"Virgin on her wedding night?" supplied Adam.
The mood had broken. Emma groaned. "You have no flair for metaphors, you heathen! As tight as a parson in a brothel, as a housewife's diary. Get into the swing, Adam. You'll get it."
"Does everyone in your family talk as if they walked off the set of an old B movie?" asked Adam.
She shook her head. "Sorry, just me."
"An awesome gift," he said solemnly.
"It's something all right," Max agreed with a nod.
They left the laboratory in good spirits, and Adam asked Emma if she had any plans for the day.
"We're going to the Arch," she said.
"We?" His eyes opened Wide. "As in you and Max?"
Max tensed. "Of course."
Adam whistled. "About this contract, Emma. Can we at least discuss exclusive rights to the essence?"
"We can discuss it," she said with a puzzled look at Max.
"Maybe Daniels Cosmetics should merge with Island Organics, Max. This lady may just wipe us off the map If we're not careful."
"It's a thought," Max said in an odd tone of voice as he and Emma walked down the hall. "It's definitely a thought."
As they drove down the elm-lined street, she studied Max through narrowed eyes. The sunlight and flickering shadows of the trees played hide-and-seek in his hair, firing it with red highlights one moment, darkening it ominously the next. It was almost as if two separate people sat beside her.
His posture was casual, which suited his tan slacks and open-throated polo shirt. Too casual, she decided as she watched him nervously fingering the cane in his lap. He offhandedly explained that his cane was better in confined spaces, and they'd left Dixie at home because she was too big to fit into the observation cars that traveled into the Arch. It made sense, but this forced calm didn't. In spite of his seeming indifference, she could see that the trip had made him clench up like… like a virgin on her wedding night.
"Would you like a cigarette and blindfold?" she asked with a grin.
"What?"
"You look as though you're about to face a firing squad. Max."
He smiled, but it was a rather sickly smile. "It's too hot to get shot today."
Emma frowned. What was going on? "What do you think, Benno? Is this a good day for an execution?"
"A good day? Nein. It will rain, I think."
"And so ends that discussion," she muttered, and went back to contemplating the scenery.
They drove into the heart of St. Louis, maneuvering through streets clogged with traffic into a parking lot near the Mississippi River. As the engine ceased, Max reached into his pocket and pulled out dark glasses Emma couldn't remember ever seeing him wear before. He donned them quickly, almost distastefully, and exited the car. Benno opened her door, helped her out, and climbed back into the front seat. Max waited on the other side of the car, standing stiffly, and she strode to him quickly.
The voices echoed clearly in his mind. The sound of a crowd, of people talking, calling out, children laughing, a baby crying. He forced himself to concentrate on the here and now, not the disorienting echoes. He would do this, he told himself firmly. He'd driven Emma insane with her captivity. He owed her this.
He listened intently, finding the sound of the tugboats on the river. That would be his direction. And he would not reveal his fear to Emma. It was her day.
"Underneath is the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial," Max told her as they wended through the parking lot. "But now we simply call it all the Arch."
Emma glanced up to the graceful curve of steel that arced into the sky. She frowned and brought her gaze back to him. Her fingers itched to take his arm as he led the way to the walkway, but he'd become distant and unapproachable, and she could only wonder vaguely how he knew its location. As he paused to orient himself, his chin tilted up as if he'd steeled himself for some kind of ordeal. She glanced around.
Though it was early, the parking lot and grassy acreage surrounding the Arch were already crowded. Emma barely noticed the wide river practically at her feet, she hardly saw the showboats tied at the levee farther along, or the stately grace of the city beside her. She saw only the people around them.
What was It about them that upset Max? There were a few surreptitious glances in his direction, even an occasional blatant stare, but it was nothing that his fair good looks wouldn't cause under normal circumstances. His dark glasses and cane merely .gave him a different quality. Did it threaten him?
"How about an Uzi and a gun belt?" she asked.
"Emma, as usual, I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."
"You're girding your loins again. I thought you did that only when people broke into your house."
"Are we here to sight-see or psychoanalyze?"
She frowned. "I'm at your disposal, sir," she said, watching him closely. "Where to?"
The muscles of Max's back tensed, clearly outlined by the taut shirt as he squared his shoulders and turned into the light breeze. "This way," he said stiffly, and began along the sidewalk, his white cane tapping on the concrete as he swept it back and forth across his path, constantly cutting himself a swath through the crowd. Emma walked silently on his left as he hugged the right side of the path, following the tide of humanity to the base of the Arch.
He negotiated the steps down to a little museum at its foot, and she followed, certain of his direction but cringing inwardly. His discomfort was beginning to transmit itself to her, and she fought the urge to draw her veil. She was through hiding her head in the sand.
"Do you see a ticket line?" he asked.
Emma glanced around. "Yes."
"Where?"
Her jaw clenched. Of course he wouldn't ask her to lead him to it. "Straight ahead, about fifteen feet. There are fourteen people in line."
He nodded and walked forward, stopping when his cane hit a foot. A small towheaded child licking a strawberry ice cream cone stared up at Max with wide eyes. Emma shifted her feet, regretting this idea but determined to carry it through. Didn't Max understand that people believed what they saw, that the moment he'd put his mask in place he'd opened himself to the kind of attention he seemed determined to ignore?
"Mithter? Are your eyeth broke?"
"Tommy," said the woman beside him, obviously appalled at her son's question. "I'm sorry, sir. You know how kids are."
Emma glanced at Max. She expected anger or withdrawal. What she saw astonished her.
His face softened, and he squatted in front of the child. "It's all right." He smiled. "What's your name? Tommy?"
"Yeth," the boy whispered, his lip trembling at his mother's reaction.
"Well, Tommy. My eyes are broken in a way. I hurt them a long time ago, and now I can't see with them. But that doesn't mean I can't see at all."
Tommy frowned, puzzling it out. "Huh?" he said finally.
Max stifled a chuckle. "How old are you?"
"Thith many." He held up a sticky hand and showed four fingers.
Max touched it gently. "Four, huh? You're pretty big for four."
"I am?" His eyes widened. "Hey, you thaw me?"
"Sort of." Max cocked his head. "Tommy, have you ever played pin the tail on the donkey?"
He nodded enthusiastically. "At my brother'th birthday party. I won!" he finished proudly.
"Remember when they covered your eyes? You couldn't see the donkey, but you pinned him, right? How did you do that?"
Tommy frowned again, then his face cleared. "Oh!"
"That's how." He stood. "But well keep it our secret, okay?"
"Okay."
The line moved forward, and Tommy's mother smiled at Max. "Thanks," she whispered. "That was nice of you."
They paid for their tickets and moved through the turnstile.
As Max fumbled for the correctly folded bills from his wallet, Emma wiped away a stray tear. "Yeah, Max," she whispered through a tight throat as he walked ahead. "That was nice of you."
They rode
the observation car in silence. The disconcerting rocking sway of the seat made Emma a little nauseated as it climbed the slope inside the Arch, but it was his attitude that puzzled her the most. Once up, they exited, and Max drew her forward to a small window, one of many that lined the wall.
Her nausea and her half-answered questions about Max's behavior disappeared from her mind as she gazed downward, the entire city lying before her. "Oh, Max," she said. "It's beautiful."
Unconsciously she reached out, touching her fingers against the coolness of the glass as if she could flow into the city itself. Then, without really wondering why, she began to describe it.
"It's all spread out before us. Max. Like a crazy quilt inscribed with ribbons of gray satin, covered with children's toys from different centuries…"
The buildings were a curious blend of old and new, from the garden rooftop of some hotel, to the towering skyscrapers of rectangular concrete, to the twisted spire of a church, to the green dome of a courthouse or city hall. Verdant parkland was bordered by stately edifices of a bygone era. Metal antennae that would blink dimly red at night perched incongruously on top of antique structures. All of it flowed from her eyes to her lips, while she barely paid attention to anything or anyone around her.
Max listened to her words, amazed at the vivid images she evoked. It was almost as if she had become the scenery, and his mind presented him with the city he'd nearly forgotten. A curious peace settled in his heart.
"St. Louis is the leader in urban renewal," Max told her softly when she paused in wonder. "At least, we like to think so. Do you see a rectangular building, a cap of stairs at the top?"
"Yes."
"That's part of Union Station. Some years ago it was falling into ruin. Now it's incredible—shops, a hotel, all meticulously restored to grandeur. I'd like to take you there."
"I'd love it," she said, but her voice sounded strained, even to her ears. Now that her near trance had disappeared, she wasn't sure she wanted to go anywhere with Max when it was such a trial for him. "What's that building right in front? It looks like the Capitol building in Washington."
"The old Courthouse," he said. "Two of the five Dred Scott trials were argued there."
"And is that Busch Stadium?" she asked, glancing over to a huge oval. Obviously it was, but she wanted to keep him talking.
"Yep. The busiest place in town." He smiled. "You probably know what a baseball-crazy town St. Louis is."
"I've heard. Do you like baseball?"
He shrugged, and Emma watched him closely. "I used to go all the time," he said, "but I haven't been to a game in years."
Since I went blind was his unspoken comment, and a vague plan began to form in her mind as he continued telling-her about the massive renovation that had been going on in his beloved town. She listened and watched his face light up as he related the information.
Suddenly the floor under her feet moved, shattering the mood, and she gripped his arm convulsively. "Max!" she said with a gasp. "We're falling!" Several other people cried out as the Arch began to sway. With an odd, quavery chuckle, Max slid his arms around her and held her close, fitting his chin to the top of her head.
"A storm's blowing in," he told her softly, soothingly. "Just as Benno predicted. I don't like storms any more than the next person, but it'll break this heat wave. The old Arch can withstand tornadoes, honey. A little breeze won't topple it."
Emma couldn't speak past her suddenly tight throat. His gesture had been comforting, but the contact sent messages to her brain that had nothing to do with fear anymore. A scent, Max's own personal fragrance, swirled into her mind, wrapping it into the numbness she was beginning to know so well. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and she was aware of nothing but him. She swayed with something other than the wind, and her arms crept around him, holding him close.
His amusement faded, and she felt his own heart jump erratically. His arms tightened slowly, his fingers brushed her back in a tentative motion that sent ripples of pleasure coursing through her. Her heartbeat increased with his, pounding in sync, and the rest of the world disappeared as their bodies danced with a rhythm all their own.
She lifted her head from the cradle of his throat and tilted it up to him. The dark glasses hid any expression in his eyes, but his golden head bent toward her slowly. Watching him carefully, she fit her mouth to his as it touched her fleetingly. With a low groan his mouth returned, joining hers with unexpected hunger, setting every nerve ending instantly alight. Her eyes drifted closed, and her arms tightened around him.
His tongue darted out to hers, mating in an explosive union that only shadowed her real need.
She drew him into her, reveling in the taste of him, the feel of his hands stroking her body, of his hard arousal pressed into her. It was as if they were the only two people left on earth.
And she loved him.
Her own whimper of pleasure was unconscious, but it seemed to recall him to sanity. His mouth left hers, and he held her close, attempting to control his ragged breathing. Emma listened to his racing heartbeat and smiled, trembling. Her soul sang with the intensity of his reaction.
She opened her eyes, and the fantasy exploded. Standing on the other side of the Arch was a group of teenage girls. At her notice, they burst into a round of whispered giggles and averted their gazes. Max tensed.
"Let's get out of here," he whispered hoarsely, and Emma nodded. He released her quickly, leaving her strangely disoriented, and groped for the cane he had laid on the shelf below the viewports while he'd talked.
As Max moved back to the observation car, his icy cloak firmly around his shoulders again as he tapped his cane, Emma's vague plan became vividly clear.
Max treated the world as an enemy, something to battle While Emma saw only beauty, Max saw obstacles. Some of his Jericho wall was down. Maybe a little lesson in camouflage would take care of the rest.
"Can we cut this short. Max? I have something I need to do."
His stiff nod was curiously -defeated, but she didn't have a moment to worry about it. She had too much to do. It was time Maxwell Morgan learned a few things about independence.
Eight
"Is she back yet?"
Adam's frantic query and rush into the room came simultaneously with another deafening clap of thunder. Max flinched. Cold sweat beaded his brow, his hands clenched convulsively in Dixie's fur. The dog whimpered and licked his shaking hand. "No," he said, furious when his voice broke.
"My Lord, what's wrong with you? You're white as a sheet!"
Max tried to relax into his leather chair, he tried to appear unaffected, but thunder rolled again, and he trembled. "You really need lessons from Emma. Your metaphors are rather cliché, Adam."
"It's the storm," Adam whispered. "Lord, it's the storm!"
Max heard the clink of glass against glass, and then Adam pressed something into his hand. He drank automatically, the whiskey cauterizing his dry throat. He choked, but his hands stilled.
Damn! He felt like a fool.
"You weren't supposed to come over!" he said to his friend. "I just thought Emma might have run to you."
"Don't snarl at me. Max. I don't even know what this is all about. Why would she want to run?"
Max hesitated. "Do you remember the first time Shannon ever went out in public with me after the accident?"
"How could I forget? She bitched about it for weeks beforehand, telling you it was unhealthy to shut yourself up in the house, then dragged you all over town as if you couldn't do anything yourself." Adam gasped. "Is that what Emma did? You're lying!"
Max's throat tightened, and he gulped the alcohol again, shutting out the memory with the sound of the storm.
"Oh, hell, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that. I only meant she wouldn't do that."
"No, she didn't. She's—" He shook his head. "I meant afterward. Do you remember what happened after that?"
"Of course. Shannon decided your social standing wasn't worth your rigid co
ntrol. You terrified her."
Max blinked. "That was blunt."
"But true, and you know it. Hell, Max, it had nothing to do with the accident. You shut down a long time ago. You just had a good excuse when you were blinded. Shannon dumped you— another excuse, by the way—and it didn't bother you at all. You—" Adam made a sound of discovery. "You think that's what Emma did. You think she turned tail after your little trip because she decided she couldn't live with you, is that it?"
"She didn't even wait for me to leave the car, Adam. Just sprang out and said she was heading for the nearest bus stop." He laughed mirthlessly. "I've tried getting her out every way I could, and I finally hit on the one way to do it. Just"—he made a wide gesture with his arms—"be myself." Bitter regret stabbed him like a knife, and he finished off the remainder of the whiskey in one swallow. Emma probably hated him. He hated himself and had kicked himself mentally all the way home.
"Oh, that's good. Wallow in self-pity."
Max Ignored Adam's comment. He wanted to recapture the feeling he'd had, just for a moment, when he'd truly lost himself in her kiss. For that moment he had been completely unaware of anything but her lithe body pressed against him— and a flaming hunger that he had forgotten to hide.
Oh, yes, he wanted Emma Machlen.
Thunder pierced his eardrums again. He went cold. Please let her be safe, he prayed silently as he had all afternoon. The images haunted him again, images of Emma's battered and broken body lying in a rain-soaked ditch. Twisted metal wrapped her head, blood poured down her face as she lay in a bed of shattered glass.
Max groaned, and his eyes burned. If anything happened to her, he would never forgive himself.
"Don't think about it, Max," his friend ordered. "The accident happened years ago. You're safe."
"But Emma's not," he said. "You don't understand. She's out there somewhere, and it's my fault." His stomach churned with anxiety as he forced the images from his mind. "Where is she?"
"She's fine, I know she is."
"Did she call you?"
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