Something Borrowed. Jule Mcbride

and catching a cab to the East Side, she couldn’t remember seeing him on the street….

      Cash had quickly passed on Marley as a prospect, though. She did remember that clearly. When she’d said she was leaving, he’d turned his attention to Bridget, who was the most obvious of the sisters, the one men always looked at first. Her outfits were flashier and her voice louder, probably because she’d felt left out when they were kids, overshadowed by twin sisters who had—at least back then—been inseparable. But Bridget had been talking to a friend on her cell, which meant Cash’s attention had shifted once more, this time to Edie, who was clearly wowed by his looks.

      That was when Marley had left. Now, all she knew was what she’d gleaned from her tight-lipped sister who hadn’t divulged much except that Cash was a lousy kisser. Given his devil’s grin, dripping dark locks and swaggering walk, Marley had figured him for a ladies’ man, the kind of guy who’d know how to make a woman feel like a woman.

      “TMI!” Marley had protested when Edie had divulged the gossip about the kisses. “Too much information!”

      “I know I should quit seeing him. There’s just no chemistry. But he’s so good-looking that I keep hoping…” Edie had paused. “Is being a bad kisser really a fatal flaw?”

      “Yes!” exclaimed both Bridget and Marley in unison, and then Bridget had added, “but guys who look like that always get plenty of practice, so I just don’t get it.”

      Marley had hesitated, unwilling to state the obvious, since it might spoil their good moods, but she had felt compelled to say, “The wedding curse. That must be it. Maybe he’s a great kisser, just not when he kisses one of us. Uh, you know, a Benning.”

      Edie had groaned. “Don’t start with that again.”

      “Marley does have a point,” Bridget had said, her blue eyes growing distant as if she were staring at a far-off partner whom she’d never really meet, face-to-face.

      Now Marley winced at Edie’s watch as she pushed through a revolving door at NBC. Fifteen minutes until six, she thought. It was later than she’d imagined, almost the time Edie had been told to arrive at the studio. At least the timing ensured Cash would be here already.

      But where? In the lobby, a line of people was preparing to be led upstairs, and judging from the signs they carried, they were the studio audience for Rate the Dates. Slipping past them, Marley headed for an open elevator, following directions Edie had given. When she reached an attendant wearing green slacks and a matching blazer, she announced herself, saying, “Edie Benning,” and then she watched in relief as the woman crossed her off a guest list.

      “I’ll phone upstairs and tell them you’re finally here,” the woman said.

      Finally? Marley thought a moment later as the elevator car ascended. The woman had made it sound as if Marley were late, but hadn’t Edie said to be here by six, since the show started at seven? Suddenly, Marley wished she’d asked for more information. Had Cash possibly changed his mind, anyway? After all, Edie had said alternates were always ready to go on, which meant last-minute cancellation wasn’t supposed to be a problem. Besides, Cash had been reticent about going on the air, anyway.

      But what if he tried to strong-arm her into appearing for some reason? In that case, should she tell him she wasn’t Edie? Marley felt a sudden stab of panic. Should she have come earlier? Had Edie gotten her facts wrong? Swallowing with difficulty, since her mouth was still bone dry, Marley felt a rush of pique at Cash Champagne. As far as she was concerned, all this aggravation was his fault. If he’d answered his cell phone, Edie could have canceled herself. Men were all alike, Marley thought. So many never grew up, living long into adulthood at the center of their own little worlds….

      Edie had been trying to call Cash all day, but he’d hardly cared that his unavailability might affect her, much less Marley who was now tracking him down. As soon as she’d spoken with Edie, Marley had meant to head straight to Cash’s supposed work site—a new Upper West Side club called the Plantation House, a fancy restaurant-bar he’d said he was opening with an old friend—but then she’d decided to disguise herself as Edie. She just wanted the opportunity to size him up at length, to make sure Edie wasn’t making a mistake by dating him.

      Dressing had taken longer than anticipated. She and Edie had been born identical, but they’d evolved different tastes and lifestyles that, today, made them look more like sisters than twins. Because Marley had a slightly heavier, more muscular body from working out, not all Edie’s clothes fit, and even after she’d dressed, shoes remained a problem since Edie’s closet was organized with boxes bearing coded labels only she could understand. As far as Marley was concerned, you’d need a cryptanalyst from the CIA to decipher Edie’s closet. Just as Marley had found shoes, she’d realized she needed to clip her bangs if she was going to look like Edie….

      In the end, the disguise was perfect. Unfortunately, that meant Edie’s neighbors had stopped Marley, wanting to chat. By the time she reached the subway, the animal rights activist had accosted her, and when she got out at Times Square, the afternoon’s beautiful dusting of snow had turned to sleet in the twilight, and she hadn’t been able to get a cab the rest of the way to Fiftieth.

      “Just tell Cash I can’t be on the show,” Edie had said, making it sound so easy. “He won’t mind,” she’d assured. “To tell you the truth, I had to talk him into it. I was excited about it at the time. He didn’t even seem interested in the prize money.”

      “Aren’t you?” Marley had asked, thinking about how she, herself, could use the money to start her fitness center.

      Edie had hesitated. “Yeah,” she’d finally admitted. “But I don’t think I should go on the show. I mean, like I said, Cash and I don’t really seem to be clicking….”

      Marley could see why Edie kept hanging on. The guy was gorgeous. But why was Cash still interested if there wasn’t any chemistry? When the elevator doors opened onto a hallway packed with people, there was no more time to ponder the question. Another woman in a green blazer and slacks, positioned at the elevator, said, “You are?”

      “Mar—uh, Edie Benning.”

      Just as she glanced around, looking for Cash, she felt a surprisingly strong hand close around her upper arm and when she glanced up, she was staring into the face of a tall man with short dark hair named Trevor Milane, whom she recognized as the host for the reality show. Not that Marley had actually seen a full episode of Rate the Dates, only ads for it, many of which were on public buses. Before she could introduce herself, the man, who looked astonishingly like Pierce Brosnan said, “Where have you been? Don’t you know our show is nationally televised? Oh, it doesn’t matter, just get back to costume.”

      The hallway was so crowded, Marley could barely move, much less find a costume department. “I came to cancel,” she managed to say. “I need to find Cash Champagne.”

      “Cancel?” Trevor growled, thrusting harried fingers through his dark hair as he spun abruptly and half dragged her down the hallway, wending around studio workers, his grip firm even when she tried to shake it off. “Keep dreaming, sweetheart,” he said gruffly, still pulling her along. “We air live, and there’s no time left.” He raised his voice. “Contestant six finally made it,” he called, his gravelly voice now turning magically soft in a heartbeat, the deep baritone almost as sexy as Cash Champagne’s. It was as if he’d said, “Open sesame.”

      Double doors opened on the studio, and Marley’s jaw slackened as she stared into the insanity beyond. People were ducking and circling each other, carrying everything from legal pads to technical equipment; the same line of people she’d seen in the lobby were now being marshaled into studio seats by more women in green slacks and blazers.

      Nearer, someone gasped and said, “Thank God she’s dressed.”

      Someone else groaned. “Red will blend with the backdrop.”

      Just as Marley realized they were talking about her suit, another disembodied voice hit her ears, saying, “Less than six