“I need to clear the air.”

“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

MILLS & BOON

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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.

Mark lifted his foot off the accelerator, slowing the expensive sports car to only five miles above the speed limit. Just six more miles and he’d be there, amongst the people jockeying for position, for political favors, for a slice of power that, in the end, was meaningless. Mark shivered despite the climate-controlled air. Joann’s friend Lisa had always loved politics.

Lisa. Mark frowned. Joann had attended the University of Missouri and become best friends with her three Rho Sigma Gamma pledge sisters. Nicknamed the Roses, all four had been inseparable until graduation. After that, life had gotten in the way. Oh, they kept in close touch and still maintained confidences, but seeing one another was hard to do when you lived in different towns and had different obligations.

That girl at the funeral today had reminded Mark of Lisa. Same blond hair, same overall build. Attractive. But he hadn’t seen Lisa since Joann’s wedding eight years ago, when Lisa had disappeared and stood him up. His best friend Caleb’s girlfriend had gotten sick, and Mark had walked her outside to get some air. By the time he’d found Caleb and passed off the sick girlfriend, it had been well past the time Mark was to meet Lisa. She hadn’t waited, and after a fruitless search, Mark had gone to bed alone.

And since Lisa had been from Warrensburg, on the other side of the state, he doubted that had been her freezing at the cemetery. For a second he wondered if she was married and made a mental note to ask Joann.

Mark whipped the car onto the Broadway exit ramp. Almost there. Mark braked and shook off the melancholy. Duty called.

“LET’S HOPE THERE WILL be some single men here tonight.”

Upon hearing Andrea Bentrup’s announcement, Lisa looked heavenward, studied the pattern on the hotel ballroom ceiling and mentally counted to ten. Unlike her twenty-two-year-old area assistant whom she’d been working with for the past week, Lisa had been around the political block a dozen more times than the wide-eyed, idealistic, nonstop romantic standing in front of her. Love and politics did not mix. Ever.

Lisa plastered on a businesslike expression and faced Andrea. Hiring her hadn’t been Lisa’s idea last November; Herb had traded political favors with Andrea’s father, a very influential party member. Except for her rabid wishes to settle down and marry, Andrea did a decent job. She was a natural social butterfly who easily made everyone comfortable.

“Well, Andrea, you’re free to hope, but don’t hold your breath. Political fund-raisers aren’t the place to find single men. Besides, our job isn’t about finding a husband but helping Herb win the election.”

Andrea’s skin turned the color of her hair, a light shade of red. “Oh, please don’t think I’m saying that I don’t want to help Herb win the election. But at least some of these guys have to be going stag and, darn it, I don’t want to work all my life.”

“No one does. It’s called retirement,” Lisa said flatly.

“I’m only doing this job until I settle down,” Andrea proclaimed. She wobbled a little on the two-inch heels she’d worn to bring her almost to Lisa’s five-eight height. Lisa had to admit that Andrea was cute, which hopefully for some man made up for her singular desire to be wed.

“Just make sure you have all the place cards in the correct spots,” Lisa said as she turned her attention back to her own tasks. She’d been idealistic once—leave college, find the right job, find the right man and live happily ever after. The day of graduation she’d toasted to her future, sharing a bottle of champagne with her three best friends in the world. They’d held their glasses high, proclaimed they weren’t going to settle for anything until they had the proverbial brass ring tight in their grasps.

But life wasn’t perfect. Brass rings tarnished.

Tori, the computer-science major in the group, had been ready to make Microsoft worry. She’d joined an upstart St. Louis–based computer company called Wright Solutions, where she’d fallen into a rut.

Cecile Duletsky had been determined to be Norman Lear, Sidney Sheldon or Aaron Spelling and develop television shows. She’d made it as far as working behind the scenes on a talk show.

And Joann, the woman with the promising television news anchor job ahead of her? Less than three months after graduation she’d learned that she was pregnant, married her college sweetheart and become a stay-at-home mom of three with a diploma that collected dust. Lisa had her suspicions that, while Joann was happy, she still had some regrets.

As for Lisa, she finally had the right job but hadn’t found the right man. Oh, she’d thought she had, until he’d broken it off and subsequently married. Politics was all about alliances, and Lisa had learned that particular lesson the hard way a little over a year ago.

And Bradley Wayne was still her boss. Although she’d branched out and formed her own company, until Herb’s campaign was over, she reported to Bradley.

She surveyed the ballroom again, her radar not sensing any current doom on the horizon. The fact that Professionals for Business Growth had endorsed Herb was excellent. While Herb was a shoo-in for winning the party primary in August, he then would have to defeat Anson Farmer. Even though Herb was ahead in the popularity polls, most analysts predicted that November’s gubernatorial election would be close.

But when Herb did win in November, he would become her most successful and highest placed political candidate ever. That feather in her cap would make the endless apartments and lack of permanent furniture worth it. She’d fill a position on his staff. Herb had further ambitions beyond reviving Missouri, and Lisa could picture him in the White House. She planned to do all his campaign fund-raising and ride his coattails all the way there.

“There you are.” Mrs. Herbert Usher—or Bunny, as she was known—swept into the hotel ballroom like a woman on a mission. At fifty-seven, Bunny had let her hair turn white and the locks waved around her ears. She reminded Lisa of a younger Barbara Bush. “Lisa, Herb’s speechwriter came down with a stomach bug and Herb’s not satisfied with tonight’s address. He wants you to fix it.”

That was Lisa, jack-of-all-trades. “Tell Herb not to panic, and as soon as I finish the final meeting with security, I’ll head up to the suite and do a quick rewrite. I also have some thank-you cards Herb needs to sign so that I can pass them out at the end of the evening.”

Bunny appeared relieved. “Wonderful. Between us girls, I’m late getting my hair done. Appearance is everything, especially with Anson Farmer’s young wife being a former model. The press fawns on her, salivating fools.”

“Everything will be fine,” Lisa said, touching her own hair to make sure that the redone style hadn’t budged. It would crush somewhat when she put the headset on, but that didn’t matter; being in touch with her crew was more important. Nothing would go wrong tonight—she wouldn’t let it. She’d climbed too far to fail now.

Two years ago, when Lisa had begun working for Bradley, Herb had used multiple political fund-raisers and campaign managers. In the past few weeks Herb had narrowed his focus to one fund-raiser—Lisa—and one campaign manager, Bradley Wayne, her ex. Technically Bradley was the boss, Lisa second in command. Lisa supervised four area assistants who were also technically self-employed: Andrea in St. Louis, Kelsey in Kansas City, Drew in Springfield and Duane in Jefferson City. Duane had taken Lisa’s place last week when Herb had promoted Lisa to oversee the entire state, at which time Lisa had relocated to campaign headquarters—St. Louis, Herb’s hometown.

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” Lisa said, concentrating on the task at hand. “We’ll have no complications tonight. You’ll see.”

“That’s great,” Bunny said as she pulled out her cell phone and prepared to take flight. “I’ll see you upstairs in a few minutes.”

The first complication Lisa faced came in the afternoon, when the hotel banquet staff made a substitution on the dinner menu. Thankfully she caught the problem early enough and handled the situation easily. The second issue was more difficult.

“Lisa, Larry Smith isn’t coming!” Andrea’s words blared into Lisa’s ear.

“Larry Smith?”

“Yes. I had him scheduled to pass the hat.”

“And he’s a no-show?” Lisa said into her headset, a twinge of panic constricting her chest. Now five-thirty, people had been entering the ballroom since five for the six o’clock dinner, and Lisa stood near the podium, once again double-checking that everything was ready for Herb’s arrival. She’d left this part of the event totally to Andrea.

“Yes, he’s a no-show,” Andrea repeated, her own panic evident. “He sent his son instead. What are we going to do? When I set this up weeks ago, I didn’t think this would happen.”

“It did,” Lisa said, her mind churning. Unlike Andrea, Lisa wasn’t a nervous newbie. Still, Lisa took a moment to berate herself. She’d had to train Duane and his staff or she’d have been in St. Louis earlier to supervise. And Andrea had assured her…. Lisa focused.

All problems had solutions—she just had to find them. She reviewed what she knew. Larry Smith was an old colleague of Herb’s and he was to make the first two-thousand-dollar donation and start “Pass the Hat.” While the fund-raising dinner brought in soft money from charging exorbitant meal prices, Pass the Hat was a fun event where the hard money was tossed in.

Tonight’s event had five hundred people who had spent five hundred per plate. If an average of one thousand dollars per guest was received, Herb would gain five hundred thousand in hard money for his campaign coffers. That had been the goal Lisa had set.

“You said he sent his son instead,” Lisa said.

“Yes,” Andrea answered. “Larry Smith was going to bring his wife. His son arrived by himself. Now there’s an empty space at that table.”

Empty spaces were not great but certainly livable.

“Calm down and let me think. Ambruster’s out, and so is Bennington,” Lisa said, naming some of Herb’s friends. They’d agreed to pass the hat at future events that were equally important, so she’d prefer not to use them now. Larry Smith was the vice president of Professionals for Business Growth, hence his suitability tonight. Perhaps all wasn’t lost if he’d sent a replacement.

“I want to talk to Larry Smith’s son,” Lisa said suddenly. “Maybe his father told him what’s going on. Where is he?”

“He’s the hot one by the door, talking to the woman with the silver hair and glittery red dress. You can’t miss him. I told you there’d be single guys here tonight.”

Lisa couldn’t care less about the younger Smith’s marital status. She trained her gaze across the wide expanse of the ballroom. Hot one by the door? Mere seconds elapsed before she located the man to whom Andrea referred. Even from across the room, his magnetism commanded. The guy defined tall, dark and handsome.

She could tell he wore custom tailoring, he was at least six feet tall and he had a full head of dark, silky hair. Her breath lodged in her throat as he laughed at something someone in the small circle surrounding him said. He reminded her of the man from the funeral.

No wonder Larry Smith’s son had such a multiage group of ladies crowding about. The man knew how to exude sex appeal. But none of that mattered to Lisa, not when her evening, her career and five hundred thousand dollars were at stake.

“I’ve spotted him,” Lisa told Andrea via the headset. “I’m making my way over there now.”

“I’ll handle him if you’d like,” Andrea said hopefully.

“I’ve got it,” Lisa commanded. “Hey, the St. Louis County executive is coming through the doorway.”

Andrea sighed her disappointment. “I’m on it.”

Lisa wove her way across the ballroom. Her target grew larger than life as she closed in, and she could see his hair wasn’t one solid color: the ballroom chandeliers illuminated natural highlights that lacked any hint of early gray.

Close-up, the man was even more impressive, with wide shoulders and narrow hips. Lisa predicted that under his perfectly pressed shirt there was probably a washboard stomach without an ounce of fat. Even from behind she could tell he was the entire package: the gorgeous, moneyed exterior and the type of male physique that, when naked, was every woman’s fantasy.

Lisa swallowed and reminded herself that, like this morning, she didn’t have time for fantasies or dalliances, even if the man was so gorgeous he made Tom Cruise and Colin Farrell look ugly.

Besides, she hadn’t had much appetite for a social life this past year. Concentrating on her career was much smarter than embarking on another futile search for a man. Lisa wasn’t a woman who had an issue with sleeping alone. This situation was nothing she couldn’t control. “Mr. Smith?”

He turned, leveling a dark brown gaze at her.

Lisa froze as her breath lodged in her throat.

Damn. How dare the fates be unkind? Come on, what were the odds? St. Louis had well over a million people. Smith was a common last name. Everyone called his dad Bud, not Larry. But the memory raced back, proving that eight years was not enough time. How dare it be…him.

Chapter Two

“Lisa?”

She swallowed once and plastered on her most professional and courteous smile. “Hello, Mark.”

Those brown bedroom eyes widened at the fact it was her, and Lisa forced herself to act aloof, unaffected. She already knew what he saw: a woman in a demure cocktail dress designed to downplay any sexiness, and sensible designer heels that added only an inch to her height. A thin wire headset with an earpiece wove its way through her blond updo, and she’d lowered the mouthpiece toward her collarbone.

She held her own, refusing to deviate from her mission. “You’re here as a stand-in for your father, I believe?”

“Yes,” he replied, his intense gaze roving over her as if imprinting this moment onto his memory. Despite her resolve, she flushed slightly as he finished his appraisal. He frowned suddenly. “I saw you at the funeral this morning, didn’t I?”

She took a breath and admitted, “Yes. My aunt’s cousin.”

“Marvin Albertson,” Mark said, his tone holding a slight edge of something indecipherable.

“Yes.”

His voice dropped. “Well, imagine that. Fate is certainly interesting, isn’t she?”

“Very,” Lisa said, quite aware that the well-dressed women surrounding him wore intrigued expressions as they listened to the odd conversation.

As if she’d tell them the whole story. That Mark Smith, ultimate playboy, made out with her in a hallway during his sister’s wedding reception but then dumped her for someone else. Mark always did run through women like water and he’d proven that Lisa was no exception.

She blinked. She was older and wiser. She met hundreds of people a week and kept copious notes written on the backs of business cards and Rolodex files. Being in town only a week, she hadn’t yet looked up Joann’s parents, Mary Beth and Bud. Lisa curbed her sigh. Even though she’d given Andrea loose rein, Lisa was ultimately responsible for tonight’s dinner. She hadn’t double-checked the guest list, a mistake for which she didn’t have time to berate herself. Not when she had an evening to salvage.

“Mark, while it’s good to see you again, would you mind if we spoke in private for a minute? I’m Herbert Usher’s campaign fund-raiser and I need your help.”

His shoulders lifted in a slight shrug, indicating he’d understood that her crisp, professional tone meant she didn’t want to reminisce. His navy-blue suit moved effortlessly, indicative of its custom tailoring. This man did not buy off the rack.

“I don’t see why not,” Mark agreed. He gestured a manicured hand toward the exit door. “Lead the way. Excuse me,” he said to the ladies.

“Thank you,” Lisa said, ignoring the women’s collective exhales of disappointed curiosity. A prickle, however, ran up her spine as she led him out the ballroom doors. She could feel his gaze glued to her backside. “We have a small office set up in here.”

She began to open the door that led to a smaller meeting room, but his powerful arm extended past hers and pushed the door inward. His proximity provided a whiff of subtle cologne. He smelled divine—whatever designer brand he wore had blended with the smell of his skin to create a musky, sensual scent all his own.

Whoa. She could not allow herself to be affected. The man was a first-class jerk.

“Thank you,” she said politely, stepping past him with an outward composure she’d long mastered and at this moment certainly needed to hide her inner shaking. Mark Smith oozed pheromones or something, for he’d caused her body to react, which hadn’t happened since…well, since that night at Joann’s wedding. Her only solace was that no one had seen the kiss, and she’d never told a soul of her humiliating moment.

Lisa wasn’t one of those people who liked to air her stupidity and failures like dirty laundry.

She maintained her poise, making certain he didn’t notice anything out of whack as the door closed behind them. “I appreciate your coming with me.”

“You’re welcome,” Mark said. His eyes narrowed. “No hug for a long-lost friend?”

“I’d rather we keep this professional,” Lisa said. She made sure the headset was muted so she wasn’t broadcasting the conversation to Andrea or Bradley.

“Have it your way,” Mark said, his momentary cheeky grin fading. “What was it you wished to discuss?”

Although his tone never changed, his voice was low and naturally husky, and she concentrated on the challenging task ahead. “Let me be direct. Your father planned to start what we call ‘Pass the Hat,’ which is the donation part of the evening. It’s fun and expected, but the first check has to come from someone enthusiastic about the campaign.”

“That person was to be my father.”

She nodded, optimistic he understood. “Exactly. Herb can’t stand up at the podium and solicit. While he can make phone calls and ask a person directly, to make a blanket request for money during a fund-raising dinner is still considered extremely tacky and in poor taste.”

His brows knit closer together as he contemplated this. “My father didn’t tell me anything about starting a hat pass when we talked.”

Something about his cautious tone put her on the immediate defensive. He could not back out!

“He also didn’t tell Herb he wasn’t coming,” Lisa inserted smoothly. “Anyway, we were depending on him for tonight’s campaign jolt.”

He took a deep breath, his broad chest expanding and contracting. “My father must have forgotten. You knew he had a heart attack, didn’t you?”

“Joann mentioned it,” Lisa said, “but she also said he was recovering well.”

“He’s fine, except that he’s pretty much retired and on doctor’s orders not to do anything too strenuous as he builds up his strength. Anyway, my mother came down with a cold, and he’s home all worried about her.”

“Is she okay?”

“It’s just a spring virus. But Dad canceled everything. I attended the funeral in his place. Even my standing in for him here was just decided this morning.”

Poor Bud. Lisa had always loved Joann’s parents. But this conversation wasn’t getting her anywhere and she checked her mounting frustration. If Mark wasn’t going to help, she had a problem to solve and no more seconds to waste with a man who’d already destroyed her illusions once. “I do understand. I’m sure I can find someone else if you’re uncomfortable stepping into his shoes.”

“I’m never uncomfortable in my father’s shoes.”

His sharp and direct retort surprised her, and Lisa’s eyes widened. She’d barely processed his reaction before the door opened and Andrea entered the meeting room. She smiled apologetically.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have your name tag ready, Mr. Smith,” Andrea said, handing him the computer-generated “Hello, my name is” sticker. “If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to tell me.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Andrea said.

He gave Andrea a cheeky smile, one that Lisa knew worked wonders on women. It had once worked on her. And his grin had the desired effect on Andrea, for she shot Lisa a wistful look as she exited. Lisa kept her lips in a straight line.

“How much was my father going to give?” Mark asked suddenly, his deep voice penetrating her jumbled thoughts. “If he was going to pass the hat, I’m sure you know the exact amount and even had a nice little speech all scripted for him. Now, if you will explain this process to me, I’m sure we can come to some solution that is agreeable to both of us.”

“That would be preferred,” Lisa admitted as she regained her footing. She never lost her balance in the political arena. There was no reason disequilibrium should be happening now, especially with this man.

He smiled at her, but only in a patronizing way designed to establish that the situation was totally under his firm control. “Of course a solution would be preferred,” Mark said. “I’m first and foremost a businessman. I can handle a curve. You’ve certainly given me those before.”

She had? What was he talking about? She didn’t have time for this nonsense or digs into her character that she didn’t understand. “Your father was going to donate two thousand dollars, the maximum donation he could make.”

TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS? Mark froze. The amount of money didn’t shock or faze him; his father was extremely generous, and Herb had been a college fraternity brother. Everyone knew how deep those bonds could run. And two thousand dollars was chump change for the wealthy Smith family.

Lisa took a step back. “If that’s too much…” she was saying, her concentration fully on the check that was getting away and the problem she had to solve. He found her actions and conundrum slightly irritating.

Eight years had changed her, and at this moment Mark wasn’t sure he liked this older and wiser version standing before him. Lisa used to be the one who’d give her shirt right off her back to help her friends. She was the kind who’d take in every stray animal she ran across.

She’d been the one he’d wanted until, instead of meeting him, she’d disappeared into the night without a goodbye. Heck, kissing her in the hallway had made him feel like a superhero. Her disappearance had been a slap in the face.

As for this Lisa…The hardened political dynamo standing in front of him was concerned only about her event and his check. He glanced at her hand—surely she should be married by now.

But no, her ring finger was bare.

“Mark, are you okay? As I indicated earlier, I can find someone else if two thousand is too much money.”

“The money’s fine,” he said crisply, poise regained. His gaze roved over her. She was still beautiful. He’d been attracted to her ever since their first meeting years ago, when she’d first become Joann’s roommate their freshman year.

And Mark was a firm believer in taking the opportunities that fate granted. He’d seen Lisa twice now in one day. She’d run out on him long ago, but she couldn’t run this time. She needed something from him, and he wanted an explanation.

He peered closer, studying the way her blue eyes flickered and the dimple to the left of her mouth twitched. She probably wasn’t even aware of that unconscious movement. So she wasn’t as composed as she thought, which was good.

He shifted his weight and narrowed his gaze at her. “You know, Lisa, I would have thought you’d be married.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Divorced?”

“No.” Her voice was frostier now, like the chilly air to which they’d both been exposed this morning. Her posture tensed as she struggled to be polite instead of defensive. Right now she probably wanted to tell him to go to hell, but that two-thousand-dollar check was too important. He felt like Rhett Butler having the upper hand with Scarlett O’Hara.

Lisa Meyer, the woman who was going to change the world one politician at a time, would play by his rules tonight. “I’ll help you, but under one condition,” he said.

“What?” she eyed him suspiciously.

Mark reached out and grabbed her left hand. Her skin was smooth in his grasp, and her blue eyes widened and her mouth dropped open into a little O shape that he decided he liked. She had kissable lips. But then, she always had. Her mouth had been the first thing he’d noticed about her, back when they’d both been eighteen. And that kiss that night…

“We definitely have to catch up,” Mark said, shoving his libido aside as he began his offensive. “My parents will want to hear everything about you, especially since Herb is an old friend. And Joann won’t believe that we ran into each other like this.”

“That’s all?” Lisa stared.

“Well, no,” Mark began, his tone foreshadowing the condition he was about to insist on.

“Lisa.” A harsh male voice cut sharply through the conversation like a butcher knife. “What exactly are you doing?”

The moment the older man stepped fully into the hotel meeting room, Mark observed an immediate reaction in Lisa. She jerked her hand from his as the man closed the door behind him and stared through wire-rim glasses down his pointed nose. He had to be in his early forties, but somehow he seemed so much older.

When he spoke again, his voice was clipped. “Lisa, job. Herb trusts you. Tonight is extremely important and—”

“I’m Mark Smith,” Mark interrupted, his eyes narrowing at the man’s public chastisement. Speaking of politically incorrect behavior, did the man not see Mark’s name tag? “I’m Larry Smith’s son. You are…?”

“Bradley Wayne. I supervise Herb’s campaign.”

“He’s the campaign manager,” Lisa corrected, her tone brutally polite. “I’m the fund-raiser. Together we’ve partnered to get Herb elected.”

Bravo, Mark thought. He’d never known Lisa to be a wimp, which is why it bugged him so much she’d just disappeared that night.

Bradley’s lips frowned displeasure. “And, partner, I need for you to pull your weight. I’d expect this type of behavior from marriage-obsessed Andrea but not from you.”

Lisa crossed her arms and ramrodded her back. “We were discussing his donation check.”

“Which is why you were holding hands.” Bradley’s reply held just a trace of sarcasm.

Mark stared, his business acumen assessing the man in a nanosecond. Given the undercurrents, there was something more here than met the eye. Had Lisa been interested in the guy once? Surely not, Mark decided.

While Bradley Wayne might be an attractive man on the surface, with his perfect hair and manicured nails, he was the type of guy dominated by only one agenda—his own. Men could spot the worst type of their gender immediately, and Mark considered himself an expert after fending off the sharks only out to purchase and subsequently gut his family’s company. Mark inserted himself back into the conversation.

“Actually, Bradley, you’re right. We were holding hands. Lisa was explaining my role in pass-the-hat and we haven’t seen each other in years. Way too long.”

“His sister is my best friend,” Lisa added quickly. She gazed at Mark. “And long enough.”

Ah, the gauntlet, Mark thought. Lisa was mad at him. But for what? He’d shown up in the ballroom to meet her and she’d been gone.

“Well, if you are such old friends, then everything is perfectly acceptable. Lisa, you know I always have your best interests at heart,” Bradley said, his voice too smooth for Mark’s liking.

“Mr. Smith, I’m sorry I arrived at any unnecessary conclusions,” Bradley continued pleasantly, coming across to Mark as one of those disinterested customer-service representatives working at a call center. “My reaction and words were unprofessional and I apologize. My only explanation is that Lisa is my protégée. I’ve been training her these past two years. Now that’s she’s branched out on her own, I want to see her succeed. Tonight is the first major event in St. Louis whose success rests solely on her shoulders, and I want to make certain nothing goes wrong.”

Bradley reached over and drew Lisa aside. “How about I take over explaining the pass-the-hat event to Mr. Smith? That way you can take care of things outside.”

“That sounds fine.” Lisa moved toward the door.

Mark frowned. No way. She was not going to walk away from him again. Not when she owed him an explanation at the very least. “Lisa, wait.”

She stopped, turned, and Mark focused his attention on Bradley. The man shifted his weight under Mark’s scrutiny. “Bradley—I hope you don’t mind if I call you that—I find myself respectfully disagreeing with this current situation. I’d like to suggest that Lisa explains what I’m to do, since this is her event. It should be her call.”

“I am the campaign manager,” Bradley offered with a patronizing smile that didn’t reach his narrowing eyes. “Herb promoted Lisa upon my advice. Lisa, Mr. and Mrs. Auble have asked to meet Herb, so be sure that happens before the end of the evening. The Aubles plan to let Herb and Bunny spend a week at their lake house.”

“I’m on it.” Lisa returned to pushing the door open.

“Then after the speech you, Mr. Smith, will…”

But Mark ignored him and followed Lisa to the door. No matter how tough Lisa wanted to make this, Mark was determined to make it tougher for her to get away. He put his hand on hers and caught her in the middle of the doorway. “I asked you to wait,” he said.

She shook her head, a blond tendril falling out of the updo and landing in front of her ear. She freed her hand and deliberately pushed the wayward lock back. “I have to go. Thanks for starting the hat.”

“We aren’t done talking,” he said. “You and I have unfinished business.”

Her eyes widened for a moment before she regained her composure. “Okay, perhaps we can talk for a few moments afterward,” Lisa conceded. “I’m seeing my parents Saturday and I won’t live it down if I don’t bring news. And Joann would kill me if we don’t talk.”

“Still not acceptable,” Mark said.

Lisa appeared startled at his firm tone, and Mark used the moment to deal with the insufferable Bradley Wayne.

“Mr. Wayne, I’m quite prepared to fulfill my father’s obligations tonight. But I have a problem. I’m dateless and I dislike dining alone at a table full of strangers. I insist that Lisa be my guest. I haven’t seen her for eight years and would like to catch up.”

Bradley wore a stunned expression, as if someone had suggested letting beggars attend a royal ball. “She has a job to do.”

“Exactly. Fund-raising,” Mark inserted. “My father and Herb pledged the fraternity together and are good friends. I’d hate to go home and tell my dad about the miserable time I had and that I just couldn’t, in good conscience, donate his two thousand and two of my own….” Mark purposely paused. “Anyway, I promise to look after Lisa and get that hat moving.”

Bradley’s upper lip curled and Mark faced Lisa. Her jaw had dropped slightly, and she quickly closed her mouth. He’d dumbfounded her. He could almost hear Joann laughing, filling the hole inside of him that she’d left when she’d moved to Springfield. Phone calls and occasional visits didn’t cut it after you’d grown up sharing confidences since the womb. He turned to Lisa. “Ready? You can tell me about my important duties over our rubber chicken entrée.”

Still shocked by the turn of events, Lisa said, “Huh? I sampled the food earlier. It’s actually pretty good.”

“Perfect.” With that, Mark Smith and his Rhett Butler smile swept Lisa out of the room.

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