Mark stared across the candlelit table at Gwen, thinking that she was everything he'd expected, and more. She blended into Rosario's like a jewel blended into a golden crown. She wore a powder blue dress in a silky fabric that stopped a modest two inches above her knees. Her hair was put up in one of those intricate twist things that was probably the result of hours in a beauty shop. She walked with the grace of a duchess and displayed manners that said there was a headmistress out there somewhere glowing with pride. It was as if every quality he needed in a woman had come together in one highly attractive package.

The table they'd been given was perfection, too. It sat beside a huge picture window that looked out on a garden full of flowering shrubs and trees strung with tiny white lights. Pale evening light shone through the window, mingling with the glow from the candle on their table, lending a celestial quality to Gwen's already impeccable beauty.

Gwen was perfect. The setting was perfect. His nervousness eased a bit.

So far, so good.

Rick sauntered up to their table, doing his very best stuck-up waiter imitation. Knowing what he knew now, Mark almost laughed at the phony expression of arrogance the guy wore. Gwen, however, didn't seem to find it the least bit suspect.

"Mr. McAlister. It's a pleasure to see you this evening."

"Ricardo."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gwen glancing back and forth between him and Rick. The waiter knows you?

Mark smiled to himself. True to his word, Rick was going to make this an evening to remember. Evidently he hoped Mark would put in a good word for him with Liz. Mark frowned at that thought, then brushed it aside.

They'd made better time from Gwen's apartment than he anticipated, making them early for the reservation, so she'd suggested stopping off at Simon's for a before-dinner drink. Mark had hoped it would be Liz's night off, but then he glanced over and saw her working behind the bar. All at once he remembered the way she'd felt in his arms, and it was all he could do not to go over there and repeat the experience.

Instead, he chose a table across the club and sat with his back to the bar, hoping she wouldn't see him. He didn't know whether she had or not, but he'd been acutely aware of her being there nonetheless. Even now she popped into his mind, distracting him from the task at hand.

Rule number one: Do not think about Liz tonight.

Rick handed them menus and Mark the wine list, and when he returned, Gwen ordered an appetizer of smoked salmon and a salad of spinach and radicchio with a raspberry vinaigrette dressing. Then she went for the lobster. He checked the price of it and just about choked. Would she have chosen that if she had a menu with prices and knew how incredibly expensive it was? Probably. Women like Gwen expected the finer things in life, and it wasn't as if he couldn't afford it.

When it came Mark's turn to order, he decided to go with the same things Gwen had chosen, figuring he couldn't go wrong with that no matter how much it rattled his bank account.

"Would you like wine with dinner this evening?" Rick asked.

Mark skimmed the wine list, then handed it back to Rick. "Bring us the Blackthorn Chardonnay."

"Excellent choice. It should compliment the lobster nicely."

Mark turned to Gwen. "I assume that's all right with you?"

She seemed shocked that he'd actually chosen a wine, and that his choice had the waiter's blessing. "Of course."

"Very good, sir." Rick nodded and headed to the next table. A few minutes later, he brought their wine. Mark went through the wine testing procedure, feeling perfectly confident. Rick poured them both a glass, then stepped away from the table, and he and Gwen talked while waiting for their food to arrive.

To Mark's relief, conversation came easily. Gwen's favorite topic, for some reason, seemed to be his job, because she asked him every question in the world about it. He told himself that was a good thing. If she was interested in his work, didn't that translate into being interested in him?

As they ate their appetizers, Gwen told Mark they weren't quite chilled enough, and their salads, she said, were a bit on the wilted side. She didn't seem thrilled with the lobster, either, and told Rick so. He apologized profusely, and she asked him to inform the chef that while it was edible, it was quite overcooked. Rick nodded, but as he strode away from the table out of Gwen's sight, he glanced back at Mark and rolled his eyes.

They continued with dinner, which Gwen consumed with surprising gusto considering her distaste for overcooked lobster. They talked about various things--the current trends in the stock market, the benefits of one mutual fund versus another, the value of investing in real estate. Actually, Gwen asked a lot of questions, some generic in nature, some personal, and Mark answered them. His responses seemed to please her greatly, which he guessed was a good thing. All in all, everything was going better than he'd expected.

He thought about his company function. Before the evening was over, he could ask Gwen if she'd like to come with him, and he had all the confidence in the world that she would accept. Basically, everything was perfect.

And now he knew just how irritating perfection could be.

As the meal wore on, Gwen's soft, cultured voice started to drone, like a mosquito buzzing around his ear, and he really had to concentrate to catch what she was saying. Those icy blue eyes of hers were stunning, but whenever he met her gaze he felt as if he were looking into...well, nothing. Rick had looked at Gwen a lot, too, but every one of those looks had been full of distaste, unlike the complete and total adoration he'd shown for Liz.

Liz.

No matter how hard Mark tried to devote his attention to Gwen, thoughts of Liz kept crowding his mind, kicking and shoving their way in, until they finally plopped themselves down and refused to go away. Every word Gwen spoke in that beautiful, lilting voice of hers made him realize just how desperately he wished he were here with Liz instead, having fun instead of just having dinner.

This is a quiz, McAlister. Now, pay attention. Which woman should you be interested in? Which woman will help secure your future? Which woman will impress your superiors and make them finally see that you're partner material?

As a logical, rational man he knew he should listen to that answer. Unfortunately his heart was screaming so loudly he couldn't hear a word his mind said.

Then he heard a low rumble and realized it was thunder. He looked out the window to see storm clouds gathering.

"Oh, my," Gwen said. "It looks as if we might get rained on."

"It's possible. A storm is in the forecast."

"That's a pity. I’d hate to have anything put a damper on this wonderful evening."

Mark knew he should be happy that Gwen thought their date was so darned great, but the thought of it left him strangely apathetic. As they finished dinner, he tried tried to concentrate on her but failed miserably. It wasn't for lack of her trying to keep his attention, though. She prattled on as if she were a talking doll and somebody kept pulling the string. On, and on, and on...

Damn it, would she shut up already about his job? Why did it fascinate her so much? Sometimes his job even bored him, and he was the one doing it. He wondered vaguely if this was what life with Tiffany was like. If so, for the first time ever, Mark actually felt sorry for Sloan.

Then, as Gwen rattled on, turning the conversation to 401-K accounts and then asking him how he'd fared in the recent stock market decline, something slowly shifted in Mark's perception. He couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was--just something that cast a shadow across her perfect features and sent a feeling of unease creeping through him.

"I'd love to dance," Gwen said.

Mark barely heard the words. "Excuse me?"

"I said I'd love to dance."

He realized the band had started to play and couples were moving to the dance floor. He knew he should be jumping at the chance to have a socially acceptable way to get his hands on the woman he supposedly wanted--so why wasn't he?

Finally he got up and led her to the dance floor. But when he took her in his arms, he decided he should keep her at a respectable distance because, after all, they really didn't know each other very well.

"My assistant knows someone at your company," Gwen said. "I heard some interesting news about you."

"Oh?"

"You're up for a partnership. Is that right?"

Gwen knew about his potential partnership?

"Yes. That's right."

"Interesting. I hear that can be very...lucrative."

Gwen purred the words like a satisfied cat, smiling up at him with an odd, calculating expression that baffled him.

"I suppose so."

"Well, then. Good luck. I'll be pulling for you."

It didn't hit Mark all at once. As they danced, though, bits and pieces of their evening started to come together to form a picture that was becoming clearer with each passing moment. She hadn't shut up about his job all night. She'd moved the conversation into discussions about every financial issue there was, easing personal information out of him so artfully he hadn't even realized he was giving it to her.

That's essentially all they'd discussed. Money.

Then another thought struck him. When had she found out about the partnership? Sometime at the beginning of last week, when she'd suddenly found him oh-so attractive?

As the final piece fell into place, Mark felt like the biggest fool alive. And he thought Gwen's sudden interest in him was because he'd become so damned irresistible. He almost laughed out loud. She didn't want him for him. She wanted him for his money, and that positively astounded him. Growing up in Waldon Springs, he never could have imagined that he'd ever have a financial portfolio of sufficient size to be of interest to anyone.

But there it was, as clear as the upturned nose on Gwen's face. Her calculating expression hadn't faded. She had a veneer of beauty and refinement, highlighted by a heavy dose of lethal charm, and if she played her cards right, some poor unsuspecting guy would eventually make her rich.

But it damned well wasn't going to be him.

At the same time, though, he realized that he hadn't been much better than Gwen. He'd wanted her for her cool sophistication, her social skills, and for what she could do for his career. He hadn't given a single thought to whether they'd even like each other or not.

And then there was the way he'd treated Liz.

How could he have led her on the way he had the other night, then shoved her aside for another woman? And he hadn't even spoken to her at Simon's tonight, ignoring her as if she meant nothing to him. How could he have done that to her?

As he continued to dance with Gwen, he realized he was holding her so far away from him that a truck could have driven through the space between them. Then he thought about how he'd deliberately maneuvered Liz so close to him when they were dancing that he could practically feel her heartbeat, and all at once a longing swept through him that was so great it threatened to tear him apart. He had a huge void in his life right now that he'd never even recognized before, an emptiness that clawed at him, begging to be filled.

He stopped in the middle of the dance. Gwen looked up at him questioningly, but he merely took her by the hand and led her back to their table.

"Is something the matter?" she asked.

He pulled out her chair and motioned for her to sit. "I have to make a phone call. I'll be back in a moment."

---

Liz felt as if she'd achieved at least a small victory when she held herself to only half a pint of Ben & Jerry's. Then she collapsed on the sofa to watch some dumb old movie on Netflix. Sherri had left the apartment a few hours ago, saying something about needing to buy an outfit that was sexy without being slutty, whatever that meant. Liz wished she'd come home. Anything to keep her from picturing Mark on his date with Gwen.

She lay the remote on her chest and closed her eyes, wishing tomorrow would come, then the next day and the next, because after awhile, like maybe in a hundred years or so, she'd quit thinking about him and get a life again.

Then her phone rang. She picked it up from the coffee table and looked at the caller ID. Mark?

She sat up suddenly and swung her legs around, her heart striking up a sudden wild rhythm. She picked up the remote that had fallen to her lap and switched off the TV.

"Hello?"

"Liz. It's Mark."

"Mark? Aren't you at the restaurant with Gwen?"

"Forget her for now. I have a question for you. Are you listening?"

Liz's heart skittered. What could he possibly want to ask her? "Of course."

"The other night when we were out together and I kissed you, what did you think? I mean, right at that moment?"

Liz's heart skittered at the memory—Mark's lips on hers, warm and inviting and oh-so-sexy.

"Liz. What did you think? Tell me."

I thought if it was a dream, I never wanted to wake up.

But if she told him that, answered him truthfully, she had the most terrible feeling she'd be tossing her heart out to be trampled on. In the end, she just couldn't do it.

"I thought it was…you know. Good. You're a good kisser."

"That's all?"

"Great kisser?"

Silence. Then Mark's voice again. "I just thought maybe…"

"What?"

"That you liked it."

"Of course I did. I just told you I did."

"I guess I wasn't really asking you if you liked the kiss. I was asking you if you like…"

"What?"

"Me."

Liz sat stock-still in total disbelief, her heart beating her chest to death. Did he want her to tell him that she didn't feel a thing for him? That going out with Gwen was the right thing to do? That he was a wonderful pupil, but that was where their relationship ended? That he was sorry if he made her think it was anything else?

"Liz?" Mark said.

She squeezed her eyes closed, scared to death to speak the truth. What if she gave him an answer he didn't want to hear?

"Yes," she said.

"Uh…yes what?"

"Of course I like you," she said with a lighthearted laugh. "I've always liked you."

Silence. Wrong answer? She had no idea.

"So what you're saying is that you like me," Mark said, "but you don't like me?"

No! That's not what I'm saying!

Unless that was what he wanted to hear.

But how was she supposed to know what he wanted to hear? All she knew was what she wanted to hear.

"Well…do you like me?" she asked.

More silence. "Well…yeah. Of course. I always have. Well, except maybe in the beginning with the tire thing, but then…"

His voice trailed off. This was driving her insane. "So you're saying you like me, but you don't like me?"

"Well, not exactly…"

"So you do like me?" Liz said.

"I said I do, didn't I?"

"But I'm not really sure about the meaning of the word like. Could you explain—"

"Okay, stop! That's it! No more!"

"Huh?"

"Enough with the junior high crap. We sound like we're thirteen years old. If we keep this up, pretty soon we'll be hanging around each others' lockers and passing notes in history class." He exhaled with frustration. "Okay. Here's the bottom line. What I said after kissing you was a lie because I thought it was the wrong thing to do. It wasn't the wrong thing to do. It was the best thing I've ever done. I like you, Liz. Yes, like that. The whole time I've been with Gwen tonight, all I could think about was you. Now do you understand?"

Liz was dumbfounded. What did he say? What?

What?

"I can't believe it," she murmured, her voice full of disbelief. "My mother was right."

"Huh?"

"You did figure it out!"

"Figure out what?"

"She's the smartest woman alive. I know you haven't met her yet, but when you do—"

"Hey, I just spilled my guts here," Mark said. "You want to return the favor?"

"Oh! Yeah. Sorry. You want my bottom line, right?"

"Yes!"

"Okay. Here it is. I've been sitting here tonight picturing you on a date with Gwen and feeling sorry for myself, wishing I was the one at Rosario's with you. So I started plotting ways to knock her off."

"What?"

"Creative ones, too. Slippery floors and electrical outlets and poisonous snakes. But then you called, and…" She closed her eyes, smiling like a lovestruck idiot. "You'll be happy to know first degree murder is off the table."

Dead silence.

"I've been right all along, Liz. You are nuts."

"I know. I was born that way. Can't fight genetics." She looked at the clock on her sofa table. "It's still early. Can you come over tonight?"

"I don't care if it's two o'clock in the morning. I'm still coming over."

"How fast can you get here?"

"Thirty minutes, tops."

"Hurry. But don't speed."

"Can't promise that."

"Mark?"

"Yes?"

"If I'd offed Gwen and ended up in prison, would you have visited me?"

Big sigh. "Probably."

"Why, I do believe that's the nicest thing any man has ever said to me."

"Which means you've been dating the wrong men."

"Not anymore."

Then Mark's voice became soft and seductive, like moonlight and roses and all those romantic things Liz wanted to wrap both of them in forever.

"I can't wait," he said.

Liz sank back on the sofa, feeling a surge of elation that obliterated all the sadness and uncertainty she'd felt before. She didn't know why he'd changed his mind about Gwen, and she didn't care. She was just thrilled he was coming back to her.