Ghosts of Boyfriends Past by Vivi Andrews Page A

gorgeous since the last time she saw him? Or was it just the shock of seeing him for the first time in good lighting? The face was still mouthwatering, but it was the arms her memory had failed to honor. In spite of the winter chill, he wasn’t wearing a jacket, and his sleeves were shoved up to the elbow, revealing tanned, corded forearms. Those arms made him seem capable, somehow. As if like Atlas he could lift the world.
    “Ms. Marks. Fancy seeing you here.”
    He smiled. Biz’s heart rate doubled.
    She forced herself to swallow the sawdust and gave him a pathetic smile. “Yeah. Fancy.”
    “That’s him?” Gillian asked in the world’s loudest whisper. “You said he was a hunk, but I thought we were grading on the Parish Island curve. God’s balls, he’d be a stud at a Hollywood premiere. Move over, McDreamy.”
    Biz shot her a please-for-the-love-of-God-shut-up look. Where was a muzzle when you needed one?
    Mark wove his way over to their table, a sly little smile saying he’d heard every word. Conceited jerk.
    His eyes rolled over her from the top of her head to the table’s edge and back up again. Biz squashed the urge to check her hair. She hadn’t brushed it after falling out of bed, but she refused to feel self-conscious about her sloppy knot.
    Even if he looked like he stepped right out of a catalogue, starched, groomed and gorgeous. Biz probably looked like she’d survived a cyclone flying away with her trailer. His expression was appreciative, but she needed him to stop staring. Only a deeply cursed man could appreciate her when she resembled a half-groomed yeti.
    “Are you stalking me?”
    “Good morning to you too, Biz. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
    Before she could reply, Molly materialized at his side as if by teleportation. “Can I get you anything?” she asked breathlessly, her eyes locked hypnotically on his face, Kierkegaard forgotten on the back table. “Anything at all.”
    Mark ducked his head, and Biz thought she saw a touch of rose on his cheekbones. Was he blushing ? Had Molly’s slavish adoration actually embarrassed him? “Just an orange juice. Thanks.”
    Molly nodded five times in rapid succession, channeling an existential bobblehead, and then darted off to collect the nectar for her new deity.
    “Cute kid.” He coughed, the red on his cheeks brighter.
    Biz fell all over herself—literally—in his presence, and he just got cockier. Gilly compared him to a movie star and he took it as his due. But little Molly Kinneson decided to worship him and suddenly he was modest ? Where had that come from? Biz began to wonder if she would ever see the real Mark Ellison beneath his chameleon surface.
    Not that she wanted to know the real Mark Ellison. Not at all. She just wanted him to leave.
    “What are you doing here?” she asked, not caring how rude she sounded. He’d avoided the stalking question, she noticed. Couldn’t a girl enjoy the best breakfast on the Eastern seaboard without being reminded of the day of death steadily approaching?
    “I was walking by and I saw you through the window. What can I say, I felt compelled to come talk to you.” He slid into the booth beside her, his large body crowding against her. “Mind if I join you?”
    Compelled. Oh, God. Last night she’d been so stupid to stay in his presence for even a nanosecond. She needed to keep her distance.
    She scooted her hip away from his. “Would you leave if I said yes?”
    “Not if I can change your mind.” His smile said he was sure he could. The man certainly didn’t lack for confidence.
    “You know, at some point that arrogance is just sickening.”
    He leaned closer, revealing little crinkles around his eyes when he smiled. “Do I sicken you, Biz?”
    No, sir. That definitely wasn’t the problem.
    She put her hand on his chest and shoved him back. He let her move him but gave just enough pressure that she felt the imprint of his muscles against her fingers. Yum.