Angels on Zebras, (Forever Friends, Book 4 of 4)

by Webb, Peggy

His thumb circled her palm, sending tingles along her spine. If he apologized for what happened on her sofa, she would cry. That’s all there was to it. She would burst into tears in her own living room, and once she got on a crying jag she was like her sister: She had a hard time stopping. It would be messier than floodwaters from the Nile.

  “I can neither explain nor apologize. All I can do is assure you that it wasn’t planned... and it won’t happen again.”

  It won’t happen again.

  With his parting words echoing in her mind, Maxie traced the cool lettering on his nameplate.

  “You’re right, Joseph Beauregard. It won’t happen again.”

  Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and stepped inside his office.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Nothing had prepared him for the sight of Maxie. Not the stern lecture he’d given himself, not his feeble attempts to rationalize what had happened on her sofa, and certainly not his staunch resolutions never to be moved by her again. The sight of her stirred him beyond his wildest imaginings. Her lips alone were enough to make his lower body stand up and salute.

  Lush and vivid, they made a perfect, inviting circle when she spoke.

  “Hello, Joe.”

  He reached for something to hang on to, anything. The brass letter opener was cool in his hand. But not cool enough.

  Maxie was leaning against his credenza, hip slung, short skirt showing off a delicious length of extremely gorgeous legs, red silk blouse clinging like a second skin.

  He wanted to slam the door shut, turn the key, and romp all over his office with her. On top of the desk, under the desk, in the swivel chair, on the carpet, against the credenza.

  He had gone stark raving mad. That was it. He’d entered some sort of pre-midlife crisis when all his values were turned upside down, when everything he’d always believed in no longer had meaning.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me to sit down?”

  He felt a rush of relief. Standing she was dynamite. Sitting she’d be partially hidden behind his desk. He would concentrate on her face.

  That was it. He’d look at her face... except for the lips. Best to avoid the lethal lips.

  “Please. Sit down.”

  Manners dictated that he show her to a chair. A leather wing back. A man’s chair. Tall and sturdy.

  When Maxie sat down, her skirt hiked dangerously high. So did his blood pressure.

  His legs felt like wet noodles, and he sank into the chair facing her. Her fragrance washed over him, an exotic brew that intoxicated him. It made him think of sex beside a waterfall in the jungles of South America. And he’d never even been to South America. He wondered why not. Certainly he was wealthy enough to go anyplace he wanted, do anything he desired.

  There were a lot of things he’d never done. For instance, sex beside a waterfall.

  “Sex.”

  “Did you say something?” Maxie said.

  He cleared his throat. “Six. We have only six weeks till the party.”

  “I know. I thought I’d save us some time by putting a few ideas on paper.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “If you’ll just check the ones you like, I’ll have Claude pick it up tomorrow. Or you can mail it to me.”

  Disappointment slashed him. She was giving him the brush-off. Who could blame her? Especially after last night.

  “Now where did I put that list?”

  She pawed through her purse. One by one she plopped its contents onto the top of his desk: a flacon of perfume, lipstick, hand mirror, car keys, ticket stubs to Michael, sales slips, a small pair of scissors, one black stocking. Maxie Corban had to be the most disorganized person he’d ever known.

  And he found her totally fascinating.

  Suddenly she snagged an item deep in her purse and sailed it toward his desktop. A wisp of red lace. The tiniest pair of bikini panties he’d ever seen.

  “It’s not in here,” she said, glancing up at him, her smile totally innocent and completely enchanting. “I’ve lost it.”

  He dragged his attention away from the telltale red lace. “Maybe you’ve only misplaced it. Weren’t you carrying a briefcase when you came in?”

  “Of course... that’s it.”

  There was no way to describe the way she crossed the room. Every provocative inch of her swayed in a most inviting way. He got dizzy just looking at her.

  Her briefcase was on the floor. Maxie didn’t squat and pick it up, she bent at the waist and leaned over. Riveted, Joseph watched. The skirt tightened across her hips and her behind... and there was no visible panty line.

  “Here it is,” she said, bending lower to snatch her list from the briefcase.

  In that fraction of a second, Joe almost lost control. Maxie gave new meaning to the term “free spirit.” She’d gone to the limits of propriety—and beyond.

  “I have it.” She sashayed across the room, smiling.

  “You surely do.” He sounded like a bullfrog in heat, but it was the only voice he had at the moment, and was darned lucky to have even that.

  “Do you want to see it?”

  “I already have...” He gripped the arms of the chair, his mind awhirl. He cleared his throat. “I already have a few ideas of my own.”

  Maxie placed her list in his lap. He hoped she didn’t notice his condition. Then she sat down facing him and crossed her legs, her skirt dangerously high.

  “You look uncomfortable,” she said. “Is it something I said?”

  “It’s hot in here.”

  Her smile was wicked. It was then that Joe knew she’d been toying with him. She’d deliberately set him up.

  And why not? After the night before, what woman in her right mind wouldn’t be out for a little revenge. He’d waved a red flag, and Maxie had charged out of the gate looking for first blood.

  Joseph loved nothing better than a challenge. What better way to respond to Maxie than to give her a dose of her own medicine. He loosened his tie and tossed it onto his desk, right on top of her red panties.

  “Ahh, that’s better.” He smiled at her. “Feel free to take off anything you like.”

  “I’m fine, thank you.” She uncrossed her legs, and tugged at the edge of her skirt.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Of course you are.” He took his time getting out of the chair, partially for effect but mostly because of his condition. He snagged her panties off his desk. “You’ve already relieved yourself of a few items.”

  She reached for the wisp of lace, but he held them out of her grasp.

  “Were you hot when you took these off?” He twirled the panties aloft. “What made you so hot, Maxie? Who were you thinking of when you discarded your underwear?”

  Joseph had been in enough courtrooms to master the art of reading the opponent. Not only was Maxie a good actress, but she was unpredictable. That was one of the reasons he found her so exciting. In the staid, conventional world of law, Maxie was a breath of fresh air. No, more than a breath. She was a hurricane.

  “Certainly not you.” She jumped out of her chair and stalked toward the door.

  “Maxie.” Joe held her panties aloft. “You forgot these.”

  “Did you think I was leaving?” She jerked her briefcase off the floor, then huffed back to her chair and sat down. “Don’t you have anything better to do than fondle my panties?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Not what you’re thinking.”

  “And what is that?”

  She appraised him leisurely, lingering longest at his groin. A slow, wicked grin split her face.

  “You’re a big boy.” She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “You figure it out.”

  Adrenaline shot through Joe. He had finally met his match, a woman who could parry every verbal thrust. Gleeful, he moved in on her. She didn’t budge an inch, even when he stood so close, his thigh brushed hers.

  “Could it be we’re thinking the
same thing, Maxie?”

  He dropped to his knees in front of her, pinning her to the chair. With one hand across her bare thighs, he reached for the front of her red blouse.

  “Do you always go braless? Or only when you visit me?”

  “What would you do if I said this is all for you, Joe?” She leaned closer, her breath hot against his cheek. “Would you do the same thing you did last night?”

  The game they were playing had become dangerous. Her question was a double-edged sword. Did she mean “Would you make love to me?” or “Would you start something and not finish?” No could be an insult or a promise. Yes could mean he was foolhardy or cowardly.

  There was only one thing to do, only one way he could possibly answer her.

  “Would you?”

  He could see the indecision in her eyes. If it wasn’t a victory, it was at least a stalemate.

  He stood his ground, knowing that the last one to break contact would be the winner. That was his rationale for continuing to kneel at her feet, touching her as intimately as a lover.

  “All right,” she finally said. “You’ve made your point. You can go back and sit down now.”

  “It’s not that easy, Maxie.”

  “What do you want now? A pound of flesh?”

  “No. A truce.”

  “That’s all?”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “They say you can’t trust a lawyer.”

  “Your own sister is a lawyer.”

  “That’s different.”

  Suddenly Joseph stood up, laughing. “Maxie, you are the most indomitable, illogical person I’ve ever met.”

  “You forgot inappropriate.”

  “Inappropriate?”

  “That’s what you said about me that night at Crash and B. J.’s first wedding dinner.”

  “I told you that?”

  “No. You told your brother.” She placed her briefcase primly in her lap. “I eavesdrop, too.”

  “Maxie, you’re appropriate for carousels and circuses and trips to Never-Never Land.”

  “But not for lawyers,” she added, her voice matter-of-fact. “Now, shall we get on with the party plans? After all, that’s what I came for.”

  “Did you, Maxie?”

  She became a whirlwind, all flying red hair, blazing eyes, and flashing legs. With one swipe at the desktop, she raked her belongings back into her purse, then slung her bag over her shoulder, jerked up her briefcase, and marched to the door.

  “What about the party?” he said.

  “It will be in Crash and B. J.’s living room. I’ll decorate my half and you decorate yours. I’ll serve my food and you serve yours. I’ll make my speech and you make yours.”

  Her body rigid with rage, she saluted. Then she slammed the door so hard, it rocked on its hinges.

  Joseph went to the window and watched her get into her car. It was a sight worthy of awed silence. He stood there long after her car had disappeared, watching the play of the streetlights on the dark streets.

  “That’s one hell of a woman,” he said.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The scent of flowers was overpowering. They were everywhere, on the windowsill, on the countertop, flanking the door, on the bedside table.

  Lying in the narrow hospital bed surrounded by bouquets, B.J. looked like a queen. Restless, Maxie prowled the room reading the tags on the flowers. Most of them were from B.J.’s adoring husband, but there was a lush arrangement of gardenias from Helen and Brick Sullivan. The two dozen pink roses had a tag signed, Kathleen, Hunter and little Miss Annmarie La Farge.

  Maxie had driven to New Orleans when Annmarie was born, a beautiful pink and cream baby with Hunter’s stubborn chin and her mother’s beautiful eyes. B. J. would have gone, too, but she was too far along in her own pregnancy to risk it.

  As soon as the baby was old enough to travel, the La Farge family would be diving their time between the States and Africa.

  “You’ll have to come see us there,” Kathleen had said, with Hunter echoing the invitation.

  Maxie wished she were in Africa right now, somewhere far, far away from Joe and the danger he represented.

  Suddenly she felt such a stab of envy she was ashamed of herself. All the Forever Friends were happily married with children except her. With her track record, she was likely to still be single and childless while the other three were celebrating graduations and weddings for their children, then grandchildren of their own and golden anniversaries.

  She felt like a great big failure and a party pooper besides. Dragging a chair to the bedside, she forced cheer into her voice.

  “So, how’s the new mother?”

  “I’m great, but you look like a cat that’s lost eight of its lives. What’s wrong?”

  Maxie sighed. She could never fool her sister.

  “Nothing.”

  “Who are you kidding? Even that sensational outfit can’t disguise the fact that you’re in the doldrums. Where’ve you been, dressed like that, anyhow? Auditioning for something?”

  “I guess you could call it that.”

  Maxie plucked a rose out of the vase on the bedside table and put it between her teeth. Then she twirled around the room.

  “Just call me Gypsy Rose Lee.”

  “The stripper? Don’t tell me. You ditched your underwear again.”

  “Had to. It was driving me crazy.”

  “And then?”

  “Then what?”

  “Come on, Maxie. There’s more to the story. What’s the real reason you came up here tonight looking as if somebody’s put out a contract and you’re the target?”

  “That’s what I feel like. The target.”

  “Whose?”

  “You’re not going to like this.”

  “Try me.”

  “Joseph’s.”

  “Joe? Not Joe. Come on, you’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Maybe exaggerating a little.”

  “That’s no news flash. You always exaggerate. Drama is in your blood. I always expected you to become an actress, like Helen.”

  B.J. patted the covers on her bed. “Hop up here and we’ll have one of those sister-to-sister talks we both can’t live without.”

  Maxie tucked the rose back into the vase and hopped onto the bed. B. J. giggled like a teenager. It was wonderful to see her sister so happy. Up until fate had plopped Joseph smack into the middle of her life, Maxie had been happy.

  Or at least she’d thought so. Now she didn’t know happy from sad, right from left, up from down.

  “Okay, tell your story—with as little exaggeration as possible, please.”

  “I had a meeting with Joe tonight to plan the baby’s party.... No, wait.... That’s not the beginning. It all started last night.... No. That’s not right, either.”

  “This sounds serious.” B. J. studied her sister closely. “Maxie, what’s going on between you and my brother-in-law? “

  “Nothing. I swear to you, nothing is going on between us.”

  “Whoa. You don’t have to sound so defensive.”

  “I’m not defensive.”

  “Yes, you are. You act as if I’m going to bite your head off or something.”

  “Or something. Kill me, maybe. Or string me up by the toes to a magnolia tree and leave me for the birds to peck out my eyes and all my good parts.”

  “Good grief. I never heard of anything so ridiculous. Why would I want to do something like that to my own sister?”

  “Because I’m going to ruin your beloved brother- in-law.”

  “You’re going to ruin Joe? Good Lord, Maxie. What’s the matter with you? He’s one of the nicest, kindest, most decent men I’ve ever known. There’s not a mean bone in his body. He’s smart too. And successful.”

  B. J. was so upset, she overturned the water pitcher on her bedside table. Maxie got a towel out of the bathroom and swabbed up the mess.

  “See. That’s what I’m talking about. Just the mention of his name linke
d with mine and you’re ready to send me to Outer Mongolia.”

  “Now, wait a minute. You didn’t say anything about the two of you together. You said you were going to ruin him.”

  “I ruin every man who comes near me.”

  B. J. was not a first-rate attorney for nothing. Maxie’s scattered approach to a subject sometimes clouded the issue, but it didn’t take B. J. long to sort through the extraneous details and get to the heart of the matter.

  “Are you telling me that you’ve fallen for Joe?”

  “I didn’t say that.” Plopping back onto the bed, Maxie threw up a smoke screen. “How can you possibly think that?”

  “Years in a courtroom taught me to read face and body language. Besides, you never could hide your feelings, Maxie.”

  “Well, you’ve read wrong. Joseph Beauregard is not at all the kind of man I go for.” She hoped B. J. didn’t see her fingers crossed behind her back.

  B. J. studied her sister. “Joe could use a little less control and a little more spontaneity in his life.”

  “I thought you thought he was perfect.”

  “He is.” B.J. reached for her sister’s hand. “But so are you.”

  “He’s not the sort of man I want to ting-a-ling with.”

  “What?”

  Maxie laughed. “Just an expression of Claude’s.”

  “You know, Maxie, I don’t like to talk about your choices in men, but I do wish you’d pick somebody nice like Joe.”

  “He’s engaged. Besides, we’re complete opposites. He’s conservative mid-America in a button-down collar, a three-piece suit, and a striped tie. I’m Tahiti in a grass skirt and a coconut-shell bra with a headdress of peacock feathers. He’s earth, I’m air. He’s water, I’m fire. He’s...”

  “I didn’t say Joe, I said somebody like him. You always fall for scalawags.”

  “They’re decent men until I finish with them. Then they end up on sabbatical in the frozen tundra.”

  “What about that CPA you dated? Isn’t he still in Tupelo? He seemed like the reliable sort.”

  “He has a terrible flaw.”

  “What?”

  “He wears saddle oxfords and thinks Julia Roberts was a gourmet cook on a television show.”

  “I’m horrified.” B. J. pretended horror, and Maxie grinned.