by Webb, Peggy
“What are you writing?”
“Just a note to myself.”
“About the party?”
“No.”
She put the notebook back on the coffee table, then faced him with a smile that she hoped looked brave and perky.
“So, where’s Claude?”
“He had to leave.”
“It’s not like him to leave without saying goodbye.”
“He said to tell you good-bye.”
“Did you do something to make him leave?”
“You give me too much credit.”
She glanced at his empty glass. “More lemonade?”
“I’ll get it.”
This time he was the one who made the trek, but he was across the room before she had time to prepare herself. He loomed over her, gorgeous and mouthwatering, and much too close for comfort. Still towering over her, he drank the lemonade intended for Claude in three big swallows.
The glass clinked as he set it back on the tray. Instead of going back to his chair on the other side of the room, he sat beside her.
His thigh brushed her bare leg, and she was certain it was a deliberate ploy to throw her off guard.
They spied the notepad at the same time, the ink in bold relief against the pale pink paper.
“ ‘No touching.’ No touching what?”
Maxie had never been one to lie.
“You.”
“Like this?” He pressed his leg closer to hers.
“Yes.”
In all those years Maxie had been running when men wanted her to stay, not a single one of them had set off skyrockets under her skin with a single touch. Not one. If they had, she wouldn’t have been sitting on the sofa now biting the inside of her lip to keep from reaching out and fawning over a man she couldn’t have.
Joseph was off-limits. Long after he had gone and she lay in her bed all alone with her motor still running, she’d have to repeat that phrase to herself a hundred times. Maybe more.
Under no circumstances was she to forget it.
But, oh, he tempted her so.
If he stayed around much longer, there was no telling what she was liable to do. She had to scare him off. That’s all there was to it, for B. J.’s sake.
“And like this,” she said.
She put a hand on his chest and made slow, erotic circles. He sucked in a sharp breath, then was so still, she couldn’t even hear him breathing.
She felt his body heat, even through his shirt... and the size and shape of his muscles, the indentation over his heart, the wonderful springiness of chest hair. Unable to resist, she let her hand glide lower, across his flat belly, and downward. Her fingernails made soft clicking sounds against his zipper.
His response was immediate. And delicious.
“If you keep that up you might learn a hard lesson.” His voice was hoarse.
“What lesson?”
“Tempt a man too far and pay the consequences.”
Good heavens, why wasn’t he running away? Thank goodness one touch was not enough to ruin a man. If she ruined Joe, B. J. would disown her. Crash would be furious. She’d be banned from the farm and would never get to tell her godson why she’d insisted he have wallpaper with angels on zebras.
Maxie withdrew her hand, then settled not so primly into her corner of the sofa.
“That’s how I’m not to touch you,” she said.
He studied her the same way he did opponents in a courtroom. Sweat beaded her upper lip, trickled down the side of her face, and slid toward her cleavage. Damp tendrils clung to the back of her neck.
What was he thinking? If she knew, she could plan her next move. Her only clue was his eyes. His gaze burned right through her.
He snaked out his arm so fast, she didn’t see it coming, didn’t have time to scoot away. Suddenly, she found herself crushed against him, held fast with one arm around her waist and the other tangled in her hair.
She stared at him, too stunned for words, too surprised for action. For an instant he watched her, pantherlike, mysterious, and predatory. Then he claimed her lips. He was the hunter and she was the prey. He was merciless, his lips hard and demanding, his tongue sure and insistent.
Her heart slammed against her ribs, and she thought she would turn into a Victorian lady right there in her own living room, swooning on her sofa with no hope of revival.
Somebody made murmuring sounds of pleasure. Good Lord, it was her. She was groaning with ecstasy because of the delicious ways Joseph was plundering her mouth. His hands were equally seductive. The way he caressed her was pure heaven, the erotic massage he was giving the back of her neck enough to have him declared armed and dangerous.
Her whole body was purring. And she was responding to his kiss like mad. Her tongue met his thrust for thrust. Her lips were ripe and open, devouring him.
Merciful heavens, what was she doing? Was one kiss enough to send this man off into the jungles to contemplate his toes?
And could she stop at one?
At the rate they were going, they might never stop. Which would be all right with Maxie... except for two little things: her sister and his fiancee.
She tried counting sheep, she tried counting backward, she tried counting the polka dots on her painted table. But nothing worked. Finally she gave herself up to him. Completely. Wantonly. Brazenly. She had neither the desire nor the willpower to stop herself. Or him.
In fact, she was so enraptured that when he pulled back she was still puckered up saying “hmmmm.” It took her a while to realize that she was kissing thin air.
Enraged, she swiped at her mouth with the back of her hand and retreated to her end of the sofa.
“You forgot that one,” he said.
“What?”
“That’s another way you shouldn’t touch me.”
“Of all the arrogant, pompous jerks, you take the cake.”
“I was that good, was I?”
“You weren’t even close to good. On a scale of one to ten you were minus two.”
Maxie jerked up her glass of lemonade and slid it down the side of her face, across her throat, and into the neck of her shirt. The cool glass did nothing to abate the heat roaring through her blood. Joseph Beauregard was more than she’d bargained for.
“Perhaps another demonstration is in order,” he said.
“Don’t you dare!”
She jumped off the sofa and marched to the other side of the room. Searching for something to do, she spied the stereo, still blasting away. Maxie punched the off button. Hard.
“I thought the music enhanced the mood,” he said.
“I’m not in the mood for dancing.”
“I wasn’t speaking of dancing.”
There were ways a man could look at a woman that’d drive her crazy. Joseph had it down to a science.
“I was speaking of sex,” he said.
CHAPTER FIVE
Claude pounced the minute Maxie came to work.
“So, what did Beauregard the Bull want last night?”
“Beauregard the Bull?”
Maxie turned quickly to the chore of making coffee. She was stalling and Claude knew it, but she didn’t care. She preferred not to think about what had happened the previous night.
“You know who I’m talking about. He’s a clever devil. If it hadn’t been for my silk shirt, I’d never have left you alone with him. Never.” Claude set the cups inside the saucers. “What happened after I left?”
“Nothing much.”
It was nothing much if you were the kind who called a hurricane just a little wind. Maxie still felt flushed as well as confused.
“I can take a hint.” Claude huffed to the other side of the room with his coffee, leaving Maxie’s on the counter. “If you didn’t want to tell me, why didn’t you just say so in the first place.”
Maxie dumped her untouched coffee and put her arm around Claude’s shoulder.
“We didn’t dance, Claude.”
“What else did
n’t you do?”
Maxie was saved by the bell. Literally. The chimes over her door tinkled, and in walked Mrs. Elmore Prescott, the most demanding woman in Tupelo. Claude was at her side instantly, turning on the charm while Maxie mentally geared herself for a long day.
“My house is a disaster. An absolute disaster. I’m so tired of yellow, I could scream.” Mrs. Prescott pressed her hand over her breast, her diamonds flashing in the morning sun.
Last year, yellow had been Mrs. Prescott’s favorite color. She’d wanted it in her bedroom, her bath, her sun room, and the kitchen. Maxie had tried to steer her in another direction, but she’d insisted.
Maxie led her to the sofa.
“Sit down, Mrs. Prescott. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“No sugar. I’m dieting.” She took a sip, then made a face and added three teaspoons of sugar. “I can’t stand my house another minute. You’ve got to do something, Maxie. Today.”
Reprieve, Maxie thought. She’d be so busy at Mrs. Prescott’s, she wouldn’t have a single minute to think about the previous night.
o0o
Joseph’s secretary stood in the doorway. Even after a ten-hour day she was still perfectly groomed, every hair in place, every thread on her body starched and pressed.
“Is that all for today, Joseph?”
“That’s all, Jenny.”
“What about this six o’clock appointment?” Jenny consulted her notes. “Maxie Corban?”
Joseph felt the heat rise under his collar. Could Jenny read his face? She’d been his secretary for sixteen years. Sometimes he thought she knew him better than his mother did. He resisted the urge to leap from his chair and stand with his back to her.
“I won’t need notes on that meeting. It’s personal.”
Jenny would never comment on his personal life unless he asked, but she couldn’t contain her look of surprise.
“She’s Joe’s other godparent,” he explained. “We’re planning the baby’s party.”
“A bachelor party?” Jenny quipped.
“Sort of. If baby Joe’s anything like my brother, he’ll be throwing his own by the time he’s two.”
Jenny closed her steno pad. “Have a good evening, Joseph.”
“You, too, Jenny.”
The hands on the clock said five forty-five. Fifteen minutes till Maxie showed up, fifteen minutes to wish he had suggested breakfast or lunch or even dinner. Something in a public place. Anything, anywhere except in the privacy of his office.
He must have been insane to ask her to come there after hours. Maybe if he stayed behind his desk, nothing would happen. Maybe if he kept one hand on a pen and the other on a notepad, he could stay out of trouble.
He glanced at his watch. Ten more minutes. An eternity to think about what had happened the night before and why. And exactly what he was going to do about it.
o0o
When Maxie faced a difficult task, she dressed fit to kill. For her visit to Joseph’s office she’d put on a black spandex miniskirt and red silk blouse, then picked her sexiest, most revealing undergarments, the ones she’d just purchased. Not that she planned on anybody seeing them. Feminine underwear made her feel powerful and self-confident. B. J. had once told Maxie that she spent enough money at Victoria’s Secret to add a wing to her small house on Maxwell Street.
Maxie had staunchly defended her purchases. “Red lace is my secret weapon,” she’d said.
Driving toward Joseph’s office, she regretted her secret weapon. When she was stressed, lace made her itch. Left too long against her skin, it caused hives.
She turned the air conditioner on high, hoping the blast of arctic air would cool her itch, but a block later, she knew it was hopeless. Sighing, she pulled into a service station on the corner.
Minutes later she was at Joseph’s office, itchless and devoid of motives, as well as a few essentials.
His nameplate was on the door, engraved in gold. Joseph Patrick Beauregard, Attorney at Law.
Maxie pressed her hand over her stomach. Butterflies. She hadn’t had them since she’d played the role of Daisy Mae in her high school production of Li’l Abner.
What role was she playing now? she wondered.
Maxie Corban, godmother? Maxie Corban, sister? Maxie Corban, sister-in-law? Maxie Corban, party planner extraordinaire? Maxie Corban, vamp?
That was certainly the role she’d played in her house the previous night. Shameless hussy. Wicked seductress.
It had all started as a game. She’d never meant to do anything except scare Joseph off, and maybe pay him back for standing in the doorway watching her have telephone sex.
That’s how it had started when she’d run her hands over his chest. Her motives had begun to get hazy when she’d trailed her fingertips across his groin. And when he’d kissed her, all reason had vanished.
And after that... She leaned against the door, remembering....
“This is not about dancing,” he said. “It’s about sex.”
They watched each other, breathless, suspended. She didn’t know who made the first move, but suddenly she was in his arms, in his lap, her arms and legs wrapped around him, lips melded on his, making soft kittenish sounds of pleasure as his hands roamed all over her.
Nothing in her past had prepared her for the passion she felt, the need to consume and be consumed. She’d kissed her share of men, certainly. But she’d always been in charge. She’d always been the one to draw the line.
In Joseph’s arms she didn’t know a line from a circle. What was more, she didn’t care. All she knew was that he held her spellbound. She forgot every vow she’d made to herself about not being the ruination of Joseph Patrick Beauregard.
He pulled her tank top out from the waistband of her shorts and slid his hands underneath, and she didn’t make a sound of protest, not even a whimper.
“That feels glorious. Ohhh, I want more.”
His eyes were dark and mysterious, glowing as if candles were lit deep inside them.
“More?” he whispered.
“Yes. I want...” Her body hummed. She hardly knew what she wanted, only that Joseph was the one who could provide it.
He raked her tank top off her shoulders and crumpled it around her waist. His breath was hot, his tongue delicious, his mouth heavenly. Clinging to him, she arched her back, giving him easy access. She was liquid fire, burning, melting.
“Oh yes,” she said.
“You like that, don’t you?”
“I love that... I want more.”
He lowered her to the sofa. The cushions were soft, Joseph, hard. And oh so right. So very right.
There was magic in his touch, the kind of magic that set off skyrockets and caused stars to fall. All reason vanished. Maxie encouraged him with eyes and lips and hands, with soft murmurings and whisper-light caresses and kisses as gentle as a melting snowflake.
She was melting, exploding. She reached for his zipper, he reached for hers. Suddenly his whole body went rigid.
“My God,” he whispered. “Susan.”
He pulled back, leaving her bereft and hungry. And furious.
“The name is Maxie.”
She shoved him off and reached for her clothes.
“Here, let me.” He tried to help, but she slapped his hands away and retreated to the opposite side of the room.
“Leave,” she said.
“Not yet. Not till I do what I came for.”
“I think you’ve already done enough.”
“I came to apologize.”
“You call that an apology?”
“I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
Neither had she, but she wasn’t about to tell him so. That would be admitting that she’d been totally out of control.
“Well, it did,” she said. “Fortunately, I stopped it before it had gone too far.”
He didn’t contradict her. If he had, she’d have bashed the lemonade tray over his head.
“I have a fiancee. Her n
ame is Susan.”
He’d unbuttoned his shirt—or had she?—and he sat on the sofa with a great deal of naked chest showing, all of it gorgeous. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of looking away. Let him think the sight of all that muscle and crisp dark hair didn’t tempt her.
“I don’t care if her name is Mergatroid. Just leave.”
“Not until I do what I came for.”
“Good grief. You are the most stubborn man I’ve ever known.”
“Probably.”
At last he fastened his shirt. She noted with some satisfaction that his hands shook. Not much, but enough to tell her that Joseph Patrick Beauregard wasn’t completely unmoved by that near-heavenly experience on her sofa.
Suddenly she realized she was hovering on the far side of the room in a cowardly fashion. As if she were the one to blame. Bent on revenge she stalked across the room.
Nothing is more dangerous than a woman spurned. She plopped down beside him. Close. So close her left leg smashed up against his right thigh.
A bead of sweat popped out along his upper lip. She took note with wicked glee.
“So, Joseph...” She ran her hands lightly along his thigh, and was rewarded with another bead of sweat, this one sliding down his cheek. “What kind of apology do you have in mind this time?” She leaned in close, deliberately brushing her breast against his upper arm. “Something kinky?”
He didn’t shift away. She would have to give him that. As a matter of fact, he reached for her hand. Since she’d been the one to so brazenly demand all this touching, there was no way she could pull out of his grasp.
“Nothing kinky. Though the idea does have merit.”
His smile was somewhat lopsided and totally disarming. Good grief, how many facets did this man have? And why did she find every one of them charming?
He held her hand lightly, as if it were a baby bird nesting in his palm.
“Maxie, I came here tonight to apologize for what happened nine months ago. I never meant to stand in the doorway watching you. It just happened. And I’m sorry. I invaded your privacy, and for that I apologize.”
She felt foolishly close to tears. “Apology accepted,” she said, clearing her throat.
“As for tonight...”
