by Floyd, Jacie
The closest he’d ever come to being carried away by music before was in the living room back home in Nashville when his dad played guitar and harmonized with Max’s two sisters. That always got to him, but in a different way.
The orchestra moved into a rousing piece that he recognized from an old Coppola movie. Annabel leaned against him and he turned to share the bit of cinematic trivia with her. Her head landed on his shoulder. Her long eyelashes shadowed her cheeks, her lips parted slightly.
She’d fallen asleep!
Too much champagne, apparently. Maybe he should have monitored her intake. But, hey. He was nobody’s father, she wasn’t getting behind the wheel of a car, and she was definitely old enough to know her own limit.
He’d noticed and encouraged the way she’d loosened up after the first glass, but he hadn’t realized how tipsy she’d gotten until she’d giggled over the third refill. It turned out that a giggling and tipsy Annabel charmed his socks off.
The excited flush of her cheeks, the tendrils of hair escaping their pins and curling playfully along her jaw, the gleam of hope in her eyes as they discussed the award, all had him wondering what other surprises she concealed under her buttoned-down, look-but-don’t-touch facade. Damned attractive, even though she clearly didn’t have a high opinion of him or his reputation—personal or professional.
Of course, he could have done more to change her opinion, but what was the point? She’d obviously made up her mind about him a long time ago, and he’d have to reveal other people’s secrets to make her change it now.
He smiled and took advantage of the current situation, putting his arm around her and pulling her close. Breathing deeply, he inhaled her enticing scent, lightly sweet and baby fresh. Nothing overtly sexual, cloying or artificial for Annabel, of course, just the pull of something refreshingly honest and temptingly off-limits.
She snuggled into him, her upper body nestled against his, oblivious of her actions. The long skirt with the high-rise slit twisted beneath her, revealing one pleasing limb from ankle to hip. The three buttons she’d undone on her jacket gaped open, exposing the swell of a breast and the hint of red lace.
Well, well, well. Who would have expected Annabel Morgan to sport red lace undies?
He shifted in his seat, heating up. Annabel squirmed, too, bringing her arm across his chest and curling her hand around his neck. Her soft breath teased his ear, in-out, in-out, in soundless counterpoint to the orchestra.
The volume, the tone, and the urgency of the notes swelled and increased around him, heavy with promise, building to a crescendo, and begging for a conclusion. His body responded to Annabel and the music with equal escalation.
A fanfare, a flourish, an abrupt silence preceded thunderous applause. The appreciative audience leapt to its feet with shouts of “Bravo” and “More, more.”
As if on cue, Annabel’s hand dropped to his crotch.
Max remained glued to his seat.
Suddenly, her eyelids fluttered open. She jerked her head from his shoulder, and they stared at one another, nose to nose. The confusion cleared from her eyes while shock drained her cheeks of color. Straightening her spine, she snatched her hand away as if scorched.
He let his smile spread as she settled her rigid dignity around her like a full-metal jacket. She stood up, pulled her jacket into place with an efficient snap, straightened her skirt, and applauded with the others.
Max rearranged his junk and climbed gingerly to his feet.
After they waited through what seemed like a curtain call for every frigging individual member of the orchestra, the lights went up and the crowd crept out sedately. Max held onto Annabel’s elbow to prevent her from slipping away.
“Roger didn’t want us to leave in the first crush,” he reminded her.
“Oh, right.” She opened the ridiculously small black purse she clutched like a lifeline. “I probably need to make some repairs before facing the camera again.” After retrieving a mirror, she reached up to smooth the sides of her hair, but he clasped her wrist.
“Don’t,” he said as her pulse beat double-time beneath his fingertips. Interesting. He twined a wisp of hair around his finger and let it spring back into place. “You look sexy like this. Approachable. Touchable.”
She pulled her hand away and hid it behind her back. “Wh-Wh-Where—“ She cleared her throat. “Where did Roger say to meet him?”
“He said to wait here.”
She nodded again, looking at the stage, then the ceiling, and finally, the doors. At everything but him. “How did you like the performance?”
“Very stimulating.” He winked. “Was it good for you, too?”
Annabel leaned against the Jeep’s headrest as Max pulled into her driveway. Through the open moon roof, thousands of stars sparkled against the dark velvety sky. She pretended to study them while she scrambled to locate the shreds of her composure.
A flash of light in the rearview mirror announced Roger’s arrival behind them.
Max shifted the car into park and shut off the motor. She sensed more than saw him turn toward her. In a slick maneuver, he slid his arm across the back of her seat. “I’ll tell you the truth.”
His fingers tom-tommed against the leather headrest, sending a thundering drumbeat through her temples. Realizing he wasn’t going to tell her the truth or anything else until she responded, she turned toward him. “About what?”
“Going into it, I expected this date to be a complete waste, but I had a good time.” He begrudged every word, she could tell.
She licked her dry lips. “Even the symphony?”
“Especially the symphony.” His voice was laced with humor and something deeper. Darker. Desire, maybe? No, probably not.
Mortified all over again, she covered her blushing cheeks with her palms and peeked at him through her fingers. “I’m so sorry about that. It was bad enough to fall asleep, but to—to—” She could hardly bring herself to think about it, let alone say it. “To practically grope you in public was totally inappropriate.”
She groaned at the recollection of waking up from a highly erotic dream in the middle of Music Hall draped across his hard, muscular body with about as much class and subtlety as a cheap one-night stand. She could imagine her late oh-so-proper college professor husband’s outrage if she’d let her hand drift across his crotch in public. Carl would have flat out stiffened—and not in a sexual way—and pushed her away.
“Aw, don’t worry about it. Appropriate behavior is highly overrated.” He leaned closer and rubbed his fingertips along the edge of her collar. “You need to lighten up, Morgan. Have some fun.”
His touch only grazed her skin occasionally, too infrequently for her to object, just often enough for her to notice... and anticipate. A little too much anticipation for comfort. She batted his hand away like a mosquito.
“Besides, Music Hall was a real educational experience for me. I didn’t know you classy, high-brow types went in for public displays of affection.” His deep chuckle was rich with infectious amusement.
After maintaining a stiff upper lip for all of two seconds, a chuckle burst free, and she laughed along with him. She had to. Her parents had raised her to conduct herself with the utmost propriety at all times. Her husband expected the same. Most of the people she knew would have been appalled by her behavior tonight. But if Max didn’t take her faux pas seriously, how could she?
As the laughter died between them, a large form loomed outside the car. Roger! She’d forgotten all about him.
He tapped on the window. “You two heading to the door anytime soon, or should I go get a snack and come back?”
“We’re going in now.” Max turned and gave Annabel a crooked smile. “The watchful eye of Let’s Talk awaits. Let’s get this over with.” He opened his car door. “Wait right there. I want Roger to document an example of my best manners.”
Under normal circumstances, she probably wouldn’t have obeyed an order from him, but her cellphone ding
ed. She checked the text message in case of a Carly emergency. But no, just an update on the girl’s evening. Just left movies with Jenna. Home by 12. C U then.
As she dropped the phone back in her purse, Max opened the door. After years of enjoying similar courtesies from her husband, it seemed only fair to accept this small, but sweet gesture from Max.
When he helped her out of the car, his hand felt warm and strong. Carl’s hands had been so frail before he died, so cold. With a stab of betrayal over the comparison, she could barely remember a time when Carl’s touch had felt this vital, this supportive. The essential feelings of safety and belonging she’d treasured from him during their courtship had faded after their marriage. They’d evaporated completely with the onset of his illness.
Max kept her hand as they walked to the door, turning to clasp both of hers after they stepped onto the small porch.
“You purposely picked a date you didn’t think I’d like, didn’t you?”
“Maybe… partly…” She chewed her bottom lip. “Yes.”
“I fooled you by having a good time anyway.” He put that Southern drawl on and off like a pair of sunglasses, flattening his vowels and stringing out his words with several extra syllables. “Turnabout’s fair play, don’t you think?”
“What?” Apparently, the champagne had covered her brain in pink fuzz balls, leaving her more than a little slow on the uptake.
“I mean, maybe we should—”
“Are you two going to kiss or not?” Roger interrupted.
Darn Roger, anyway. Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut? What had Max been about to say? Would he have tried to kiss her without being prompted? Would she have let him?
“If you’re only going to shake hands, do it, so I can leave. If you’re going to kiss, I’ll wait around.”
“We’re not going to kiss,” Annabel said.
“Yes, we are,” Max contradicted. “Get the camera ready, Roger.”
Chapter Three
The fleeting brush of Max’s lips against hers came and went before Annabel objected or responded. Not that she could have responded before the tingling after-effects froze her in place.
“Is that the best you can do?” Roger goaded.
“No, I can do better. Want to see?” Max proceeded to show them—and potentially all the people in the tri-state viewing area—exactly how much better he could do.
Even knowing the display was all for show, his arms around her felt too muscular. His mouth on hers felt too possessive. His chest against hers felt all too real. Her eyelids fluttered, then closed. Heat curled through her, warming her from her fingertips to her toes. And in all the interesting places in between.
Had anyone ever kissed her this way before?
Not the much-older husband who treated her with too-much respect even before he got sick. Not the inexperienced boyfriend who dumped her in high school when caring for her mother had taken up so much of her time. Not the sweet, but earnest young artist who had been the only one to show any interest in her since her husband’s death.
Desire overcame her resistance to Max’s bold kiss. His scotch-flavored tongue flirted with hers. Intoxicated by him more than the champagne, her hands moved up the smooth texture of his suit to grasp his broad shoulders. His hands caressed her, moving down her back to her waist, to her hips, to her—
Whoa there, buddy! Far enough!
They each recognized the rapidly escalating level of intimacy at the same moment. Dazed, Annabel took a step back and banged into the door. Max took a step back and teetered off-balance on the edge of the porch. His arms flailed against the inevitable until gravity won the battle.
A freshly blooming azalea bush broke his fall, but he bounced off it and crash-landed in the tulips. A string of curses colored the air.
“Are you all right?” She peered down at him, trying not to laugh.
“I’m fine.” His voice came out in that clipped way men have when refusing to admit to any pain less severe than a compound fracture or a bullet wound. He scrambled up and brushed pink petals, leaves, and mulch off his formerly immaculate suit.
“Very smooth. A perfect end to a perfect evening.” Roger chuckled from the sidewalk. “Very cinematic. I think I’ve seen the Three Stooges do something similar, Max. I loved it.”
“If you try to use that on the show,” Max said, genially, “I’ll tie you up, weight you down, and throw you in the river.”
Roger waved in Annabel’s direction. “Then give me something better.”
“With pleasure...” Max advanced up the porch steps again.
Annabel held up her hands to ward him off, but blinked at the heat and determination banked in his eyes. She braced herself for her third kiss of the night—making it a record number for the last three years.
Her heart fluttered with pleasure, then fear. She reacted to the second instead of the first and took charge. She straight-armed him to a stop. “Hold it, right there.”
His eyebrows shot up. “What?”
“I’ll do it.”
He spread his arms wide and awarded her with a devilishly tempting smile. “Be my guest, babe.”
Gripping his shoulders, Annabel rose up on tiptoe and brushed her mouth against his. She gave him a reasonable, respectable, acceptable kiss. Not long, not short, not wet, a little dry actually, but heck, she barely knew him. And what she did know about him she’d never liked, except for tonight. And tomorrow, she would blame her brief change of heart on the champagne, remembering in great detail his many unlikable qualities.
She ignored the goose bumps his hands produced as they caressed her sides, the way his lips clung to hers as she pulled away, and the disappointment that replaced the heat in his eyes.
“Did you get that?” she asked Roger, unable to tear her gaze away from Max’s.
“Every brief and boring second,” he grumbled. “Is that really the one you want me to use?”
“Yes, please.” Taking Max’s right hand in hers, she pumped it with business-like detachment. “You’ve now fulfilled your commitment to me, Carly, Tess and Let’s Talk. Thank you for a lovely evening.”
He shrugged. “You’ll have a honker of a headache in the mornin’. Take something for it before you go to bed. And drink lots of water.”
“I will.” She swallowed back the comments hovering on her tongue. To say anything more would be pointless. If she hung on to restraint for a few more seconds, he’d be gone from her life for good, except as the peripheral irritant he’d always been. “Good night.”
“’Night, Morgan.” His hands slid into his pockets, his jaw tensed, and yet he stayed. Waiting for me to go inside. Even though he hailed from the South, she hadn’t expected him to behave like such a Southern gentleman. She opened the door with a cautious backward glance and stepped into her foyer.
She closed the door firmly against Max and any crazy desires he’d stirred up inside her. Disappointment settled around her. “And that’s the end of my one and only date with Mad Max Williams.”
The peculiar echoing silence of an empty house confirmed Carly’s absence. Annabel made her way from foyer to kitchen, setting aside her purse, kicking off her shoes, and pulling pins from her hair. She gave her scalp a vigorous massage while she checked the clock. Ten till twelve. Carly would be home soon.
Upstairs, Annabel had finished brushing her teeth when the teenager framed herself in the bathroom door.
With bright and eager eyes, she probed for details. “How was it? Tell me everything. When did you get home? Did he come in for coffee? Did he kiss you goodnight?”
“It was fine. He was fine.” Annabel reached into her medicine chest for the bottle of Advil. “I had a nice time.”
“Oh, no.” Carly groaned. “How bad was it?”
Annabel washed the capsules down with water. “It was fine, I told you.”
“Did he laugh too loud? Talk with his mouth full? Make stupid jokes? Snore during the concert?”
Annabel laughed at the
deluge of questions. Carly often came into her room for date post-mortems, but this time they’d switched roles. The date under discussion was hers, not her daughter’s. Weird. “None of the above. Why do you assume the worst?”
“You’re not taking regular aspirin, you’re taking extra-strength,” Carly pointed out. “He must have done something horrible to give you a headache.”
“It’s preventive medicine.” Annabel slipped a comfy flannel robe on over her favorite Lord of the Rings nightshirt. “I drank too much champagne.”
“You?” Carly gaped as they moved into the bedroom. “You always preach moderation. You never even finish a glass of wine.” The girl plopped herself in the middle of Anna’s bed and crossed her legs Indian-style. Moving a stack of folded laundry aside that Carly had brought up earlier, Annabel sat in the overstuffed chair in the corner. “Don’t tell me he was trying to get you drunk! That’s so juvenile.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Annabel pulled her feet under her and considered the idea. “He didn’t order the champagne. The cameraman did. Besides, what would Max’s motive have been? We had a chaperone, after all.”
“Oh, right, the incredible hulk.” Carly made a face. “That must have been like when I was in junior high. You’d take me and Tommy Dent to the movies and sit in the row behind us.”
“Except I didn’t train a camera on you or tell you how to pose the whole time.”
The corners of Carly’s mouth turned up in a grin. “How did the luscious Max Williams respond to that? He doesn’t look like someone who lets people tell him what to do.”
“You forget, he’s used to taking direction in his job.”
“Only when he wants to, I’ll bet.”
An image of his dark, determined eyes rebelling against her suggestions the last time they worked together flashed into mind. “I think you’re right.”
“So, tell me everything,” Carly demanded again.
“It was better than I expected.” Well, that wouldn’t have taken much. Now that the date was over, she should warn Carly about their mutual dislike. “As Tess mentioned, Max and I knew each other before. Remember when I did some freelance editing for the TV station? We met then. And later, we hired him to do some voiceover work at Lasting Productions. He acted like a naughty school boy, then I got all bossy and uptight about the schedule and the budget and all that.” She bit her lip remembering some of their more unpleasant exchanges. “You know how I can get.”
