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

by Webb, Peggy

  “This is madness, Maxie.” Joseph caught her face between his palms and tipped it upward. “Stop now, before it’s too late.”

  For an instant he circled his thumbs on her cheeks, then he circled her waist, pulled her upright and held her at arm’s length.

  “It’s already too late, Joseph. Don’t you know that?”

  A muscle in the side of his jaw ticked. She could almost see the workings of his mind, could imagine him turning over all the possibilities of her statement. He was too smart not to know what she was talking about.

  It was too late for them. They had nothing left to lose.

  “Button your blouse, Maxie.”

  “You unbuttoned it. If you want it fastened, you’re going to have to do it yourself.”

  He towered over her, his face a thundercloud. There was no gentleness in his movement as he reached for her blouse.

  “First the bra,” she said.

  “What?”

  “You also undid my bra. You have to fasten it back first.”

  “Be careful what you ask, Maxie.”

  “I’m never cautious. Don’t you know that by now? Good, bad, or indifferent, I always do and say whatever occurs to me at the moment.”

  She was talking to fill up time, talking to cover up her own nervousness. Now that she had committed herself to this course of action, she was having second thoughts.

  “Live for the moment,” Joe said. “I’ve never been an advocate.” His eyes swept over her, lingering on her naked breasts. “But if any woman could convert me, it’s you.”

  In a swift unexpected move that took her breath away, he bent down and laved her nipple with his tongue. She wound her hands in his hair and pulled him closer,

  “Maxie... Maxie...”

  His mouth covering her, his tongue hot on her skin, he devoured her. Weak-kneed she grabbed his shoulders and hung on.

  He moved from one breast to the other, leaving a trail of hot kisses across her chest. The room became a kaleidoscope of sounds and colors and textures—his dark hair against her creamy skin, his deep-throated murmurings and her soft keen of pleasure, a flash of lightning in the darkened sky followed by raindrops tapping at the window, the whisper of clothing, the bright pink of silk pooling against the carpet, the plush feel of velour as Joe lowered her to the bed.

  Kneeling over her, he studied her eyes.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  Maxie wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of thinking he’d triumphed over her, that he’d won an easy victory, or any victory at all, for that matter. Nor did she want him to think that she was asking for things she knew they would never have.

  “Yes, as long as you understand that this is nothing personal.”

  His eyebrow quirked upward. “Nothing personal?”

  She lifted her stubborn chin. “Absolutely not. You started something and for once you’re going to finish it. That’s all.” She wet her lower lip with the tip of her tongue. “This is purely sexual. Nothing more.”

  Instead of answering he pressed his hips into hers. She could feel the power of him, the heat, the overwhelming passion.

  “As long as you understand that,” she whispered. “Agreed?”

  “I’ve agreed to nothing, Maxie.”

  Using the tip of his finger, he drew a line from the center of her lips to the tiny pulse point in her throat.

  Shivers raced along her spine, raised the hair on her arms and along the back of her neck. She lay perfectly still, not daring to move, hardly daring to breathe lest the spell be broken.

  With maddening deliberation he drew tiny erotic circles at the base of her throat, then moved downward, into the valley between her breasts. Her skin heated up, her face flushed, and she wondered if he could feel the galloping rhythm of her heart.

  “You like that, don’t you, Maxie?” She decided silence was her best defense. “You don’t have to answer, your body says it all.”

  He dragged his fingertips along the crests of her breasts, pausing to tease her nipples.

  “Say it,” she whispered. “Say this is nothing except sex, pure and simple.”

  His mouth turned up at the corners in what might have passed as a smile if she hadn’t known him so well. There was no light in his eyes, no mirth in his face, no sense of joy in the quick harsh bark of laughter.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Maxie? You’d like to have what you want, then walk out of here with no residual feelings. No guilt, no remorse, no thought to consequences.”

  “Yes.” She felt as if her blood were on fire. If Joe didn’t do something soon, she’d scream. “Just say it... say this is sex, pure and simple, and be done with it.”

  “I would be lying. There’s nothing at all pure about my motives.”

  He peeled her skirt down her legs, then hooked his thumb under the waistband of her panties. Gazing deep into her eyes, his thumbs pressed hot circles on her skin.

  “When I make love with you, Maxie, it will not be simple.” He stripped her panties off, his eyes glowing like hot coals. “It will not be simple at all.”

  He stared down at her as if he were trying to decide whether to eat her or truss her up and burn her at the stake as if she were one of Salem’s witches. Then, lion-like he crouched over her and buried his face in her mound of soft dark curls. She burned, she soared, she trembled.

  His name was on the tip of her tongue, but she was too full to speak, too full of burning pleasure, of vaulting freedom, of volcanic passion. She tangled her hands in his hair, weaving her fingers through the dark strands.

  “You taste the way I imagined you would, like some exotic fruit,” he said.

  “Don’t talk.”

  She arched toward his questing tongue, caught up in a hurricane of passion that swept her into another realm.

  “This is not enough,” Joe murmured. “Not enough.”

  He shed his clothes in swift, efficient movements, then lifted himself over her, as magnificent as any man she’d ever seen.

  “Say no,” he said. “Tell me to stop.”

  “I can’t... I won’t.”

  He entered then and she knew that no matter what happened in the days and weeks and years to come, Joseph Patrick Beauregard would always have a part of her, the best part.

  She wanted everything at once, the long, slow strokes, the hot, hard pounding. She wanted his mouth and hands all over her. But most of all she wanted the strong silent lover who carried her on a journey that she would remember forever.

  The mirrored ceiling captured the reflection of two people, arms and legs entangled, locked forever in the slow, sweet dance of love.

  Her hair was like flame on the jungle-animal coverlet, like fire shooting from her head, and she felt as if her entire body had ignited. I don’t want this ever to end, she thought, but she could not say the words aloud, would not say them aloud.

  An old adage her grandmother had taught her played through her mind: Pride goeth before a fall. Maxie knew it was true. Both she and her sister had experienced it firsthand many times. “If there is one thing I’ve tried to teach you,” her grandmother used to say, “it’s not to be too prideful, too willful. Lordy, lordy, it looks like I’ve failed.”

  B. J. had finally learned to swallow her pride, and look at the prize she won: an adoring husband and an angelic baby.

  But Maxie knew she could never swallow hers. If she thought about that too hard, if she thought about the price she was paying, she might start crying.

  “Don’t think,” she told herself. Don’t think about anything except this man who filled her heart, body, and soul.

  He was a silent lover. She didn’t know whether that was his usual way, or whether his silence was only for this night, for this brief encounter that served as both a beginning and an end.

  They tangled the covers around them, then kicked them free again, never stopping their heady journey, never pausing in the hot, headlong rush toward the stars. Tension gathered in
her, twisted her inside out, built until it was an explosion that wrenched cries from both of them. Sweat-slick and sated, she clung to him, breathless. He buried his face in her hair, still silent, and when she saw his reflection on the ceiling, it looked as if he were praying.

  She wanted to comfort him, to murmur words of reassurance, to whisper words of love and commitment. Her hands hovered inches above his head, suspended in the heavy silence of that exotic room where two bodies still lay joined.

  With a groan Joseph stirred. He gripped her close, fiercely, then pulled away. Maxie felt bereft.

  For one brief, shining moment he had been hers, all hers. Her body would carry his imprint for the rest of her life, and at night when she lay in her small empty bed in her little yellow house on Maxwell Street, she would think of this moment, of the two of them together.

  Joseph reached for his clothes and Maxie reached for hers. They didn’t look at each other, didn’t speak. What was there left to say?

  She heard him in the bathroom, the sound of running water, the flushing of the toilet. Small, everyday things.

  “Life goes on.” Another of her grandmother’s sayings. Maxie hoped it was true.

  The beaded curtain rattled, parted. Joseph looked untouched by what had occurred on the bed.

  “I’ll take you home,” he said.

  Maxie nodded. She didn’t know whether home meant her house or her car. She didn’t care. All she knew was that she had to get through the rest of her life, one moment at a time.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Maxie dressed in red. It was a color that always made her feel better. She made herself eat a good breakfast, made herself read the morning paper, made herself turn on the stereo so her house was filled with music. Little things. Ordinary things. Minute by minute she would get by. She would live her life one day at a time, and soon when she woke in the morning she wouldn’t be overwhelmed with memories of Joe. The way he looked, the way he tasted, the way he smelled.

  As she lifted her coffee cup she fancied she could still smell him on her skin, even after a long, hot shower and a thorough soaping. Her hand trembled as she set the cup down.

  “Don’t think about him,” she told herself. “It’s over.”

  She was glad when the phone rang. It was her sister.

  “Maxie, can you come over and help me?”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “I just need help, that’s all. The baby had colic all night, and neither of us got any sleep. Then Joe called early this morning, and Crash had to leave.”

  “Joe?” Maxie had to put her hand over her heart to stop its racing. “Is everything all right?”

  Maxie pictured Joe, despondent over last night, calling his brother for advice. What would he do? What would he say? Would he tell his brother everything?

  “Sure,” B. J. said, dashing Maxie’s dreams. “It was just some business matter. Crash thought it could wait till next week, but you know Joe.”

  Did she ever know Joe. Better than her sister would ever imagine... or know.

  “Maxie... are you still there?”

  “I’m here.”

  “What’s the matter? You sound funny.”

  “I think I’m getting a summer cold.”

  “It’s not summer yet.”

  Trust B. J. to act like a lawyer. “Well, a spring cold, then.”

  “Do you have any lemon juice and honey in the house? That’ll make your throat feel better.”

  It wasn’t Maxie’s throat that hurt, but she didn’t tell her sister.

  “Look, maybe you shouldn’t come over here with a cold. I don’t want baby Joe catching anything.”

  “What I have is not contagious.”

  “How do you know? Have you already seen a doctor?”

  “Good grief.”

  There was a brief silence, and then the sisters began to laugh.

  “I know, I know,” B. J. said. “I sound just like Grandma. Look, come on over. Newborns hardly ever catch colds. The mother’s milk gives them immunity.”

  Maxie felt guilty. She didn’t want her sister worrying needlessly, even over something as trivial as a cold.

  “B. J., I’m not coming down with anything except the blues.”

  “The water will be hot when you get here. We’ll sit in the kitchen over a cup of tea, and you can tell me about it.”

  o0o

  B. J.’s kitchen was a cozy mixture of the old and the new, old brick floor and shining marble counter-tops, potbellied stove and stainless steel sink, Italian tiles and mirrored flashing. They sat at a round oak table with carved legs and sipped bracing hot tea topped with mint fresh from the garden.

  “You don’t look tired,” Maxie said. “You look absolutely glowing.”

  “The fatigue is temporary, the glow is permanent.” B. J. twisted the wedding ring on her finger. “How could one woman be so lucky. A fabulous husband, a wonderful son. I’m terribly, madly in love with both of them.”

  “Gee, I’d never have guessed.”

  B. J. set her cup on the table and laced her fingers around it. “Just listen to me, going on like somebody crazy. We’re here to talk about you, not me.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Don’t look at me that way. This is not a court of law.”

  “Sorry. Old habits die hard.” B. J. sipped her tea. “We used to share everything.”

  “That was when we were young and foolish and didn’t know any better.”

  “If that’s your way of telling me to mind my own business, I can take a hint.”

  Contrite, Maxie covered her sister’s hand. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. You’re my best friend, you know that.”

  “Okay. No more inquisitions.” B. J. set down her tea. “Let’s go to the nursery so Joe can make another conquest.”

  “He already has. He stole my heart the minute I laid eyes on him.”

  It was true. What she didn’t tell her sister, though, was that she was talking about both Joes, baby and uncle.

  Following B. J.’s lead, she went up the stairs to the nursery, taking one step at a time.

  o0o

  Crash sat in the same wing chair Maxie had sat in. Joe looked at his brother, but all he could see was the outrageous Maxie, legs crossed, teasing him, taunting him, maddening him.

  He picked up a pen then slammed it back onto the desk. It bounced on the smooth surface, then rolled onto the floor.

  “Whoa! There’s no need to get so mad. It’s only business.”

  Though it was business they were discussing—Joe wanted Crash to be his law partner—it was love that haunted Joseph’s mind. Love in the form of a red-haired siren, who in the course of one night had landed him in both heaven and hell. He forced her from his mind.

  “You always take that cavalier attitude. When are you going to grow up, Nat? You have a family to think of now.”

  Joseph only called his brother Nat when he was particularly disturbed.

  “That’s exactly what I’m thinking of.” Crash leaned forward in his chair. “I’d be home with them right now if you hadn’t called at some god-awful hour this morning and insisted that I come down here.”

  “I wouldn’t have called you if it weren’t important.”

  “Great Caesar in a goat cart. This is Saturday. Nobody in his right mind goes to the office on Saturday.”

  “Are you saying I’m out of my mind?”

  “If the shoe fits, wear it.”

  Crash jumped out of his chair and prowled the room. He’d had very little sleep, and he wasn’t about to be easy on his brother.

  “Just because you’ve chosen to bury yourself in the country and take goats for payment with all those pro bono cases doesn’t mean I have to follow suit.”

  “I didn’t bury myself. It’s called living. Something you obviously don’t know much about.”

  The truth stung, but Joseph wasn’t about to admit it. After the previou
s night he was resigning from life. He was going to concentrate on what he did best, being a successful lawyer. And he was determined to convert his brother. For Crash’s sake.

  “My Lord, Crash, with your flair for drama you’d be the best litigator in the country. I’m offering you the chance of a lifetime.”

  “No. What you’re offering me is prison.”

  “Practicing law is no prison.”

  “The way you do it, it is. Just look at you. Pale as a ghost. Hollow-eyed. I’ll bet you were up all night working on some dry and boring brief.”

  He was up all night, all right, but not because of the law. Thinking of Maxie in his bed, Joseph suppressed a groan.

  “You have a wife now, a child. Have you thought about the future, Nat?”

  Crash looked exactly like their Granddaddy Beauregard, staring at Joseph that way, staring past all the posturing and posing, staring past all the subterfuge and lies, staring straight through to his soul. He was thoughtful for such a long time that Joseph actually felt uncomfortable. His first thought was “What a talent lost.” His second was “I could never fool my brother.”

  “I’ve thought about my future, Joe. Have you?”

  “Of course I have.” His answer was too quick, too glib. Crash would see right through it. “I planned my life years ago. Look around you, Crash.” Joseph made a sweeping gesture that encompassed his expensive furniture, the rich accessories, jade vases, handmade Oriental carpets, fine paintings. “This is my life, just as I planned. I like nice things, and I work hard so I can have them. You can too.”

  Crash settled back into the chair and closed his eyes. For a moment Joseph thought he had gone to sleep. Then he turned another laser stare on his brother.

  “Do you ever get lonely, Joe?”

  “Of course. Every bachelor has his lonely moments. But the freedom more than makes up for it.”

  Another glib answer, spoken too quickly.

  “Do you ever long to go to sleep at night beside a woman whose mind is as exciting as her body? Do you ever wish you could wake up in the morning with that same woman and start the day making slow, sweet love just because one of you reached out and touched the other’s shoulder?”