The Marriage Campaign

“Okay,” Mark said slowly, as if quite lost. “About what?”

“About this. Us. Our motivations.”

“I thought we’d done that already.” Mark frowned as he tried to comprehend the situation. “Today’s simply about having fun. I’ve got some great places in mind for tonight.”

Lisa crossed her arms over her chest. She and Mark couldn’t afford any miscommunication here. “Before I can go anywhere with you, I have to know how tonight is going to end.”

Mark shifted, planting his feet on the floor. He straightened but remained seated. The dark blue shirt set off his deep brown eyes, and his troubled gaze locked onto hers. “Tonight ends like any other night. I’ve already told you to stop worrying. We’re friends. I’m not going to seduce you.”

Adrenaline unlike any she’d ever experienced pulsed through her. “That’s the problem,” she said. “I really think you should.”

Dear Reader,

I have great friends. Three of them have been friends since high school, while others have been my friends since my college sorority days. All have been with me through thick and thin, good and bad, better and worse. My friends and I chose each other, and I’m a better person for having them in my life. Even though we all live far away from each other and our lives have taken different paths, we are always there for each other.

My AMERICAN BEAUTIES miniseries uses this concept of friendship. Lisa, Cecile and Tori are three single women who have been best friends ever since pledging the same sorority. The fourth sorority sister, Joann, is married with kids. While all are separated geographically, they know that they can always depend on each other. The bonds they have will never be broken.

I hope you enjoy Lisa’s story as much as I did writing it, and be sure to watch for Cecile’s and Tori’s stories in the future. As always, feel free to e-mail me at michele@micheledunaway.com.

Enjoy the romance,

Michele Dunaway

The Marriage Campaign

Michele Dunaway

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

In first grade Michele Dunaway wanted to be a teacher when she grew up, and by second grade she wanted to be an author. By third grade she was determined to be both, and before her high school class reunion, she’d succeeded. In addition to writing romance, Michele is a nationally recognized high school English and journalism educator. Born and raised in a west county suburb of St. Louis, Michele has traveled extensively, with the cities and places she’s visited often becoming settings for her stories. Described as a woman who does too much but doesn’t know how to stop, Michele gardens five acres in her spare time and shares her life with two young daughters, six lazy house cats, one dwarf rabbit and two tankfuls of fish.

Michele loves to hear from readers, and you can reach her via her Web site, www.micheledunaway.com.

Books by Michele Dunaway

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

848—A LITTLE OFFICE ROMANCE

900—TAMING THE TABLOID HEIRESS

921—THE SIMPLY SCANDALOUS PRINCESS

931—CATCHING THE CORPORATE PLAYBOY

963—SWEEPING THE BRIDE AWAY

988—THE PLAYBOY’S PROTÉGÉE

1008—ABOUT LAST NIGHT…

1044—UNWRAPPING MR. WRIGHT

1056—EMERGENCY ENGAGEMENT

1100—LEGALLY TENDER

1116—CAPTURING THE COP

For all the students I have taught over the years, I hope the friendships you’ve made and continue to make last a lifetime.

And to my own friends, thanks again.

You mean the world to me.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Prologue

She shouldn’t be kissing him. Not here, not like this. But when he lowered his mouth to hers, no amount of moral fiber could keep her from tasting his forbidden lips.

Mark tasted divine—of wedding cake and champagne. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” Lisa Meyer said weakly as, for one moment, they came up for air.

“We should,” he said, leaning down again for another kiss.

“You’re my best friend’s brother,” she protested in moth-to-flame futility. “Your date…”

“Is just a friend,” he insisted, his dark eyes intense. “It’s you I want. Always have. Ever since we first met.”

“You’re drunk,” she said. But weren’t they all high on champagne and wedding magic? Joann’s parents, Mary Beth and Bud, had thrown quite a bash, and since everyone was staying at the reception hotel, no one had shown much restraint.

She and Mark were young, not quite twenty-two, the world at their feet, and his words made her giddy. Made her forget his playboy reputation now that all that charm was directed at her.

In her wildest dreams she’d never imagined her crush on Mark Smith coming to fruition like this.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he murmured into her ear. “I want to get you alone.”

Oh, she was so tempted, as the heat pooling low attested. But, as wedding party members, they weren’t free. Not yet. Not until the bride and her groom said their goodbyes, which was soon. “We still have duties,” she managed, her breath a little short.

“A half hour. No more,” he said. “I want you, Lisa. I’m not waiting any longer.”

“Okay,” she heard herself say as she somehow detached herself from his arms. Happiness consumed her and, coupled with all the champagne, she felt as if she were floating as they left the off-the-beaten-path corridor and returned to the hotel ballroom where the two-hundred-plus-person reception was being held.

“Lisa, there you are!” Tori, bridesmaid and another of Lisa’s best friends, grabbed her as she entered. “I’ve been looking for you. It’s time to help Joann change. Come on.”

And with that, Lisa got sidetracked. Her last glimpse of Mark was him disappearing into the crowd. She sighed and went to help Joann, her body humming with anticipation. She missed catching the bouquet. She tossed some rice. She found her nerves taut as the moment to join him finally came. But the crowd was still thick, and she found herself going in circles.

“Have you seen Mark?” she asked Cecile, another best friend. They were all members of Rho Sigma Gamma—the Roses.

“Nope,” Cecile answered. “Why? He’s scamming on everyone here tonight. His poor date.”

“She’s just a friend.”

“That’s what they all say,” Cecile said with a knowing nod. “Wait. There he is. Going out that door. That’s not who he came with, is it?”

Lisa glanced over. Mark was leading a tall brunette out a side exit door. He had his arm around her shoulder and was holding her close. “No,” Lisa said. “That’s not who he came with.”

“Well, if you need him, you better hurry up and catch him.”

Lisa shook her head. Mark Smith had said he wasn’t waiting any longer. How badly she’d misunderstood! “No,” she said, plastering a nonchalant expression on her face so Cecile wouldn’t suspect anything. “I don’t need him. It was nothing important.”

At least, not anymore.

Chapter One

Eight years later

That was the thing about funerals. You had to attend, and they were the absolute most inappropriate places to meet men. Which was why Lisa was trying hard to avoid staring at that tall, handsome guy across the way. After all, he’d started staring at her first.

Worse, he hadn’t let up.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…” As the chaplain standing by the open grave droned on, Lisa Jean Meyer decided that she hated attending funerals, hated them even more than celebrating birthdays.

Birthdays made you feel old. Funerals made you feel mortal, as if you had too many things left to do and no time in which to do them. It didn’t matter if the burial was for someone you really didn’t know that well, as this one was, for funerals simply had a way of reminding you that you were about to turn thirty this year—and worse, that you were still single, with nary a promising prospect in sight, including that annoying hot guy standing behind the crowd on the other side of the grave.

He stood taller than those in the four rows in front of him, and his six-foot-plus height gave Lisa an excellent view of a head full of dark, silky hair. His eyes were a deep brown color, and when she glanced at him again, he held her gaze for the tiniest second before blinking and casually looking away. Despite the brevity of the connection, the encounter had left her with the oddest tingle, as if he were somehow familiar to her.

But that was impossible. She didn’t know anyone in St. Louis under the age of forty, aside from her coworkers. With her promotion to Herb’s lead fund-raiser formalized last week, Lisa had recently transferred from Jefferson City, and as soon as the November election was over, she’d be going back to the state capital. Of course, she hoped that would be with Herb’s gubernatorial victory.

Right now family duty called, and Lisa put the handsome mourner and the odd sense of déjà vu out of her mind. Dating and handsome men did not rate a spot in her top five priorities. The funeral had served as an unwelcome reminder that she seriously needed to spend more time with her parents, beyond required family holidays. Unfortunately her career often interfered with any good intentions: even now, her phone vibrated in her right pocket. Her career was priority number one.

Lisa sighed and tightened her arm around her petite mother’s shoulders. Funerals, no matter for whom, were depressing. “It’s okay,” Lisa whispered as her aunt’s cousin was lowered into the cold, hard ground.

A sharp wind swirled the leaves at her feet before climbing to toy with Lisa’s hair, causing her to shiver. The gust tore some of the blond strands loose from the chignon, and Lisa used her free hand to wipe the wayward locks away from her eyes. Her glove instead further damaged the stylist’s updo.

It was hard to believe that Easter had been the previous weekend, for spring had somehow missed St. Louis. Although the April fifteenth final-frost date had also come and gone, this year the trees were late in bringing forth green buds, and a last-minute freeze had decapitated the tulips and crocuses, leaving them wilting around the gray headstones. The north wind again whipped underneath the tent erected for the burial, and the ensuing chill penetrated Lisa’s skin despite the heavy black wool coat and tan leather gloves she wore.

“How are you holding up?” her mother asked. Blue eyes, so like Lisa’s own, reflected maternal concern.

Lisa stamped her feet slightly to keep the blood circulating. Her designer pumps did little to block the cold. “I’m fine. I’m more worried about you and Dad. I didn’t really know the man.”

“Well, you haven’t seen him since you were five,” her mother said as the minister mercifully ended the service. After everyone gave a relieved amen, Lisa’s mother added, “I hate that our family is drifting apart. We only seem to get together for weddings and funerals. Hopefully this is the last of the latter.”

“A double amen to that. Come on,” Lisa said, anxious to escape the cemetery. Now that the event was over and her family duties fulfilled, she had a fund-raising dinner that desperately required her attention. She led her mother away from the grave site and toward the line of cars snaking along the crushed gravel lane.

“So, will you be coming to Jud’s house?” her mother asked, mentioning Lisa’s uncle on her dad’s side. “He and Shelia are hosting the family lunch. Everyone would love to see you.”

Lisa shook her head. “I can’t.”

Disappointment etched her mother’s features and laced her tone. “Oh. You’re working.”

“I’m always working,” Lisa stressed, for truer words had never been spoken. Because from the very moment she’d stepped into high school and won her campaign for freshman class secretary, Lisa Meyer could be described in one word: driven. She’d risen through the popularity ranks, delivered on her campaign promises and exited her senior year as class president and year-book editor.

She’d had a bit of a rude awakening in college, discovering that she might not have the qualities required to be a big-league politician. Facing failure in the arena she loved, she’d found the next best thing and become a political fund-raiser and campaign coordinator extraordinaire.

After all, someone had to run the behind-the-scenes operations, and there she’d found her niche. Now her goal was seeing Herbert Usher elected the next governor of Missouri.

“You should be at the post-funeral lunch,” her mother chided gently. “Your father’s side of the family will all be there.”

From the corner of her eye Lisa caught a glimpse of the tall, handsome man who’d been staring. He cut an impressive figure as he strode diagonally across the field toward the end of the row of cars. The crowd that had braved the weather had been thick, a solid tribute to her family.

“Mom, I did try to pencil in the family lunch, but I’ve got some important conference calls to make as soon as I get back to the hotel. Tonight’s a major fund-raiser, my first since I’ve arrived in town. And I’ll have to see if someone at the salon has time to fix my hair.”

As if proving her point, the wind again tore at her head, loosening more strands. When she’d made the appointment and planned out her day so that she could work in the funeral service, she hadn’t factored in the dreary weather Mother Nature might provide. Lisa was at least grateful it wasn’t raining, taking more time out of a day she wished had twenty-six hours to it.

“When does your work ever let up?” her mother asked. “Never,” Lisa said honestly, readying herself for the forthcoming parental dissatisfaction. “Until the August primary, I’ll be on call nonstop. And after we win that, I’ll be even busier until we win the November election. After that, I might be able to sleep.”

Her mother’s lips puckered. “We haven’t seen you in ages, and seeing you at funerals isn’t quality time. You missed celebrating Easter. While I love seeing Andy and the kids, just having your brother’s family around isn’t enough. Will we at least see you for your birthday?”

“Oh, Mom, please. Of course you’ll see me before that,” Lisa said, acknowledging her mother’s sarcasm. Lisa wasn’t turning thirty until early November, right after the national election. “Tell you what—how about I stop by this Saturday? Herb’s in Kansas City and Bradley’s overseeing.”

“That’s my daughter, the nonstop career woman.” His duties finished, her father came up and embraced her in a warm hug. While her mother didn’t like Lisa’s long hours, at least her former-military father understood her desire to prove herself. He’d been a dedicated career man himself, often spending long hours away from home and his family.

“I see that Herb’s ahead in the polls. How’s the campaign going?” her father asked.

“We can always use more money.”

Her father laughed, but instead of joining him, Lisa pulled her vibrating BlackBerry from her pocket and accepted the call. “This is Lisa.” She listened to Herb for a moment. “I’ll be there in forty minutes. I’m leaving now.”

“He even phones you at a funeral?” Her mother’s censure was evident as Lisa ended the call.

Lisa sighed, the sound lost in the late-April wind. Louise Meyer had stayed home and raised five children, often alone, as Lisa’s father had been away on Air Force business. Lisa had never been sure what her father’s specific job was, but she’d grown up a military brat whose father often didn’t arrive home for dinner and sometimes not even to sleep. Her mother had held down the home front, and having never worked outside of the house, her mother often didn’t understand Lisa’s lofty ambitions or why, as the baby of the family, Lisa drove herself so hard.

“Mom, I had my phone set on vibrate. My clients must be able to reach me at all times. Tonight’s event is the first that I’ve been responsible for here in St. Louis. Entirely my baby.”

Her mother’s sour expression didn’t change. “I’d rather you have real babies. You’re twenty-nine. I’d like some grandchildren before I get too old to play with them.”

Lisa gritted her teeth. Three of her siblings had planted themselves between one and two hours away from St. Louis. Andy, the only son who was close—just across the river in Fairview Heights—had wiggled out of the funeral because of a sick child. As for children, her mother was a grandmother ten times over already.

Andy had provided three of those. While children were a someday goal of Lisa’s, having a family of her own was not an immediate possibility with her travel schedule. And, of course, she needed a man first. Like that one she’d seen earlier…

Time for a tactical retreat. “I love both of you,” Lisa said, hugging each of her parents. “We’ll try for this weekend, okay? Right now I have to go.”

In fact, all around, car engines had roared to life, the mufflers spewing visible exhaust into the frigid air.

“This weekend,” her mother emphasized. “Pencil or type us into that thing, whatever you do with it. Oh, look at that line of cars leaving. Mike, we must get to Jud and Shelia’s before everyone else.”

Her mother took her husband’s arm and faced her daughter once more. “Lisa, I’m serious about this weekend. Don’t be a stranger. We left Warrensburg and moved across the state so we could be closer to our family. Now that you’re living here until at least November, that includes you.”

“I’ll try to make more time. I’ll see you Saturday. Promise.” Lisa hugged her parents again and then headed to her car, a used upscale Lexus that she often chauffeured clients in.

While the car warmed up, she blocked out six hours for her parents on Saturday and entered the information into the BlackBerry’s calendar. She placed the device on the passenger seat and shifted the car into drive.

There was a slight gap between a Lincoln Town Car and the black Porsche following it, and Lisa eased her way into the opening. She glanced in the rearview mirror, and her hand stilled as she began a thank-you wave. Him.

The guy who’d been across the grave site stared back at her, his sunglasses hiding his eyes. His black-gloved fingers drummed rapid-fire on the steering wheel as he waited for her to accelerate. The moment seemed to stretch, and Lisa realized the Town Car had moved.

She turned her gaze forward, took a deep breath and stepped on the gas pedal. She had better things to do than stress over some man she’d never see again, no matter how handsome he was or even if she really did know him somehow. During the funeral, she had missed ten calls, several of which she had to return the minute her family obligations were finished. Other calls were from her best friends, Cecile and Joann. Those could wait, as they often did. Amazing how once you left college, even though you remained friends, you became too busy to see each other as much. What used to be long daily conversations shifted into weekly ten-minute chats, if that.

The BlackBerry also registered that Lisa had new e-mails, meaning it was going to be a long afternoon. She made a left onto Highway 44, deliberately refusing to watch the Porsche disappear in the opposite direction.

“YOU DO REALIZE THAT if you don’t leave, you’re going to be late. Oh, and Alanna’s called three times now.”

The disapproving voice of his fifty-year-old secretary resounded in his executive office, and Mark Smith glanced up from the purchase proposal he’d been reading. Carla stood in the doorway, just as she had any other day during the past five years. The only difference now was that her arms were crossed and she’d lowered her reading glasses so that they hung around her neck by a chain. She arched an eyebrow. “You heard me about Alanna?”

He’d heard her. What bothered him was the first thing she’d said.

“I’m late?” he parroted, running a hand through his dark brown hair as if the motion could make him remember exactly what he was late for. Just because he was turning the ripe age of thirty in June didn’t mean his brain cells had already stopped functioning. Thirty was the new twenty, forty the new thirty—or so the ads and magazines claimed.

Heck, he still was height-weight proportional thanks to a healthy diet-and-exercise regime, had a full head of hair thanks to great genetics and had a ninety-nine-percent punctuality record thanks to his meticulousness.

Mark admitted to being anal about little things like timeliness and he’d even managed to arrive at the funeral this morning on time, not that he’d wanted to be there in the first place. With the responsibility of selling his family’s die manufacturing company resting solely on his shoulders since his father’s heart attack, Mark had a lot of purchase proposals to read and he was falling behind.

“You’re going to be late for the fund-raising dinner,” his secretary prodded gently, her expression a tad concerned that Mark hadn’t clued in yet.

“Oh—” Mark bit off the expletive that threatened.

The dinner! He hated political events. Whereas his father loved politics and once toyed with running for state senate, Mark avoided anything to do with politics like the plague. Like a good citizen, he voted, but that was about it. He’d wiggled out of half a dozen dinners his father had invited him to attend over the years, and finally his father had stopped asking.

But as the new president of Smith Manufacturing—an interim position until the company was sold—Mark knew his responsibilities. He’d fulfill them, as he’d been raised to do and always had—just as he’d done by attending the funeral of one of his father’s business associates this morning. This time Mark’s mother was sick, and even though the doctor said it was only a spring virus, Mark’s dad had felt it best to stay home with her. The conversation this morning had been quick.

Mark stood and grabbed his leather trench coat.

The drive from Chesterfield to the Millennium Hotel wouldn’t take but twenty-five minutes, tops. As he accelerated the Porsche onto Highway 40, he glanced at the dashboard.

He’d only be about five minutes late, if at all. The wind blew, beating against the Porsche as the car crept over the posted speed limit. The day seemed as if it belonged more in January than in April, and Mark resented for a moment having to attend. Although, what else did he have to do? His relationship with Alanna was over; he’d broken it off last week. She’d become too clingy, too simpering, as was still evident in her repeated phone calls to his office. Three months of dating did not constitute a relationship. His secretary, Carla, was a saint for putting up with the nonsense.

As for Mark, when a man came within reach of hitting thirty, his thoughts did turn to marriage. He wanted his own Mrs. Right, whoever she might be. Definitely not Alanna. Nor any of the other women he’d dated over the past few years. He’d rather be a bachelor than make “death do us part” vows with the wrong woman.

Maybe that’s why he seemed to run through girlfriends like water. Dating was like shopping. When a guy went to the store, he found what he wanted and bought it. If not, he left. Mark wasn’t a big believer in wasting time. Wrong woman—nice to meet you, but goodbye.

However, he admitted he was ready to settle down, which was why he was out there searching. His fraternal twin sister Joann had three kids already, and Mark had none. He liked kids and wanted a houseful, but only after marrying the right woman. If he found her. When he did, he wouldn’t let her go.