Chameleon

by Courtney Henke

She hesitated. Trust was a very fragile thing, she found. But she couldn't allow her personal feelings to keep her from the important Issues. "All right, Max. But I'm staying to make sure everything goes right. I won't have you losing money on this investment." She stood. "I'll move into a hotel immediately."

  "No!" He turned away from her. "I mean, that's not necessary, Emma. We're mature adults. I'm sure we can occupy the same house without either of us losing our objectivity."

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off.

  "Besides, you were released into my custody, remember? It's my duty to keep you off the streets of St. Louis and away from the law-abiding citizens." He turned and held out a hand. "Friends?"

  She frowned, wondering what he wanted. One minute he was trying like mad to get her out, the next he was finding excuses for her to stay. It was very confusing, but she grasped his hand tightly. "Friends."

  "Good."

  The air around them shivered with unspoken words, suppressed emotions. Max realized he hadn't dropped her hand, that the friendly handshake had the disturbing overtones of a caress.

  He let go abruptly and spun away. "I'm going for my swim. You're welcome to use the pool, but you'd better hurry. I'm hungry."

  He didn't wait for an answer but stumbled from the room, feeling for the rail. His urge to flee erased any embarrassment he may have felt, but even that knowledge failed to pierce his confusion. Why had he told her she could stay? Why hadn't he stuck her in a hotel, away from him?

  He rushed to change into his trunks, then went downstairs, slowing only when he bumped against the screen door. He threw it open and rushed outside into the already stifling heat. He felt for the edge and depth markers of the pool with his foot, then dove cleanly into the cool water, pushing himself immediately into a fast stroke as he surfaced.

  The water shocked his surprisingly overheated body, calming his violent need for her. Friendship was much more important and more lasting than desire. He knew that from experience. Emma's opinion mattered, and he didn't want to mess it up. He didn't want anything out of gratitude. He didn't want anything.

  Maybe that's why he'd asked her to stay. To test his willpower. He knew he couldn't take advantage of her in an emotional moment. And he certainly couldn't take advantage of her in his own home.

  No matter how much he wanted to.

  Emma stared after him a moment, then decided she wouldn't let him off so easily. Something had happened between them, and she wasn't about to run from it.

  Maybe Max was just as confused as she.

  She squared her shoulders and changed into her turquoise bikini.

  When she entered the kitchen, Dixie greeted her with excitement, running back and forth between her and the door like a puppy. Emma laughed as she slid it open and watched the dog bound out and run straight for the pool. Dixie barked and launched herself into the water with a tremendous splash. Emma couldn't help giggling as Max cursed good-naturedly at the sudden shower.

  "Did I forget you, girl?" She heard him laugh as she walked across the warm flagstones. He was in the deep end, and his head bobbed under the water as Dixie paddled over to him. He swam along the bottom, surfacing in the shallow end and calling his dog to redirect her. It appeared to be a game of tag.

  Emma caught her breath. His fair hair lay plastered against his skull, almost brown in the water. His skimpy red swimsuit clung to him, outlining and emphasizing every contour. He was magnificent.

  A warm tingling spread upward from her toes right to her scalp. She wanted to touch him so badly that she clenched her fists at her sides. She couldn't remember ever feeling this attracted to a man, this drawn.

  But she had to find out why he had closed himself off. She had to know if the attraction was one-sided, because if she stood any chance at all with him, she wanted it. This eternal dance around their emotions was driving her crazy.

  And if he felt nothing? Her mouth finned. She would cross that bridge if and when she came to it.

  Running to the edge of the deep end, she dove, slipping into the water like an otter. She surfaced, gasping, so close to Max that she could feel his body's heat. He stood frozen in the shallow end, a strange expression of shock on his face. Emma reached out and slapped his chest. "You're it!" she cried, and jumped away before she could give into the other urge, her disconcerting need to rub her cheek against him.

  Max's eyes narrowed. "Dixie, out!" he called, a reluctant smile twitching the corners of his mouth. "Leave me a clear field."

  The dog splashed to the stairs, climbed out, shook herself, and plopped down at the edge to watch. Emma giggled, and Max cocked his head. "So, Miss Smarty-Pants, you think you can hide from me, huh?"

  Emma ran out of footing as she backed slowly into the deep end, but she breathed a small prayer of thanks. She had him laughing again, and that relieved her more than she'd thought it would.

  Silence fell as Max stood, waiting, listening, and Emma carefully treaded water. No, it wasn't quite silent, she realized suddenly. Water lapped the blue tile softly, the sound of a distant power mower hummed faintly in the humid air, and a strident car horn made her jump. The world was a very noisy place.

  And smells! The chlorine barely masked the scent of damp, steaming grass, hot earth, and wet dog.

  Is this what Max "sees"?

  Her mind snapped back as Max moved toward her. His face reflected the intensity of his concentration, and Emma sobered, sensing it had be come a very serious game indeed. She scissored away from him as he neared, and he lunged, almost but not quite touching her. She froze again while Max treaded water. Imperceptibly she let her moving arms and legs ease her back toward shallower water.

  His head turned as she touched bottom. Her body slid up and out of the water, and she tiptoed toward the other end of the pool. Max slowly swam toward her. She changed direction, angling to her right, and Max continued swimming toward her last position. Her feet touched cold tile, and she stifled a tiny gasp. Max was walking now, his body aimed at a place just to her left. As he neared, she lowered herself back into the water.

  His arm shot out and touched her head. "Gotcha!" he cried, a triumphant grin splitting his face. Emma shrieked and shot up, pushing an armload of water into his face. He sputtered and splashed back.

  The battle was on, each combatant throwing almost as much water onto the patio as on each other. Dixie ran along the edge of the pool, barking her encouragement. Max ducked his head and worked his way toward Emma, finally catching her tormenting arms at the wrists. "Now, now," he chided. "Mustn't be a sore loser."

  "Pure luck," she said as primly as she could under her giggles.

  "Not luck," he told her. "Currents and your very noisy dripping."

  Emma groaned. "Superman unmasked."

  "Not quite," he said. "I'm not exactly the X-ray vision type, you know."

  Her laughter slowed as she realized Max hadn't released her. "I won't splash anymore. I promise."

  "And you never lie, do you?" he asked softly as he dropped her arms. A smile chased across his face and was gone, leaving a strange confusion that Emma longed to wipe away. "You just refuse to tell."

  He shouldn't have touched her, she thought dimly. His hands wreaked havoc with her body, accelerating her pulse to an alarming rate. Her breasts felt heavy, swelling against the skimpy suit. The water ebbed and flowed softly around them, brushing her thighs like cool silk.

  Her eyes were drawn to his face, to the smile that suddenly faded, to the unfocused eyes that suddenly darkened. His fingers moved on her shoulders, stroking her sensitive skin, and she had the oddest feeling that he saw her better than anyone ever had.

  Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined she could ever feel this way. She had known only surface emotions before. Max touched her soul as no one ever had. He made her feel fragile, and feminine, and…

  "You're beautiful, Emma Machlen. I've never met anyone so beautiful."

  His husky voice sent her heart leaping to her thro
at. And his mouth, when It settled lightly on hers, sent an aching spiral of sweet pain deep into the very core of her being.

  Her lips parted. Her eyes fluttered closed. His tongue darted to her lips, teasing her, taunting her, initiating a different game of tag that made her senses spin. She pressed against him, her breasts brushing the wet roughness of his chest, fitting into the hard contours of his body like a second skin. Exquisite agony flooded her, shattering her, opening a vast emptiness that she knew only Max could fill.

  Max spun into mindlessness, his senses reeling with the feel of Emma's willow-slender body pressed against his. He savored the sweet dampness of her mouth as if it were a fine wine, with forbidden sips that only tantalized and hinted at its true, heady pleasure. His body throbbed to a hard, primal rhythm. He wanted more of her, all of her, as he had for so long.

  She whispered something against his lips, but he couldn't hear for the pounding in his ears. His hands left her shoulders, sliding over her damp skin until his thumbs touched the edge of her suit. He groaned and pressed his mouth to hers, no longer sipping but drinking deeply, plumbing the sweet depths with his tongue as his fingers slid up the narrow string to the nape of her neck. The wet knot was stubborn, but with a jerk it came free. He slid the strings downward until he felt the soft rise of her breasts.

  His mouth left hers then, trailing kisses down her arched neck to the hollow of her throat, lapping the tiny puddle there. His fingers followed the curve of her breast until they found the hard, hot buds of her nipples. She gasped as he rolled them gently in his fingers, and he felt his manhood strain against the restricting suit. Her hands circled his neck, guiding him downward. His hands moved to her waist, lifting her against him, fitting her softness against his hard body perfectly, driving him mad with wanting her as he licked and sucked her faintly fragrant skin. His tongue explored the valley between her breasts, but it wasn't enough. He wanted more. Lord, he wanted to take her nipple in his teeth, then sheath himself inside her hot body until they both exploded in an uncontrollable maelstrom…

  With a shuddering sigh he stopped. He couldn't do it, not there, not then. Not ever.

  "What's wrong?" she whispered. Her voice echoed his anguish, but he could only shake his head and bury his face in the sweet curve of her neck, his arms tightening around her as he fought for control of his body. There was no more panic, and that disturbed him as much as the fear had. Reluctantly he lowered her back into the water and caught the floating straps of her suit, retying them quickly before he lost what semblance of sanity he had regained.

  "I can't, Emma. I'm sorry."

  "Why?"

  Trust Emma to be blunt when it suited her, he thought with a pained laugh. "If I say I don't know, will you leave it alone?"

  "For now," she whispered.

  The water moved around him as she swam away. He wanted to call her back. He wanted to erase the ache he had heard in her one simple syllable. But he needed the physical distance she had set.

  "You don't make any sense. Max. Do you know that?"

  "Just stop trying to make us more than friends, Emma."

  "Just stop trying to make us any less," she countered.

  Blithely disregarding the truth in her statement, he groped for the ladder and heaved himself from the water, searching for the towel that was draped over the lounge. A change of subject was definitely in order. "Are you going to have to send for some more barometer grass?"

  "No."

  He jumped. Emma was right behind him. Lord, she moved like a breath of air! He turned and defensively stuck out the towel. She took it, and he tried not to imagine her rubbing it over her wet skin, along every curve of her silken body.

  "There's more than enough essence for the test batch," she said. "I ruined only a small part of it."

  He paused. "And you? You're not a prisoner, no matter what you think. Would you like to go out sight-seeing with Adam?"

  "No, thank you." She hesitated. "But I'd like to go with you. Isn't that what friends do?"

  "Me?" He thought of the implications and clenched his fists. Why not? Emma deserved it after all he'd put her through. "Sure." He pushed his fears far away. "Tomorrow, all right?"

  "Great!"

  "Do you have anything in mind?" he asked, forcing a casual tone he was far from feeling.

  "You mean besides blowing up your stillroom and seducing you?"

  He did his best to glare at her. "For St. Louis."

  She giggled at his attempt and abandoned her attitude. "Yes. I want to see the Arch."

  "The Arch it is," he said with a smile, then turned toward the house.

  Emma watched him walk away from her, more confused than ever at his attitude, his rapid turnabouts. She wanted to understand him, she wanted to have more than a tiny peek at the world as he saw it. The gentle soul she'd first glimpsed was there; it would be up to her to unlock it. Because Cissy was right. She'd jumped in with both feet this time. And one thing shined with crystal clarity in her mind. She was falling in love with him.

  Seven

  "Ready?"

  Emma nodded to Tony, the squat, bald-headed chemist. The fluorescent lighting gave his face an unhealthy green glow, but his expression was placid. He flipped a switch, and the bewildering machine on the lab counter began to hum. Surreptitiously she tucked her hands into the pockets of her white coat and crossed her fingers.

  "You're absolutely sure you gave him the correct amounts?"

  She glanced over at Max, wondering if the anxiety that tinged his voice was for his company or her personally. They had declared a tremulous, platonic peace since they'd left the pool, and Emma had vowed patience. They would remain friends, at least for a while, if it killed her. And if her highly erotic dream of the previous night was any indication, it would. But, she told herself brutally, the project came first. Only her concern for her family could keep her from throwing herself into his arms and kissing him senseless. "I'm very precise, Max," she said with more confidence than she felt. "Just hope your computer is."

  Tony inserted her last vial of barometer grass essence into its designated slot alongside the six-teen others, and placed a bottle carefully underneath the spigot. Emma added a prayer, just in case.

  "Here we go," he said, and punched a command into his terminal.

  In a disgustingly short period of time the tiny flask was full. Emma let out a breath she didn't even know she'd been holding and picked the container up with trembling fingers. Her heartbeat raced as she dabbed a drop on her wrist and brought it to her nose. To her outward pleasure and her secret astonishment it smelled exactly as it should. "That's it." she said cheerfully, and gave the bottle to Tony, who left the room with Max's instructions to send it to the marketing firm in Los Angeles.

  "May I?" Max asked.

  Emma placed her hand in Max's, and he sniffed her wrist A tiny shiver played over her body. Friendship was highly overrated, she decided. "Well?" she asked breathlessly.

  Max froze, then he smiled before releasing her arm. "Smells like a cross between a florist's shop and a bakery."

  She laughed. "Three days from now you won't even recognize it."

  "It amazes me that an odorless essence can pull that jumble of scents together and allow each to emerge in a different order."

  "That's its subtlety," she said softly. "It's brilliant in its natural setting, coloring rapidly with the atmosphere around it. It's invisible to the senses when placed in another environment, yet pervasive when surrounded by stronger scents. Because of its unexpectedness, its change brings out the best in everything."

  His smile faded. "Does it? Does it really?"

  "Yes, Max," she whispered. "Sometimes all it takes is a shift in perspective."

  He swallowed hard. "You—"

  "Sorry I'm late!" called Adam as he rushed in. "Is it over?"

  Max stepped away and smiled brightly at his friend. Emma glared at him. He raised his brows in inquiry and winked at her.

  "You missed—quite a b
it," said Max.

  Adam's blue eyes darted from Max to Emma and back again. He shrugged. "I was busy. The check is gone—you're broke, by the way, Max"— they chuckled—"and Emma, I have yet another of these endless contracts for you to sign." He handed her a sheaf of papers.

  She glanced over it. "Exclusive rights to the extraction process?"

  Adam nodded. "It's not only the scent itself, but the barometer grass that makes it so valuable. You told me it grows on your island and a few of the surrounding islands, but that it isn't an endangered species, right?"

  "Right," she said cautiously.

  "That means any company could get its hands on it, and duplicate its remarkable essence. And they'll try, believe me. Once this hits the market, it will cause the biggest stir since the discovery of ambergris."

  "Then the fixative is the real potential gold mine," she muttered.

  "Adam," Max said, "I think I hear the wheels turning."

  "I have a big mouth, don't I?" Adam grinned, totally unrepentant.

  Emma thought it over quickly and handed the contract back to Adam, unsigned. "Sorry, Max. You own one scent. I think I'll hold on to the rest."

  "You're not going to believe this," he said gently. "But I'm trying to protect your interests. We have the security setup to prevent its theft."

  Her breath caught in her throat. "I believe you, Max. I do. But only three people really know the entire process. Myself, my mother, and my sister Diana."

  "And me. I was there, remember?"

  "You were there, yes," she said with a dimpled grin. "But the key to the extraction process is the way it looks while it's being prepared, its color when it's finished."

  Max's mouth worked, then he chuckled. "I think I've been outflanked."

  "Neatly," said Adam.

  "I do know enough of the initial preparation to make me dangerous, Emma. You know that."

  "I know that," she whispered. "And I trust you to keep the secret." For a moment the air trembled between them with the implications of her statement.

  His laughter died abruptly. "I will. I'll—" He swallowed. "I'll keep it locked away as tight as—as a—"