Maxine might not know a lot about men, but she recognized one earnestly trying to ignore her when she saw one. After the wrestling, a movie came on that he became engaged in, and he spent so much energy trying to pretend interest, he tired himself out. When she looked over at him, his cheek was lying against the leather couch and his eyes were closed. His breathing was even, and she could feel each exhale against her chin. She willed him to open his eyes and find her so close, but if he knew she was there, he wasn’t giving anything away.
After a minute or two, she gently kissed the tip of his nose, then pulled the note out from beneath the cushion. With her finger, she pushed him until he dropped back on the couch where he wouldn’t have a kinked neck in the morning. The lights from the television played over the contours of his chest, and she was tempted to follow the lights with her fingers. Her splayed hand hovered over him, and she let the shadow of her hand do just that.
In her fantasies, she always imagined they’d be married and acting pretty much the way they always did—as friends and partners. Being his ex-wife who had already been intimate with him, and living here with him, put a new slant on those old fantasies. Warmth churned inside her, spreading to areas of her body that ached for him in a way she had never felt before. Her fingers curled at her sides. She wanted him and was scared to death of that at the same time.
In the pseudo-bedroom, she dropped down on the bed and reread her notes. Her writing looked as sloppy as Sam’s, she thought with a smile. What those notes represented left a ball of worry in her stomach. Sam would probably not initiate anything with her, not the way things stood. Pulling this off convincingly was going to take yet another miracle, and this one wasn’t coming from God. She glanced over to find Romeo giving her a look that must have mirrored her own: hound dog all the way.
When she knew thinking about it another minute was going to drive her crazy, she got up and tucked the note in the drawer with her fancy underwear. Sam sure wouldn’t find it in there.
The next morning, Sam found himself listening to the way the sound of the shower changed as it hit Maxine’s body. He shook his head. This case had become way too personal, despite his best efforts. Where had everything gone wrong? When he’d taken the case, that’s where. That’s when he realized it: this was the big case he’d been after for so long. Murder, protection, a cast of suspects. Not that he was going to make a lot of money. He’d only charge Maxine his costs. All these years, and it had finally come. Just too late.
He walked into the bedroom, finding the sheets and blanket still rumpled from Maxine’s sleep. Something inside him stirred, and he shook his head. Now he was getting off on rumpled sheets. He opened the sock drawer and took out a pair, still not used to seeing her panties in there. Lace and silk did a lot to intrigue a man’s imagination. Maxine had always been into sexy little nothings, he thought, picking a pair of thong panties out of the bunch. It was hard to reconcile that woman with the one who got nervous when he kissed her the night before last. When he placed the panties back in the drawer, something crinkled. Had he left something in there from eons ago?
The note could have been his, as messy as the handwriting was, but he hadn’t written it, which meant Maxine had. He read the first few words: Moan good. His eyebrows wrinkled. He was being a terrible snoop, and he knew it. He went to the next words, which he couldn’t read, then the ones below that. Don’t fake. He really shouldn’t be reading this. Aw, what the heck? That’s what he did for a living. Nice, firm hold. Like pot handle.
He shoved the note back in the drawer and left the room. Maybe snooping wasn’t in his best interest. It only made him more curious about the stranger who used to be his wife. He was obviously reading a lot more into her scribbles than she’d intended. Sheesh, everything reminded him of sex nowadays.
When she emerged from the shower a short while later, he caught himself watching the way she sashayed to his bedroom to get her shoes. She wore a bulky green sweater and jeans and not a stitch of makeup. He busied himself with peeling the bananas for his shake. She leaned against the counter opposite him when she returned.
“I remember a day when you wouldn’t even have your coffee before putting your makeup on.”
Her expression looked worried. “Do I look bad without it?”
“I think you look better without it.” She used to do this little wave thing with her hand whenever he’d told her that before. It said: Ah, what do you know?
She tilted her head and gave him a smile that wormed its way right to his stomach. “Really?”
His throat closed up for a second, and he cleared it. “Really. You want a shake?”
“Sure. It’s better than your cereal hodgepodge. I need to go to the store and get fixings for dinner, plus a few other things.”
“Now why do you look happy at the prospect of going shopping?”
“I’m just happy, Sam.”
How could she be happy with some nutcase out there trying to do her in? He didn’t want to know. But she looked happier than he’d ever seen her during their marriage.
He handed her the glass. “My friend Dave from the station called while you were in the shower. He said James has an alibi for the time of Floyd’s murder. That alibi happens to be his sister. The police figure Floyd was whacked about six o’clock in the morning. Sally said she and her brother were eating breakfast at the house at that time.”
“She’d lie for him,” Maxine said. “Although they usually do eat breakfast together, and early.”
“Maybe. He hadn’t fired a gun recently, but he could have been wearing gloves.”
She took a sip of her shake, leaving a thin line of milk over her upper lip. He remembered that impulsive action he’d taken the last time that had happened, and he tried to ignore it.
“So we really don’t have anything more to go on,” she concluded.
He found himself licking his upper lip in response to her mustache. She caught the action and smiled.
“I have a moustache again, don’t I?”
“Mm-hm.”
She leaned forward on the counter and looked up at him. “Aren’t you going to wipe it off for me again?”
The woman was absolutely positively going to drive him nuts before this was all over. By the looks of it, she was going to enjoy it. Well, he wasn’t going to let her get the best of him, no way. He leaned forward, watching that teasing glint leave her eyes.
In the lowest voice he could manage, he asked, “Would you like me to use my thumb again? Or do you want to leave that up to me?”
A spark lit her green eyes that started a fire deep inside him. She cleared her throat. “I…I’ll leave that up to you.”
He leaned so close, he could feel the heat of her, smell the mixture of shampoo and soap. It looked as though her chin trembled, just slightly, but he couldn’t tell for sure. Why was he doing this? Because he was going to show himself that he could give as good as he got and not be affected by it. Heck, he’d kissed the woman enough times; once more wouldn’t hurt anything.
His tongue snaked out and started the journey from one end of her lip to the other. Her eyes were closed, but she didn’t look as uptight as she had last time they’d kissed. See, nothing to it, he told himself. So he ran his tongue over her bottom lip, the one she liked to pull between her teeth all the time.
He heard the slight catch in her breath, and that tiny sound made his chest tighten something fierce. When he paused, she opened her eyes and moved her lips ever so slightly against his, tickling his moustache. She’d never liked it before, but the pleasurable slant of her lips told him that had changed, too.
He just sat there and let her move her lips back and forth over his, amazed at how something so simple could send blood charging to all his outer regions. He rather liked being the recipient, rather liked doing nothing more than enjoying her touch. Enjoying? Hell, he was getting off on something that wasn’t even a kiss, not in legal terms anyway.
Their eyes never broke contact. Mixed with the teasi
ng glint in her green eyes was a seriousness that made it awfully hard to swallow. Then she captured the ends of his moustache hairs with her lips. Their noses brushed softly. If she kept this up, she was definitely going to succeed in driving him crazy. At the moment, he wasn’t feeling too awfully upset about it.
Until the phone rang. It jarred both of them, but he still saw that sensual haze in her eyes when he picked up the phone.
“Yes?” he answered, hearing the irritability in his voice. “Oh, it’s you.” His tone didn’t soften as he handed the phone to Maxine. “It’s your Italian Stallion.”
He stepped away and finished his shake, rinsing out the glass and letting the water run loudly into a metal bowl in the sink. Since it wasn’t the portable she was on, she couldn’t walk away. Ah, what did he care anyway? This was crazy. This was Maxine he was thinking about. The ex-wife. The one who was never happy with him. He shut off the water and leaned against the sink.
“That’s awfully nice of you,” she was saying, twirling the phone cord over her fingers. “But remember what I told you. Yes, I still feel that way.” She glanced at him, then looked away. “I can’t change the way I feel.”
The gold ring on her finger caught the light above them as she twisted and fidgeted. He took a deep breath, holding it in until his chest hurt. She was still wearing his wedding ring. Why? Maxine wasn’t the right woman for him, but she’d never toyed with him. She’d always been straight forward with what she wanted, but it didn’t make any sense that what she wanted was him. When he lifted his gaze, she was looking at him with a curious expression. He had probably looked surly. This whole thing was coming at him at the wrong time. He had too much going on in his head.
“Okay, I’ll give you a call,” she was saying with a certain reluctance in her voice as he walked into the bathroom.
He closed the door and stared at his mottled reflection on the steamy mirror. That’s how he felt on the inside—half-fogged up. Maxine’s toothpaste and brush sat on the counter, as if they belonged there. He picked up a strand of her red hair and ran his finger down the length of it. It curled back into position when he let it drop back to the counter top. He rubbed his hand over his mouth, feeling her lips on his, seeing her expression of pure pleasure. No matter what, he was going to have to keep his distance until this case was solved. She’d see that he wasn’t a savior or a hero, that he was the same old Sam she hadn’t wanted before. Then he could go on with his life and try to figure out what he was here for.
CHAPTER 11
ONE OF THE UNEXPECTED joys of being able to walk again was grocery shopping. It didn’t sound especially exciting to Sam, for instance, but Maxine took joy every time she reached up to the top shelf and grabbed something. No grabber stick, no asking someone to get something for her. And, she thought, remembering Rick climbing up the shelves himself, no having to resort to doing something that made others stare. Not that Rick cared, she thought with a smile. She’d forgotten to ask Gabby if she’d tried that virtual reality thing with him.
When they reached the apartment, she found a message from Armand on the answering machine. Please wouldn’t she call him tonight? He really had to talk with her. Guilt made her sag with its weight, but she knew cutting ties with him was for the best.
Sam was watching her as he put the groceries away. “Having second thoughts?”
“No,” she answered quickly. “Just feeling bad that he’s taking it so hard.” There was something disconcerting about hearing a man beg. Although if Sam begged, she’d probably enjoy it. If anyone was going to do any begging around there, it would be her.
She joined him on the kitchen side of the counter, putting away her French vanilla cream that had given Sam a strange look. A streak of sunlight across the counter pulled her attention to the window.
The apartment looked bright and airy with the bank of windows open to the late afternoon sunshine. Snow on some of the roofs nearby glistened with golden light, spraying bright reflections across the room. When she turned to Sam, he was looking outside, too. The light turned his eyes a brilliant blue and washed his face in warmth. He turned to her and smiled.
“I haven’t appreciated that view in a long time.” His voice sounded wistful. “Do you ever wonder how something so beautiful can blend right into your life so that you don’t even realize what you have?”
Uh oh, one of his do you wonder questions. She wished she could read what was going on his those eyes. “I never stopped appreciating the beauty in my life, Sam,” she said softly. “It only gets better.”
He shifted his gaze just to the right of her, staring hard at something and nothing at all. She stood beside him, wishing she could see what it was.
“Sam, what are you looking for?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head slowly. “Something isn’t right and it’s bugging the heck out of me.”
“Since Jennie’s death,” she ventured.
“Before that. I mean, her leaving bugs me, too, but this started before that.”
“You were restless,” she remembered aloud.
He turned to look at her, making her gaffe worthwhile. “How did you know?”
“It was a guess.” She shrugged, but inside that same feeling of helplessness washed over her, same as it had when she was Jennie, watching his struggle. “I’m not helping, am I?”
“No.” He tunneled his fingers through his hair as he walked around the counter. “Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out. I’m going to take a shower, then I’ll help you with dinner.” He smiled, but it wasn’t quite all there. “I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in a long time.”
With her arms wrapped around herself, she walked over to the windows, grabbing the remote control on the way. Expecting the television to turn on, she was surprised when only music filtered through the room. Soft, seductive music. She pushed away all thoughts of a seduction that would never happen, because that part of Jennie still lived inside her. Scared, self-conscious.
Bathed in sunlight, she closed her eyes against the warmth and the sound of the music. The few first notes of “Nights in White Satin” by the Moody Blues slid over her like seductive fingers. She turned the volume way up, sure the song would be done before Sam got out of the shower.
She let her head roll back, her hands flexing on her sides. Love yourself, Gabby had said. Maxine lifted her hands, then left them drift down over her face, throat, over the curves of her chest and down her stomach. She pulled her bulky sweater over her head and flung it to the couch, then rolled her shoulders as the singer proclaimed his love.
With the toes of one foot anchored on the back of the couch, she leaned back and watched her hands arch gracefully above her. She tested her hips, swinging them back and forth to the sensuous melody. She’d forgotten that she’d had rhythm. Oh, to dance again! The triumph filled her, making her feel as though she stood on top of a huge mountain looking out over the rest of the world. Her feet took her across the wooden floor where she jumped into the air. She spun until she got dizzy, laughing with the joy of simply moving to the music.
Sam wasn’t used to taking clothes into the bathroom with him when he took a shower. After starting the water and removing his shirt, he walked back out to get a pair of pants and a shirt. He heard the music first, filling the room with its powerful message of love. Then he saw her. It was as if he’d been socked in the stomach, pushing him back against the door.
Maxine stood in the rays of sunshine beside the window, her hair lit to fire as she rolled her head back. He sucked in a breath, trying to let her know he was standing there. But the sound wouldn’t come. Didn’t want to come. She raised her hands, then ran them down the front of her body. His own body came to life so suddenly, so completely, he was filled with a longing he hadn’t felt in forever.
She flung off her sweater and started dancing, swaying her hips, using her hands to caress the air. Sam couldn’t tell where the music left off and Maxine began. God, she was beautiful. How had he forgotten how
beautiful she was? This wasn’t the Maxine he’d been married to, though he couldn’t explain it. At the moment, he didn’t want to. He wanted to drink her in, to absorb the scene.
Her peach bra sculpted her breasts, and her jeans molded her bottom to perfection. It was the way she moved, as though she lived to dance right there, to that song, for him. He was grateful that the song was so long. One of her bra straps slipped down over her shoulder, and the light glistened off her skin. An urge to touch her overwhelmed him. He wanted her, not just sexually but…spiritually.
When he recognized the last part of the song, he crept to the stereo where his compacts were loaded for random play. He hit the REPEAT button, then waited until she was lost in a spin before walking back to the place he’d been watching her from. His knees were wobbly. He felt lightheaded, drugged with something he never wanted to give up. She belted out those final words of love, closing her eyes and putting her all into it. Slowly she rocked back and forth as the music turned into something lyrical and the deep voice recited a poem. She took a deep breath, her chest rising with the sound of her sigh as the song ended in a metallic bong. She didn’t want the song to be over either.
As if in a daze, she blinked, looking for her sweater. And then the song started again. Her eyes widened as she tilted her head, then looked at the stereo. After a moment, she swung around to find him standing there. He didn’t know what his expression was, and he didn’t have the strength to slap on a grin or sheepish look. Her face, however, flushed a deep red as she snatched up her sweater.
“Oh God, Sam, how long have you been standing there?” she asked in a breathless voice.
When he opened his mouth, nothing came out at first. He cleared his throat and started again. “Long enough.”
Her flush deepened, but her eyes kept watching him. “Sam.” She said it so softly, and yet it vibrated through his entire body with the force of a bullhorn.
He walked over, running one hand up into her hair and tracing a finger over her lips. She let the sweater she was holding between them drop to the floor. His finger trailed down her throat, and he spread his hand when he reached the curve of her breasts. Her breath hitched as he traced around the side before exploring farther inward. His hand dropped down over her bare stomach, sliding over the soft, damp skin. Her muscles trembled beneath his touch. He watched his fingers skim over her, watched her chest rise and fall, then raised his gaze to her.
Woke Up Dead Page 22
