There was something special between us a long time ago. I believe it’s still there, beneath all the pain. Maybe Max and I could work through our differences. Maybe we could fall in love again. He could be a father to Flick and we could get married and live happily ever after.
She scoffed. Talk about fairy tales. She might still be attracted to Max, but he obviously didn’t feel the same way. She’d seen him kiss Elena tonight. He might be a spy, but he was also still a playboy who used women like tissues and threw them away. She’d better settle for playing the damned exhibition match and not worry about living happily ever after. That special something—the spark between them—had been extinguished.
Liar, liar, pants on fire, a little voice said. Max might be furious with you. And you might have ruined the possibility of ever living happily ever after with the decision you made to force him out of your life. But the sexual spark isn’t gone. He wants you. And, admit it, you want him. So why not seduce him and see what happens. You know you can do it.
That sounded manipulative. Cold and calculating. And very un-Kristin-like. It was also a plan that would work. But to what end? What was it she wanted from Max, really?
A commitment.
And how likely is that, considering who he is?
Kristin spit, rinsed her mouth and her toothbrush. It was time for a reality check. Getting back together with Max was a fantasy. Better to concentrate on searching for the assassin. And playing some good tennis. Then she could return to her life in Miami with Flick—and the Blackthorne Rubies.
Kristin reached for the hem of her short-sleeved cashmere sweater to pull it off but dropped her hands and slumped onto the bed instead. She put her feet up and grabbed the second pillow and hugged it tight to her chest.
Getting Max to commit was a stretch, no doubt about it. On the other hand, did she want to spend the rest of her life alone, like her father? She knew he was lonely without her mother. But he’d been too stubborn to fight to keep her. Was she going to make the same mistake? Why not fight for Max?
Kristin shook her head in disgust. Why couldn’t she abandon the fantasy of happily ever after?
Face it. It’s too late. Finish what you came here to do and get on with your life!
Kristin said a quick prayer for her father, hoping he was doing well in rehab. She also said a prayer for Flick. She missed hugging her daughter and kissing her goodnight.
At least Flick was enjoying the time with her grandmother. When she’d spoken to her daughter on the phone earlier in the day, Flick had said, “Gram is really loquacious, Mom. I’m learning a lot about my ancestors, the Dukes and Duchesses of Blackthorne. Gram showed me lots of funny clothes she keeps in trunks in the attic. She says I can dress up in them if I want.”
Kristin opened her mouth to say that sounded like fun, but Flick kept right on talking.
“Gram showed me more paintings of my ancestors in a room she called a gallery. Some of the duchesses are really pretty. And some of the dukes have noses like mine!”
Loquacious. It was great to hear her daughter being loquacious, too. Full of excessive talk. Yes, she could imagine Max’s mother was doing her best to interest Flick in the Blackthorne family.
“And Mom,” Flick had burbled, “there’s a dungeon! I haven’t seen it yet, because Gram says it’s kind of dark and damp down there. But, Mom. A real, live dungeon!”
The next revelation from her daughter had given her pause.
“Dad’s middle name is Hart. Smythe told me he’s known my dad since he was in short pants. I didn’t know what that meant, but Smythe told me it means he’s known my dad since he was a little boy and wore pants that only came to his knees.”
“I’m glad to hear you’re getting along.”
“Everybody’s really nice,” Flick said. “Smythe—his name is spelled with a y, not an i, and has an e on the end,” Flick said, “Smythe has—” Flick paused and Kristin heard her asking, “What is it he’s got, Gram?” Then Flick finished, “He’s got arthritis, Mom. So he limps when he walks. Wait till you meet the cook, Mom! Everyone just calls her Cook, and she’s got about a zillion wrinkles!”
Kristin had laughed. “A zillion?”
“Well, a lot, anyway,” Flick said. “And she makes really good scones. Scones are like biscuits, sort of, and they’re really good, especially when they’re warm. You eat them with clotted cream, which is sort of like whipped cream, only thicker.”
Kristin couldn’t remember when in recent history she’d heard her daughter sounding so excited. Or so happy.
“Guess what, Mom?”
“What?”
“Dad is a lord! He’s Lord Maxwell. Isn’t that cool? That makes me Lady Felicity. Did you know that, Mom?”
Kristin felt a knot growing in her belly. If she’d been married to Max, her daughter would have been Lady Felicity. But the British peerage was a little prickly about legitimacy being necessary for the passing of titles.
“I’m glad you’re having a good time, Flick. I’ll try to get down to the Abbey tomorrow to visit you. I need to talk with your grandmother for a moment. Would you please give her the phone?”
“Okay. I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too, Flick.”
The duchess said, “Good afternoon, Kristin. How did your practice with Max go this morning?”
“The practice went fine. We’re still going to lose.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” the duchess said.
Kristin got to the point. “Please don’t fill Flick’s head with delusions of grandeur.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“For a start, she isn’t Lady Felicity.”
“Oh, that. She made the leap herself,” the duchess explained. “She said some of the girls in her class at school had fathers who were lords, so that made them ladies. I didn’t have the heart to correct her.”
Kristin wouldn’t have, either. “Flick was going on about a dungeon. She sounds determined to see it. Is it dangerous?”
“The dungeon is kept locked at all times. All of us here—myself and Emily and the servants—are enchanted with Flick. We won’t let any harm come to her.”
“Thank you. I appreciate you keeping her there.”
“It’s my pleasure, Kristin. I’m so glad to have the chance to get to know my granddaughter.”
Kristin leaned back and hugged the pillow tighter to her chest. When she saw the duchess tomorrow, she was going to tell her that she and Max had discussed what had separated them ten years ago. Knowing it had been a simple misunderstanding had only made things worse. He blamed her for running away. And, she would tell the duchess, because there seemed no possibility of reconciliation, she had decided against introducing Flick to her father.
She closed her eyes a moment before getting up to change for bed. The next thing she knew someone was banging on the door.
15
Kristin sat bolt upright and stared at the door. The pounding continued, louder. She realized she’d fallen asleep on top of the covers, still wearing her clothes. The small lamp beside the bed left most of the room in darkness. Her heart was beating like a frightened bird against her rib cage as she grasped for the phone to call hotel security.
“K? I know you’re in there. Open the door!”
Kristin lurched out of bed, relieved to hear a familiar voice. And then frightened at what Max’s insistent banging might mean. “Max? What’s wrong?” She yanked the door open, but the security chain caught. She saw a glimpse of Max looking agitated, his hair wild, his eyes gleaming like some jungle predator, before she slammed the door closed to release the chain.
“Hurry up!” he snarled.
She opened the door, terrified at the urgency—and anger—she heard in his voice. “What’s wrong, Max? I—”
He captured her mouth with his, and when she gasped, he thrust his tongue inside.
She was rocked back on her heels and would have fallen, except he caught
her at the waist and lifted her off her feet. He stepped inside, slammed the door closed, then turned and shoved her back against it. He imprisoned her body with his from breast to thighs, while his hands pulled at the pins that held her hair in a restricting bun.
As blond curls feathered around her face, he thrust both hands into her hair, angling her head for his kiss.
She yanked her head aside to say, “Max, what—”
“Don’t talk,” he said in a guttural voice. “Don’t say anything. Just kiss me.”
Because her body had already caught fire from the heat of his, because she’d imagined this moment for ten years, and because his eyes and his hands and his voice told her how badly he wanted her, Kristin did as he asked.
The moment their mouths met, she was swept up in a riptide of emotion. She felt so much. She wanted so much. She struggled to find her footing, but there was nothing but Max to grab onto. She grasped a handful of his hair with one hand, gripped his shoulder with the other and hung on for dear life.
He stopped kissing her long enough to tear off the sweater she was wearing, then reached behind her to expertly release her black push-up bra. He pulled it off her arms and threw it aside before reaching to undo the button and zipper on her pencil skirt. He shoved the skirt down and she shimmied her way out of it.
Leaving her wearing a black garter belt, black silk stockings and tiny black silk bikini panties.
“My God, Princess.”
Kristin felt self-conscious as Max devoured her with his eyes. He grinned as he reached with a forefinger to snap one of the garters. The grin faded as his hand reverently cupped her naked breast. She held her breath as he leaned down to kiss the tip.
She felt a shiver of excitement roll down her spine as she laid her trembling hand on his head. “Why are you here, Max?” she asked in a quiet voice.
He lifted her into his arms and headed for the bed. “I thought my intentions were pretty clear.”
She frowned at him and he smiled back.
“I want to make love to you, K.”
“When I asked if you wanted to come upstairs for a drink, you refused. What changed your mind?” she asked as he leaned down to pull off the coverlet on the bed and then laid her down on the white sheets.
“I got halfway back to my place when I decided I got—we got—cheated,” he said as he unbuttoned the top two buttons on his Egyptian cotton shirt and then yanked it off over his head.
Kristin thrilled at the sight of his broad chest covered in dark hair. She got up on her knees on the bed and reached for his belt. “Let me.”
She realized her breathing wasn’t quite even as she unbuckled his belt and pulled it out of the loops. “Cheated?” she said, keying on the word that had motivated him to return.
“Cheated out of ten years of friendship,” he said.
She let his belt drop on the floor and reached for the button and zipper on his slacks. His arousal was evident even before she shoved them down. He was wearing hip-length gray Calvin Klein underwear that bulged with the evidence of his desire. “Friendship?” she said with a mischievous smile.
“Yeah. That. And other things.” He toed off his shoes and stepped out of his trousers before shoving off his socks.
She lay back and held out her arms. “Come to bed, Max.”
He hesitated a moment, then reached for the Calvin Kleins and tugged them off.
She sat back up, her eyes wide. “My God, Max.”
He shrugged and said, “I forgot we did all this under the covers the first time. You okay?”
She took a look at him and said, “It’ll be a miracle if I live.”
He laughed, then reached for her bikini panties, ripped them down the seam, and tossed them away. “The garter belt and black stockings are a nice touch, K. Makes me wonder who you put them on for.”
“I put them on for myself, Max.” She worked at a job where she had to be tough. The sexy underwear made her feel more feminine. And apparently pleased Max.
He grinned and said, “Thanks, anyway.” He put a flat hand on her bare breasts to lay her back down, then shoved her legs apart and braced himself on his elbows as he leaned down to nuzzle her neck beneath her ear.
She put a hand on his cheek and turned his head so she could see his eyes, but they were closed. “Max?”
“Hmm.”
“Why were you so angry at the door?”
“Do we have to talk about that now?” he said, never lifting his head as he kissed his way down to her breasts. He latched onto a nipple and suckled it.
Kristin decided talking could wait.
Making love to Max was a feast for the senses.
Touch. She indulged her need to touch his flesh, feeling the corded muscles in Max’s arms and shoulders beneath the solid bone and enjoying the silkiness of the hair at his nape.
Taste. Max’s skin tasted slightly salty when she kissed his throat. His mouth reminded her of the champagne she’d drunk at the bar, a mixture of flavors that weren’t recognizable individually, but which tasted wonderful.
Smell. She inhaled, loving the masculine smell of him, filled with the pheromones that made her desire him.
Sound. She listened with joy to the sound of Max’s murmuring voice, speaking words of desire. She relished his moans as she caressed him, and the guttural groan when she cupped him fed her desire. She heard her own sharp, uneven breaths, signaling her arousal.
Sight. And all the while, as he touched and she tasted and they reveled in their discovery of one another, Kristin focused on Max’s heavy-lidded eyes, seeing desire and joy and a fierce need that matched her own.
“Are you protected?” he asked before he entered her.
It was a question the eighteen-year-old Max hadn’t asked. A question she should have answered tonight before he’d inquired. “Yes,” she said. She’d been taking the pill to reduce her periods. “STDs?” she asked.
“I’m clear,” he said. “You?”
“I’m fine.”
She marveled at how easily they were having a necessary discussion about a touchy subject. And how lucky they were that their answers allowed them to continue what they were doing.
It had been a year since she’d had sex, and Kristin felt tense, afraid that this joining of bodies, delayed for so long, might not meet her expectations. Or Max’s, for that matter.
“Relax,” he crooned. “We have all night.”
This was a different Max, too. Patient and considerate. Willing to wait until she was ready for him. Willing to arouse her in a very different way.
As he kissed his way down her belly she felt adored. When he slid her legs over his shoulders and lifted her up for his intimate kisses, she felt an agony of delight.
“Max,” she grated out. “Max!” She reached down and grabbed his hair.
He lifted his head to make sure she was okay and must have been satisfied with what he saw. “That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” he teased before resuming what he’d been doing.
She laughed and then groaned as her body arched upward, seeking more of the unbearable pleasure he was providing with his lips and tongue.
She cried out as her body spasmed in climax, and Max held her until the powerful contractions eased. She was gasping for air, her chest heaving, as he slid up her body and pulled her close and held her tight.
She sought out his mouth to kiss him, tasting herself and him and wanting desperately to return the gift of pleasure he’d given her. But he resisted her attempts to leave his embrace.
“I want to be inside you, K.”
“And I want you there,” she replied.
He spread her thighs wide with his knees and she reached down to lead him inside, feeling the softness and heat of his flesh and the hardness that signaled his desire.
She was wet and ready and he filled her full.
“I need you, K,” he muttered. He reached for her mouth and thrust deep with his tongue, mimicking the movements of his body below. He reached betwe
en them to touch her and Kristin cried out as her body came to climax for a second time.
Max’s body tensed and he threw his head back as he spilled himself inside her.
She clutched him tight as he settled on top of her, wanting the weight of him for the few moments before he slid to her side and pulled her into his embrace.
This, also, was different. The eighteen-year-old Max hadn’t wanted to be close after sex. He’d left her alone in the bed feeling bereft. Now she leaned her head against Max’s chest, listening as his racketing heartbeat gradually slowed.
He reached over to turn out the light, then slid his arm around her and pulled her close. She waited for him to speak, or indicate that he was ready to listen to her speak. But her eyes drifted closed before that happened.
Kristin awoke sometime later with a start, expecting to find herself alone. She reached out and encountered a muscular arm. And smiled.
Max was asleep on the other side of the bed.
The room was still dark, but when she hit the luminous dial on her Timex, she saw it was nearly six. They were due on the tennis court at Wimbledon at nine.
She wanted to have the conversation Max had avoided last night. She wanted to know why he’d been so angry when he’d arrived. And why he’d changed his mind about making love to her.
“Max?” she whispered.
He turned to face her and said, “I’m awake.”
She felt suddenly, ridiculously, shy. She lowered her gaze and felt his lips on hers.
“Sorry about the morning breath,” he said.
She grinned and met his gaze as he leaned back onto his pillow. “Worth it to know you still feel like kissing me in the morning.” She saw the brief frown between his brows, and suspected he was remembering the reason she’d given him for walking away ten years ago.
“Why were you so angry last night?” she said, wanting answers and afraid he might decide to bolt after all.
“I told you. I wanted what we lost ten years ago.”
“What was that?” she asked. “Friendship?”
“The possibility of so much more than that.” He crossed his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling as he spoke. “I was in love with you, K.”
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