Without quite knowing how, she found herself on her back before the fireplace, his hard warm body half covering hers in sensual possession. Again and again he kissed her, his expert touch sending her to higher and higher levels of ecstasy until she cried out feverishly for release.
“Please, Max, now. Don’t make me wait any longer!”
He doubted he could, even had he wanted to, so great was his own desire, sparked by this maiden’s intuitively perfect responses. “Hang on to me, Laura,” he crooned huskily. “We’re going on a trip. The takeoff may be a little rough, but once we’re off the ground, the sky’s the limit. Are you with me?”
Her only answer was a breathless, “I need you, Max!”
Then the journey began. She held to him fiercely, with but the slightest whimper of pain at the start, then, in a moment of victory, knew herself freed for all time to explore a world of passion that held untold wonders, unspoken ecstasies.
Together they explored this world, finding the tempo that bound their bodies together, growing in exquisite harmony with one another, soaring higher and higher until the peak of delight was reached, at last, exploding into a downpour of brilliant firebursts and starlit sensations.
It was much later, when the fires had faded to glowing embers, that Max carried Laura upstairs to his bed, placing her gently on one side while he climbed in on the other.
“Don’t leave me,” she begged in a startled whisper, turning to face Max, stretching her arms out to touch him, refusing to relinquish the mind-shattering wholeness she had newly discovered.
“I won’t, baby, I won’t.” He soothed her, drawing her once more against the warmth of his body, tucking her curves neatly into his own contours, imprisoning her within the steel bars of his arms.
In very much the same posture of intimate communication, they awoke the next morning, both having succumbed to the numbed sleep of the satisfied lover. In the brightly sunlit morning, he took her again, his unbounded gentleness easing her through the lingering soreness to another spiraling peak. When she cried out at the moment of heavenly release, it was as much at the tremors that shook Max’s spasming body as at her own pulsing joy.
The experience was to be repeated over again throughout their stay, with each interlude fuelling, rather than sating, each zenith surpassing its predecessor. The only blotch on the beauty of their affair was the knowledge that Monday night would see them back to Northampton—back to business and separate sides of the courtroom.
Their last few hours were spent walking the streets of Rockport, admiring the canvases and the sculpture, examining the handiwork of the other arts. Together they dined on fish chowder and old-fashioned strawberry shortcake, wearing it off on a long, final walk on the cool beach.
As the Mercedes headed back toward the highway, a heavy silence fell between them. To Laura it was a strange paradox that crystalized. For as long as she could remember she had put her professional life first, refusing to allow her personal life to interfere. Now the tables had been turned. For the first time in her memory she had found a true and total happiness, a genuine and thorough relaxation, an absolute and utter fulfillment. This was what Max had given her; this was all woman. But how to reconcile lawyer with this other, more vulnerable yet infinitely rewarding role—that was the dilemma. Yes, for the first time in her twenty-eight years, it was the professional life that threatened to interfere with the personal life. In the matter of Maxwell Kraig, her personal life now took precedence. And it was with near resentment that she contemplated the necessity of her return to work.
six
HER ONLY CONSOLATION AS SHE RETURNED Max’s final, heart-rending hug on her doorstep late Monday night was that he was as disturbed as she.
“Why don’t you stay the night here?” she suggested impulsively, even though she knew that he could not.
He shook his head, the strong arm around her softening his grimace. “As it is, we have a problem here of conflict of interest. And I don’t know how in the hell we’re going to resolve it!” She agreed wholeheartedly.
Hedging softly, she tried to lighten the prospect. “There is still a little over a month until the trial. Something will come up.”
“I hope so, baby. I hope so.” Then, with a final and surprisingly gentle kiss, he left, the imprint of his lips on hers her only saving grace through the desperately lonely night.
There was one other mind-diverting incident on that same night. The softly hissing steam had barely begun its journey through the radiators when the peal of the telephone tore through the emptiness which enveloped her.
“Laura! Finally! Where have you been?” It took her several seconds to recognize the mildly agitated sound as the voice of Franklin Potter.
“Frank? I’ve been away. Is something wrong?” A shaft of fear stabbed at her, the thought that perhaps her father was ill.
“No, everything is all right…now that we’ve located you.” Laura could picture the ruddy, rounded cheeks puffing as the voice scolded on. “But your father has been frantic. He’s been trying to reach you since Saturday morning. Where have you been?”
In no mood to divulge her most precious secret, she hedged. “I’m sorry. I was away. Was it something urgent he wanted?”
Frank sighed in resignation. “Why don’t you give him a ring and find out, my dear. It’s still early enough out there, but I’m going to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Laura.”
After gently bidding her protector good night, Laura phoned her father, only to discover that the “emergency” was a conference he’d wangled an invitation to in Hartford around the time of the Stallway trial. Victoriously, he informed her he’d be able to make the short trip from there to Northampton for a day or two to watch her performance. And, despite the gnawing in the pit of her stomach at the thought of the trial, Laura felt true pleasure that he would be there. She would need all the moral support she could get!
“Please apologize to Frank for me. When I couldn’t get you on the phone after twenty-four hours, I got worried. A father’s prerogative, sweetheart! Where were you anyway?”
There it was, the same innocently piercing question coming to haunt her from two different sources—and she’d barely taken off her coat and sorted through Saturday’s mail! “I was away for the weekend. You know, the holiday and all…”
Mercifully, her father didn’t pursue the matter. “Well, I hope you had a good time. Next time, leave word with someone, okay?”
Next time. Would there be a next time? Of course. There had to be! As Laura hung up the telephone, she wondered what would happen next, in this most unexpected and impractical of love affairs. Max had promised he would stop by the office after his meeting with Jonathan Stallway; she had that to look forward to. As for the rest, her bed was a cold and barren wasteland when she finally tumbled into it.
Her thoughts centered on the memory of Max’s warm, hard body close to hers, as it had been for the past two nights. All too easily she could become addicted to his nearness; even now, its absence gnawed at her insides. Yet, as she lay alone in her bed, she was able to look back on the weekend with a clarity his very nearness had prevented.
How strange it was—her body had been forever altered, yet she could not now imagine it otherwise. She had lost her virginity to the man she loved. There were no regrets. It had happened as naturally as spring’s awakening follows winter’s sleep. Whereas her initial attraction to Max may have been physical, it had developed into so much more that she honestly believed, both of herself and of him, that the weekend had been conceived for the very companionship each would give the other. Its consummation had been an inevitable link in the chain of events which was their steadily blossoming relationship.
Now as her hand skimmed the swells and hollows of her own body, brought to full womanhood by the fullness of this man, Laura sensed that Max would be her first, last, and only lover.
The following morning she was at her desk, the efficient prosecutor, hair pulled back into
a tidy twist, dressed as conservatively as ever, dark head bent over her papers in an all-out attempt at self-discipline, when Max stopped in. Only he knew the cause of the pink flowering on her cheeks. Only she knew the cause of the involuntary quivering the sight of the tall, brown-haired, brown-eyed counselor generated.
They talked for a few brief moments, Max perched on the desk at the corner nearest her, when it came time for him to head back to Boston. The dark gaze darted mischievously to the door for clearance before his head lowered to kiss her ever so gently on the cheek. Both knew the chaste peck to be totally inadequate. Instinctively, Laura turned her head just enough to meet his waiting lips, surrendering fully to their pressure, then demanding on her own that little extra that would have to tide her over until she saw him again. It was this mutual hunger, unfortunately, that nearly snatched their newborn affair from the ranks of the clandestine.
The clearing of a throat, conspicuous as it had been on another occasion, drew both heads with a start toward the door. There Frank Potter stood, hands on hips, entering the room only when he was certain that the business he’d interrupted was over.
“I hope I’m not disturbing anything,” he snorted with a smirk that did not match the sobriety behind his wire-rimmed spectacles. Then, as was his manner, he went on without awaiting a response, his eyes traveling from one to the other before settling finally on Laura. “Did you get through to your dad?”
Fully aware of the burning of her cheeks, she chose to ignore her embarrassment, instead willing her voice to be calm and even. “Yes, thanks, Frank. It was nothing important. He apologized for disturbing you.”
“No need for apology,” Frank snapped back quickly, sending a dubious look toward Max, who now stood off to the side. Then Frank added, “I was as worried. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to my favorite lawyer while she’s under my protection.” His words were pointed, as was the warning in the eyes that shifted from face to face again before he nodded his departure. “Laura, Max…”
Only when the doorway was once more free of his portly presence did Laura turn to her partner in deception. “That was just lovely.” She spoke with soft sarcasm. “It seems I’ve got an army of watchdogs around here.” Quickly, she explained about the previous evening’s calls. Max was neither amused nor relieved, his face taking on a grim set as his mind had moved a step ahead. He was seriously concerned about the pressure she might receive should their relationship become known. Unfortunately, she misinterpreted his intention.
“I think we’d better cool it a bit, Laura,” he suggested hesitantly. “That was too close for comfort. I’ll phone you toward the end of the week. Okay?” As always, he was in total control of himself, something Laura was far from. Rather, her thoughts tripped clumsily over one another. Was he ashamed of their involvement? Was he letting her down easily? Had it meant nothing at all to him, aside from a simple “I’ll phone you toward the end of the week”?
Max honed in on her hurt immediately. “Don’t look at me like that, little tigress,” he growled, astounding her with his switch to the near-playful. “I’ve got to get back to work and so do you.” Then his voice deepened. “Please trust me. Everything will work out just fine.” He was once again the caring lover, his gaze warm, his smile genuine, his words confident—all throwing Laura into a well of even greater confusion. One instant she was sure he was kissing her goodbye, the next, merely adieu. Which was it?
This time it was the strong fingers that touched his own lips to carry his kiss to hers, lingering for a fraction of a moment to caress the soft curve of her mouth, before withdrawing. Misted blue eyes watched him leave, the tightness in her throat mercifully preventing her from saying the words that cried from within for expression. I love you, Maxwell Kraig, she whispered finally, then lowered unseeing eyes to her work.
The week slid by on a seesaw as Laura’s emotions fluctuated wildly, joy-filled and high at times, empty and heart-torn at others. At midweek she was at one of the lower points, convinced that her love was ill-fated, when the D.A. called her into his office. He was, as always, the ultimate diplomat, discussing several timely matters of law with her before throwing in the corker.
“Is Kraig giving you a hard time?”
Laura had expected his inquisition sooner, on Monday or Tuesday, and when it hadn’t come, she had slipped into a state of complacency. Now she was shaken by his sudden reference to the incident he had witnessed. And his words could not have been more appropriate. Max certainly was giving her a hard time. She was madly in love with him; thoughts of him monopolized her mind. Yes, he was giving her a hard time!
“No, of course not!” She lied, a cynical twist to her lips the only evidence of her inner state.
His head lowered as he stared at her over his glasses, reminding Laura of the stereotypical family doctor. The conjured image was a blessing, for it brought a more relaxed smile to her face, enabling her to answer the D.A.’s persistent “Are you sure?” with a more confident ring.
“Yes, Frank, I’m sure. Actually, I’ve learned a lot from him,” she began, then hurried on, mortified by her own words. “He’s a brilliant lawyer. Has he decided to try the Wilkins Home case?” she asked innocently.
“I believe he has, but then, you knew that, didn’t you, Laura?” he chided. He could be diplomatic, and he could be blunt. This was a case of the latter. But, as always with his “favorite lawyer,” he did not let her squirm for very long. “Look, honey, this is your affair.” She winced at the term he’d coincidentally chosen. “But I just want you to keep your eyes open. A passing kiss or two, an evening out with the man may be all right. But watch out for anything more. You could be hurt, personally and professionally.”
It was the second such warning Frank had given her, and coming at this particular time, when it seemed an eternity since she’d spoken to Max, she wondered whether he was right. The weight of uncertainty pained her, the pressure of a love bottled up becoming more and more oppressive. Was this just a preview of the future?
The time stretched out, made infinitely worse by an inordinate number of phone calls where the caller had chosen either to be still and listen to her intermittent hellos or hang up, until Friday night, when the telephone finally rang once more. “Hello?” she answered timidly, terrified that it would be another false alarm. It was not.
The deep growl, strangely excited, vibrated across the miles directly to her heart. “Hello, yourself! How are you, Laura?”
“Great!” Now, she added silently. “How about you?”
“Now that I hear your voice, much better.” Well, she thought ruefully, he was more forthright than she had been. Or was it merely a much-practiced line he’d delivered?
“B-busy week?” she stammered unsurely.
The velvet tone had an instant soothing effect on her. “Yes, it’s been busy. But worse, it’s been very lonely. I’ve missed you, Laura!”
Any doubt of his sincerity was cast to the wind, fallen victim both to his urgent words and the sheer joy of hearing from him. “Same here, Max,” she murmured shyly. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me.” Subconsciously, she fingered the small gold heart, a habit that had given her solace during the week.
“You know better than that,” he chided gently. “Are you ready to go for Monday?” His reference was to the armed robbery case they’d discussed at length.
“Uh-huh. I’ve got a little work to do, but otherwise we’re all set.” With great care, she covered herself; she could easily busy herself or she could as easily manage to be free, should he decide to come to Northampton.
The conversation continued on an impersonal vein, warm yet noncommittal, until Max finally drew it to a close. “Good luck on Monday, Laura. I’ll be anxious to hear the verdict. How long do you expect the trial to last?”
With no mention yet of his seeing her, Laura strove to conceal her disappointment. “Several days at least. I doubt it will make the Boston papers, though,” she put in as an afte
rthought. If he wanted to know the outcome, he’d just have to call her, she vowed rebelliously.
Max answered her with maddening sureness. “Oh, I have my spies at work for that sort of thing,” he chuckled, his humor escaping her. “And don’t work too hard, little tigress. Got that? I’ll do enough extra work this week for the two of us.”
Puzzled, she prodded, “You’re not on trial, are you?” He had mentioned nothing of a particularly heavy week ahead.
The sensuous timbre quickened her pulse, as he explained. “No, I’m not on trial, but I sure as hell had better find something to keep my mind off you. I have a feeling it’s going to be another trying week.” Laura laughed aloud at his pun, tickled by his sentiment.
“You’re impossible,” she scolded through a lingering chuckle.
“So you keep telling me.” The deep drawl sizzled over the line. “Be good, baby. I’ll be thinking of you.”
Small consolation that was; in place of his big, bold presence she must settle for his long-distance thoughts! “Thanks, Max. Bye-bye.” She bit her lip, once again swallowing the more meaningful words that pride prevented her from voicing. Was it pride? Fear? Or both? Whatever, it was a moot point. The line was dead, the connection severed. Once more Laura was left nothing but her memory, her love, and the hollow deep within.
Taking a dose of Max’s own medicine, she threw herself headlong into the last-minute preparations for the trial. It didn’t help that when she took time out to teach her tennis class Saturday the children barraged her with questions about her “man”—where was he, was he coming again, would she ask him? Nor did it help that Mrs. Daniels threw in her own little jab about Laura not being as hardy to carry her bundles as her “beau” had been.
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