by Mary Campisi
“Observations?” His smile vanished. “I’d say you’ve just made a few unfounded assumptions based on less than ten minutes with me. That’s extremely reckless on your part.”
“I observed them in three. The other seven merely served to confirm my theories.” The man’s jaw twitched, just the tiniest bit. Ah, she’d gotten to him.
“Observations can be misleading. As can assumptions.”
“Really?” She knew she should keep her mouth shut but someone had to set the man straight. “Observations often lead to assumptions. For example, your tie contains a tiny geometric pattern with the concentric origins in the middle, indicating a very tiny—” She paused, tilted her head to one side.
“Tiny what?” he ground out.
“Tolerance for error.” She feigned innocence and asked, “What did you think I was going to say?”
“I have no idea.”
But the dull flush on his face told her differently. “And of course, a quick glance at your desk, and your shoes—” and she pointed to the gleaming wing-tips on his feet, “—tell quite a bit, especially about your relationships.” There. She sat back and waited for the next wave of heat to roll over Rhyder Remmington.
“What profession are you in, Ms. Revito? Mind reader? Psychic? Feng shui expert?”
Why wasn’t he squirming? She couldn’t wait to see his face turn purple when she told him his habits indicated an uptight lover. Of course, she’d made it all up, but she probably was pretty close to being right.
“Ms. Revito?”
She shrugged. “I’m a hair stylist.”
“Ah. A hair stylist.”
She might as well have said she picked up dog doo at doggy parks.
“I find it very interesting that your aunt sent you here.”
She fiddled with a scissors charm on her bracelet and said, “Careful about making too many assumptions based on observations. You could be way off base.”
“Am I?”
What was with this guy and his questions? He reminded her of Reed Richards from the Fantastic Four in a freaky, uptight way—oh, God, their initials were even the same!
“Oh, yeah. You are way off base.” She nodded, amused. “You’re not even in the same ball park.”
***
This really had to stop. C.C. adjusted her turtleneck once more. She leaned forward, glanced in the mirror and jiggled her shoulders. She turned to the side, scanned her slacks; loose, unrevealing. If she could wear sweats to meet Max she would. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option.
It was Monday morning and she hadn’t seen him since Friday night—the night of the banquet, the night she apparently tried to seduce him and then proceeded to vomit her intentions into the toilet. Her father had called yesterday to invite her to dinner but she’d begged off with a headache—partly true, especially when she heard Max had already accepted.
Since when did Grayson invite a stranger before his own daughter? Had Candace been there? If C.C. could have hidden in the kitchen with Maggie, she’d have loved to watch the meal play out between the fiancé, the ex-boyfriend and the woman tied to both. Her poor father, but he’d gotten himself into that mess…
Roxie’s phone call last night hadn’t revealed much either. She’d finally connected with Rhyder Remmington and, as impossible as it seemed, she didn’t like the man. Not one bit. In fact, she said he made her stomach queasy and not in a good way. Roxie had never met a man she didn’t like on some level, but she’d been so busy listing all the reasons she detested the pig-headed architect, she forgot to find out why Candace and Max broke up. C.C. might have to go to the source for her answers, but right now, asking Max Jerrnigan about his ex-girlfriend was just a little too personal.
Sighing deeply, C.C. checked her watch and headed for the office.
***
Max had spent the past two hours working on revisions for the office park daycare center. His neck ached and he had the beginnings of a headache. He threw down his pencil and glanced out the window, zeroing in on the woman waiting to cross the street. She stood among a cluster of five or six other women, but he spotted her instantly. She wore sunglasses and a navy turtleneck with gray slacks. The dark brilliance of her hair shone in the afternoon sun. His gaze skimmed her body, appreciating her legs, which were a good foot longer than the other women’s. Shapely, sexy, perfect for wrapping around his waist.
The “walk” light flashed and she strode across the street as Max undressed her from his fifth-floor perch. He’d spent the last two nights drifting to sleep with visions of C.C.’s delectable body shimmering in his brain… When they saw each other today, would she pretend nothing happened the other night? He could play that game. He’d done it with enough other women before, women who wanted to pretend one night together meant everything—a future, a ring, a commitment. But for some insane reason, he didn’t want to pretend it meant nothing with C.C. Hell, he didn’t want to pretend she meant nothing. And dammit, it had nothing to do with the deal he’d made with Grayson.
“Hi, Max.” She moved into the room and set down her purse and briefcase. “How are the revisions coming?”
He opened his mouth to respond but the words wouldn’t come.
“Max?”
Something about her voice churned his insides. “Huh? Oh. Good. I’ve extended the playroom and added a base here.” He slid the drawing closer to her. “What do you think?”
“I like it.” She studied the section he’d indicated. “You know, Dad’s really excited about this project. I haven’t seen him this energized in years.”
That’s because he’s going to give his daughter something she wants very much. “Glad to hear it.”
“Max?”
“Yeah?” He kept his head bent with the pretense of studying the drawing. It was the only way he could pretend indifference. If he looked into those honey eyes, he’d be done.
“I’m sorry about the other night. I put you in a terrible position and I apologize.”
“No problem.” God, he hadn’t thought of anything but her.
“I never have been much of a drinker.” She tried for a laugh but it fell out like a gurgle.
“You don’t need to apologize.” She moved closer. Stop breathing, he told himself. He couldn’t let her scent invade him.
“I do need to apologize.” She touched his arm. “It was an irresponsible thing to do and I’ve been beating myself up over it for the past two days.”
His skin tingled where her fingers rested against his shirtsleeve.
“Look at me, Max. Please?”
Damn. He raised his gaze to meet hers. She looked so soft and vulnerable—and so entirely kissable. He clenched his hands under the table and gritted his teeth.
“I don’t remember what I did but that’s no excuse. It won’t happen again.”
“It won’t?” Don’t bet on it.
She shook her head. “No.”
“How can you be sure?” She had no idea what he had planned.
“Because I can’t jeopardize our business relationship for the occasional,” she paused, added, “errors in judgment on my part.”
“You mean mixing business with pleasure?” She had no idea how much pleasure was in store for her: hot oil rubs, massages, hours and hours in bed.
Her breathing hitched. “Exactly.”
Was that a strain in her voice? “What if both parties consent?”
“Not even then.”
“Tell me about him, C.C.”
Her lips quivered. “What are you talking about?”
“The bastard who hurt you. Tell me about him.”
“I—”
“Nobody reacts that strongly who hasn’t been burned. My guess is you fell hard and the guy left you in the dust.”
She balled her hands into fists so hard her knuckles blanched, but she remained silent.
“I’m sorry he hurt you.” He really was sorry. She was warm and sensual, and afraid to let people see that. Hell, he bet she was afraid to l
et herself see that. Most of the time she walked around in a block of ice, determined no one would melt it and get close to her again. How could she live that way? Why should she? Not all men were jerks. There were some decent ones out there who would care about her, who wouldn’t want to hurt her. It shocked him to realize he was one of them.
“He was married.”
That jolted him. “Oh.” Married?
“I didn’t know.” Pain coated her words.
Bastard. Max wished he had the jerk in front of him right now, so he could set him straight with a right hook and a left.
“His wife was pregnant.” More pain.
“I’m sorry.” Grayson had said she wanted a child. It must have torn her up to learn the guy she loved had a wife and a baby on the way. No wonder she didn’t trust the male species. He didn’t blame her. The guy had stolen her trust, her self-esteem and her dreams for a family. Neutering was too kind for the jerk.
“I didn’t know,” she said again. “He traveled, so it wasn’t unusual for him to be gone four or five days, even weekends. He had an apartment in the city. We even talked about getting married. Then one day, I found an address tucked in his briefcase and for some insane reason I still can’t explain, I went there. It was a suburb about five miles away.”
“C.C., you don’t have to finish.” Please don’t finish. He couldn’t stand the pain in her voice.
“The woman who opened the door was blond and beautiful, and six months pregnant.” Max reached for her hand but she stepped away. “The baby must be two by now.”
Her expression filled with such longing he wanted to blurt out, It’s going to be okay. You’ll see. I’m going to give you a baby to love.
“That’s why this deal is so important, Max. I have to prove to my father that I’m over the past. That one error in judgment, no matter how major, isn’t going to ruin me. I have to prove it to myself, too.” She moved toward him. “Please? Can we make this happen together?”
He looked into those damnable eyes and saw the pain she’d been through. He could take that pain away.
“We’ll make it happen,” he vowed. He was talking about them, what they were together, what they could be.
She sniffed. “Now tell me about her.”
Her? “Candy?”
She offered a weak smile. “Your ex. My father’s future wife.”
“There’s not much to tell. It was a bad match. We were too much alike. Lasted less than a year. Then it was over.”
“That’s it?”
“Pretty much.”
“Do you think she loves my father?”
If she’d asked him two days ago, he would have said no, but after talking with Candy, he thought that, in her own way, she did love Grayson. “I believe she does.”
“Did you love her?”
That shocked him. “Not really.”
“Have you ever loved anyone, Max?”
He knew if he told her the truth, it would only open up a flood of new questions, ones he’d rather not re-visit. Still, when he opened his mouth the truth fell out, “I loved my son. He died when he was two months old.”
“You had a son?”
Now he’d really shocked her, or maybe the better word was horrified. “Don’t sound so stunned. Even assholes like me can have a child.”
“I’m not stunned,” she said, a little too quickly. “I just never imagined you with a child. You seem like you’d be more interested in other pursuits.”
She meant women. “When you lose someone you love, you stop caring.”
She met his gaze and held it. “And the boy’s mother? Where is she?”
“When Anthony died, so did the marriage.”
“I’m so sorry.”
She reached out and stroked his hair, a gentle caress meant to soothe and ease the pain. It did exactly that. It also started a slow burn in his gut. He wanted her. Desperately.
And that scared the hell out of him.
Chapter 8
“Well, my boy, how are the plans coming along?” Grayson Crowell eyed Max over his bourbon. They’d agreed to meet at a quiet spot a few blocks from Grayson’s office to discuss Max’s progress.
“Very well. We should have more drawings available by Thursday.”
Grayson waved a hand and muttered, “Bah! I don’t mean those plans. I’m talking about the other plans.”
“Sir?” Max toyed with the change in his pocket.
“Don’t play dense with me, Max,” Grayson warned. “It’s not good business and it might make a man wonder at your allegiance.”
Max cleared his throat. “If you’re referring to my relationship with your daughter, then I’d say it’s moving along nicely.”
“Ah.” Grayson sipped his drink. “What does that mean exactly? Moving along nicely?”
Did he really expect a play by play? Did he want Max to tell him he’d lifted his daughter’s sweatshirt the other night? Tasted her skin? Undressed her after the banquet, black garters and silk stockings, too, and it killed him not to touch her? Did Grayson really want to know Max grew aroused whenever his daughter was within one hundred feet? “It means we’re talking and spending time together.”
“Yes?”
“We’re getting to know one another.”
Grayson sighed. “How much longer is the acquaintance process going to take?”
He wanted to know how much longer before Max bedded his daughter. “I made a deal with you, Grayson, but I did not agree to provide a play by play, nor do I intend to.”
A faint smile slid across the older man’s face. “Point taken.”
Grayson had been testing him. Why? He still pondered the question later that night when Rhyder called.
“Well? Are we getting any closer to consummating the deal?”
Leave it to Rhyder to get right to the point. “Everything’s going as planned.”
“Meaning?”
“We’re on schedule,” Max hedged. Why was everyone so damned concerned with his sex life? They needed to leave him and C.C. alone so things could develop naturally.
“Good.” A sigh. “So, how many times have you had sex with the woman?”
“What?”
“How many times—”
“I heard you the first time and that’s none of your business.”
Pause.
“Rhyder, you are not going to take this situation and extrapolate answers based on frequency, position and the juxtaposition of the damn moon.”
“It’s been noted the lunar cycle has much to do with—”
“Shut up, Rhyder. Just shut up.”
“Oh God, Max. Please don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts.”
“No, of course not.” He was going to give C.C. a baby.
“This woman—”
“C.C.”
Another sigh. “This C.C., you aren’t going to get involved with her, are you?”
Max was not going to answer that question. “I’m going to have to get involved if I’m going to carry out my end of the deal, now aren’t I?”
“You know what I mean. You’re just supposed to have sex with the woman and get her pregnant. That’s all.”
“I’m well aware of my duties.”
“Then just do it and be done.”
“I don’t want to see her get hurt.”
“That’s not my goal, either, but a certain amount of collateral damage in negotiations is expected. Besides, it was her father’s idea, not yours.”
Max pictured C.C.’s small, fragile face. He’d like to plant a fist in the guy who put that pain there. Max meant what he said; he did not want to see her hurt.
“I’m sensing hesitation,” Rhyder said. “If you go back on your deal with Grayson, we may as well move to Dubuque and design sawhorses.”
“I’m not backing out of anything,” Max said, annoyed that everyone was so worried about the deal and not the woman at the center of it.
“Good. Keep it that way.”
It was ti
me to change the subject and Max knew exactly how to derail Rhyder’s interrogations. “By the way, Candy said to say hello.”
Rhyder’s voice tightened. “Don’t mention that woman’s name. I already have a headache, I don’t need a pain in the ass, too.”
“Problems?”
“You have no idea. Some red-haired Cyndi Lauper wannabe showed up today trying to negotiate a botanical garden for Cecilia Revito. Said she was a niece.”
“Was she?”
“Hell if I know. I wouldn’t negotiate a compost pile with her. Now if it were her cousin, who by the way wrote Astrophysics: Then and Now, that would be a different story.”
“Sounds like just your kind of girl, Rhyder. A real sex kitten.”
“Sex starts in the brain. If I could find her, I know we’d connect, like two atoms.”
Why were women so obsessed with Rhyder? The man was about as romantic as a Bunsen burner and yet, women fought over him. Literally. “You mean you’d give up the chemist?”
“She’s gone. No mental challenge. I’m going on a quest to find Roberta Revito.”
“Who?”
“The Cyndi Lauper wannabe’s cousin—the one who wrote the astrophysics book and then just disappeared. She’s probably living in seclusion working on a new theory to save the universe.”
“Wow. Sounds thrilling. I can just picture your kids now, walking around with beakers and calipers.”
“Don’t worry about me. You just make my life easier and have sex with the woman so we can take our dream nationwide.”
***
C.C. flicked on the light and rolled her suitcase into the bedroom. After weeks away, she looked forward to satin sheets again. She flung the bag of cookies on the bed and kicked off her sneakers. A lavender-scented bubble bath and a glass of wine were the perfect way to relax.
She needed her head about her in the morning when Max showed up. The thought of him turned her insides gooey, like a warm chocolate cookie. Since the night they’d swapped secrets, she’d thought of him differently. Who wouldn’t reconsider a man who’d lost his baby? Maybe he was more than a handsome playboy with a smooth tongue and a portfolio of canned responses.
