Who Gets to Marry Max?

by Neesa Hart

  “No.”

  “She almost killed me.”

  “What the hell’s wrong with a blender?”

  “Women have a thing about that. You don’t buy them practical gifts when you’re supposed to be romantic.”

  Max’s gave narrowed. “Is there a manual?”

  “I wish. Look,” Paul leaned forward in his chair, “here’s the best advice I can give you. Don’t mention the computer. Don’t even let her see the box.”

  “I don’t see—”

  “I’ve been married for seven years, Max. I’m telling you, anything that plugs in is not the way to a woman’s heart.”

  “Then what should I have done, bought her lingerie? I was afraid she’d kill me.”

  “Probably. And if she didn’t, Philip would.” Paul rubbed his hands on his trouser legs. “Sweep her off her feet, Max. And if you’re smart, you’ll make it look like you went to a lot of trouble.”

  “I spent four hours picking out the laptop.”

  “She’d rather have a daisy.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Do you want the woman or not?”

  A knot of anxiety clenched in his gut. “You can’t imagine how much.”

  “Then think of it like a business merger—like Fitzwater. What was the first thing you did when you decided you wanted Fitzwater Electronics?”

  Max started to relax. This was familiar territory. “Learned his weaknesses.”

  “There you are. Winning a woman is the same as negotiating a peaceful merger.”

  “Sounds ruthless.”

  “Don’t think of them as her weaknesses, think of them as her soft spots.”

  That, he thought wryly, he could do. He’d been spending an inordinate amount of time considering all of Sidney Grant’s soft spots. “I see,” he said quietly.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I think so. What you’re telling me is that I should do my research.”

  “Uh-huh. Nothing flatters a woman like knowing a man is paying attention to her idiosyncrasies.” He fiddled with his tie. “Let me give you an example. Last year for Natalie’s birthday, I wanted to do something really nice. We were having some problems.”

  Max frowned. “She didn’t tell me.”

  “They weren’t that serious, just the kind of things married couples go through every now and then. Anyway, I just wanted her to know how much I loved her. So I racked my brain for weeks trying to come up with the perfect gift.”

  “What did you give her?”

  “I took her out to lunch.”

  Max waited for the punch line. It never came. “That’s it?”

  “Well, sort of. If you remember, we were really busy then. We had the Monster Mash launch and were having trouble with the X2 prototypes.”

  Max’s gaze strayed to the Max doll he kept on the bookshelf of his office. It served as a reminder of how far he’d come. At the moment, he wished he felt the doll’s reputed self-confidence. “I remember,” he told Paul.

  “I was scheduled to go to the sales conference in Seattle.”

  Max slowly nodded. “You sent Roger instead.”

  “Right. I took two days off just to spend with my wife. It couldn’t have been more inconvenient, and if you hadn’t been my brother-in-law, and an all-around fair guy, I might have even been afraid I’d lose my job.”

  “Natalie got the point?”

  “Clearly. She was so overwhelmed that I was willing to put her, and her birthday, over the demands of my job that she, we, well—I’m not going to tell you the rest.”

  Max rolled his eyes. “Thanks for that, at least.”

  “Anyway, my point is, you’re probably not going to get very far by throwing money at her.”

  “She seemed impressed enough with George.”

  “You were meeting a need she had. You got lucky on that one. Just don’t make practicality a habit.”

  “I have never seen the purpose in deliberate impracticality.”

  “You’re not a woman.”

  “For which I give thanks almost daily.”

  Paul shot him a wry smile. “Romance her a little, Max. It’s not going to kill you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  Max picked up his pencil again. “You know, this is a hell of a lot easier when the women do the chasing.”

  “Sure, but then you end up with a woman like Constance Barlow to keep you company.”

  At the sudden bad taste in his mouth, Max grunted. “Point well taken.”

  Paul fiddled with his tie. “So, uh, in case my wife asks, can I tell her that you’re maybe taking the question of who gets to marry Max a little seriously?”

  Max frowned at him. “Who said anything about marriage?”

  “Natalie,” Paul said. “You know how the woman loves weddings.”

  “And you know how much I hate that slogan.”

  “Sure. Uh. So can we get back to the merger now?”

  “In a second. One more thing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “If you tell Natalie we had this conversation, I’ll fire you.”

  “ROMANCE HER,” Max told his reflection in the mirror three hours later. He’d showered and changed in the private bathroom off his downtown office. “This is going to be a disaster.” Though he couldn’t remember the occasion clearly, he was fairly certain he hadn’t felt this nervous since the night of his sixth-grade graduation. Then, his father had given him an incoherent lecture on the importance of honor, integrity and commitment. Of course, the lecture had been delivered via ship-to-shore phone line. Max’s father had been on a Caribbean cruise with his latest mistress at the time.

  Now Max took careful note of his too fierce expression and frowned. For the love of—he bit off the curse. Whatever Paul had meant, he was fairly certain he wasn’t supposed to scowl at Sidney all evening. Charlie had delivered his tuxedo an hour earlier. Philip had attached a note to his suspenders wishing him a pleasant evening. The note, somehow, had a far greater effect than any lecture he’d ever received from his father.

  “Hi, Max.”

  At the sound of her voice, his shoulders tensed. He turned to find her watching him from the doorway to his office. The broad expanse of Oriental carpeting suddenly seemed a mile long. He forced himself to smile. “Hi. You’re on time.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Did you think I wouldn’t be?”

  He clenched his back teeth in frustration. This was going to be a disaster, he told himself again. With his deplorable lack of tact, he had as much chance of romancing Sidney Grant as he did of buying the moon. He drew a deep breath. “Of course. I see you, ah, got my message.” He’d asked his secretary to call her and let her know the evening would be formal. She wore a simple black sheath that effectively knocked his designer socks off.

  “Yes.” She glanced down at her dress. “I hope this is all right.”

  Max nearly choked. The dress skimmed her figure in all sorts of interesting ways, ending a couple of inches above her knees. Heretofore, he’d never considered himself a leg-man, but Sidney Grant was changing him. Smooth legs, sheathed in sheer black stockings, tapered to slim ankles. She wore a pair of sensibly heeled shoes that probably should have looked practical, but somehow managed to tantalize him. Max squelched the direction of his thoughts before he went stark raving mad. “You look great.”

  “Thanks.”

  He nodded and started the long trek across the carpet. His hands, he realized, were tingling. The sensation heightened as he drew closer. He was beginning to recognize the feeling as the odd need he had to touch her. She leaned against the doorjamb as she watched his measured stride. Several feet from her, Max stopped. “Don’t you want to come in?” he said. To his own ears, his voice sounded husky.

  A smile played at the corner of her lips. “Come into my parlor said the spider to the fly?”

  “I don’t want to devour you,” he lied.

  Sidney laughed, then crossed the few steps
to him. She slid a hand up his lapel, and he almost toppled to the carpet. “Funny. I was thinking maybe I’d devour you.”

  His head swam. Max crushed her to him with a low groan and covered her mouth with his. The taste of her was heady and daring. She smelled spicy and clean, and blood roared in his ears as he kissed her. When his lungs screamed for air, he wrenched his mouth from hers and lifted his head.

  Sidney made an intoxicating little sound and dropped her forehead to his shoulder. “I missed you, too,” she muttered.

  He should have gotten an Oscar for the low chuckle he managed. Lord, she was going to be the death of him. “How is George?” he said quietly, and was absurdly pleased when she blinked in obvious confusion. “The accountant.”

  At the slight prompt, understanding dawned in her gaze. “Oh. George. He’s fine. He’s, uh, through actually. He straightened everything out for me. Thanks to you.”

  “Good.” Max swept a few tendrils of hair from her cheek. “I’d be jealous if you thought about him tonight while you were with me.”

  Humor made her eyes sparkle. “Not much chance of that, is there?” She wiped the traces of her lipstick from his mouth with the tip of her index finger. “You sort of suck up all the space in my brain when I’m around you.”

  Easing a hand down her spine, he nudged her closer to him. “The feeling is mutual.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely.” He studied her a minute, then eased his fingers to her elbow. “We’d better go.”

  “What time are our reservations?”

  “Eight.”

  “Oh.” She stepped away from him. “It’s just a quarter to seven. What’s the hurry?”

  “We’ve got a ways to go before we get there,” he said softly and led her to the door.

  Chapter Eight

  Three and a half hours later, as Sidney glanced up at him, her eyes shining, her lips curved into an inviting smile, Max decided he definitely needed to give his brother-in-law, and his butler, a bonus. At the Swing Easy ballroom in Cincinnati, the Glen Miller Orchestra was playing “In the Mood,” and Sidney Grant had Max completely under her spell.

  Vaguely, he remembered thinking it was supposed to be the other way around. He had been the one doing the chasing. Still, there was no denying that Sidney had caught him. He spun her in another deft move, then caught her close again. Lord, he felt good. Euphoria didn’t begin to describe the emotion roaring through him.

  Sure, Sidney had given him a censorious look when they’d arrived at the airstrip where his private plane awaited them. She’d chastised him for the extravagance, needled him to tell her where they were headed, then plagued him with questions all the way to the Swing Easy. But her suspicion had turned to undisguised pleasure when they’d entered the room. She’d turned the full force of her smile on him, and he’d practically collapsed at her feet. “How did you know?” she’d asked, breathless and enchanting.

  “That you like swing dancing?” He captured her hand in his, “Philip told me.”

  She laughed. “He taught me.”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “Who taught you?”

  “Some dance instructor my mother found.” Max had led her to the floor.

  “But, Max, why did you bring me all the way out here? There are swing clubs in New York.”

  “It’s Glen Miller,” he said blandly. “I thought you should have the best.”

  The sound of her laughter had seared its way down his spine. The orchestra played “Stardust,” Sidney turned into his arms, and Max went straight to heaven.

  Now, as he stood watching her taste the various desserts on the sampler platter he wondered just how the hell he’d waited this long for her. Her eyes closed in quiet rapture when she bit into a raspberry tart. His entire body reacted. “Good?” he said, his voice harsher than he’d intended.

  Sidney nodded. “Divine.”

  He plucked a piece of chocolate dipped shortbread from the tray. “Is the chocolate as good as yours?”

  “It’s not bad,” she said, meeting his gaze. “But mine’s better. Remind me, and I’ll make you a batch.”

  “I’d like that.” He swallowed the confection without really tasting it. He still remembered the way Sidney’s hair had smelled faintly of chocolate, and the way he’d longed to bury his face in it and absorb her.

  “Most candy chefs use too much paraffin,” she was explaining. “It makes the chocolate easier to work with, but it’s not as rich.” She was licking her fingers where the tart had oozed from its shell.

  Max swallowed hard. “You don’t use paraffin?”

  “Just enough to make it hold its shape.” Her eyes twinkled. “I am not a candy chef, I am a chocolate artist.” She studied the dessert tray, then selected a tiny pecan pastry. “Here,” she told him. “Try this one.” She popped the tart between his lips.

  He barely resisted the urge to suck on her fingers. The brown sugar and pecans melted in his mouth. Just like she would, he thought wryly. What was the matter with him? He could never in his life remember being this thoroughly seduced over a plate full of sugar—over anything, for that matter. And she wasn’t even trying. If she really set her mind to it, she’d probably kill him. Max swallowed the pecan treat, then reached for her hand. “Enough for now,” he said. “I’d like to dance.” He was dying to hold her.

  She smiled at him. “I would, too. I’m having a wonderful time.”

  He turned her into his arms. “So am I.”

  And the rest of the evening passed in similar bliss. He was, he admitted, completely addicted to her. When he could think about something other than the indescribable feel of her pressed against him, he’d take the time to consider why Sidney affected him like this. He’d known plenty of women who’d wanted him—for one thing or another. But he’d never seen such a sweet combination of desire and longing in a woman’s eyes—at least not in the eyes of a woman who was looking straight at him.

  By the time they were settled back on his plane, Max felt as high as their cruising altitude. He’d instructed his pilot to take his time with the return flight. He wanted to draw out the sheer sense of energy he felt just watching Sidney smile at him.

  For the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt at ease and sanguine, and even better, he knew exactly why. Sidney sat across from him, that same lustrous smile on her lips that had been tempting him all evening. “You look happy,” he told her.

  She laughed. The throaty sound sent heat coursing through him. “I am,” she said softly. “I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed myself more.”

  “I’m glad.”

  She tipped her head to one side as she looked at him. “You went to an awful lot of trouble tonight.”

  “It’s been a while since I had a first date with a woman who—” he shook his head. “It’s been a while.”

  Sidney pursed her lips. “I can safely say I’ve never had a man work quite this hard to dazzle me on a first date.”

  “Good.”

  Sidney hesitated for a moment. “I—I’m not sure I understand what this was all about.”

  “No?” he asked.

  She shook her head. Max studied her through narrowed eyes. “It was about showing you how much I want you. I wanted you to know there can be more for us than what I think will be fantastic sex.”

  Color flooded her face. “Oh,” she said, and licked her lips.

  The blood started to roar in his ears. “I wanted you to know,” he said softly, “that I think things will be incredible between us, and I’m willing to work for it.”

  “Why?”

  The innocent question made his eyes widen. “Why? Hell, Sidney, you know why.”

  She rested her hands in her lap. “Actually, I haven’t got a clue.” Her voice was so soft, he could barely hear her above the roar of the jet engines.

  Max frowned. “My God. You’re serious.”

  She didn’t look at him. “It’s just that I wouldn’t say, ge
nerally, that I’m the kind of woman who inspires men to, er, grand passion.”

  “Oh, hell.” He closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the seat. “You know, there are times when I could cheerfully kill your ex-husband.” He used his thumb to nudge her chin up so she could feel the full force of his gaze. “How did that bastard convince you that men wouldn’t want you?”

  Her gaze turned wary. “I think you’re giving him too much credit.”

  Max chose not to argue. “Do you know,” he said, “that when I hear you laugh it makes me want you?”

  “No.”

  He leaned closer. “You have the most incredible scent.” He nuzzled the bend of her neck. She stiffened, but didn’t pull away. “Sometimes, I dream about it.”

  Her breathing had turned shallow. He saw the lambent heat in her gaze and pressed his advantage. “When I imagine,” he deliberately kept his voice low, “what it’s going to be like between us, it makes me feel a little crazy.”

  “Max, I don’t think—”

  He slid his hands along her forearms. “My concentration is shot to hell. Paul was trying to brief me today, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

  “Oh.” Her voice had turned husky.

  He twined a tendril of her hair around his index finger. “When I think about how soft your hair is, it makes me wonder what it’s going to feel like when I’m with you and your hair is spread across my pillows.” Lifting his eyelids, he pinned her with a meaningful look. “But mostly, I think about what it’s going to be like when we’re so close that our heartbeats match.”

  Sidney’s eyes turned cloudy. “So do I,” she admitted quietly.

  The breath left his lungs in a whoosh. “So do you think you could give me a rough estimate of just how long this is going to take?”

  “How long what’s going to take?” The flush on her skin spiked his temperature several notches. Did she turn that delicious shade of rosy pink all over?

  “Can you tell me how long you’d like me to wait for you?”

  “Max—” Sidney framed his face in both her hands. Searching his gaze for answers, she asked, “Is that what this is about? You want to know how long I’m going to dangle you on my hook until I let you go to bed with me?”