by Mary Campisi
The pain searing his face as he talked about his son belonged to a man who knew how to care. She almost told him how she’d mourned the loss of her chance to have a baby, and how for the past two years, she’d not even been able to consider the idea of a child. Something told her he would understand her pain, but a confession like that would make her even more vulnerable with a man who already threw her off balance.
What had made her tell him about David? She’d become quite good at ignoring the twinges of pain and humiliation that crept to the surface when she thought of the man who’d betrayed her. Max hadn’t even pried. He’d asked in the gentlest of voices and she’d spilled the truth.
They’d avoided one another the past three days and when her father suggested they return to Chicago to finish up, hadn’t Max been a bit too eager to oblige? Hadn’t she as well? C.C. grabbed the bag of cookies and peered inside. She’d only eaten three on the trip here—a record. Maybe because she’d been too preoccupied wondering why Max hadn’t booked the same flight. She bit into a hunk of chocolate and did the only thing she knew to do in a situation of indecision such as this.
She called Roxie. The second she told her about Max and his baby, Roxie announced she was heading over with two pints of raspberry sorbet, which according to her, was the only way to hear a sob story. Besides, Roxie had her own story to tell C.C.—in person—and it had to do with Rhyder Remmington.
***
“You told the man, what?”
Roxie perched on C.C.’s couch with her pint of sorbet and a spoon.
“I know, I know. I have no idea what came over me. One minute I was perfectly composed and the next, wham, I spilled my heart.” C.C. shook her head and dug into her container.
“And he told you about his dead son? Wow, that’s heavy.”
“I know.”
“You’ve got a thing for him, don’t you?”
C.C. half choked on her sorbet. “Why would you say that? We’re business acquaintances. That’s all.”
“Uh-huh.” A knowing smile spread across Roxie’s heart-shaped face. “And I’m Elizabeth Taylor.”
“We aren’t involved.” But as crazy and totally illogical as it was, sometimes she wished they were.
“So—” Roxie lifted her spoon in the air and pointed, “—no touching, accidental or otherwise, no brushes against the other person’s body? No covert glances, direct or side-sweeping? No dreams? No lips touching lips? None of that?”
“Well—”
“Aha!” She waved her spoon in a gallant sweep. “I knew it!”
C.C. shrugged. “Sometimes I see sides of him that are nothing like what I thought he was. He’s kind when he doesn’t have to be. And considerate. And he’s got a wicked sense of humor. He makes me laugh, even at myself. I think I could really care about him, which scares me to death.”
Roxie’s eyes grew wide as though she were watching a love story unfold on Lifetime. “Do you think he feels the same about you?”
“I have no idea.” He’d been so gentle when she’d told him about David. Almost as if he truly cared.
Roxie licked her lips. “The guy sounds like a hunk of premium-grade male. I say go for it.”
“You would. It’s not that simple. I’m scared.”
“That’s because you put your heart, soul and every other waking part of your being into it. Can’t you just be casual? See where it leads?”
“As in casual, no-strings sex?”
“Oh, yeah, I like the sound of that.”
Thoughts of Max and sex gave C.C. a brain freeze. “I like to think the man I’m taking my clothes off for might be around in the morning; maybe I’d actually know how to spell his last name.”
“But you can’t hand him a questionnaire and a pen asking him to sign a ‘will stick around’ clause.”
“I’m scared, Roxie. Look how off base I was the last time I let somebody get close to me.”
“David was a class A asshole. They’re not all like that. Honest. But I’ll tell you one thing, your guy’s friend ranks up there with the David assholes of this world.”
“Rhyder?”
“Yeah, Mr. R&R, that’s him. Jerk.” She plopped a hunk of sorbet in her mouth and chewed.
“You’ve never met a man you didn’t like and there’s certainly never been a man who didn’t like you.”
“First time for everything.”
“What’s he like?”
Roxie threw her a disgusted look. “Picture Mr. Fantastic from the Fantastic Four in suspenders wearing his IQ on his cuff links.”
“You’ve never been put off by extremely intelligent men. What’s different about this one?”
“There’s intelligent smart and then there’s intelligent stupid. This one’s intelligent stupid, which means he doesn’t know when to shut up and thinks he’s the most brilliant creature walking.” She ruffled her spiky hair and clenched her spoon. “And he’s obsessed with Roberta Revito.”
“Roberta? You’re kidding, right?”
The spikes shifted right then left. “I had to hear about Astrophysics: Then and Now and how anyone with such a brilliant mind could own the world. Of course, he practically begged—” she stopped “—no, that man would never beg. Let’s say he hinted several times, very strongly, that he’d love for me to introduce him to Roberta.”
C.C. set her sorbet on the coffee table and leaned forward. “Did you tell him about Roberta?”
“I said she was my cousin and we didn’t get along.”
“Well, the getting along part is true at least.”
Roxie talked about Roberta about as much as C.C. talked about David, which was fine, except for one problem—Roxie was Roberta.
“I had to pull on my earring so I wouldn’t jump up and tell him the truth. Especially when I told him I cut hair for a living and he got all quiet like clerks do when you go in the grocery store and ask where the tampons are. You know, like it’s totally unacceptable.”
“I’m sorry I asked you to go there. I shouldn’t have put you in that position, it’s just that men have never been an obstacle for you.”
“Yeah, well, men I can handle, jerks are another story.” Her green eyes narrowed beneath two lines of black mascara. “I’m not done with him yet though.”
“Roxie? What are you planning to do?”
A smile split her pixie face. “Nothing other than teach him what his mama should have a long time ago.”
“Which is?”
“Never judge a girl by the color of her mascara.”
Chapter 9
Max stood outside C.C.’s condo staring at four neatly potted red geraniums. He’d been standing there for ten minutes, fondling three tiny packets in his right jeans pocket.
He gritted his teeth. He could do this. It was just a three letter word, one he was quite familiar with—intimately, as a matter of fact.
Sex. The word clattered in his brain, shot down to his groin and banged on it. Sex, sex, sex! What was his problem? Lots of women would be ecstatic with the prospect of having sex with him. The deal he’d made with Grayson didn’t sound quite so horrible when he thought of the way C.C.’s eyes welled up when she mentioned Mr. Ex-lover’s pregnant wife. She wanted her own child, even if she were too afraid to admit it. He was going to give her that child. And who better than him to be daddy-not-husband? Actually, was there even another choice?
There. He toyed with the packets’ sleek packaging again. Reason prevailed and he relaxed. It was about the deal, and never mind that he’d spent the better part of last night thinking about C.C.—under him, on top of him, beside him—naked and breathy, her skin satiny beneath his touch, the taste of her, sweet and wanting. He squeezed the packets in his hand and took a step toward her door.
She might not even be home. After all, he hadn’t called or even told her he was coming to Chicago today.
What would he say if she asked him why he couldn’t wait to meet at his office? C.C. was funny about personal boundaries and she m
ight take issue with him invading hers. Would he tell her he had no idea why he was there? Would he admit he missed her? She’d gotten to him and he couldn’t stop thinking about touching her, tasting her.
“Max?”
He should tell her the truth and screw cleverness. He needed to have sex with her before he burst. Where the hell had that come from?
“Max.”
Sex would be great for both of them—he’d make sure of it.
He missed her.
“I missed you, too.”
Max jerked around and found C.C. behind him, a sexy vision in pink sweatpants and a gray T-shirt. Her long hair spilled down her back in a mass of curls. “You have the most incredible eyes.”
“Thank you.” She touched her face and swept a strand of hair from her cheek. “I was just coming out to get the mail and I saw you standing here.”
He eased his hand from his pocket and shook his head, wishing they were inside her condo right now so he could bury his hands in her hair, explore that delicious skin…
“Do you want to come in?”
Oh, yes, he wanted in—badly. “Sure,” he managed, picturing C.C. spread out in bed, naked.
She smiled and turned away. “I’m up this way. Come on, I’ll fix you an iced tea.”
Max liked the way her butt moved in the pink velour. Pink made him think of the lacy thong he’d seen in her hotel room.
“I was just thinking about you.”
“Really.” He’d been thinking of her for days…weeks…naked…
“Yes,” she said, opening the door. “I was wondering when you were coming.”
Coming? He cleared his throat. Twice. “I got tied up with the planning commission.” And three last-minute phone calls from Rhyder informing Max he’d devised a spreadsheet for Max to chart his sex-capades with headings like time, position, frequency.
“Dad says they can be difficult, especially where conservation issues come in.” He watched as she plunked three ice cubes in his glass and poured. “If people worried a quarter as much about each other as they do about preserving reeds and grass, just think what kind of world we’d have.”
He loved her hands. Slender, capable, sexy…
“…and of course you have projections and future calculations.”
…those hands could do a lot to him.
“Max?”
“What?”
“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.” She handed him his iced tea and sat beside him.
“Projections and calculations.” He took a sip of tea, avoiding her hands.
“Is something on your mind? You seem distracted.”
His gaze settled on her lips. “You distract me. I love your mouth. It’s very kissable. Has anyone ever told you that?” He wanted this woman and it had nothing to do with a deal or procreation.
“N-no.”
He traced her lips with his fingers. “Oh, yes, very kissable indeed.”
“Thhhank you.”
“I really did miss you.”
“Max?” She stared up at him, her voice breathy and uncertain. “Why are you doing this?”
The truth spilled out. “Because I can’t seem to help myself. Because it’s all I’ve thought about since the night of the banquet.” He kissed her chin, her jaw, her forehead. “Because you’re a beautiful woman who tries her damndest to hide it.”
The tiniest hint of a smile crept over her face. Max took that as a good sign and clasped her hands in his. “I haven’t been able to forget the night I undressed you after the banquet. I still remember the warm suppleness of your body. I want to see that again, feel that again, but this time I’d like you to be awake.”
She arched a brow. “You said you didn’t look.”
“One quick peek. That’s all, scout’s honor.” He held up two fingers and crossed his heart.
“Max Jerrnigan, you were never a scout.”
“True, but my brother was. I know the code, so that should count.” He made tiny circles along the back of her hand. “More importantly, I know the gentleman’s code of honor which says never take advantage of a woman when she’s sleeping,” he paused, “unless she’s given prior consent.”
C.C. swatted his arm. “You are a horrible, horrible man and certainly no gentleman. And this is not sexy,” she said, pointing to her gray T-shirt.
“That’s your opinion.”
She smiled, long and slow. “This,” she said as she lifted her T-shirt over her head to expose a see-through red bra, “is sexy.”
Max stared at her breasts, his eyes zeroing in on the dusky nipples peeking through the transparent material. He swallowed. “Sexy,” he breathed.
C.C. fluffed her hair and reached for the drawstring on her sweats. “And this,” she practically cooed as she stepped out of her pink sweats, “is definitely sexy.”
Max swiped a hand over his forehead and locked his gaze on the triangle of sheer red material she called underwear. He wanted her. Now. Period. “C.C., you’re killing me.”
She threw back her head and laughed, a full, heady sound that made him burn. Then she turned and walked away, the tiny red of her thong separating her perfect butt.
Max sprung off the couch and followed her.
“Max?” She turned at the doorway of what he hoped was her bedroom, and motioned with one finger. “Come here.”
“Baby, you don’t have to ask me twice. I’m here.” He closed the space between them in three easy strides.
C.C. plastered her body against his and threw her arms around his neck. “Kiss me,” she breathed. “Make me feel beautiful.”
“You’re already beautiful.” He wrapped his arms around her and buried his tongue deep in her mouth. She moaned, opening for him as he sucked and stroked. God, she was incredible, and he wasn’t going to question his luck. He cupped her butt and pulled her closer. She groaned, or was it him? He couldn’t tell and he didn’t care. Max broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers as he gulped in air. “We need to slow down.”
She jerked his shirt out of his jeans and reached for his belt buckle. “No, we don’t.” She undid his buckle and eased his zipper down.
A double zing shot through him. “I’m only a man, not a machine.”
“Only a man,” she repeated, flicking her tongue over his lips. “I like the sound of that.”
He couldn’t take much more. Max grabbed her wrist and said, “I want you too much. If we don’t slow down, right now, I won’t be able to in about two minutes.”
“I don’t want you to slow down. You can save that for the second time.” She slid her hands inside his boxers and cupped him.
“God, yes,” he groaned. Twice wouldn’t be enough. Hell, twenty times wouldn’t be enough. He wanted to bury himself inside her for a week.
She pushed his jeans down and stroked his shaft. “Let go, Max.” Two strokes. Three. “Show me how much you want it.”
He growled and eased her onto the bed, unclasping her bra and sliding it from her shoulders. Her breasts were small and creamy with the palest pink nipples. Heaven. He rimmed each nipple with his tongue and slid his fingers down her belly until her breath hitched.
“Oh, Max.”
He liked it when her voice dripped sex and desire. Need pulsed through him as he thought of how she’d sound with him buried deep inside her. He cupped the scrap of red between her legs.
She purred. “You’re torturing me.”
With a smile like that, she looked anything but tortured. “Shall I continue?” He flicked a finger over the scrap of red.
The smile spread. “Oh yes.”
Max stroked her through the silky fabric. Once, twice. Three times. She bucked against his fingers and moaned.
“That’s it, baby. Let yourself go.” She was dripping and he’d barely touched her. She’d probably fly off the bed when he put his tongue there.
Before the night was over, he’d have her flying around the room.
Max started to inch her thong down, ea
ger to taste her, but C.C. pushed his hand aside and rolled on top of him. “You don’t get to do all the torture,” she said as she straddled him.
“What did you have in mind?” Was that calm voice really his? In ten million years, he’d never have thought Catherine Crowell would make him so hard, or straddle him. Or have such perfect breasts. Or get so hot for him. Or—
“Lift up.”
“What?”
“Lift up,” she said. Max lifted his hips and she yanked down his jeans and boxers.
“Oh, my.”
She stared at Max’s dick—big, hard, and pulsing under her close scrutiny.
He tried for casual. “Yeah, well, that happens when I have a half-naked woman straddling me. Sorry.” Casual his ass. He wanted to flip her over and pound into her.
A tiny smile flitted across her lips as she fingered the bead of moisture on the tip of his dick. Oh God. More. She ran those delicious fingers the length of him, her smile spreading as she stroked. She kept her gaze transfixed on that piece of rigid flesh as though it were a new and fascinating toy. He’d be her toy anytime.
“Oh my,” she repeated and ran her tongue over her bottom lip.
A pink tongue. Wet lips. Soft hands. Naked breasts. He jerked against her hand. A man could only take so much. The stroking increased and the moans started, but they weren’t his—they belonged to C.C.!
“I can’t take any more, Max. I have to have you inside me.” She pushed the thong aside.
“Wait.” He grabbed his jeans and fished a condom from the pocket. Their first time together would not be marred by any damn deal. Max ripped the packet open and fitted himself. “Torture me.”
C.C. didn’t need a second invitation; she impaled him. “Oh, Max.” She squeezed her eyes shut and rode, first with slow deliberate strokes and then faster, moving in a rhythm that spoke of pleasure and need.
He couldn’t take much more. Max inched a finger between them, found her clitoris and worked tiny circles on the swollen flesh. Her eyes flew open seconds before she exploded with a passion that spun him out of control. He grabbed her hips and drove into her. A breath later, he pulled her to him and split into a thousand pieces.
They spent the rest of the night learning one another’s body. He nipped and stroked, she molded and sucked. They both licked and mutually tortured, until Max stopped her the only way he knew how—by burying himself deep inside. Then she was the one whimpering and moaning in pleasure. Then she was the one begging him to stop his slow torture. He loved this woman. Completely. The truth hit him so hard he gasped for air.
