At five-eight, Frankie had never considered herself dainty but walking next to Eli made her feel delicate and very feminine. He was not only much taller, he was broader, bulkier and outweighed her by what must surely be at least a hundred pounds. Additionally, he exuded a protectiveness that made her feel safe. Cherished.
He handed her into her car, bending to say he’d see her on Saturday night. As she drove away from the lot, she glanced in her rearview mirror. He stood motionless, hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans, the faint breeze ruffling his dark hair as he watched her leave.
She wondered briefly if she’d made a mistake. She wanted to put a stop to Harry’s matchmaking so she could go on with her life, unimpeded by marriage-minded suitors. She’d purposely picked Eli because she was convinced he had as little interest in matrimony as she did.
But after spending more than an hour in his company, she was having second thoughts.
Not about Eli—about herself. She was definitely attracted to him. Could she keep that attraction from complicating their plan to distract Harry?
She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully as she left Ballard and headed back to the university campus.
Of course I can, she concluded after several moments. Granted, Eli Wolf has the power to send my hormones crazy, but that doesn’t mean I have to act on the feeling.
She’d remain levelheaded and keep the end goal in mind, she decided firmly. Eli would only become a problem for her if she allowed him to distract her. She just had to remember that he wasn’t a man interested in a long-term relationship—that irrefutable fact should be enough to keep her from falling foolishly in love with him.
Braking for a stoplight, she used her cell phone’s speaker feature. “Mom? I’m so glad I caught you—can you get me two tickets for the fundraiser on Saturday night? And can we join your table?” She paused. “Yes, Mom, I’m bringing a date. Oops, have to go—I’m driving back to campus and the light just changed. See you Saturday!”
Later that evening after showering and donning pajama bottoms and a pink tank top, Frankie brewed a cup of green tea and climbed into bed. She loved her bedroom—it was her favorite room in her Queen Anne condo. Aided by her sisters, she’d painted three of the walls in a buttery cream color, but the fourth was a warm shade of red-gold pumpkin. Her bedstead was antique mahogany and had a matching nightstand. After months of searching, she’d found a tall chest of drawers that nearly matched the bed at an antique shop in Greenwood.
The lamp on her nightstand was a rare antique Tiffany, a Christmas gift from Uncle Harry, while the fluffy white comforter that covered the bed’s wide mattress had been a birthday gift from her mother.
In a corner near the window, a huge Boston fern sat atop a tall wicker floor stand, just to the left of a low base holding a medium-sized TV, its plasma screen now dark.
Frankie plumped the pillows and tucked them against the headboard behind her, then picked up the remote control and switched on the television. The eleven o’clock news was airing video of local trash collectors’ union members marching outside city hall with picket signs. The mayor’s comments on the status of union negotiations accompanied the video.
Frankie leaned back and sipped her tea as her thoughts drifted to her meeting with Eli that morning.
After spending time alone with him, she certainly understood how he’d earned a reputation as a man adored by women. No wonder he was reputed to date a lot. He was undeniably handsome, but there was something else, some indefinable element that made a woman feel as if she were the only female in the room. When he’d stared at her mouth, his eyes going dark, she’d felt the intensity of his gaze as if he’d reached out and touched her.
She shivered. This morning’s encounter with Eli had erased any doubts—she was still attracted to him. And that scared her.
Frowning, she sipped her tea and pondered why that should be. She’d dated off and on since she was sixteen; she’d known Eli longer than that. She wasn’t afraid of him in any rational way.
And yet, she was wary on some deep, primal level.
But wouldn’t any reasonable woman be cautious of a man who could break her heart?
No. She instantly rejected the possibility he could break her heart. I had a schoolgirl crush on him. That’s the only reason I’m feeling this way. I can’t possibly be in love with him, therefore, he can’t break my heart.
She was twenty-nine years old, not sixteen, she told herself. And she was eminently practical and well educated, having earned a doctorate in English lit, a master’s degree in mathematics and a second master’s degree in science. She was light-years away from that foolish sixteen-year-old who had dreamed about Eli Wolf.
But maybe the timing was wrong back then, a small voice said. And maybe now, with Eli unattached and you available, too, the stars are aligned and the time is right.
Frankie ignored the voice, burying it under a determined analysis of the details of the plan to fool Harry.
Yes, she thought firmly, this will work. I just have to remember we’re both playing a part, pretending to be attracted to each other.
Unbidden, the memory of his eyes staring at her mouth swept over her.
Pretending to be attracted to Eli wasn’t going to be the problem, Frankie realized. The real problem might very well be convincing herself not to truly fall for him.
Saturday dawned wet and chilly. The sky over Seattle was gray and lowering, the clouds seeming to hover around the top of the Space Needle. Rain fell intermittently, but the weather cleared late in the afternoon, giving Frankie hope that the evening might be nicer.
Before heading for the shower prior to her date with Eli, Frankie selected a small emerald green envelope purse from a chest drawer. She tucked the two tickets to tonight’s fundraiser, a condo key, lipstick, a twenty-dollar bill for emergencies and several tissues into the bag. Then she slid her favorite evening coat from its padded hanger in her bedroom closet and carried both items into the living room, dropping the purse onto the seat of an upholstered wing chair and draping the coat over the back. The long black coat reached almost to her ankles and, with its round collar and loose sleeves, was perfect for protecting an evening gown from the winter wind and rain.
Back in her bedroom, she laid out underwear and chose a pair of black stiletto heels to pair with her gown. A half hour later, fresh from her shower, she smoothed scented lotion over her skin and slipped into a lacy strapless bra with matching celery-green bikini panties and garter belt.
Justin’s wife, Lily, was a lingerie designer and kept Frankie in fabulous underwear. Everything feminine within her delighted in the silk and lace creations—in fact, walking into Lily’s shop, Princess Lily’s Boutique, in Ballard, never failed to make her smile with delight.
She sat on the edge of the bed to carefully don sheer, delicate stockings before stepping into her dress. The emerald-green satin gown was strapless, with a zipper up the back. The bodice was snug, fitted to closely follow the outward curve of her breasts and inward curve of the narrow waist. A wide band of crystal beading in glittering jet black covered the upper edge of the bodice.
Frankie slipped into her shoes, fastening the narrow black straps around her ankles, and rose to cross to the antique mirror standing next to the closet doors. She twisted to look at the zipper closure, checking to ensure it was fastened, then took jet black drop earrings with their matching necklace and bracelet from the jewelry case atop the high chest. It was the work of a few moments to fasten the earrings and bracelet, but the necklace clasp was difficult. After several tries, Frankie left the room with the gold-set jet beads cradled in one hand, switching on the bedside lamp as she went.
The doorbell rang just as she entered the living room, and a quick glance out the peephole revealed Eli in the hallway