Her voice trailed off, and Max began to panic. She was walking away from him! "Where are you going?"
"To get some champagne."
"You don't drink!"
"I just started!"
Then her voice was gone.
Thirteen
Emma searched, without much success, for a waiter carrying champagne. Excusing herself constantly as she wended her way through the crowd, she was just about to admit defeat when she was flagged by Cissy. With a quick glance back in Max's direction, which was useless because of the thick crowd, she heeded the summons and slipped to Cissy's side.
"Where's Max?" she called over the ever-increasing din.
"Back by the elevators. The sod." Emma flounced into a velvet chair and felt another tiny pop at her side. "Great," she mattered. "I'd better fix this dress before June comes bustin' out all over."
"Trouble in paradise, honey?"
"Yes." She glanced to her bodice. It wasn't to the critical point yet, and she could breathe easier. If the remaining stitches held, she'd be safe. "He's the biggest pain in the neck since Dracula."
"So are all men, honey." Cissy sat back and sipped from a huge glass of something pink. "Want to talk about it?"
"No. I'm just looking for a couple of stray glasses of champagne. I think both Max and I need some-thing to calm ourselves before we strangle each other."
Cissy chuckled. "I haven't seen you this riled since the day Marshall beheaded all your dolls."
"Who's Marshall?" asked Adam from behind them.
"My brother." Emma grimaced. "And Max is just about to go the way of Marie Antoinette."
"I don't think decapitation will change him all that much, honey."
"Oh, Cissy, I don't want to change him. I just want him to listen to reason!"
"Whose reason, Emma?"
Startled, Emma stared at her friend with wide eyes. "I never thought of it that way."
"Seems to me," Cissy said as she lit another cigarette, "that Dracula has company at this party."
"He's isolated himself. Cissy. I want to let him be a part of the world instead of apart from it. Is that wrong?"
"You tell me."
Emma frowned. Something flickered in her mind, just out of sight.
Cissy blew a plume of smoke. "I remember a ten-year-old girl who swam a couple of miles through barracuda-infested waters because she couldn't live with everyone tellin' her what to do."
"You did that?" asked Adam with admiring eyes.
"And yet that same little girl hadn't believed in herself enough to let the man she loved see her in all her mischievous glory, simply because it wasn't what he wanted."
"Cissy, if self-confidence was a prize. Max would win the Nobel."
Cissy's eyes narrowed. "And that same little girl found out she could let the world see what it expects, because fooling people into a false security was easier than fightin' for domination. It was survival."
"Emma," Adam said gently. "Max has always been this way. Don't let him get to you."
"He told me about his parents, Adam. They wanted him to be like them, like…"
Her eyes narrowed. Max's voice echoed in her mind. "A changeling," he'd called himself. The events of the previous evening, the last weeks, flashed before her too. She had seen only Max's loss of control. But if she shifted the perspective…
She gasped. She'd forgotten something elemental, something she'd known after their first argument. If Max's control was protection, like her illusions, then that would mean…
"I have to find him!"
Cissy grinned. "Sharp as a tack, that girl."
"I think I missed something," Adam muttered.
Emma picked up her skirts and pushed through the crowd. No more strategic retreats, she told herself firmly. She would drag him out of there and lock him in his library if she had to, but they would settle this in private.
Max was a better illusionist than she ever was. His sightlessness had distracted her away from the real trouble. She'd concentrated so much on understanding him that she'd missed something vital.
Max trusted her. But he didn't trust himself.
Benno would help her, she knew. She and Max were going to settle this once and for all! There had to be a compromise, and he had made the first move. What they had was worth fighting for, even if she had to fight Max or herself to get it.
But when she rounded the potted palm, she stopped dead in her tracks. Max was gone.
Max paused when he ran out of wall. It had taken every ounce of self-control he possessed to get this far, and he wasn't sure he could continue. Damn Emma, anyway, for wandering off before they'd had a chance to finish their talk.
The polite murmur of voices washed around him. Though he had been greeted several times, there seemed to be no more acquaintances in his immediate vicinity, and he was grateful for that. He had to find Emma.
Max listened intently to the voices. He heard the guffaw that he knew belonged to one of his father's oldest friends. He heard the shrill laughter of someone he used to date. The clink of glasses intermingled with the swish of heavy fabric. The cloying scents of mixed perfumes floated around him, and the smell of beef, probably prime rib, heralded the entrance to the banquet hall.
He'd gone too far. He'd been aiming for the ballroom. And there was only one way to get there now. Straight through the crowd to the other side.
His heart lurched at the thought.
He clenched his sweaty fingers around the solid cane. It was his fault, and he owed it to Emma to explain. He didn't want to cage her, she was the flip side of his own personality, the freer side. She was everything he hadn't been for so many years. Through her he saw the world again, and he didn't want to lose that.
With a deep, steadying breath, he plunged into the sea of faceless bodies.
As the first person jostled him with murmured apologies, Max stiffened. Music began, a soft waltz, and his head swiveled in its direction. The ballroom. His breathing evened out now that he had a definite direction. He held his cane to his side so as not to skewer anyone and took another hesitant step in the right direction.
Another jostle. Another apology. Another greeting that he acknowledged with a patently false smile. Another pause to wipe his palm down his jacket.
He wasn't going to make it, he thought in rising panic. The room spun in his mind, the music floated from all directions, louder and more metallic with every dissonant note. His pulse jumped with every sound, every touch. The mixture of scents was a stifling blanket that suffocated him.
He remembered another crowd, a tide of worshipping baseball maniacs. They hadn't confused him. With Emma at his side, he hadn't felt horror. She made everything so easy.
He froze at the thought. Dear Lord, she was right. He'd used her as a crutch. He'd caged himself with gilded, self-imposed bars of supposed control. He'd vicariously seen the world through her eyes, but he hadn't bothered to try to see it himself.
That's what she had tried to tell him. All along she had led him not to relinquish control but to regain it! His illusion of a safe world was just that. An illusion. A fleeting attempt to create a cocoon and shut out reality.
The voices around him flowed like a gentle stream. The scents resolved into individual fragrances. The jostling creatures of his nightmares were just people. He was merely another among them.
A marvelous feeling of freedom swept over him. The air around him felt rarefied, as if he stood on top of a mountain he had been climbing for years and found a beautiful valley nestled in the snow.
Without Emma it was colorless. But it was there!
"Max!"
He turned at Adam's voice, a bright, real smile on his face. "Adam, where's Emma?"
"She went looking for you twenty minutes ago."
His smile slipped. "She didn't find me."
"Obviously. What happened? Why were you grinning like that?"
"Tell you later. Do you see her anywhere?"
"No. I've been looking fo
r her. She's not here at all." Adam snapped his fingers. "She said something about her dress. She had to repair her dress."
Max took Adam's arm easily. "Would you take me to the elevator? I don't want to waste any time."
"Sure."
Max chuckled at the surprise in Adam's voice as they began a fast pace. "I've been walking in circles all night, I think. And it's my own fault. Benno's waiting in the lobby, so don't expect either of us back, okay?"
"What if she's not in her room?"
"Then I'll just have to figure out another way to get her back. If I have to fly to South Carolina or Timbuktu, I'll do it. Dammit, I'm not dead yet!"
Adam left him at the elevator in stunned silence, and Max grinned.
Emma flew into the lobby, halting only when she saw Benno. She breathed a hearty sigh of relief. Max couldn't have gone home without his chauffeur.
Grabbing her slipping bodice, she paced carefully over the plush blue carpet. Benno saw her and blinked. Then he smiled. Emma raised her hand in greeting as he hurried toward her.
"Has Mr. Morgan come down yet?" she asked, breathless.
"No. He told me to wait, that he wouldn't be long." He grinned. "He went to find you, I think."
"He found me, Benno. But we're not finished yet. I need your help." She tugged at her dress and bit her lip. "Do you think you can smuggle me out of here?"
"Ja, I think so. The car is right out there." He handed her the keys. "You sit in the front, okay?"
"Okay." She winked. "Thanks."
Emma hurried out of the hotel into the humid night. The car was in front of the building as Benno had promised, and she slipped the key into the lock. She climbed into the front passenger seat, unlocked all the other doors, and settled down to wait.
Her heart fluttered as she envisioned the confrontation to come.
A muted bellow startled her, and she glanced up to see Max storm from the hotel. Benno scurried in front of him, barely opening the door in time.
One look at Max's face told her she'd better wait until they were home before she opened her mouth. Benno threw her a speaking glance and started the car. She scrunched down in the seat, trying to make herself even more invisible to him.
The car pulled away, and she began to relax— and to plan. Max's new security system was dismissed as unimportant. She would figure something out. She always did. It would go like grease through a goose, she thought with a smug grin.
"Benno," Max grumbled from the back, "do we have mice in the car too?"
Emma swallowed convulsively and peeped over the seat. Max sat with his legs casually crossed, his head cocked to one side, his golden brows raised in faint inquiry. No, she thought. He couldn't possibly…
"I hope you're not planning to break into my house," he commented blandly. "You know it won't be so easy if I prosecute. The judge won't drop the charges."
She grinned. "It'll work out. It always does, Max. Always."
"I know that, Emma." He cocked his lovely, tawny head. "Do you know when I first fell in love with you?"
"The baseball game?"
He smiled gently. "I thought that too. But you know what? I was wrong. I fell in love with Emma Machlen…" He cleared his throat. "I fell in love with you the moment you entered my house and turned my predictable world upside down."
Tears blurred her eyes. "Max—"
"Even then I knew you were something special. But I don't want a crutch, Emma. I don't need one."
"You never did," she whispered.
"But you know what I do need? A partner."
She caught her breath. "You're just saying that to get my barometer grass essence."
He grinned. "That too. What do you think? Can Island Organics and Daniels Cosmetics come to some reasonable compromise? Do you think a merger is in order?"
"I think we can arrange something." She clutched at the bosom of her dress. "But I want more."
His voice dropped to a husky purr. "Then climb over."
She glanced over to Benno, who pointedly turned the rearview mirror toward the ceiling and turned his attention toward the road. Grinning, Emma began to slither over the seat. The last of her stitches gave way with a loud pop, and she grabbed her dress with both hands, losing her precarious balance. With a tiny shriek she twisted her body and landed with a thump on the floor. "Damnation," she said, wondering if she'd ever be able to do anything right around him.
"You sure know how to make an entrance," Max said.
"It's a gift," she agreed solemnly, shifting to rub her backside.
"Want me to kiss it and make it better?"
Her mouth worked, but she lost the battle when she turned to find Max grinning at her. She giggled. "Do you happen to know what you're offering?"
"I think so." He wedged his body beside her on the floorboard, touching her gently on the side, then slid his hand down the silky gown until he cupped her injured muscle. "Here?"
"Yes," she whispered. "But, Max—"
"Hmm?" He caressed her buttock and leaned to nuzzle her neck, no easy task on the floor of a moving car.
"You're kneeling on my foot."
He chuckled and moved to the seat, reaching down to help her up. She put her hand in his. The dress slipped as she rose. When she instinctively snatched at it, Max's hand came with hers and brushed against her revealed breast.
He froze. "Is this a new style?" he murmured, running his fingers lightly over her.
Breathing became an unnecessary function. "I think I need a safety pin. I—"
Max leaned to capture her mouth in his. Emma wound her arms tightly around her neck as he lifted her to his lap without breaking the kiss. He trailed light kisses down her neck to her exposed breast, and drew it deeply into his mouth while Emma moaned and pulled him closer, feeling herself flow away, melting into the man she loved. They were one in their passion.
Then Max froze, chuckling breathlessly. "I think we'd better stop before Benno has a heart attack," he whispered.
"Stop is not in my vocabulary right now," she whispered back.
"What about marriage?"
"I know that one."
"Good. Emma, will you marry me?"
"Yes. Let's discuss it later." She kissed him again, but Max chuckled against her mouth, and she drew back, grinning into his face. "What?"
"Just yes?" He pulled her to the cradle of his throat. "No 'But Max, won't our lives go to hell in a handbasket over the next fifty years?' "
She laughed at his choice of words. "I think we can manage. If you talk to me. But," she warned him softly, "our life won't be perfect. I'm stubborn."
"So am I," he whispered.
"And I love baseball."
He chuckled into her hair. "So do I, love."
"We're going to fight."
"I wouldn't love you so much if you were afraid of offending me." He pulled her fiercely against him. "I don't want to control you."
"About that." She hesitated. "Max, will that happen again?"
He tensed. "The phantom sight? Yes. What happened afterward? No."
"I hope you're joking."
"Emma, it happens occasionally, but I won't shut you out again. At least I'll try not to."
"Good. But about the afterward part…" She tilted her head up and framed his face with her hands, guiding it down to her. "I'm not shy," she said against his mouth. "And I'm not made of glass." She pressed her lips against his, delving deeply into his mouth with her tongue.
She felt him swell against her, heard his moan of desire, and she reveled in her power. He swallowed convulsively as her lips drew away. "What are you, Emma Machlen?"
"I'm a woman, Max. And I love you."
"I love you, you little witch. You were made just for me."
"And you me." She pulled back and gazed into his face. "Do you trust me?"
"Implicitly."
"Then there are a few things we still have to get settled."
"Such as?"
"It's about control, Max. There are times
when control doesn't matter one damn bit."
He grinned, and her spirits soared. "Convince me later," he murmured huskily. "We have something to do first."
"If it's a baseball game, I'll pass."
Max threw his head back and laughed as she'd never heard him laugh before, holding her tightly against him. "No, not a baseball game. Something better."
"That sounds promising," she said, and nibbled his neck.
"Oh, it is," he answered, his face shining with love for her. "Benno!" he called. "Take us to the nearest amusement park, and step on it!" His smile softened. "I have a feeling I'm in for the roller-coaster ride of my life."
"Depend on it," Emma muttered.
I think my love of romance was preordained—my parents were engaged on their first date—but the two events that reinforced it took place when I was four. I learned to read, and I saw Lady and the Tramp. Thanks to the Tramp, I have a definite weakness for the knight in battered armor, whether he's a "bad boy" with a heart of gold or simply a man who shows his arrogant, cocky, clowning self to the world and saves his beautiful soul for the woman he loves. I'm a sucker for that kind of guy. When I found such a man at the age of nineteen, I fell like a brick and married him five months later. The critics said we were too young, but I guess Kurt and I both have the same stubborn streak and sense of the absurd, because after three kids, nine years of marriage, and long separations due to his job as an Army officer, we're still proving "them" wrong. Happily.
As a child, unlike other little girls I knew, I wanted to be an astronaut. Or a pitcher. Or a priest. In college, I majored in math, probably because someone had told me girls weren't supposed to be good at it. I picked up a minor in theater, and even spent a year in graduate school. I've taught college and managed a live theater, survived childbirth and surgery, lived through sixteen moves and five straight years of changing diapers. Okay, so life isn't perfect. But with love and a jaunty grin, anything's possible.
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