow but steady.

He had seen this before. Women who drank too much. Suddenly, the alcohol hit them, and they passed out.

The weird thing was, she hadn’t exhibited any signs of being inebriated earlier. She hadn’t lost her footing on the dance floor, and her speech hadn’t been slurred. It had been only moments before she faltered that he’d realized something was wrong.

“Tamara,” he called softly. She said nothing.

He scooped her up into his arms and carried her toward the nearby sofa. He sat her down beside him and propped her head against his shoulder. “Tamara?” he said again.

All he heard in response was the sound of her breathing.

She hadn’t taken something in the bathroom, had she? Some sort of drug? It was a crazy idea, and one Marshall dismissed. She didn’t seem like the type.

He touched her face. She was warm. Her skin was smooth. His eyes ventured a little lower, over her thighs and down her legs. At the silver sandals on her delicate feet.

Wow, she was gorgeous.

And she was an enigma. Why had she kissed him? Oh, he had no complaints. Not until she’d said that whole thing about scoring and giving him what he wanted.

She had no clue what he wanted, and he wondered why she had judged him so harshly.

“Tamara?” He lightly tapped her face and still got no response.

It was clear to him that she wasn’t waking up anytime soon. Marshall didn’t know if he should leave her on this sofa and go to find Nigel. He was about to do just that, then considered the fact that Nigel had told him that the boys were staying with the babysitter for the evening. It wouldn’t exactly be the best thing for Nigel to bring Tamara back there, possibly have her son see her in this state.

Marshall would take her to his place. He would watch her, see if her vital signs changed and act accordingly if they did. But he suspected that the alcohol had simply caught up with her and all she needed was to sleep it off. Then, in the morning, he would bring her home.

Yeah, that seemed like the best thing to do. Besides, the reception was still in full swing, and he didn’t want to take Nigel or Callie or any of the family away from the festivities. His cousin had already left, so there was nothing keeping him here at this point.

Tamara moved against him, snuggling her head against his shoulder a little. A smile touched Marshall’s lips. Did she have any clue what she was doing? That she was with him now? At least she appeared content.

A sleeping angel.

Marshall reached into his jacket pocket for his cell phone, and he sent Nigel a text explaining what he was going to do. He told him not to worry, that he would handle the situation and that Tamara would be returned safe and sound in the morning.

For good measure, he added: Don’t worry. She’s in good hands. I’m heeding your warning.

Then Marshall pulled Tamara’s delicate body onto his lap and secured his arms beneath her legs and around her shoulders. He began to walk with her toward the establishment’s main doors, garnering some stares from a few people nearby.

Marshall grinned at an older couple and said, “Don’t worry, folks. I’m a police officer. I’m making sure that this young lady here gets home.”

“Is she okay?” the older man asked.

“Yes,” Marshall answered. “Just a little too much to drink. Nothing a night’s rest won’t cure.”

As he looked down at the sleeping beauty in his arms, he thought again about the way she had kissed him.

And how he was very much looking forward to doing it again.

Chapter 4

Tamara awoke startled. Her eyes flew open, suddenly registering that something wasn’t right.

She wasn’t in her bed. She realized that even before her eyes started flitting around the room. No, this four-poster bed was most definitely not her own. Just as panic was about to set in, she remembered that she was in Cleveland, not Fort Lauderdale. Of course she wasn’t in her bed.

But even as she remembered that, the sense that something was wrong persisted. Because she couldn’t remember ever stepping into Callie and Nigel’s house, much less getting under the covers.

And something else was strange. By the way the bedsheet was skimming her body, she could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra. She’d been so exhausted that she had taken off her clothes and climbed into bed without even putting on her nightgown?

It was as if her brain had gone blank. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to concentrate. She was in Cleveland. She’d been at Deanna’s wedding, which had been last night. Yes, that was right. Callie had forced her onto the dance floor to participate in the bouquet toss.

Tamara’s eyes popped open. The bouquet. Marshall. Their dance.

Then she’d gone to the restroom, and he’d followed her.

And then, a kiss? She gasped. Oh, God. No, that couldn’t be right.

As her stomach fluttered with the wisp of a memory, she wondered why the house was so quiet. The clock on the night table told her it was 9:18 a.m. Shouldn’t Michael and Kwame be up and making noise?

Tamara surveyed the large bedroom, with its pale green walls, dresser with mirror and...fireplace? Nigel and Callie had a spare bedroom with a fireplace? The TV mounted to the wall was at least forty inches. There was a leather love seat beside the window, and through the sheer drapes she could see a sprawling tree outside.

The room boasted polished hardwood floors. But nowhere upon them did she see her suitcases.

She looked around the room again, this time with a sense of desperation. It was minimalist in terms of the furnishings and the decor. Spotting a framed photo on the far corner of the dresser, her eyes soon widened in alarm.

Was that Marshall?

Where was she?

The next second, her stomach filled with dread as she added up the reality in her mind. Marshall’s picture, the lack of suitcases, the absence of any voices...

No, it couldn’t be...

She couldn’t actually be in Marshall’s bed!

Her brain scrambled to make sense of the situation. The wedding. The reception. Flirting with Marshall.

“Oh, God,” she uttered in horror. She remembered the kiss again. She had kissed him. Oh, yes, that had definitely happened. She remembered her mouth connecting with his full lips. It hadn’t been the longest kiss, but she felt it throughout her entire body.

What had happened after that kiss?

And why was she in his bed without her clothes on?

“God, please tell me I didn’t. Please tell me I didn’t do something incredibly stupid!”

But she was beginning to fear that she had. If she had come into this bed merely to sleep, wouldn’t her dress be neatly draped over that rocking chair? She couldn’t see it anywhere.

Finally, she bent her head to look over the side of the bed. And her mortification intensified. Because there was her dress, in a heap on the floor. As though it had been discarded haphazardly.

“I can’t possibly be...”

And then for some reason, she craned her neck to look over her shoulder. And on the wall she saw a photo of Marshall with his parents and brother. A family portrait.

There was no longer any doubt. She was in Marshall’s house.

In his room.

In his bed.

Her horror level reached a 10.0 on the Richter scale.

Oh God, oh God, oh God! What have I done?

The house was still quiet, and Tamara prayed that Marshall was in a bathroom somewhere. If she could get up quietly, she could sneak out of the house.

She threw the covers off of the queen-size bed and slipped her legs over the side. As her feet came down on the floor, the hardwood squeaked. She winced, hoping that she didn’t get Marshall’s attention—wherever he was in the house. Because she had to get out of there without him knowing.

She didn’t even know where he lived in relation to Callie and Nigel, but she would find her way somehow. Maybe Marshall was the type who had to work out every morning, and that was where he was now. If so, all the better.

She couldn’t face him.

She’d been in his bed. And she knew what Marshall did with women in his bed. Even if she hadn’t heard the salacious stories, the fact that her dress had been tossed onto the floor spoke volumes.

But why couldn’t she remember anything? Somehow, she had lost time. She remembered... She remembered nothing. The kiss, yes.

But certainly not a hot night between the sheets.

She quickly scooped her dress up from the floor and slipped it onto her body. Then she reached for the zipper on the side and pulled it up. The mauve dress with swirls of white had looked incredibly sexy on her when she’d put it on, and that had been what she’d needed. As a newly divorced woman, she’d wanted to look feminine and desirable.

And she had—to Marshall. Had this very dress led her down the path of temptation and into this dilemma? She had wanted to reclaim her womanhood. Had she done that and more?

And with Marshall, of all people?

Tamara opened the bedroom door and peered into the house at large, finding that she was in the hallway. On the opposite side she saw that the door to another bedroom was open. It was much larger, with a king-size poster bed, and far more photos on the wall. Clearly, that was Marshall’s master bedroom.

Realizing that she hadn’t been in his bed should have given her comfort. But it didn’t. Because his bed was immaculately spread and didn’t look as though it had been slept in last night.

She swallowed and then stepped to her left, toward the top of a staircase. The staircase opened up to a two-story ceiling, with a large skylight. Sunlight flooded into the house, almost like a spotlight on her as she made her way down the stairs. The steps creaked, and she tried to tiptoe without making much sound but it was pointless.

Where was Marshall? In another bedroom? She didn’t hear the shower.

The house appeared massive, with a huge great room off of the foyer. She could see the brown-leather sectional, with decorative throw pillows, in front of a wall that housed a television that looked to be sixty inches. As she stepped onto the first-floor landing, she could see part of a dining-room table in a room that sprang from the left of the foyer. The wood was black, probably black maple, and the room had majestic gold-colored curtains topped with cream swags. It was the kind of house Tamara would love to explore, but given the circumstances, she just wanted to get out as quickly as possible.

Tamara’s feet were cold on the marble floor, but thank God her silver stiletto sandals were neatly sitting on a mat near the door. And she saw her purse on the table in the foyer. At least she would have her phone to call for a taxi and money to pay for it.

A house like this would have an alarm, and she only prayed that it wasn’t currently set. The small alarm panel was closer to the door, so she hurried over to it and perused it, determining with relief that it didn’t appear to be activated.

She bent over and slipped her bare foot into one shoe. She was putting on the second shoe when the door began to open. Her heart spasmed.

In walked Marshall. As though he had walked into his house to greet her in the morning countless times, he smiled an easy, charming smile. Was that the smile he had used last night to get what he wanted?

“You’re up,” he said. And then a little frown marred his face. “Where are you going?”

“I—I have to leave. My son—Michael—he’ll be... God, I can’t believe this.”

She was flustered, and she couldn’t form coherent words. The last thing she wanted was to be heading back to Callie’s place the morning after some sort of scandalous night with Marshall. Her son would wonder where she had been, and what could she tell him?

Lord, this was a nightmare.

“I picked up some breakfast,” Marshall told her. “I didn’t have anything decent in the house. I bought some egg sandwiches from a local deli. A few varieties, since I didn’t know what you liked. I got coffee, too.” He lifted the tray in his hands, in case she somehow hadn’t seen it.

“I’m not hungry.”

“It’s never a good idea to skip breakfast,” Marshall said.

“Thank you for...” She stiffened. For what? “I—I need to get to my son.”

“You can’t take a few minutes to eat breakfast with me?” His eyes narrowed slightly, saying he was more than a little confused as to why she wanted to get out of his house so fast.

She supposed she could understand why he was confused. Most women probably didn’t run screaming from him the morning after a night spent in his bed.

But she wasn’t most women. And clearly, she wasn’t even herself. She had no memory of what had happened at all, which made it much worse.

“I’m sorry,” Tamara said. “I’d rather just leave.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I need to get to my son. This is not how I planned our first night in Cleveland to be.” She was flustered. She stared up at him, her chest rapidly moving with each breath. “But thank you. Thank you for the coffee and the breakfast sandwich.”

“Are you okay?” Marshall asked.

That was a loaded question. How could she be okay? She didn’t know what she’d done with him, but she could only imagine the worst. She didn’t dare ask him, like some fool who ended up in a man’s bed with no recollection of it. Obviously, she’d had too much alcohol and had somehow passed out.

She forced a smile but barely met his gaze. “I’m fine. I’ll take the coffee and sandwich with me for later, if you don’t mind.”

Marshall nodded. “Sure. Though I’m a little disappointed that you want to get away from me so quickly this morning.”

Again, the smile. This time a little devilish. Tamara’s stomach sank.

She’d slept with him. It was obvious now. The look in his eyes, she knew she had.

Oh, God.

Tamara took a coffee from the tray. “I’ll just call for a taxi. No need for you to take me to Callie and Nigel’s place.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll drive you.”

Tamara felt a bout of anxiety. She wanted to escape Marshall, not be confined in a closed space with him. “It’s perfectly fine. You’ve already...done enough.”

“Their house is in Shaker Heights, about a fifteen-minute drive,” he told her. “Honestly, how long will it take a taxi to get here when you call? I’ll just take you.”

Tamara hadn’t thought of that, and certainly it didn’t make sense to sit or stand inside or on the porch for possibly ten minutes or longer for a taxi to arrive. She would love nothing more than to simply flee, start walking anywhere, but she’d caught sight of his sprawling circular driveway when he’d opened the door. Heck, it would probably take her five minutes to get off of his property—where on earth would she walk to?

As much as she wanted to be away from Marshall, taking him up on his offer for a ride seemed the best thing to do.

“As long as you don’t have anything else to do,” Tamara said, resigned to her fate.

“I’m all yours.”

Tamara cringed at the words, wondering if they held special meaning for him. Then she opened the cutout in her coffee lid and sipped it.

“I got it with a little cream and a little sugar,” Marshall explained. “I didn’t know how you would like it.”

“This is fine.” She stepped toward the front door. “I don’t want to rush you, but if you’re ready to leave...”

“Sure.”

Tamara stepped out the door, which was almost flush with the ground, then waited for Marshall to join her. “Hold this for me?” he asked, offering her the bag with the sandwiches and the coffee tray.

Tamara took the items while he closed the door. She checked out the breadth of his shoulders, clad in a T-shirt this morning, and she noted that he was just as sexy in casual wear as he had been in his suit yesterday.

He turned to face her, and she quickly averted her eyes.

He took the coffee and bag from her and then started toward the car with an easy and sexy gait. Tamara followed him to the sleek, black BMW. She didn’t remember being in it last night, but she must have been.

What else had she done?

Marshall opened the passenger door for her, then went around and got in on the driver’s side. Tamara was about to get into the car when she saw a cushion on the seat covered with blond hair.

“What?” Marshall asked, looking up at her.

“Is that dog hair?”

Marshall grabbed the cushion and tossed it into the backseat. “Sorry, yeah.”

Tamara looked around anxiously, half expecting some giant fur ball to be lunging toward her. “You have a dog?”

“It’s a buddy’s dog. He’s gone for the weekend, asked me to check in on him. So I picked Sherlock up this morning and took her to the park so she could run laps with me.”

Tamara still stood there, not getting into the car.

“I already brought Sherlock home,” Marshall said. “What, you don’t like dogs?”

“Not particularly,” Tamara admitted. She had delivered flyers as a teen. More than one dog had chased her or barked savagely at her.

“Well, Sherlock’s at home.” Marshall dusted the leather seat to get any stray dog hairs off. “Will you just get in the car?”