by Webb, Peggy
“You drive me crazy,” he said.
Maxie stiffened. She couldn’t believe what she was doing. And in Joseph’s own house.
Only the day before she’d sworn to herself that he was definitely off-limits, and there she was acting like an alley cat. And all because she’d discovered Jockey shorts in his chest of drawers.
That wasn’t the whole reason she was backed against the wall panting, of course, but it was a big part of it.
She shoved against his chest.
“Fortunately, you don’t have the same effect on me.
If he looked puzzled, she supposed he had every right, but she wasn’t about to let that stop her.
“If this is your idea of hospitality, it stinks.”
B. J. would be so proud of her. Head high, she marched down the stairs, chattering all the way. Besides humming, it was what she did when she was nervous.
“I’ve changed my mind about pie. It’s probably laced with aphrodisiacs.” Joe didn’t say a word. Good. Let him listen. He might learn a thing or two. “I wonder if your ex-fiancee knows how lucky she is. Honestly, you have the habits of a tomcat. Whoever happens to be in the alley, that’s the pussycat you want.”
He roared with laughter. Bounding down the stairs, he caught her arm and drew her up short.
“What’s so darned funny?”
“I enjoyed that performance tremendously, Maxie. Are you always this passionate about everything you do?”
“Sometimes I throw things.” She tried to shake him off. “Let go of me.”
He ignored her. “I wouldn’t call you a pussycat. I think wildcat is more like it.”
“You bring out the beast in me.” It was the wrong thing to say.
“The same here, Maxie.” He undressed her with his eyes. “You definitely bring out the animal in me.”
She lifted her hair off her hot neck. She felt as if she’d been in a steam bath.
“That’s not the kind of beast I’m talking about.”
“You could have fooled me.”
She didn’t know why she’d ever gotten into a contest of words with a lawyer. She knew from experience that you could never win. B. J. had always outtalked, outfoxed, and outmaneuvered her, even when they were children.
At the foot of the stairs, Joseph steered her toward the kitchen. Lord, she’d never known that merely walking beside a man could be so erotic. She felt like one of the Salem witches, staked out with fire licking up her legs.
“I’d like that lemonade now,” she said.
He poured in silence, set the glasses on the table, then pulled out a chair for her. She’d have thought he was a perfect gentleman if she didn’t know better.
“I’ll have mine upstairs.” She jerked up her glass and was on the way out the door when he stopped her.
“Why are you afraid of me, Maxie?”
It was the sort of challenge she couldn’t resist.
“I’m not afraid of the devil,” she said.
“Every time I kiss you, you run like hell. I know it’s not displeasure, because you kiss me back.” She’d opened her mouth to argue, but he didn’t give her time. “That leaves only one alternative: fear.”
Unconsciously she put the cool glass to her hot neck.
“Don’t you dare slide that glass down the neck of your blouse. I’m only human, you know.”
“Is that why you back me into the first piece of furniture you can find every time you see me?”
“I know it’s not a gentlemanly thing to do. It’s hardly even civil. What can I say, Maxie? You’re irresistible.”
She slugged her drink, then plopped the glass back onto the table.
“I don’t know why I’m doing this,” she muttered.
“You said you were thirsty.” He assessed the level of the glass. “From the way you slugged it down, you were.”
“I’m not talking about lemonade.”
“I’m lost. Enlighten me.”
“All right, you asked a question, and here’s your answer: I only have the knack for long-distance relationships.” He quirked an eyebrow. “That’s right. The telephone.”
He had the good grace to be embarrassed.
“To be honest with you, I don’t have the knack for relationships, either. Especially with you.”
“Because I’m so inappropriate?”
“Maxie, you’ll have to admit that we’re totally unsuitable for each other.”
“If I cared about suitability, I would. Fortunately, I don’t give a fig for suitability and convention and public opinion.”
“What do you care about, Maxie?”
“Family. B. J. and Crash and the baby. I’m not about to do anything to mess that up.”
She marched out of the kitchen, head high, gloating that she’d had the last word.
Upstairs she locked herself into his bedroom, then raced to the mirror. She looked like a shipwreck. She pinched her cheeks to give them color. Why hadn’t she worn a brighter blouse? Anything except a white one, which made her look like a bar of Ivory soap.
She groaned and plopped onto the middle of his bed. Why couldn’t she have met him somewhere out of state or even out of town? Why did he have to be B. J.’s brother-in-law?
The scent of a woodsy aftershave surrounded her. Flopping over, she buried her head in Joe’s pillow and inhaled. Her body reacted immediately.
Hugging his pillow, she actually fantasized. When she had to clamp her knees together and bite her tongue to keep from groaning, she threw the pillow from her and scrambled off the bed.
Good Lord, she was turning into a ridiculous woman. What did she care if she looked like a bar of colorless soap to Joseph Beauregard? She was in his house to do a decorating job, not to seduce him.
Maxie attacked the curtains next. As she measured the windows she was thinking about the glamorous jungle-print silk blouse in her closet. She would wear that tomorrow. After all, it never hurt to look nice on the job.
CHAPTER TWELVE
At ten-thirty that night Maxie’s phone rang. She muted the TV and picked it up.
“Don’t hang up, Maxie.” It was Joseph.
“I can’t. You’re a client.”
“I’m not calling as a client, I’m calling as a telephone lover.”
“If this is your idea of a sick joke, it’s not funny.”
“This is no joke, Maxie. I’ve been thinking about our conversation in the kitchen, and I’ve come to the conclusion that a telephone relationship is exactly what we need.”
“I don’t need anything from you.”
“Are you sure about that? Remember the kiss upstairs? Didn’t it make you want more, Maxie?”
“Yes. Why are you doing this, Joe? To torture me?”
“No. You said you were good at long-distance relationships, and I admitted that I’m not good at any kind of relationship. Furthermore, since we’ve both admitted that we’re wrong for each other but it’s perfectly obvious we can’t keep our hands off each other, a telephone liaison is the perfect solution. Don’t you agree?”
“No. No relationship is the perfect solution.”
“Then I suppose I’ll continue to turn up accidentally when you’re in my house, and you’ll continue to fondle my underwear behind closed doors.”
“I did not fondle your underwear.”
“Jockeys, size thirty-four.”
“All right. Maybe I did pick them up and look. But only out of curiosity.”
“Curiosity killed the cat.”
“I’m no cat.”
“Yes, you are, Maxie. A wildcat. And I can hear you purring.”
It was true. Joseph had an incredibly sexy telephone voice, and she’d already slid down in her chair. She was purring and was on the verge of moaning.
Maybe he was right. What would be wrong with a telephone relationship? Nice and safe. Keep the distance and nobody would be hurt.
She hadn’t had any relationship for so long, she was in danger of turning into a prune.
“Up to a point.”
“Up to what point?”
“If either of us decides we want more, we have to be honest. No pretending.”
“I thought we already agreed that we’re wrong for each other.”
“That’s a given, Maxie. But I can’t predict the future. Can you?”
“I can’t predict the future, but I can tell you my decision, and it won’t change: You’re strictly off- limits, Joe. Except on the telephone, of course. Long distance, there are no holds barred.”
“No holes barred? Intriguing.”
“You’re shameless.”
“I’m also hot. Are you hot, Maxie?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me how much.”
“My face is flushed and my legs are quivering.”
“Good. Pretend that I’m touching you. My hands are on you, Maxie. You like that, don’t you?”
“You know I do.”
“How do you want to be touched? Tell me.”
“Gently. Like a kiss.”
“Do it, Maxie, but imagine it’s me.”
“This is wicked... decadent...”
“And altogether delicious. I want a taste. My lips are on you. Do you feel my mouth?”
“Yes.”
“How does it feel?”
“Wonderful.”
“Touch me, Maxie. Wrap your hand around me. Feel that? Feel what you do for me?”
“I want it, Joe.”
“How do you want it?”
Maxie was almost incoherent with passion. She’d always been the aggressive one in her telephone relationships, the one who took the lead. No man had ever been as bold as Joseph, so wicked, so daring.
“Here it is, Maxie. Do you feel that? Do you feel how well we fit together?”
With her mind she brought Joseph into her house, into her living room, into her body. She closed her eyes and he was there, parting her thighs, burying himself deep with one smooth thrust. She lost her breath.
“Slow and easy, Maxie. Take it slow and easy.”
“Oh, God, Joe...”
She gathered force like a tornado, building and building until the first spontaneous explosion hit. She cried out her pleasure, then held on to the receiver, panting.
“I’m not done with you yet. Come here, feel how I still want you?” She managed a strangled murmur. “I’m stretching out on the floor. Slide over me, slowly... slow... ly. That’s it.”
She felt the pressure build once more, felt the tightening of her muscles, the heaviness of her breasts.
Joe talked her through, and her imagination did the rest. She cried out again and again, then lay against the chair cushions, limp, barely able to cling to the receiver.
“Good night, Magic Maxie. Till we talk again.”
She pressed her lips to the receiver, then sat listening to the dial tone, too languid to hang up.
o0o
“You look like the cat that swallowed the canary.” Claude checked his watch. “And you’re late.”
“Only fifteen minutes, Claude.” Maxie dropped her briefcase on the sofa and headed to the coffeepot. “I hope you made it strong today.”
She poured herself a cup.
“Why? The new job getting to you or something?”
“Or something.”
“Okay. Be that way. Don’t tell me what new madness you’ve gotten yourself into.”
“How do you know I’ve gotten into some new madness?”
“Because you wouldn’t be Maxie if you hadn’t. And you never did answer my question about the Beauregard job. How’s it going?”
“That depends on your point of view. Great, if I stick with my original plan. Lousy, if I decide to start over and make the Beauregard lair a showplace worthy of Architectural Digest.” She sipped her coffee. “I think I’ll start over.”
“Hmmm. Intriguing.” Claude perched on the edge of the desk and riffled through the mail. “He was at Bogart’s again last night.”
“Joseph?” Maxie had to sit down.
“Who else are we talking about? He was with a different woman. Some cheesy brunette.”
“Susan?”
“Definitely not Susan. Do you know that little number at the bank who messed up our deposit once? She was the one. They left early. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why.”
Fury propelled Maxie from the sofa. So that was why Joseph had called her. He’d been all hot and bothered and his little banker friend had ditched him.
Or maybe he was merely putting notches on his new belt.
She couldn’t wait to get to Joseph’s house. The mirrored ceiling came next. She poured her coffee out, jerked up her briefcase, and stalked toward the door.
“Maxie, wait. There was a phone call for you before you came in.”
“Who?” If he said it was Joseph, she was going to hit something.
“Your sister. She wants you to come over to her house for dinner tomorrow night.”
She’d be willing to bet Joseph would be there too.
“Call her back and tell her I’ll be there, with bells on.”
o0o
The first thing she did when she got to the Beauregard mansion was strip off her leopard-print silk blouse. She’d work naked before she’d be caught dressed up for Tupelo’s newest stud. Anyhow, who would see her?
She hung her blouse in Joseph’s closet, then immersed herself in work. The sound of the vacuum cleaner brought her back to the real world.
Joseph? Surely not. She jerked open his chest of drawers and pulled on one of his T-shirts.
At noon hunger drove her out of the room. It was in the kitchen that she met Hazel.
“You’re redoing Mr. B’s bedroom?” Hazel beamed. “I hope you get rid of those ugly brown curtains.”
“Oh, I’ll get rid of them, all right, and everything else that doesn’t suit his new lifestyle.” Feeling sneaky and downright mean, Maxie perched on a bar stool with her ham sandwich and tried to look innocent.
“Can you tell me what the real Mr. B is like.”
“He’d like to have you think he’s a stick-in-the- mud, but he sleeps naked.”
Maxie was taken aback. Somehow she’d never have dreamed Hazel was his type.
Hazel laughed. “Oh, lordy. Wait till I tell my sister.”
“What?”
“It’s written all over your face. You think I’m one of his new girlfriends.”
“Well, you never know.”
“He leaves his pajamas folded on the chair, but I know they’ve never been slept in. They’re silk, and silk wrinkles when you use it.” Hazel chuckled. “See. It’s that simple.” She hung up her dish towel. “He’s a good man, my Mr. B.”
Maxie lost her appetite. “You know what, Hazel, I ought to be flayed with a wet noodle. I have no business asking you nosy questions about your employer.”
“That’s all right, Maxie. I would never tell you anything I thought might do him harm. I love Mr. B. But you know, I can’t say I was all that upset when he broke up with Miss Susan. She’s a little too uppity for me.
“You won’t tell him I asked about him?”
“Nary a word, child. You just go back upstairs and fix Mr. B up.”
“I will. That’s a promise.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Maxie was tucked into bed reading a book when the phone rang. She glanced at the clock. Eleven. Only a telephone lover would call that late.
She started to let the phone ring, then changed her mind.
“Are you in bed, Maxie?”
As usual, the mere sound of Joseph’s voice sent shivers over her.
“Yes. I’m reading a good book.”
“What are you wearing?”
“Baby doll pajamas, p
ink with red hearts.”
“Sounds delicious. I’d like to taste your hearts, Maxie. All of them.”
His voice seduced, and Maxie fought against being spellbound. She thought of all the women he was squiring around town and pure jealousy raged through her. Not that she had any right to complain. By its very nature, a telephone relationship wasn’t usually exclusive. To be fair, she and Joe had never agreed that their relationship would be anything more than a convenience, a safe way to vent the passion that always simmered between them.
Still, she didn’t want him to think she was the kind of woman who could be picked up then cast off like an old pair of shoes. He thought she was inappropriate: Let him add inconvenient to the list.
“I’m reading a thriller,” she said, “and I’ve practically scared myself to death. I’m not in the mood for sweet talk.”
“Do you read a lot, Maxie?”
“Yes, mostly fiction of all kinds, but sometimes I love to plow into a big fat volume of nonfiction, particularly if it’s about World War Two.”
“That’s amazing. I’m a history buff, too, particularly of that era. They had the best music, the best clothes, the best war. Have you read Patton: A Genius for War}”
“I read it and loved it. Patton makes a convincing case for reincarnation.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
Maxie could hear the smile in Joe’s voice. She made a comfortable nest of her covers and sat cross- legged, smiling.
“Do you eat popcorn in bed, Joe?”
“With butter?”
“Dripping.”
It didn’t take much to trigger Joseph’s libido. He made a low sound, half growl, half moan.
“That’s the way I love it,” he said. “But I prefer eating it in front of a cozy fire late at night with the grandfather clock ticking and the moon riding the tops of the trees.”
“That’s poetic.” As well as erotic, but Maxie kept that to herself. “I didn’t know you had a lyrical turn of mind.”
“I have two spiral-bound notebooks filled with poetry on the top shelf of my closet, but it’s a deep, dark secret.”
