by Webb, Peggy
“I’m tempted.”
“Then why don’t you do it?”
“I can’t. B. J. named both of us as godparents. My sister is counting on me.”
CHAPTER TWO
There was no way he could get around it. His brother was counting on him.
Still gripping the phone, Joseph listened to the click of the receiver.
“So, Joseph Patrick Beauregard,” he muttered. “What other excuses do you have for being a fool?”
He should have had one of his secretaries make the call. That’s what he paid them for, to keep him from having to deal with detail. But there was always the off chance that Maxie would answer her own phone.
A vivid memory flashed through his mind, Maxie with red lips pressed close to the receiver, her voice soft and seductive...
His instant response to the image took Joseph by surprise, and he sat gripping the phone, trying to get himself under control.
Saying an inappropriate word, he slammed down the phone and stalked to the window. That woman was a sorceress. He never said a cuss word and he never wasted time dawdling at his window.
It was a blessing Maxie Corban hadn’t answered her own phone. He shuddered to think of the state she might have put him in. From her, even a simple hello was erotic.
He stood at his window hoping the peaceful scene would act as a balm.
His law office was a converted Victorian house on Broadway, which was known informally around town as Lawyers’ Row, a charming old house set in a yard full of old-fashioned shrubs and flowers. The forsythia was in bloom. And the crab apple. Azalea bushes were full of buds and would soon burst into a glorious display of white and pink and red blossoms.
But nothing could distract him. His mind worried at the problem the way a bee buzzed around the throat of a spring blossom.
The smart thing to do was let Jenny or Pam make all the arrangements, let one of them plan the party with Maxie. Both would do it willingly, and he could wash his hands of the whole deal.
Then he wouldn’t have to talk to Maxie again, wouldn’t have to see her until the christening.
But, of course, he wouldn’t. He’d always been there for his brother, and he would do this, too, even if it caused him ulcers and temporary insanity.
Turning quickly from the garden view, he strode to his desk and buzzed for Jenny.
“Call Susan and tell her I’ll pick her up at eight.”
She would be the perfect distraction, he decided, and then was ashamed of himself for thinking of his fiancee as an antidote.
o0o
He rang the doorbell only once. Susan was always punctual.
“Hello, darling.” She kissed him lightly on the lips, then turned immediately to get her purse off the hall table.
He wondered how she would react if he ran his hands under her sweater then bent her over that table for a quickie. She would probably think he’d gone mad.
On the other hand, it was just the sort of thing Maxie would love.
Guilt slashed him.
“You look lovely tonight,” he said.
“Thank you. Your house, as usual?”
“Yes. My house as usual.”
He thrived on routine. Didn’t he?
“Great. I’ve been looking forward to your spaghetti all day. And seeing you, of course.”
Today he’d clearly been an afterthought to Susan, but he supposed that was exactly what he deserved. She hadn’t been at the forefront of his mind, either.
Maxie’s lips were lush and ripe, and when she said hello she drew out the last syllable so that her lips formed a perfect circle.
Joseph’s passion stirred, and he felt guilty that Susan wasn’t the cause.
She threaded her arm through his, and as they walked to the car he wondered what his fiancee would do if he proposed something different, pizza at Vanelli’s or fish at Malone’s or even a barbecue at Johnny’s Drive In.
She was wearing a gray wool skirt and cashmere sweater with pearls and heels. He couldn’t imagine her kicked back in his Lincoln with barbecue sauce running down her chin.
On the other hand, Maxie...
“Did you say something, Joseph?”
“Just clearing my throat.”
If he could get through the christening, everything would be all right. Six weeks to go. Six weeks of contact with the woman who was more lethal than a stiletto in the heart.
In the car Susan’s perfume settled over him like a pall. It was something exotic and spicy with a sticky sweet note that made Joseph think of funerals.
He pressed a button on the automatic control panel, then leaned his head out the window and took several deep, fortifying breaths.
“Joseph? Are you all right?”
Good Lord. He even felt guilty breathing.
“I’m okay.”
“Are you sure? You haven’t seemed yourself this evening.”
“I’m fine.” He backed out of her driveway. “Is that a new perfume you’re wearing?”
“Don’t be silly. I never change perfumes. Find a fragrance you like and stick to it. That’s my motto.” She ran her finger along the back of his neck “Same as men. Find one you like and stick to him.”
Joseph had a sudden vision of Susan with an enormous brush slathering glue all over him then attaching herself like a third arm or leg. Quickly he shook off the image. He was being unfair to Susan. Not only was she a brilliant psychiatrist, but she was a well-bred woman, lovely, courteous, and kind.
All the way home he congratulated himself on having had the good sense to propose to her.
o0o
His house was a Tudor mansion in the old section of Tupelo. Every time he entered Highland Circle he felt a sense of order. The lots were perfectly sized so that neighboring houses were close enough to feel friendly but not so close as to be intrusive. The trees were old and stately, the lawns immaculate, the houses well kept.
He made a ritual of hanging his jacket in the hall closet, of checking his mail on the hall table where his housekeeper Hazel left it, of turning on the gas fire in the library, where his antique lamps glowed against the burgundy leather sofa. By the time he finished his routine, Susan was already in her wing chair, reading the financial section of the Wall Street Journal.
Seized by a sudden mad impulse, he bent over the back of her chair and traced her earlobe with his tongue.
“Joseph, that tickles.” Her eyes never left the newspaper.
“That’s all? It tickles?” Wounded pride was speaking.
Susan put down the paper. “Darling, we always wait until after dinner for that sort of thing.”
And so they did. It was an orderly routine that fit perfectly into his carefully planned life.
“Of course, we can reverse the order of things if you can’t wait,” she added.
He could certainly wait. Temporary insanity had prompted him, not passion. He was grateful to her for restoring his sanity.
“No, everything’s fine, darling. You just sit there and finish reading while I get dinner.”
As he entered his orderly kitchen, Joseph’s world righted itself, and he hummed as he dished up two china plates of spaghetti. It was an old family recipe, and although Hazel had been the one to make it, Susan still called it his spaghetti.
The evening progressed with a comforting predictability that almost wiped Maxie from his mind. Soon he would take Susan upstairs to his bed, where the familiar routine of nice simple sex would erase the last vestige of the titian-haired enchantress.
He hoped.
“Darling, do you mind if I check my messages before we go upstairs? One of my patients was verging on hysteria today.”
“Of course not, Susan. Your patient’s lucky to have a doctor like you. And so am I.”
He kissed her on the lips. Hard. Hoping for the kind of skyrockets he’d felt that afternoon in his office while he’d sat holding the telephone.
“Joseph!” She pushed playfully at him. “What’s gotten into yo
u?”
“You don’t like it?”
“Not yet, darling. After I make this call we’ll try it again.”
They didn’t.
Susan ended up meeting her hysterical patient at the hospital, and Joseph ended up driving around the city without purpose. Something he never did.
Suddenly he found himself on the country road that led to his brother’s farm.
o0o
“Joseph! What brings you here?”
“Impulse.”
Crash hooted with laughter. “There may be hope for you yet.” He led Joseph inside. “I’m headed to the hospital to see B. J. and baby Joe. Want to come?”
“I won’t intrude on your privacy. You go ahead. I’ll just sit here for a while.”
“Make yourself at home. And don’t leave till I get back. I want to hear all about your meeting with Maxie.” Crash laughed. “I can tell by the look on your face it’s going to be quite a story.”
Suddenly Joseph knew why he had come to his brother’s house: It was the only connection he had to a red-haired sprite who for one summer night had driven him mad—wonderfully, wickedly, deliciously mad.
He had come on a pilgrimage. He had to see for himself if the place still held the magic.
“I’ll be here,” he said.
He couldn’t leave, even if he wanted to, for already the room down the hall was beckoning him.
As his brother’s car pulled out of the driveway, Joseph stood in the middle of the guest bedroom surveying his surroundings. Intent on re-creating the exact setting of nine months earlier, he’d left all the lights off except the bedside lamp. A soft pool of light fell across the ivory comforter in precisely the spot where she had been, red hair gleaming, hips in a sexy mound.
Joseph heard a harsh, guttural sound, and it was a moment before he knew it came from him. It was half desire, half denial. But there was no denying the rush of heat, the instantaneous arousal, the quickened pulse.
He made himself look away, forced himself to catalogue the antique dressing table, the carved mantel with photographs of three generations of Beauregards framed in silver, the gas logs, unlit, the French doors with heavy damask draperies.
Joseph closed the drapes. He wanted everything to be exactly as it had been that hot summer night.
He was tempted to linger in the bedroom where she had been, tempted to caress the pillow where her hair had fanned out like flame, tempted to run his hands over the coverlet where her legs had been so wantonly spread.
Joseph balled his hands into fists and walked stoically toward the connecting door. Inside the bathroom he turned on the light. Twelve naked bulbs flashed against the white tiles, a stark and startling light that illuminated the lines fanning out from his eyes, the streak of gray in his dark hair, the stress etched around his mouth.
Joe propped himself on the sink and leaned in close.
“You look like hell,” he said to his image.
He loosened his tie, then splashed his face with cold water. The water did nothing to cool his ardor. Memories are often stronger than will, and they poured over him, through him, around him, until he was leaning heavily against the sink, gripping the cold porcelain as if he could rid himself of their power by sheer force.
His mind swirled, and he was cast back in time, back to the soft summer night when he’d stood in that very spot, stripped of his clothes, stripped of his pride, stripped of reason, stripped of everything except passion.
He closed his eyes, and echoes of her voice drifted through the doorway, the throaty, sexy voice of a woman bent on seduction....
CHAPTER THREE
“I want you to lick me all over, starting with my toes.”
The female voice was an intimate purr, coming through the slightly open door of the adjoining room.
Riveted, Joseph had stood at the edge of the sink, his swim trunks dripping water on the tiles, his hands hovering over the faucets, his skin turning hot. He’d thought he was alone in the house.
“Rake your hot tongue over my instep... move slowly upward, slowly, slow... ly to the back of my leg, behind my knee... ohhh, that feels gooood....”
Unexpected desire slammed Joseph. Outside the bathroom window he could hear the sounds of Crash’s laughter mingled with the musical cadences of his brother’s new bride as they fired up the grill.
Joseph had arrived early for the party, intent on doing a few laps in the pool before dinner. All the guests would swim later in the evening, but Joe preferred having the pool all to himself. He was as serious about swimming as he was about law. No horsing around for him, just serious laps designed to increase endurance.
“Do you feel how hot my skin is? It’s on fire. Lick it... put out the flames.”
A big drop of moisture fell into the sink, and Joe didn’t know whether it was water or sweat. He glanced at the door he’d come through, judging whether he could ease back into the bathroom and out into the hall without making any noise.
The voice seduced, carrying through the crack in the doorway as clearly as if Joe were in the room. There was no answering male voice, not even a murmur. The woman was alone.
“Ohhh, I’m so hot tonight. Slick and wet and hot. Feel that heat with your tongue.”
Caught up in her erotic images, Joe abandoned all thought of trying for escape and gave himself over to the spell cast by the mystery woman in the adjoining bedroom.
“Find the spot... ohhhh, that’s it.”
Her voice washed over him, rich, seductive, full of erotic promise.
“I want you... now... come to me...come in out of the cold... inside where it’s nice and soft and warm.”
In his mind Joe followed her instructions. Pure unadulterated pleasure jolted through him. Everything in the bathroom spun away, and Joe was inside the bedroom, inside the woman whose voice seduced him, enchanted him, bewitched him.
What did she look like? This temptress with a voice of silk and fire. This erotic enchantress. This seductress with the delightfully naughty twist of mind.
The door was open a crack. Did he dare risk a peek?
His mind reeling, his body achingly aroused, Joe craned his neck toward the crack in the door. A wisp of bright pink lay on the floor, a very small bikini swimsuit with hardly enough material for a handkerchief.
“Fool,” he told himself. “Look away.”
But he couldn’t. He saw feet, small, dainty feet with high insteps and toenails painted an outrageous purple. His gaze moved upward. There were legs, long, shapely, suntanned legs.
“Ohhh,” she said. “I want you so much....”
Her fingernails were painted the same as her toes, the purple vivid against her skin as her hands moved.
Her body was irresistible, impossibly perfect. A platoon of armed Martians couldn’t have kept Joe from wanting to see more.
He took one step toward the door... then another.
“You are sooo hard, sooo big,” she whispered.
How did she know? Now that he was standing in the crack of the door, Joe couldn’t move.
Shamelessly he took in the full length of her, spread across the bed, neck arched, hair fanning across the pillow like flame, red lips lush and pouty, pressed intimately against the telephone receiver.
Maxie Corban. Crash’s new sister-in-law. Alone in the guest bedroom, having telephone sex.
“Are you ready?” she whispered. “Don’t hold back. Now. I want it now!”
A groan escaped Joseph. And then another.
Maxie slammed down the receiver and shot straight up in bed.
Joe froze, hoping she wouldn’t see him. But her eyes were like lasers, burning holes in his.
He wished he’d gone out the other door when he’d had a chance, wished he’d been caught washing his hands, even wished he’d been caught on the toilet. Anything but this. Anything but standing in the gap of the doorway, sweat dripping off his face, his arousal evident.
“You!” she said.
She unfolded herself f
rom the bed and stalked toward him, gloriously, magnificently naked. He didn’t even try not to look
Suddenly she realized what she was doing, and bent to retrieve her swimsuit.
If he had left then, they both might have been able to ignore the incident. They both might have pretended it had never happened.
But the lawyer in him wouldn’t let him leave. He couldn’t ignore a challenge, couldn’t quit the field without winning the battle. Or at least proving his innocence.
“Look,” he said. “This is not what it seems.”
Maxie harnessed her breasts in minuscule triangles of bright pink, then hopped around on one leg trying to get into her string bikini.
“Oh no?... Dammit.” The bikini bottoms were so tangled up, she had to start all over.
“Need any help?”
It was the wrong thing to say. If he’d been in his right mind, Joe would never have made the offer, but his right mind had vanished about the time Maxie had made her first erotic suggestion on the telephone.
“Don’t you dare!”
All her maneuvering made her bounce in exciting, enticing ways, ways guaranteed to prolong Joe’s own painfully embarrassing condition.
“Look... I’m not the kind of man who does this sort of thing,” he said.
“You stand there in the doorway watching me... watching me...”
“I think it’s called telephone sex.”
“I know what it’s called.” She finally won the battle with her clothes, and stalked toward him, hands on her hips.
“What I want to know is what were you doing?” Her eyes raked him from head to toe. “As if it weren’t perfectly obvious.”
“I was using the bathroom.”
“I can see that. Using it to spy on me and get your own jollies.”
Thankfully, her rage and his embarrassment combined to dampen Joe’s ardor. He was almost feeling back to normal.
Almost. The thought of having to sit at the table with Crash’s sister-in-law for the rest of the evening was mortifying. More than that, it was downright scary. Even now, even in the face of her fury and his acute embarrassment, he was stirred by her.
“To be perfectly blunt, I was using the toilet.”
