If she was going to say no, she'd better say it, because he appeared to be seconds from losing all control.
“Yes. Oh, yes,” she heard herself say. She reached for him and pulled him to her on the cool pine plank floor.
Max lifted her sleep shirt over her head revealing her body in the pale shafts of moonlight. “You are so beautiful."
His lips crushed hers while he caressed her breasts, then ran his lips to the hollow of her neck. He found the cleft between her thighs. “I've wanted you so much,” he gasped between breaths. “I have never loved anyone since I first saw you."
Waves of warmth and pleasure erupted throughout her body, gathering, centering between her thighs. Coherent thought—impossible. His hard arousal nudged her thigh. She moved against it. Soft moans of pleasure escaped without volition as he licked her abdomen. As his tongue moved lower, she began trembling with need.
Instead he groaned and rose from the floor, pulling her with him. “Not here,” he gasped.
“Why not?” she could barely speak.
He gathered her in his arms and carried her to the soft, old-fashioned feather bed. “Here.” He lay her gently on the bed and renewed his caresses, imprisoning her hands above her head, whispering, “Je t'aime."
Her senses on fire, she surrendered. Max ... making love to her. He loved her? She'd dreamt of it for years. Only reality was better. The heightened nerve endings in her fingers seemed to sizzle as she ran her hands over his strong back. His skin felt like satin, wondrous and unblemished, his muscles, dynamic and rippling as he moved over her.
Running her hands down to the waist of his shorts, she eased them over his buttocks, freeing his manhood. She touched the silken hardness of him and was rewarded with a groan of unabashed desire. His tongue plundered her mouth, twining and battling.
She couldn't breathe. Another wave of desire swept over her. Every cell in her body ignited by his lips on her neck and breasts.
“Tell me what you want,” he whispered. “I want to please you."
“Just love me,” Nikki murmured, “Just love me and don't leave me."
“Leave you? Never. Je t'aime."
Finally, he stopped talking. Lost in the pleasure of his lovemaking, her body shook craving his deeper touch. “Please,” she moaned.
Centering himself over her, he drove into her warmth. She wrapped her legs around his waist, the waves of pleasure building. He thrust, setting a furious pace, each stroke sweeter and hotter than the one before until they were swept up by the inferno of their desire.
Eighteen
Nikki awoke with a start, her heart racing. She looked at the empty half of her bed and realized... Damn. A dream? A dream so intense, even now she found it difficult to reconcile the dream with the obvious reality. “No,” she moaned.
There was no Max, only the pillow she cradled in her arms. Frustrated, she lay back on the bed and shut her eyes, reliving the touch of his strong hands against her body. The memory of his lips claiming hers sent her pulse skyrocketing into the stratosphere.
Stop it. If I keep this up I'll go crazy. Nikki sat up and swung her legs over the bed. The hardwood floor felt cool to the bottoms of her feet. Too late she remembered the feel of the floor against her back in her dream. A shiver ran down her spine. “Dear heaven. I have to stop this."
The ceiling fan above her bed spun lazily, causing her skin to feel clammy. Her hands still shook from the adrenaline rush. How would she ever face him over breakfast? The only thing on her mind would be her dream and his hard body.
“What time is it anyway?” She glanced at the clock beside her bed—five. Plenty of time for an early morning jog. A little time and some distance, and she just might be able to pull herself together without drooling into her corn flakes.
She pulled on a pair of blue sweat pants and T-shirt. Hurriedly she dragged a brush through her tangled hair, then walked onto the deck, taking a deep breath of fresh sea air. After performing a few desultory warm-up stretches, she had one foot on the sand when she heard the opening of a door.
Shit. She turned and there he stood. His broad chest, firmly muscled, was finely furred and bare. A pair of athletic shorts was all he wore, leaving precious little to her imagination. Her breath caught in her throat.
“Good morning, I hope you don't mind my borrowing these,” Max said, looking down at his shorts.
“No, not at all. Uh, I—uh, have an extra T-shirt, if you want. It's kind of cool.” She shivered and rubbed her upper arms for emphasis.
“No, I'm—uh, hot-natured."
Max bent over, stretching his hamstrings, an action that did nothing to steady the erratic rhythm of her heart.
Hot-natured? Just how was she supposed to take a remark like that. “Yes, it's a beautiful morning. Did you sleep well?” Better than I did, she hoped.
He shrugged, giving her a crooked smile. “Not really. And you? Did you sleep well?"
Nikki shook her head, “Not really. I was going for a run, but if you'd like some coffee, it won't take but a minute."
“No, I could use some exercise myself. I'm still jet lagged. A run might help ... if you don't mind my company?"
“Of course not.” She struggled to keep from breaking out in a nervous giggle—and failed miserably. “Why would I mind?” Why indeed? Just because she couldn't look the man in the face without remembering her dream. Maybe he wouldn't want to talk. Maybe he'd forgotten about where their conversation was heading last night.
And maybe she'd sprout wings and fly to Mars.
Fortune was with her. Max wasn't in a talkative mood. They jogged the sandy beach at a brisk pace, dodging errant waves. After a half hour of jogging in companionable silence, Nikki slowed her pace and turned to Max. “I think I've had enough,” she told him, stopping long enough to catch her breath.
He reached out and touched her shoulder. “May we talk ... now?"
Shit. In spite of all her misgivings, she nodded. “I guess.”
He brushed the sand from a flat rock, then gestured for her to have a seat.
Reluctant, she sat down and watched him while he stood, gazing at the ocean. It seemed, he didn't want to face her. His wavy chestnut hair stood in irregular rows, as if he'd finger-combed it in a hurry. Her fingers fairly itched to reach out and touch him.
“I am perhaps precipitous, rushing like this.” Max paced back and forth on the sand. “In spite of everything, I'm drawn to you. I always have been."
“Drawn to me means what?” She hesitated, still unsure. “You act like it's something you're fighting."
“I'm not explaining myself very well. Nikki, what I'm trying to say is ... I care for you."
Panic, surprising, but panic nonetheless, mushroomed and lodged in her throat, threatening to render her speechless. She looked down at her feet, studying them intently, before taking a deep breath. “I need time to think.”
Time to think? What was there to think about? That's all she'd done for the last ten years.
“Either you care for me or you don't. It's not a difficult question. I just want to know if you care for me too?"
A peevish tone had crept into his voice. Fine, now he'd made up his mind, it was time for her to get with ‘his’ program—just like that.
“I-I told you, Jolie fired me. I have some adjustments to make, and I need to—” She broke off, then added in a rush, “I guess it sounds cliché , but I need to find out who I am."
He stopped pacing and dropped to his knees in front of her. Taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he raised it, forcing her to face him. “I told you to forget about being fired. I'm the boss, remember?"
His voice, soft as a sigh, made her want to melt into his arms, but she couldn't. Something held her back. Maybe it was the old insecurity, maybe something else. She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I know, but maybe being fired is the right thing for me. I'm considering a publisher's offer to write my autobiography.” Her voice faded away, and why not? It was a damn poor
evasion, even if it was a partial truth.
Max took her hand in his and pulled her to her feet. “That's wonderful. You should do it, but you don't have to sell your apartment and the beach house. Let me help you."
“I-I want to do this on my own,” she stammered. “You've been wonderful, but you've done enough. I'm not a kid anymore. After all you've done for me, I don't want to confuse gratitude with love.” Nikki shrugged away from him, unable to continue.
Max stiffened and turned away, then with a parting glance, he said. “I see. Since you are determined to do this your way, I wish you the best of luck. I'm sure you'll write a wonderful book. Excuse me. I have an appointment in New York.” His curt words, once said, hung in the air. Taking long angry strides, he left her, stunned and alone.
Go after him, go on, run. In spite of her heart's command, she couldn't. She simply couldn't. She'd meant what she'd said. She wasn't his charity case, not any more. Of course, he'd taken it the wrong way.
“Damn all men,” she muttered. Hot tears formed and trickled down her cheeks. Furious, she wiped them away. Maybe—just maybe—if she walked slowly enough, he'd have time to dress and leave. She walked slowly.
She'd must reached the cottage, when she heard the roar of his rental car. Her eyes welled up again, and her nose started running. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she just let it happen? What was really holding her back?
She stepped onto the deck. Lying on the table was a single red rose.
How sweet. Where had Max found the rose? She unwrapped the white paper from around the stem, flattened it out against the table and read the note.
You don't need him was scrawled across it. Chilled, Nikki looked around, then up and down the beach. Seeing no one, she dashed into the cottage and locked the door behind her. After making a hurried check of the remaining windows and doors, she took the rose and tossed it and the note into the trash.
~ * ~
Once again, Max cursed the slowness of the ferry. He had no appointment in New York. As far as the agency was concerned, he was still in France. Yes, he'd out and out lied. Damn Jolie for firing Nikki and precipitating this crisis. And damn Nikki for being so stubborn. And why he wasn't in Provençe lolling in the sun with the first available female he could find, he didn't know.
How could he have made such an error in judgment? It would be long time before he again laid his heart at any woman's feet. A wave of grief swept through him. It was exactly this type of situation when he missed his mother most. She'd always been so level-headed and, understanding the female perspective ... and she'd been so close to Nikki. Maman had been the glue that held their small family together. Her death had been a greater shock than he could have ever imagined, leaving him adrift, coping because he had no choice.
After all, that's what men did. They stood strong, no matter what happened. But now, he didn't feel capable or strong ... not after Nikki's rejection.
Family.
It dawned on him that he hadn't heard from his daughter in the last week. Alexa was supposed to join him in France as soon as her school let out for the summer, but a week was too long to go without talking to her. He reached over and unzipped his carry-on bag, scrounging around in the bottom for his cell phone. He retrieved it and hit the speed dial, calling her school.
“Wintercrest Academy."
“This is Max Devereaux. I wish to speak to my daughter Alexa. I have just returned to the States."
“One moment, please."
He waited, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. Finally, he heard the plumy tones of the headmistress.
“Mr. Devereaux, we've been trying to find you. Alexa is missing. We think she's run away."
“What! Have you called the police? When was she last seen? Why would she run away?"
“Please Mr. Devereaux, this is not a matter to discuss over the telephone. Where are you, and how soon can you be here?"
“I am between Martha's Vineyard and Boston. I will be there in an hour or so. Have the police been called?"
“Yes, they have, as a matter of procedure, however we do not suspect foul play."
“Why not?” Max asked, incredulous. What else could it be? “What are you not telling me?"
“We'll discuss it when you arrive, Mr. Devereaux.
“I will be there as soon as I can, and I will expect a complete explanation.” Max disconnected, then immediately dialed Nikki's number. It rang five times, Max's anxiety level rising with each ring. Finally, she answered.
“Nikki, Max. I'm sorry to disturb you, but I have a crisis. Alexa has run away from school. Has she contacted you at all in the last weeks?
“No, I told you last night, she hasn't. Where are you? Are you going to her school? What can I do to help?"
Her response gratified and relieved Max. He wouldn't have blamed her if she had refused to talk to him after the way he'd stormed off.
“I'm on my way to the school now. I hate to ask this, but would you mind going to the townhouse, and see if she's gone there. Do you still have a key?"
“Of course, I'll go, and I do have a key. Renée made me keep it when I moved out."
“Wonderful.” Max hesitated. “I-I'm sorry for the way—"
“Never mind that now,” she interrupted softly. “We have to find Alexa. I'll leave now."
“As kind as your are beautiful,” Max murmured, the words slipping out before he could call them back. “I'll call you at the townhouse, after I've talked to the school and the police."
“And I'll call you as soon at I get there. Okay?"
“Au revoir."
Max felt a thump as the ferry reached the dock. He reached and turned on the ignition, anxious to find his daughter.
~ * ~
Fifty-five minutes later Max strode into the Wintercrest Academy. The mild-mannered receptionist showed him into the headmistress's richly furnished office.
The headmistress, a plain, but well-dressed, woman in her early forties greeted him with a grim expression and an outstretched hand. “Mr. Devereaux, I'm glad you were so close at hand."
Max waved a hand, dismissing the pleasantries. “What's happened to my daughter?"
“We have reason to believe your daughter has run away."
“Why would my daughter run away from this school? What have you done to her?"
“Please allow me to explain. Alexa confided in another student she was about to do so. Naturally, we have filed a police report because of the age of the young man she is thought to have joined.
“A young man? This gets worse and worse. Is there no supervision? I must speak with this other student immediately.”
A young man? Surely not. Alexa was only fourteen too young to be interested in boys. There had to be some mistake.
Wintercrest's headmistress gave an audible sniff. “Very well.” She leaned over, and spoke into the intercom, “Have Elizabeth Elliott brought into my office."
An uncomfortable five minutes later a tiny brunette, dressed in the blue-and-gray school uniform walked into the office. Elizabeth appeared barely twelve. Her blue eyes were wide, and she gave Max a nervous glance, before looking down at the floor.
“Elizabeth, this is Mr. Devereaux, Alexa's father. I want you to tell him all you know about her disappearance,” she said. Her firm voice brooked no nonsense.
The girl licked her lips with the tip of her tongue, looking first at Max, then at her headmistress.
“It's all right. Tell him exactly what you told me yesterday."
Elizabeth swallowed, then began. “Alexa and I are really close, and when we went to the village a couple of months ago, we met a couple of cute guys at the mall. They accused us of being stuck-up. So we had to show them we weren't. Anyway, Mario really liked Alexa, and I guess she really liked him too, because she told me last week that she'd been sneaking out to see him after lights out. I told her she'd better stop, because that kind of thing isn't allowed here. This is a really strict school.” Elizabeth glanced at
the headmistress, who nodded that she should continue.
“Anyway, Alexa laughed at me and said, ‘Bitsy, you're just a baby,’ but I'm not. I'm actually older than she is. I know I don't look it—"
“Continue,” the headmistress said.
“So, she said she was going to run away with him and go to New York and meet his family. I told her she would get in trouble, but she made me promise not to tell anyone."
Max had held his breath during the girl's recitation, asked, hoping against hope, “Then you know where she is?"
“No, not really. I just know she's with Mario. He's really nice and cute, but I was afraid she might get into trouble, so I waited a couple of hours, and then I told Ms. Arnett."
“How old is this Mario?” Max asked, as calmly as he could. He wouldn't learn anything if he intimidated her.
“Uh, eighteen."
“Eighteen. That's—"
The headmistress cut him off. “That will be all, Elizabeth. You may go,” the headmistress said, shooting him a warning glance.
He took a deep breath. He'd been very close to shaking the child until her teeth rattled, which wouldn't accomplish anything. “Thank you, Bitsy,” he managed to say.
As soon as Alexa's friend left the office, he leaned forward on the headmistress's desk. “So, who is this Mario, and where do I send his body, when I find him?"
The headmistress's face turned pale. “Mr. Devereaux, there is no need for mayhem,” she protested, her tone growing obsequious. “I'm sure the police will find them quickly. They have a composite of both this Mario and his friend. The police indicated they hoped to locate the other young man and through him find Mario and Alexa.” She paused for a breath, then continued, “You must remain calm. After all, the teenage years are often difficult for girls who have an appropriate role model, more so for one like Alexa, who doesn't."
Max took a deep breath, but never made it to ten. He exploded, “I'll have you to understand my mother was an excellent role model for Alexa, but she had the temerity to die. How thoughtless of her.” His accent became very thick, as it did in moments of emotional stress.
See You In My Dreams Page 18
