by Mary Campisi
Tonight was their night, no complications, no hidden agendas, no deals. Just the two of them sharing their bodies and their souls. Max wore a condom each time.
Soon, he’d do what he had to do.
But not tonight.
Chapter 10
C.C. woke the next morning with an arm slung around her waist and a hairy leg pinning her to the bed.
Max.
She turned and watched him sleep. His dark hair curled over his forehead in a soft sweep that made her want to touch it, but she didn’t. A sleeping Max was calm innocence, and she wanted to take him in, wanted to take everything in that happened last night before he woke.
Each time they made love had been more powerful and intense than the time before. Was it really that good or was she that deprived? No, it was really that good. Something about his touch and soft reassurances made her want to please him, made her bold, even. He seemed to like that, unlike David who’d always wanted to be in charge.
Max had even been thoughtful enough to provide his own condoms. David always expected her to make the trips to the drugstore, said it was emasculating for a man to buy condoms. It bothered C.C. a little that Max just so happened to be carrying condoms in his jeans pocket, but she pushed the uneasiness aside. He’d come with a purpose and that purpose was her.
She stretched her body, aware of the unfamiliar but welcome soreness in certain parts of it. She closed her eyes and listened to Max’s quiet, even breathing.
David had never stayed the night, making one excuse after the other—early morning meetings, inadequate parking, no clean suits, not a Starbucks nearby. She hadn’t liked it, but she’d accepted it because she’d loved him, or rather, loved the person she thought he was.
Max wasn’t a liar or a fake. He drove her crazy at times, but he was honest with her. She would have gone on listing his attributes and his annoyances if the phone hadn’t cut in just then.
“C.C., you there, hon? Hey, it’s me. C.C.? I know, I know, you’re probably having sex with that sweet piece of meat from Joe’s Deli. Call me when you finish. Hey, I don’t mind, as long as it isn’t Rhyder Remmington’s partner. Ciao.”
C.C. slid a glance toward Max.
He was wide awake and staring at her. “Rhyder Remmington’s partner? That would be me.”
She shrugged and smiled. “Too late, I guess.”
“So, who was that and how does she know Rhyder?”
“She’s my friend. I asked her to do a little background check on your partner and see if she could find out a few things for me.”
“About me?” His expression turned from curious to grim.
“Not exactly.” She hesitated. If she told him, she’d look like a fool, but after last night, how could she lie? “I wanted her to find out why you and Candace broke up. For my father’s sake,” she said, and then added, “and mine.”
Max flipped onto his back and crossed his hands behind his head. “And what did she discover?”
The sheet bunched around his waist, exposing a broad chest covered with swirls of dark hair. She’d slept on that chest last night, breathed in his scent, and felt a connection with him that startled her.
“C.C.?”
A shiver pulsed through her and she looked away. “Actually, Roxie got sidetracked and didn’t get much of anything.”
“Roxie? You have a friend named Roxie?” His lips twitched.
“It’s not her real name but that’s what she likes to be called. And she’s not just a friend, she’s my best friend.”
He pulled her to him and kissed her. “Tell Roxie she has lousy timing. Tell her also that you’re having sex with Rhyder Remmington’s partner.” He traced a nipple. “Lots of sex.”
She couldn’t think when he was touching her breasts. “I will,” was all she could manage.
“Good.” He rolled her over and pinned her beneath him. “I’d planned on waking up to a little something other than talking about my partner.”
He wanted her again, she saw it in his eyes, heard it in his voice. She wanted him, too.
“Damn,” he swore under his breath. “I don’t suppose you have any extra condoms lying around do you?”
“No, I used the last ten up two nights ago. Sorry.”
He traced a finger along her lower lip. “Very cute.”
“I thought so.”
“Well, as my granny used to say—”
“Please don’t tell me your granny talked to you about sex.”
“No, but she did say there was more than one way to skin a cat.”
“Meaning?” Sometimes, Max Jerrnigan made no sense at all.
“Meaning, we might be out of condoms but there’s more than one way to give pleasure. Let’s take a shower and then I’ll show you exactly what my granny meant.”
***
It took two double caramel lattes and forty minutes to convince Roxie to have dinner with Max and his business partner.
“I do not want to sit across from that jerk while he critiques the way I cut my salmon.” Roxie dragged both hands through her spiked hair and groaned. “He’s bad karma, C.C. Messes up my personal fields just looking at him.”
“Hmmmm.” Right now Roxie could have confessed to a serial murder and she wouldn’t have gotten more from C.C. than a faint smile. After last night and this morning, it was hard not to smile.
“Hey! C.C., I’m having a crisis here and you’re off in la la land.” Roxie fidgeted with her bracelets, adjusting and readjusting the clasps. “Of course, you told your guy I’d go, so now if I don’t it will make me look like a scaredy cat, which you know I am certainly not. Oh, but that man! I suppose I’ll have to hear all about dear, darling Roberta and how wonderful she is, which we both know is a crock.” Roxie dug into her macramé bag and pulled out two sticks of bubble gum which she carefully unwrapped and popped in her mouth. “I should have just told him,” she muttered under her breath. “I would’ve loved to have seen that pompous face when I told him his heartthrob spent six weeks in St. George’s mental institution.”
That got C.C.’s attention. “Roxie, that was a long time ago. Leave it alone.”
The bubble popping started along with the cuticle picking which signaled the beginning of a Roxie craze. She took a deep breath through her nose and blew it out her mouth in a slow, even swoosh. “Deep breath, deep breath.” She squeezed her eyes shut. Three years of daily yoga and a therapist had helped Roxie center herself, but there were certain people who propelled her right back to the obsessive compulsive perfectionist she used to be.
Apparently, Rhyder Remmington was one of those people.
One more deep breath, another swoosh of air exchange and Roxie blinked her eyes open and announced with a burst, “There. All better.”
“Look, maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. Max and I thought it might be kind of fun, that’s all. Max said—”
“Halt.” Roxie held up a small, pale hand. “What’s with this Max said stuff? Crap. You slept with him, didn’t you?”
“Roxie!”
“That’s not an answer.” She smacked her forehead and whispered, “Crap!”
“It’s okay, really. I’m fine. Everything’s great.”
“That’s what you said two years ago and look how that turned out. It’s too quick, C.C. You don’t know enough about him. I know what I said before but what do I know? He could be as big a jerk as his partner; maybe he just hides it better.”
She was wrong, C.C. knew it in her gut. “Max is one of the good guys.”
Roxie shook her head and snapped her gum before saying, “Or a bad guy posing as a good guy. There’re plenty of those walking around, too.”
***
The night was heading toward disaster and it was all Roxie’s fault. Max had wanted C.C. to meet Rhyder and C.C. wanted Roxie to meet Max, but Roxie did not want to have anything to do with Rhyder which truly perplexed C.C. The man exuded a rich, natural charm with his Ivy League manners and cautious smiles. He was attentive
but not overly solicitous, a quality C.C. appreciated, especially from Max’s best friend. There was an underlying sensuousness to the man—the almond-shaped eyes beneath his wire-framed glasses, the movement of his lean body as he spoke, even the way he chewed.
How could Roxie not be attracted to the man?
C.C. slid a glance at her friend who sat with one elbow on the table, glaring at the spinach salad in front of her. She dangled a fork in her other hand, perhaps so she could use it as a weapon against Rhyder.
“You know, Chopin is one of the most influential musicians of the Romantic Age,” Rhyder said, referring to the piece filtering through Cara Mia’s. “Great depth. Impressive nuance.”
Roxie lifted her fork and twirled it. “Whooppee.”
Rhyder chose to ignore her. “He’s responsible for creating such innovations as the ballad and the piano sonata and the waltz.”
“Wow.”
C.C. nudged Roxie under the table. Why was she doing this?
“That’s one thing about Rhyder,” Max said, lifting his wine glass, “there’s always a lesson behind everything he says.”
“I had no idea,” C.C. said, meaning it.
“But he didn’t mention Chopin’s mazurka or the polonaise, essential to his Slavic ancestry,” Roxie said.
They all turned to her, but Roxie merely shrugged at the scrutiny.
“You studied Chopin?” Rhyder asked.
“No.”
A smile slid across Rhyder’s face. “Ah, but I’ll bet your cousin Roberta did.”
Roxie curled her lip and scowled. “She did, as a matter of fact. Four hours a day. Perfect pitch.”
“I knew it.” Rhyder’s smile spread.
“Right before she flipped and headed to the loony bin. Yeah, she was a perfect pitch then, you should’ve heard her playing in the psych unit.”
Rhyder stared at her. “Are you lying to me again? Like you were when you gave me that story about your aunt looking for property to build a botanical garden?”
“Hey, she could be and when I see her in six months, I’m going to ask her. You may have a great lead on something.”
“Uh, thanks. Now what about your cousin?”
“Roberta went to the loony bin for six weeks.”
“That—that can’t be true. Roberta’s a brilliant woman with a brilliant future—”
“Weaving baskets and sorting toothpicks.”
“I’m,” he stumbled, clearly uncomfortable, “not sure what to say.”
Roxie laughed and poked him in the arm. “Just joking. Do you really think Miss Brilliant would waste her brain power on something as ridiculous as a nervous breakdown?”
“No.” He slid an uneasy glance at Max, who shrugged. “I guess it would be as improbable as if it happened to me.”
“See there?” Roxie forked a hunk of spinach. “My cousin is still around, and I’m still trying to ignore her.”
“Do you think—” Rhyder cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable with what he was going to say, “—you could introduce us?”
“What, like a matchmaker? Uh-uh, don’t think so.”
“But why? We have so much in common. Max, this is the woman I was telling you about, the one who wrote Astrophysics: Then and Now.”
“Sounds like just your type, Rhyder.”
“I think she’s the one.”
Roxie choked on a crouton. “For what? Sitting around discussing atoms and force fields? Hello, babies aren’t made that way.”
“Would you just think about it?” He took a deep breath and finished with a quiet, “Please?”
Roxie sniffed and plopped an olive in her mouth. “I’ll think about it.”
C.C. tensed. Uh-oh. Not good. Rhyder threw Roxie off balance and made her divulge secrets she’d buried years ago. Max reached for C.C.’s hand under the table and stroked her fingers, relaxing her. When she smiled, his hand dropped to her knee, and he eased the hem of her dress to the inside of her thigh. The subject had changed to real estate and land value and Max’s voice remained casual and detached as though he weren’t inching his way up her thigh and, oh God, stroking the silk of her panties.
“So, tell me,” Rhyder said in a gallant attempt to bring the conversation back to normal footing, “when exactly did you two connect?”
Max laughed, his hand cupping her panties. “We met on the plane to Alexandria but we didn’t know who the other was. It was a very pleasurable ride. Until she started plying me with those damn cookies.”
“Those cookies keep her calm,” Roxie said. “They’re her center.”
“Oh.” Rhyder slid a glance her way. “What’s yours?”
Roxie fished around her salad plate, jabbed something and shook her fork at him with a satisfied grin. “Jalapeno peppers.”
Chapter 11
“I’ll be back in five days,” Max promised.
“But it will seem like fifty.”
“So, you’ll miss me.”
She kissed his chest. “Only your body.”
Max laughed and ran a hand along her bare back, his body exhausted yet still tingling after their most recent lovemaking. C.C. lay across his chest, her hair brushing his chin, her legs entwined with his. They’d spent the last three Saturdays this way. In bed. Naked.
A man could get used to this. After their first night together, he’d packed a bag and only gone back to his own condo to pick up mail and fresh clothes. Max looked forward to the mundane tasks of grocery shopping, laundry, cooking—because C.C. was with him. “I wouldn’t go to Los Angeles if Rhyder didn’t think it was necessary. Costa Mesa Development wants to hear about what we’re doing here.”
“I know.” She traced his left nipple with her finger.
“I’d take you if I could.” He wanted her again.
“Hmmm.” Her tongue flicked his nipple.
“But you’d probably tie me to the bed and I wouldn’t get any work done.”
Her throaty laugh shot straight to his groin. “That’s a thought.”
He’d lost count of the number of times they’d made love these past three weeks. He’d worn a condom every single time—except twice and well, wearing a condom in the shower was a near impossible feat. And the other time…she’d come to him in the middle of the night and latex was the last thing on his mind.
Two times out of thirty? Forty? Fifty? The odds were in his favor. C.C. wasn’t pregnant. When he returned from California, he planned to visit Grayson and tell him he wasn’t going to get his daughter pregnant—not until he married her.
Six months ago, marriage was the last thing Max wanted, but that was before C.C. Now he wanted her and he wanted a baby with her. Just as soon as he got back from California, he’d ask her to marry him. They could have a short engagement—was three weeks too short?—and exchange vows in front of the marble fountain in the foyer of Grayson’s home.
“When I get back, let’s go see your father. I want to show him our plans. And give him our news.”
“Are we going to tell him about us?”
The uncertainty in her voice surprised him. “Why wouldn’t we?”
“I don’t want Dad to be overcritical. He’s a tough negotiator and he might not like you using his daughter as a fringe benefit.”
“A fringe benefit? For whom? Me or you?”
She smacked his arm. “Be serious. We’ve done a great job and I want the merits of the project to be judged without bias.”
What would she do if she knew Grayson’s true motives behind the deal and Max’s involvement in it? The thought twisted his gut.
“I don’t think we should tell him, Max. Not until the project is finished.” She kissed his mouth. “Okay?”
“But as soon as it’s finished, we’re coming clean.” He couldn’t stand the lie any longer.
“Deal.”
“Speaking of deal, Rhyder’s still upset over the drawing changes. He said there’s no way Roxie made them, that she wouldn’t know how to draw a straight line much less
change the angles on the building.”
“She made the changes. She must have done it last weekend, when she came over to borrow my scale. I went into the bathroom to get it and when I came out, she was done.”
“How long were you in there? Two hours?”
“Two minutes, tops.”
“You’re telling me that woman with the red hair and a gazillion piercings in her ears figured it out in less time than a roomful of architects could?”
“Uh-huh.”
“C.C.—”
“Uh, Max, there’s something I should tell you about Roxie.”
***
The phone call came the day after Max left. Candace was in Chicago shopping along the Magnificent Mile for a perfect wedding gift for Grayson, so mum’s the word, and she wondered if Catherine could meet for lunch. Or dinner, anything so they could spend time together and get better acquainted.
They settled on dinner at a trendy bistro off Michigan Avenue that specialized in wraps and sushi. When Candace walked into the bistro, C.C. didn’t miss the woman’s forceful strides or grim expression.
The woman had come with a purpose that had nothing to do with a wedding gift for her future husband.
“Catherine,” she said as she leaned forward to kiss C.C.’s cheek. “Thank you so much for making the time to see me. Your father says you’ve been swamped.”
“Yes, I’ve been busy.” C.C. twisted her hands beneath the table and wished for a calming bite of cookie.
Candace shrugged out of her suede jacket and slid into the wrought iron chair. Her knit dress clung to her body in a swish of soft cream, the perfect fantasy for any breathing male under ninety-nine. “You look different, Catherine.”
“Is that good or bad?”
Her future mother-in-law smiled. “Very good. I like what you’ve done with your hair.”
