Provided she kept her mind off Max Stuart's masculine beauty.
Instead of featuring lush landscaping and the seemingly obligatory fountain in the forecourt, her father's hotel looked as if it belonged in this desert-and-scrub-brush environment, as if it had grown in this place and could survive and thrive even if the earth around rose up and reclaimed the rest of the city. Its plantings consisted of thorn trees and acacia, tall exotic grasses, and stunted shrubs suited to a place where water was scarce and the sun unrelenting.
Kitty breathed in the warm, dry air, as foreign to her as the gnarled branches of the huge, unfamiliar tree at the center of the hotel's semi-circular drive. To her, heat was heavy, wet, lush. It wrapped around you like a coat everyone resigned themselves to wearing outside between Arbor Day and Halloween. This heat felt light and clear and fiery, like whiskey, and sharp, like clear blue flames. Despite herself, she was fascinated and seduced. She felt energized and aware and uncomfortably at ease. Almost as if she belonged here, or in some other place remarkably like this, half-remembered from a long-ago dream.
Considering the last day and a half, that kind of thinking could prove to be dangerous.
"Did you need a taxi, miss?"
The doorman's question startled her, dragging Kitty back to reality.
"Oh no," she said, her smile sheepish. "Thank you, but I'm fine. My mind was just wandering, so I think I should follow my mamaw's advice and let my feet follow."
Glancing left and right, Kitty made sure the path was clear, then stepped off the curb to cross the drive and let her gaze drop back to the map.
Where to first?
"Oh, my God!"
"Look out!"
"Someone get her out of there!"
"Lady, move!"
The panicked voices jerked Kitty's nose out of her map and her attention back to reality. Her head snapped to the left and her eyes widened, locking on the startlingly clear image of a huge, black SUV careening toward her down the hotel's curving driveway. In the space of a split second, her mind drew three rapid conclusions: one, that the driver was going much too fast for an enclosed space inclined toward meandering pedestrians; two, that the dark-haired man behind the wheel wore huge, black sunglasses and a grim, angry expression that made the back of her neck itch and tickled the front of her brain; and three, that there was a very good chance that she was about to die.
She could still hear screams and instructions, but they seemed to have faded in the distance. All she could do was stand in the middle of the pavement and stare at the vehicle barreling down on her and think about how much she was beginning to hate motor vehicles in general.
Fortunately, while her mind had all but frozen, her instincts had not. With no input from her dazed consciousness, she felt her thighs tense and bunch, felt her center of gravity shift, and felt her muscles propel her off the ground and through the air with a momentum she hadn't known she was capable of producing. How far it would have taken her she couldn't be sure, because her leap halted abruptly when the right side of her body made brain-rattling contact with the trunk of the hotel's massive and rough-barked baobab tree.
The impact forced the air from her lungs in a wheezing grunt and halted her forward trajectory so rapidly that her head whipped forward and back as if her car had just been rear-ended. For one ridiculous microsecond, she pictured herself in a neck brace, answering the inevitable question Were you in a car accident? with, No, a tree accident.
But you said you weren't in a car accident.
I wasn't. I was on foot.
But that's about as far as she got in that little scenario before gravity caught up with her and sent her sliding toward the ground with the slow-motion, squeaky scraping noise she'd always thought only happened in cartoons. The next thing she knew, she'd probably have little stars and bluebirds circling around her head like an animated halo.
As she slumped, dazed, to the rocky ground at the base of the tree, all she could think about was the fact that it was staring to look like the mugger in the airport bathroom really had wanted her dead, and he'd just tried to finish the job.
WHEN THE HELL HAD FOCUSING ON SOMETHING AS simple as a profit-and-loss statement become so damned difficult? Max wondered as he reread the same paragraph for the third time.
About the same time that you first set lips on Ms. Kitty Jane Sugarman, his subconscious answered with the kind of smug satisfaction that could make a man growl into his coffee.
Max sighed and tossed the papers back onto his desk. It wasn't the first lip-lock with Miss Kitty that was giving him fits, he admitted. It was the one from last night. The one where more than their lips had locked and it still hadn't been enough.
Being an intelligent man, Max had never tried to claim that he understood women or that relationships made a whole lot of sense to him. He recognized the limits of his intellect in that regard, but in the past he'd been content to let the friendships he'd formed with women happen naturally and to mosey along without a whole lot of intense examination. After all, the attraction between a man and a woman was natural and healthy and the simplest thing in the world, right?
Bullshit.
For the first time in his life, he'd come to realize that nothing in heaven or on earth could possibly be more complicated than what he felt for Kitty Jane Sugarman, and if he managed to hold on to his sanity for another five minutes, it would be a bloody miracle.
It certainly made no kind of sense he could think of for him to have gotten this twisted up by a woman he'd known for less than thirty-six hours. She'd hit him like the first hit of an addictive drug, hard, unexpected, and completely exhilarating. From the moment he'd set eyes on her, he'd wanted her, and the more time he spent with her, the more intense the wanting grew. If things stayed like this, he'd become a feature in a urological textbook—a fascinating case of unrelenting priapism.
Viagra had nothing on Miss Kitty; he could swear to that. In his life, no other woman had affected him like this. The only consolation he could think of was that he seemed to have a similar effect on her.
She'd been with him every step of the way until he'd tried to strip her naked, and thank God at least one of them had retained a little sense. It sure as hell hadn't been him, but in his own defense, the hunger had blind-sided him. He hadn't thought need like that existed. He certainly hadn't expected to find it in anyone but his mate, and there was no way Kitty Jane Sugarman could be his mate after less than two days' acquaintance. Things like that didn't happen any more than love at first sight.
Lust at first sight, though… well, he could certainly vouch for that with complete honesty.
Behind him, the phone on his desk trilled. Turning his chair back to face the interior of the office, he forced his mind off Kitty and pressed the speaker button. He was supposed to be working, after all. He'd made the conscious decision to come to the office instead of seeking her out because he thought a little time apart would do them good.
And because he'd been afraid she would run away as soon as she saw him.
"Stuart," he barked.
"Mr. Stuart. I'm glad I reached you."
He heard the tension in the voice of his door supervisor and forced his mind back onto business. "Tommy. What's the matter?"
"I called the front desk and they put me through to your suite first. They said you left instructions that you should be notified if a certain guest left the hotel."
"I wasn't expecting her to be out so early this morning." He frowned. "Did she ask you to call her a cab?"
"No, sir. I offered, but she said she wanted to walk. I'm sorry, but she didn't mention her name. I only found out you knew her when we pulled her ID and called up front."
His heart stuttered. "Pulled her ID? Why? What happened?"
The urgency in his voice had Tommy stuttering. "Sh-she's fine, sir. I swear. She's sitting up and talking, but she nearly got hit out front. An SUV came this close to crashing straight into her. Somehow she managed to—"
Wha
tever Tommy had to say next, Max never heard it. He was out the door and tearing toward the lobby before the phone clattered back into its cradle.
* * *
Chapter Seventeen
KITTY WAVED AWAY A THIRD OFFER TO CALL A DOCTOR and pressed an ice pack against the knot slowing forming on the side of her forehead. "I'm fine, really. Just a little bruised."
"Ms. Sugarman, please. For the staff's peace of mind."
"There's no need. I mean it. It's just a bump on the head and some bright colors along my side." She attempted a smile and winced when even that movement made the throbbing in her skull worse. It felt like an entire team of Appalachian clog dancers had decided to use her head for the site of their rehearsals.
The faces hovering over her looked unconvinced, so she forced her way through the pain and tried to lighten the mood. "The color will do me good. I always said I was too pale."
"Ms. Sugarman, we saw the impact. You could have a cracked rib, or internal injuries." The front supervisor leaned over her with what looked like genuine concern in his faded blue eyes.
"No, don't be silly. It's not that serious, I swear. All I need is a couple more ice packs and a tube of Ben-Gay. I'll be fine."
The hotel manager's eyes were cocoa dark, also concerned, and more than a little determined. "Ms. Sugarman, our insurance requires that you have an examination and let a doctor make the determination on whether or not you require further care. While we're naturally concerned for your well-being, we also have liability issues to consider."
For heaven's sake, Kitty hadn't had this much fuss made over her since she'd had her tonsils removed in the third grade. She wished these people would just offer her a bowl of ice cream and be done with it.
Darn it, she still needed to get away from this place for a while. She'd already been having enough trouble thinking, which was obvious from her thinking the driver had been the same man from the mugging. With the knock she'd just taken to the head, making her brain work anywhere within five square blocks of Max Stuart had as much chance of happening as immediate global world peace.
"I'll sign a release form if you want," she offered. "I promise not to hold the hotel responsible, but really, I'm fine."
That time her voice held a definite edge, but none of them seemed to notice. They continued to huddle in little groups around the base of the tree trunk she'd leaned herself up against and speak in hushed murmurs. She got the distinct feeling they were trying to stall her for some reason, and the idea made her nervous. Or maybe "paranoid" was the right word.
In the next instant, she discovered exactly why.
"I want to know what the hell happened here, and I want to know NOW."
Kitty had never heard a voice so low, so tight, or so lethal in her entire life. And she didn't even have to look to know exactly who it belonged to.
"Mr. Stuart." The assistant manager snapped to attention like a marine and turned to face Max with an expression of disciplined unease. "I'm afraid we had an incident in the unloading area. Ms. Sugarman was attempting to cross the drive to the street and didn't see an SUV exiting. She was nearly hit, but managed to get out of the way just in time. Unfortunately, she hit the tree instead and managed to knock her side and her head fairly hard against the trunk."
"Where's the driver?"
"He didn't stop," the assistant manager reported, and from the expression on her face, it had taken an act of will akin to an act of God for her to force those words out. "Dorian got his license plate number, but the police said that since the driver didn't actually make contact with Ms. Sugarman, no crime has been committed. They said there's nothing they can do."
Max didn't make a sound, but then again, he didn't have to. The energy radiating off of him made his displeasure clear. All the way to the international space station.
"Call the police again. Ask for Lieutenant Del Anno, and tell him I'd like to speak with him as soon as possible," Max ordered, still not raising his voice. Kitty really wished he would.
He also hadn't yet said a solitary word to her, but his blazing copper gaze had been fixed on her face since the moment he'd barged out of the front doors. His face could have been carved from stone and shown more expression.
She couldn't read a thing there, but she could see the tension in him, the tightness of his muscles that made him look as if he were puffed out like an exotic animal bristling against a challenge.
After last night, she'd expected their next meeting to be a little awkward and had hoped against hope that he'd adopt her own chosen strategy and pretend nothing had happened. She certainly hadn't expected to see him under circumstances like these, where he looked more fierce than an invading army of Visigoths.
This… could be worrisome.
"Where's the doctor?" Max continued, and his eyes finally shifted. Not to someone else, but to scrape over her from head to toe, cataloging every scrape, bruise, dent, and smudge along the way. With every one, his expression tightened, until she worried the muscles might snap.
"Ms. Sugarman has refused medical care," the assistant manager said neutrally.
Kitty scowled at the woman. She couldn't remember the other woman's name, but from now on, Kitty planned to call her Benedict.
"I refused medical care because I don't need medical care," Kitty said, wishing she could just tape-record the statement and press replay. "I'm fine. I'm bruised and sore, and if someone can go to the gift shop and get me some ibuprofen, I would be willing to name my firstborn child after him, but I am fine."
Max twitched. "Call Dr. Reijznik. Tell him what happened and ask if he would rather meet us at the hospital or in Ms. Sugarman's suite."
By that point, Kitty had had enough. Her eyes narrowed and she removed the ice pack so as to glare at the man more directly. "Are you hard of hearing, or just plain stupid?" she asked, her own jaw clenching. "I said I don't need a doctor, and as long as I'm conscious and coherent, you can't force me to see one. Which means you can take your dictatorial tendencies, drop trough, and shove them all the way—"
Her suggestion ended in a shriek as Max lunged forward, hooked an arm under her knees, wrapped the other carefully around her back, and lifted her up against his chest.
"Tell one of the valets to bring my car around," he said, ignoring her astonished expression and the smoke pouring from her ears. "The doctor can meet us at the hospital. We'll be in the emergency room."
"Over. My. Dead. Body."
Max dipped his head until his nose nearly pressed against hers. "No, but if it has to be over your hog-tied and gagged body, that's fine with me, kitten. So think very carefully before you answer this question. Do you want to ride in the front seat of my car or in the trunk?"
Kitty opened her mouth ready to breathe fire on him, but either her common sense finally kicked in or the strange expression she could see shifting behind his eyes managed to stop her. Either way, she closed her mouth and watched for a few more seconds before she turned her head and let her body relax into his arms.
"If you're going to insist that I see a doctor, I'd rather he came here," she sniffed, staring over Max's shoulder. "I don't like hospitals, and it would be silly to clog up the emergency room just so someone can verify what I've already told you. That there's nothing wrong with me."
"And as soon as Dr. Reijznik tells me that, I'll let you do whatever you want with the rest of your day."
"Your generosity is heartwarming."
He let that slide and carried her silently into the hotel, through the lobby, and into the elevator before speaking. "Do you have your key?"
"In my pocket."
"Can you reach it? I have my hands full at the moment."
Kitty saw his mouth curve and managed another glare, despite the throbbing in her head. Without answering, she arched her body and shoved her hand into the pocket of her jeans to pull out the plastic card. She slid it into the slot, punched the button for her floor, and went back to ignoring Max. It required all her concentration.
> She used the key again to let them into her suite and tossed it on the table by the door rather than wriggle it back into her pocket. When Max set her gently on the huge, cushy sofa, she scrambled back into the corner, kicked off her sandals, and folded her arms across her chest. "I don't like being treated like a child."
"What a coincidence," he said, heading for the kitchen. "I don't like when you act like a child."
"When I what?"
She heard the refrigerator door open and close; then Max reemerged with a small towel and a bottle of cold water. His expression as he made his way back to her side was still tight, but he walked without quite as much of a stalk as he had when he'd first appeared outside.
"Can you think of a better description?" he asked, handing her the water and pressing the towel—apparently filled with ice—against the bump on her head. Her old, melted pack he threw on the table. "Who usually throws a tantrum at the suggestion that they need to follow the rules and do what's best for them even when they don't want to?"
"I haven't thrown a tantrum since I got out of diapers," she gritted out, "but if you keep acting like some kind of bloody emperor, I'll see what I can work up for you." She took the pack from him, wincing as she shifted it into more direct contact with her lump.
"Look, I'm touched that y'all are so concerned with my well-being," she said, striving for a tone of calm and reason, "but like I told the rest of the staff, I'm not seriously hurt. The SUV never touched me, not for lack of trying, and the only thing wrong with me is this knock on my head and some nasty bruises, all of which I gave to myself. I am not a child. I'm twenty-four, not four, and I've been taking care of myself for a long time now. I can tell when I'm hurt and when I'm not, and I resent the hell out of someone else making decisions for me that I'm perfectly capable of making myself."
Walk on the Wild Side Page 16
