The Marriage Campaign. Michele Dunaway

      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,