The moment Mark's lips touched Liz's, a rush of desire swept through him that almost knocked him to his knees. He'd been adoring her lips all evening, and now he was kissing them, savoring their warmth, and when he heard a tiny moan in the back of her throat that told him she wanted it as much as he did, he knew right then that kissing alone was never going to be enough. The feeling was so intense that it blocked out everything else around him. He slid one hand around her neck and laced his fingers through her hair, then wrapped the other one around the small of her back, pulling her toward him until her breasts were crushed against his chest.

Then she wound her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, and when she kissed him back with an intensity that matched his own, the words hot and exciting and memorable spun through his mind, though he was surprised he could comprehend then at all since his brain wasn't doing much thinking while his body was feeling.

Couples were leaving the dance floor, but Mark barely noticed. He finally pulled his lips away from Liz's, but the spell wasn't broken. He was still mesmerized by the feel of her warm body beneath his hands and the sight of those beautiful green eyes staring up at him. Her cheeks were tinted bright pink and her breath was coming more quickly now, as if she'd forgotten to breathe for the past fifteen seconds.

He wanted to take Liz home with him. He wanted to continue his exploration past her lips to the rest of her beautiful body, to spend the long hours of the night so close to her that nothing could come between--

Wait a minute. What was he thinking?

He awoke from his fantasy with a jolt of realization, finally comprehending the enormity of what he'd just done.

He'd kissed Liz.

In a fraction of a second, a mass of contradictory thoughts whipped through his mind. He'd finally kissed her because he'd wanted to so badly, and now here she was, looking up at him all flushed and breathy and beautiful, tempting him to toss her over his shoulder and carry her straight back to his condo. But while she fun and exciting and extraordinary in so many ways, she wasn't his future. Gwen was. She could help him get that partnership, and wasn't that what he'd wanted since the day he walked into Nichols, Marbury & White?

But what about Liz, whom he loved to be with, who was warm and generous and funny, who could light the darkest corners of his life with a single smile? Why couldn't she be the one?

Because one look at her and the big boss would have a heart attack.

He'd lost sight of that somewhere along the line tonight, and because he'd been stupid enough to give in to the moment, he was going to end up hurting Liz in a way he never would have chosen to in a million years.

Damn. How could he have done this to her? He'd kissed her, and she was going to think--had every right to think--

There was only one way out of this.

He turned away quickly so she wouldn't see his face change from ecstasy to apprehension. Taking her by the hand, he led her back to their table, careful not to look into those tempting green eyes of hers or he'd be lost all over again.

After they were seated, he managed an offhanded smile.

"So how did I do?"

She blinked with surprise, then swallowed hard. "Huh?"

Her confusion told him that she'd wanted the kiss as much as he had, which made the next words coming out of his mouth even more impossible to say.

"On a scale of one to ten. Come on, teacher. Give me my grade."

It took Liz a full five seconds before she realized Mark's meaning, and when she did, her stomach swam with that sickening feeling reserved only for the most heartsick moments of her life.

"I'm a little rusty," he said. "I hope it wasn't too awful."

Awful? Awful? Was he crazy? Somewhere along the line the poor boy from the dinky little town had learned how to kiss. If this was rusty, what would it be like when he got back in the swing of things?

Then it struck her: She'd never get the opportunity to find out.

She was his practice date. And he was practicing. And she'd been stupid enough to think it was the real thing. She'd told him exactly what to do, after all. And then he'd done it.

Excruciating disappointment swept through her. She was sure he'd meant it as so much more, that he wanted her as much as she wanted him, and now...

"Sorry, Mark," she said, struggling to keep her voice even. "You only get a nine. I'd give you a ten, but then you'd get conceited."

"Like I said, it's been awhile."

"It's like riding a bicycle," she said.

"You never forget."

"Right."

He smiled. "So I passed?"

"Gwen will be...impressed."

Liz was so filled with disappointment and jealousy she could barely speak. Mark paid the bill, then tucked his credit card away and rose from the table.

"It's getting late," he said. "We'd better be going."

Liz looked at her watch automatically, but the time didn't even register in her mind. "Yes. I suppose we should."

The sick, sinking sensation she felt as they left the restaurant was almost incapacitating. She'd fallen into her own trap--the man she'd created was the man she wanted. Only he wanted Gwen, not her, and after tonight, she'd be forced to step out of the picture. And the thought of doing that just about ripped her heart in two.

Liz tried to keep some light chatter going on the way home, but she couldn't, and finally the silence loomed between them. When they arrived at her apartment, Mark insisted on walking her to her door. She wished with all her heart that he'd think about the way he'd kissed her and want to repeat the experience, only this time for real.

They climbed the stairs. When they reached her apartment door, she turned to face him.

"Good luck on Saturday," she said, forcing a smile but feeling as if she were falling apart inside.

He looked at her questioningly.

"On your date with Gwen."

"Oh. Yeah. Gwen."

He paused, and it was all Liz could do not to grab him by his eighty-dollar tie, drag him into her apartment, lock the door behind them and make him forget all about that snooty, condescending woman he was so hell-bent on having.

"Thanks again, Liz."

Then he did kiss her, but it was nothing more than a soft peck on the cheek, one friend to another, a kiss that wasn't even in the same universe as the one he'd given her at the restaurant.

"I guess I'll see you around."

I'll see you around. In other words, it's been fun, but now it's over. Surely you didn't think it was anything more, did you?

He turned and headed for the stairs, and she thought for a moment that maybe he'd turn back, their eyes would lock, and he'd realize what a fool he'd been and that it was really her he wanted and not Gwen.

He never looked back.

He walked down the stairs, his footsteps echoing through the building, then took a right turn and disappeared around the corner. She heard the door open, then click closed, and realized he'd left the building and probably her life for good.

She slipped into her apartment and closed the door behind her, tears filling her eyes, hating herself that she couldn't control them. She leaned against the door, wondering how her mother and grandmother would have handled this one.

Who was she kidding? Her mother and grandmother would have dispensed the advice, then stood back and let the advisee take it or leave it. They would not have tried to implement that advice by wading knee deep into the situation, only to end up getting hurt by the very advice they'd given. And above all, they'd have offered plenty of sound wisdom but never, ever a piece of their own hearts.

---

Mark sat in a rattan chair on his balcony, the nighttime heat surrounding him like a heavy shroud. He stared out at the city lights, hating himself for what he'd done to Liz, making her think he wanted her and then acting as if he didn't.

She wanted it as much as you did.

He had to stop thinking about that. He'd just gotten caught up in the moment. That's all. It had been way too long since he'd been on a date, and he'd lost his head. As soon as he swept Gwen into his arms on the dance floor on Saturday night, he'd forget all about the way he felt right then about Liz. He'd forget all about her sweet, tantalizing lips, the way her hair smelled, and the way she'd felt beneath his hands as they moved together to the music. He'd have Gwen instead, and wasn't that what he'd wanted since the first moment he walked into Simon's? She was the kind of woman who could make him look like partner material, so she was the woman for him.

Liz wasn't.

He could just imagine the look on Edwin Nichols' face if he found out he was keeping company with a woman who worked as a bartender and wore dresses so hot they set off fire alarms. Those bushy eyebrows of his would rise all the way up to his artificial hairline, and then he'd make sure Mark's career stayed on a back burner for the rest of his life.

But you made her believe you wanted her...

He yanked himself out of his chair and went back inside, frustration still eating away at him. He headed for his bedroom, telling himself for the hundredth time that he'd done the right thing. He'd ended his relationship with Liz before it had even gotten started.

What he couldn't figure out, then, was why, when he went to bed and closed his eyes, he couldn't see Gwen's face at all because Liz's kept getting in the way. Why he dreamed that night about Gwen eating hot dogs at a baseball game on a linen-covered tray with nine pieces of silverware, while Liz led the waiters at Rosario's in a chorus of Take Me Out to the Ballgame. And why, when he awoke the next morning, he stared at the empty pillow beside him and imagined long red hair fanned out across it and beautiful green eyes staring up at him. He'd done the right thing.

So why did it feel so wrong?

---

Liz dreaded Saturday night, and when it finally arrived, it was all she could do to keep her mind on her job and her thoughts focused somewhere else besides on Mark and Gwen. She hadn't seen Mark or heard from him in the last two days, but why should she? He had a date with his dream woman. What did he need with her?

Maybe if she told him how she felt about him, he'd see her in a different light. Things would change. He'd reconsider his overwhelming attraction to The Most Perfect Woman on Earth and realize who he really belonged with--

No.

She couldn't say a word to him about how she felt, because he didn't feel the same way about her. His kiss that really wasn't a kiss had proven that. If he had any feelings for her at all, he would never have been able to kiss her like that and then walk away as if it had meant nothing. Anything she said to him at this point would only make her look like a fool.

She glanced at her watch. Well, it was all a moot point now, anyway. Undoubtedly Mark was with Gwen, heading for Rosario's. And by the time the evening was over, Gwen would know what a wonderful man she had her hands on, and she'd never let him go.

Sherri came up beside her. "Look! Isn't that Mark?"

Liz whipped around. Mark and Gwen were coming into the club and taking a seat at a table by the window, evidently stopping by for a drink before dinner.

Liz thought she was going to be sick. If Mark had looked wonderful before, he looked spectacular now. And Gwen, she had to admit, looked positively radiant. They looked good together. The picture was so right that Liz wanted to cry. A stunning, sophisticated woman and a handsome professional man. How could she argue with that?

"Sherri, watch the bar for me, will you?" Liz asked.

There must have been a catch in her voice or something, because Sherri got a worried look on her face. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I just need to go to the bathroom." So I can fall apart in private.

Sherri gave Liz one of her rare sympathetic looks, and Liz wondered if she really looked that despondent. Then she went into the bathroom, saw herself in the mirror and had to agree with Sherri. And if she looked at her pitiful self for one more second, she was probably going to cry. It would accomplish nothing, of course, except make her mascara run, but she wasn't running high on logic right about then.

When she felt that telltale burn behind her eyes, she slipped into one of the bathroom stalls and closed the door behind her. She dabbed at her eyes with a square of toilet paper, trying to keep the tears from falling. How could he want that awful woman? Liz trembled as she dabbed, then sniffed a little, determined that her emotions were not going to get the better of her.

Then all at once she heard the bathroom door open, accompanied by the click of heels and women's voices.

"You're right, Gwen. He does look good. A whole lot better than he did last week. What prompted his sudden change of wardrobe?"

"I don't know, but it'll save me the trouble of dressing him right."

Liz recognized Gwen's voice, along with the voice of the woman who came here frequently with her. They had to be talking about Mark. She peered out the gap between the stall door and its frame. Gwen was standing at the mirror, pulling a small makeup bag from her purse.

"Attractive, well-dressed, and a six-figure salary," Gwen's friend said. "Nice package."

"If it's six figures now, imagine what it'll be when he gets that partnership he's up for at his accounting firm."

Partnership? Mark was up for a partnership? He'd never told her that. But then again, he wasn't one to go around tooting his horn about how rich and successful he was, either.

"How did you find out about that, anyway?" Gwen's friend asked.

"My assistant knows someone who works at his firm. I had no idea the first time he came on to me what potential he had. I mean, you saw him last week. Would you have thought--"

"Good heavens, no!"

"But now that I do know..." Gwen raised an eyebrow and gave her friend a conspiratorial smile. "It suddenly makes him so much more attractive."

Liz's mouth fell open with disbelief. Then she narrowed her eyes angrily. So that was it. It wasn't the fact that Mark suddenly looked so handsome. That was merely icing on the cake. Gwen was after his money.

"I'm telling you," Gwen said, "there's nothing more tiring than trying to motivate a man into being successful. It's so much easier to find one who's on the edge, then..." Gwen held up a finger and flicked it in the air. "Push him over."

"Sounds like a plan to me. This is your first date, right?"

"Yes. But now that I know what potential I'm dealing with, I can assure you it won't be our last." Gwen gave her lips a practiced swipe with a tube of lipstick, then capped it and tucked it back into her purse. "Tonight we're going to Rosario's."

"Ahh. The test."

"He's not the most sophisticated man I've ever met, so this should be interesting."

"Think he'll pass?"

"With money like that on the horizon, as long as he doesn't drink from the finger bowl I'd say there's hope."

It was all Liz could do not to stomp out of that stall and shove that tube of lipstick right up Gwen's nose. Why had she gone to that stupid restaurant with Mark to help him learn exactly what to do? Was it too late to tell him that the liquid in that little bowl was actually very weak soup?

"And the best part," Gwen went on, "is that he seems to be a very nice guy."

"Hmm. I never thought you considered that much of a selling point."

"Why, of course I do. Nice men are so much easier to manipulate."

"And if he doesn't get the partnership?"

Gwen smiled. "There are a lot more fish in the ocean. I'll just throw this one back and catch another one."

Forget shoving the lipstick up her nose. Liz wanted to send her face first into the toilet. The worst part was that Mark had everything that little golddigger was looking for. Not only was she getting an attractive man with money, she was also getting a man who could send her to heaven with a single kiss. Once Gwen realized the package deal was that sweet, no force on earth could pry her claws out of him.

The two women left the bathroom. Liz ripped the stall door open, fury bubbling inside her. What should she do now? Could she tell Mark the truth? Would he believe her?

She pictured the hurt expression that would fall over his face when he realized his confident new image had nothing to do with Gwen's interest, but his bank book did. Then she pictured his really hurt expression when he found out the same thing a month or two from now.

She had to stop him from spending another minute with that woman.

She marched out of the bathroom and up the hall toward the bar, but every step she took was slower than the last. Finally she stopped completely, overcome with indecision. What was she going to do? Confront Gwen right then in a crowded club and humiliate Mark in the process?

She glanced toward their table. Mark was rising to escort Gwen out of the club. Even at this distance, she could see the expression on his face, as if heaven had decided to send an angel to earth and he was the lucky recipient. Liz wanted desperately to scream at him. Mark! Don't go! She'll never love you for you! She's only after your money!

Instead, her feet remained fused to the floor and her mouth stayed shut. In the end, she just couldn't do it.

And then they were gone.

Liz drew in a couple of deep breaths. After a few shaky moments, she went back to the bar.

Mark had never even looked at her. Never glanced toward the bar, never come over to say hello. Nothing. She felt as if she'd lost something very precious, but she had to admit it was something she'd never really had in the first place.

She picked up a drink order, drew two beers, then placed them mindlessly onto a tray.

Just try to put him out of your mind.

A couple at the end of the bar ordered two of her signature margaritas, but as she held the bottle of tequila over one of the glasses, she found she couldn't remember how much to put into a drink she'd made approximately half a zillion times. She stared at the glass, blinking dumbly.

Don't think about Mark. Think about work.

Finally she remembered and finished the drinks. She'd just set them in front of the couple and turned to grab another order when someone sitting at the end of the bar caught her eye—a woman with long black dreadlocks, wearing a multicolored dress in a tropical print and a wrist full of bangle bracelets. Like almost ever other person in the place, she was poking away at a cell phone. For a moment Liz couldn't imagine why the woman looked so familiar. Then it struck her.

Kiki. She looks just like Kiki.

No. That was impossible. Well, not impossible, but what were the odds that a beach waitress she'd met at a Jamaican resort hotel a few weeks ago would be sitting at her bar right now? In any case, Liz knew she should go over there and take her drink order, but for some reason her feet felt frozen to the floor.

Then all at once the woman looked up from her phone. She fixed her gaze on Liz, and a small, knowing small crossed her lips. Liz imagined what that smile was saying. Hello, sweetness. You're not losin' faith, now are you?

Liz's heart jolted hard. It's her, it's her, it's her!

"Ma'am! Excuse me?"

Liz whipped around. "Yes?"

"We ordered these margaritas without salt on the rim. These have salt."

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" She grabbed their glasses. "I'll make new ones." She dumped out the drinks to start over, then turned to look at the woman at the end of the bar again.

She was gone.

Liz blinked. Blinked again. She scanned the area. Looked toward the front door.

She was nowhere to be seen.

"Sherri!" Liz called out. "Watch the bar, will you?"

Liz ducked under the bar and headed for the ladies' room. She opened the door so quickly she nearly knocked down another woman coming out.

A woman who wasn't Kiki.

Liz scanned the bathroom. She even looked for legs under the stall doors.

Nothing.

She walked back out to the bar, making one last visual pass over the room. When she still didn't see the woman, Liz decided she must have slipped away in the crowd while her back was turned, except that it really wasn't all that crowded in there for a Saturday night.

Oh, hell. What did it matter? It wasn't Kiki, anyway. No matter how much Liz wanted some kind of explanation for why the Jamaican woman's crazy prediction had suddenly gone so wrong, any random woman who happened to look like her wasn't going to be able to provide it.

"What was that all about?" Sherri asked her.

"Full moon. True love. A crazy woman who had no idea what she was talking about, who was not, by the way, sitting at my bar two minutes ago."

"Huh?"

Liz sighed. ”Never mind."

She grabbed new margarita glasses. She fixed that problem, only to make a martini for another customer that she spilled immediately after plopping the olive into it. The glass clattered against the bar, sloshing gin into the woman's lap. The olive rolled along with the alcohol wave, coming to a squishy stop at the edge of the bar.

Enough was enough.

Liz apologized profusely to the woman, cleaned up the mess, took off her apron, then told her boss she felt sick and wanted to go home. He wasn't happy about that, but she'd told the truth. She really did feel sick, and she didn't expect to feel better any time soon.

Once she got home, she went to her bathroom, filled her tub and soaked for half an hour, trying to wash away thoughts of Mark. But every time she closed her eyes to relax, she saw that overpriced restaurant with its glowing candlelight and soft ivory table linens and glittering crystal, and that horrible woman smiling at Mark over a glass of Chardonnay, her devious mind making plans for their future that undoubtedly involved his platinum AmEx card and a very large joint checking account. Liz started having a few fantasies of her own, only hers involved creative ways she might be able to do away with Gwen, hide the body, and not get caught.

Finally Liz got out of the bathtub and put on her ratty terrycloth robe, then plopped down on the sofa, grabbed her phone and dialed her mother's number. A few seconds later she heard her mother's voice.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mom. It's me."

"Hi, baby! How's it going?"

Liz sighed. "Lousy."

"Uh oh. Is this gonna be a long story?"

"Probably."

"Okay. Hold on. Let me grab my cigarettes."

Liz heard some shuffling around, then the muffled sound of the fridge door opening and closing. If she knew her mother, she'd just pulled out a Bud Light to go with her Virginia Slims. Liz heard a kitchen chair scrape across the linoleum floor, then her mother plopping down with a comfortable sigh and a flick of her Bic.

"Okay, baby. Shoot."

She told her mother the whole story, starting with the first night she'd tried to help Mark meet Gwen, and ending with the fact that the same woman was about to snag him for all the wrong reasons, emphasizing the fact that this particular woman was the most vile creature who'd ever lived. Liz left out the part about how she felt about Mark, because that wasn't the issue. The issue was saving Mark from Gwen.

Her mother listened, with only an occasional "uh huh" to encourage Liz to continue.

"He's on a date with her right now," Liz said, when she'd gotten to the end of the story. "What should I do?"

She heard her mother take a long drag on her cigarette and blow it out slowly. "Nothing."

"Nothing? But Mom, she's so wrong for him!"

"Let him figure that out for himself."

"I just don't think--"

"Baby, sometimes the best thing you can do for people who desperately want the wrong thing is to let them have what they want so they can realize they don't want it after all."

"But he doesn't know what a rotten, underhanded woman she is!"

"Is he a smart man?"

"Well, yeah, but--"

"You think he can't figure out what kind of woman she is, so he needs you to tell him?"

"Well, of course, he could figure it out--"

"Then let him."

"But--"

"What can you do right now, anyway? Call him while he's at the restaurant? Tell him what a God-awful woman his date is? That'd go over real big."

"Maybe tomorrow--"

"No, baby. It's time for you to butt out. If she's really wrong for him, he'll know it. And he'll dump her."

"But what if he doesn't?"

"Don't worry. If he's the man for you, he'll come to his senses."

"The man for me?"

Her mother was silent.

"I didn't say anything about wanting him for myself!"

Her mother laughed softly. "Baby, you may be able to fool the rest of the world, but you've never been able to fool your mother."

Liz sighed with disgust. "Oh, all right! I'm crazy about him. Does that make you happy?"

"Don't make me one way or the other. But it looks like it's making you miserable."

"Yes! Because he doesn't want me. He wants her!" Liz leaned her head against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes. "Mom, what am I going to do?"

"I told you what to do. Nothing."

"But what if he doesn't figure it out?" Then Liz had an even more terrible thought. "Or what if he knows, and he doesn't care?"

"Nah. It won't be anything like that. He's a wonderful man."

"How do you know that? You've never even met him."

"Because you wouldn't be so crazy about him if he wasn't. Next time you come home, you bring him along, you hear?"

With that, her mother hung up. Liz stared at the phone in disbelief. Bring him along? Her mother was only fifty-seven. Senile dementia couldn't possibly have set in. But evidently her hearing was going fast, because she obviously hadn't heard her say that Mark wanted another woman.

Liz sighed heavily. As right as Laura Lee Prescott had been all her life about everyone else's problems, why did she have to choose this moment to be so wrong about her own daughter's?

Her mother was right about one thing, though. There wasn't anything she could do about it tonight, even if she wanted to. All she could do is get a pint of Ben & Jerry's out of the freezer, plop back down on the sofa and add a few inches to her hip measurement, while she spent the rest of the evening picturing the man she wanted with the woman she hated.

Did it get any more pitiful than that?