by Nancy Warren
“So, Max did reserve.”
“No, but where else are you going to eat in Spruce Bay?”
“I owe you big-time,” she said, hugging her friend.
“And you’ll pay me back,” Laurel said. “With details. Lots and lots of delicious details.”
* * *
CLAIRE NOT ONLY consented to the pedicure and manicure, but she let the stylist talk her into a makeup application. She drew the line at the hair, preferring her own simple style.
She felt a little foolish putting so much effort into a date with a man who hadn’t even bothered to book a table, but then, as Laurel had reminded her, she wasn’t primping for Max. She was doing it for herself. And so as not to insult those shoes.
When she opened the door to Max who arrived promptly at six, she had the pleasure of seeing his eyes warm with approval when he looked at her.
“You are so beautiful,” he said, stepping forward to give her lips a light kiss that didn’t muss her carefully applied makeup, but promised so much more for later. Okay, so she hadn’t done the primping for Max. Didn’t mean she wouldn’t enjoy the effect the stylist’s efforts had on him.
Max had also gone to some effort. She thought his hair bore the signs of a recent trim, he was freshly shaven and wore a sports jacket with gray slacks. The clothes fit him beautifully, almost as though they’d been handmade for his frame.
“I wasn’t sure what to wear,” she said.
“You look perfect. Ready?” On her nod, he took her hand and led her outside. When she headed toward his truck—the only shiny one in the parking area—he urged her in the other direction.
“Where are we going?”
“I told you, it’s a surprise.” In seconds she realized they weren’t going to be traveling by car at all. Seemed they were flying. In Max’s plane.
“I assumed we were eating in town,” she said as he helped her into the plane.
“You must eat there all the time,” he said. “I wanted to take you somewhere special.”
No wonder he hadn’t bothered making a reservation at the Spruce Bay Inn. If they were going somewhere more special than the dining room at the inn, she was happier than ever that she’d succumbed to the instinct to shop.
She waited until he’d done his checks and Lynette had cleared him for takeoff and wished them a good evening.
“Lynette was in on this?”
“Of course. I needed her cooperation since I don’t plan to have us back until midmorning tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, but I have—”
“You don’t have anything until the afternoon. I checked. And neither do I. Lynette will take care of anything that comes up.” When she opened her mouth to speak, he stopped her, saying, “Lynette said you’d argue. She told me to remind you that she ran this airline just fine for more years than you’ve been alive.”
She closed her mouth again and decided to simply enjoy the fact that Max had gone to so much trouble to plan a rather long date.
“I don’t even have a toothbrush.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Nightdress?”
He sent her a look. “Do you think you’ll need one?”
As their gazes connected, hot shivers danced along her skin. She moistened her lips with her tongue and felt heat pulling her and Max closer. “No,” she said and found her throat had gone dry, her voice husky. “No, I don’t believe I will.”
They were climbing up into the sky, and she took a moment to enjoy the coastline from the copilot seat, something she rarely did anymore. Sun sparkled off waves that splashed playfully against the shores, making it difficult to remember that those same seas crashed with menace against the frozen shoreline most of the year.
“Are you ever going to tell me where we’re going?”
“I’m going to let you decide.”
“What?”
He smiled at her tone. His hands were light and confident on the controls; he handled that plane with such assurance and deftness it reminded her of the way he’d handled her. “You have a choice. I’ve booked a popular restaurant in Anchorage that includes a dance floor. It’s been written up in Zagat.” He mentioned the name of the place and her eyes widened. She’d heard of it. It was amazingly popular, trendy and very expensive. She’d never been and couldn’t imagine how he’d managed to snag a reservation at such short notice, never mind how he could afford to eat there.
Then she recalled her own lavish spending on clothes and assumed that Max, too, was feeling the need to celebrate being alive. Maybe they were both going a little overboard but they’d rein it in soon enough, she was sure.
“What’s the other choice?”
“A little bed-and-breakfast in a somewhat remote location. The chef came from a Michelin-starred restaurant in Paris, fell in love with the scenery here and opened his own place. It has a reputation of being quiet and intimate. It’s possible we’ll be the only guests.” Visions of the two of them alone at the wilderness B and B quickly moved into X-rated territory. She stirred, crossed her legs.
Two very different choices. A splashy night out with a lot of people in a happening restaurant or an intimate dinner followed by an intimate night. In fairness, she assumed the restaurant meal in Anchorage would also end with a night in a hotel. “Which one do you prefer?” she asked him.
He shook his head. “Lady’s choice.”
“You’ve booked both?”
“Yes. I’ll cancel whichever one you don’t choose.”
“The B and B.”
When he glanced over at her and smiled, she suspected he’d have made the same choice.
* * *
THEY LANDED WITH only the slightest of bumps. She doubted she could have landed more smoothly. The guy really knew his stuff. She unbelted and pushed open her door and before Max could jump down, another man was waiting to help her to the ground. When she thought about how often she was the one helping passengers alight and then hauling their heavy packs and equipment out for them, she decided it was kind of fun to be treated as though she were made of glass for a change.
As she stepped down onto the grass, her freshly manicured nails caught the light and seemed to wink at her. “Welcome,” the man said. “I hope you had a good trip. I am your host, Felix.”
He was adorable with his black hair and his French accent. He didn’t say hope, he said ’ope and host was ’ost. He wore jeans and a navy shirt, a white apron wrapped about his waist as though he’d forgotten it was there.
“I will show you to your room to freshen up.”
There were no signs of cars or other aircraft. She glanced at the B and B. It was small, but there was nothing rustic or shabby about it. Made from cedar and glass with an enormous porch out front that looked out on the river, she felt she could settle in here for a while. Raised garden beds burst with herbs and vegetables that she suspected she’d soon be tasting. Several Adirondack chairs painted a deep cranberry color and covered in soft cushions begged her to lounge outside with a cup of coffee and a book.
“What a beautiful spot,” she said.
“Thank you. I enjoy it.”
“Are we the only guests?”
He glanced at Max with brows lifted, then said to her, “But of course. Come.”
He led them inside and up a wide-plank staircase. Native art covered the walls. When they reached the top of the stairs he led them to the left and through a large doorway. She cried out with delight when she saw the room. One wall was all window, overlooking the river, with a soaker tub in front of it. The opposite wall seemed to be all bed. The king-size bed also took advantage of the view. The decor was both simple and sumptuous and the bathroom was a sanctuary.
“This is amazing,” she said.
“Thank you. I like to make your stay memorable. I will serve cocktails on the veranda whenever you are ready. Dinner at eight?”
At her nod, Max said, “That’s fine. Thank you.”
When Felix had gone, she threw herself at Max. “O
h, wow. I had no idea a place like this existed. How did you find it?”
He shrugged. “Friends recommended it.”
“If the food is as good as this room, I am never leaving.”
He chuckled. “The food’s supposed to be excellent.” He stroked a finger down her shoulder, followed the path with his lips. “And with what I have planned for later, you’ll need the sustenance.”
16
MAX CURSED HIMSELF for a fool. He should have told his assistant to be sure and swear Felix to secrecy. In fact, the secluded B and B had already had two bookings for tonight. The two parties had been more than happy to switch their reservations to another night when they’d found out that their stay would be paid for and a bottle of champagne thrown in as a thank-you. However, he didn’t want Claire to know. Not yet.
He rarely traded on his absurd wealth by acting like a big shot, but tonight was his first real date with a woman he was already in love with. He had wanted everything to be perfect. And so far, he thought, enjoying Claire’s bright, spontaneous happiness, it was.
He took her hand. Kissed it and held on as they walked downstairs and out to the veranda for cocktails. Felix had classical music playing. One of the Brandenburg Concertos spilled out as they settled into Adirondacks and sipped champagne cocktails.
When they went in for dinner the table was set with fine linens and fresh flowers. Every dish was locally sourced, from the nettle soup to the duck that their host raised himself to the cake made from eggs that Felix collected each day from his henhouse. Felix had preselected wines to go with each course so there was nothing for Max to do but enjoy his dinner companion.
He already knew she was an excellent pilot, a competent manager and a woman who could trek through the wilderness with toughness and good humor. He hadn’t known, though he’d suspected, that she was a charming dinner companion.
They didn’t talk about work. They avoided any mention of their recent ordeal by unspoken agreement. Instead, they spoke of music, and books they’d read. Of trips they had enjoyed or longed to take.
“I’ve always wanted to fly around the world solo,” Claire said. The candlelight shone against her hair and made the wine in her glass sparkle. “I read a biography of Amelia Earhart when I was at school and decided I wanted to do that one day.”
“Will you?”
She shrugged. “Who knows? It’s bucket-list stuff. Some of those things are probably meant to remain dreams. But I haven’t put it out of my mind. How about you?”
“Mars,” he said.
“Mars?” She lowered her glass to stare at him. “The planet?”
“Sure. I want to go there. To set foot on it. Why not? They’re already selling tickets for space tourism. It’s only a question of time.”
“And money,” she reminded him. “Do you have any idea how much a ticket would cost to fly to space?”
He knew exactly how much since he’d already booked a spot on the first Virgin Galactic flight. When he chose not to reveal that fact to Claire, he experienced that mild burning discomfort once more. He wasn’t lying, he told himself, when he withheld the truth about his wealth. He was simply choosing to keep some things to himself.
Max had never worried too much about revealing himself to women before. He found it was always a better policy to reveal too little than too much.
But Max had never been in love before, and as he sat here with Claire he discovered he wanted to tell her, not only about the flight he’d already booked, but about everything. He wanted her to understand how a series of childhood ear infections had destroyed his chances of following his dream. He wanted her to know all his likes and dislikes, his foibles and weaknesses, his history, his family, his friends.
He wanted her to be part of his life.
But he didn’t tell her everything. On some level he understood that what stopped him was fear. He was afraid that if she knew exactly who he was and why he was here, she’d reject him.
He needed more time, time for her to get to know him better, to trust him completely. Then he could tell her all the things he wanted to tell her now.
So, instead of explaining that he’d already booked a seat and would make sure she was on the same flight with him if she wanted to go, he lifted his hands and said, “Like you said, it’s bucket-list stuff.”
Soon, he promised himself. Soon he’d tell her everything. Maybe wining and dining her, bringing her to this most exclusive of small inns, made him nothing but a crass billionaire trying to impress a woman with his wealth. But he was willing to use anything he could to win her.
When Felix put their dessert in front of them, some wonderful concoction of cake and raspberries—grown locally, of course—with a sauce that was pure magic and had Claire moaning with pleasure, he popped the cork on a bottle of vintage Cristal. The champagne bubbled into tall flutes. “Enjoy your dessert,” Felix said, with a slight bow, preparing to depart.
“Thank you.”
“This dessert is amazing,” Claire said after Felix had disappeared.
“I can’t even taste it,” Max said, and amazingly it was true. “I can only think about tasting you.”
Their gazes collided and he felt once more that rush of connection that was unique with Claire. When he gazed at her he felt as though she were seeing right down inside of him and he was seeing right down inside of her. As ridiculous as it was miraculous.
She pushed aside the remains of her dessert with a hand that trembled slightly. “Let’s go to bed,” she said.
He didn’t need prompting. He rose, pulled the bottle of champagne from the bucket on the sideboard where it sat cooling, grabbed their glasses in his other hand and followed his woman.
When they got upstairs, she said, “I feel kind of nervous. Almost like it’s our first time.”
“It’s not nerves,” he said. “It’s anticipation. It’s knowing that we already give each other pleasure, but we’re only beginning to learn all of each other’s secrets, to share all of ourselves.”
“Yes, that’s exactly it. How did you understand so well?”
He gazed at her, her lips ready for his, her body, he instinctively knew, already aroused, her eyes both serious and sultry and he said, “I know because I feel exactly the same way.” And then he leaned in and kissed her.
She tasted of the sweetness of raspberry, the sizzle of champagne, and of woman hot and ripe and ready.
He placed the champagne and the glasses on the bedside table. At some point, Felix or perhaps a hidden helper had turned down the bed. Two tiny wrapped chocolates lay on the pillows.
He tossed them aside, and turned to undress Claire. She stood as though suddenly shy and he understood he must take his time with her, treat her as reverently as she deserved. He kissed her again, began running his hands down her back, down her arms, until he felt her desire begin to build. He slipped the straps of her dress off her shoulders and began to kiss and nibble. The slide of the zipper revealed the long line of her back.
When the dress slid he stopped it, instinctively neat, and let her step out of it before laying the dress tidily over a chair back. Then he turned back.
And nearly lost it right there.
Claire, naked in the bush after a plane crash, was a gorgeous sight. Claire, with painted toes and shining hair, naked but for a couple of whispers of silk, was quite literally a breathtaking sight. Her luscious curves teased him through gossamer, her lips tilted in a way that compelled him to move closer. “You are more gorgeous than I remember.”
“I’m not covered in dirt and leaves, that’s why,” she said softly, then pulled him closer so she could take her turn stripping him. He helped, too eager to linger, unbuttoning his shirt with impatience, yanking it over his head while she worked his belt, buttons and zipper. His pants fell to the floor and she reached for the throbbing bulge between his legs, caressing him through his cotton briefs, before slipping her hands into the waistband and sliding them down his hips. He kicked them away, tumbled h
er back onto the bed.
“As much as I love this lingerie,” he told her, “it’s going to have to come off.”
“My shoes—”
“Leave them.”
She shook her head at him, but lifted her shoulders, then her hips, so he could peel the barely-there underwear off her.
He had a whole night and the comfort of a big bed and he intended to use every minute, every inch, giving her an experience she would never forget.
He knew that he would never forget either. The look in her eyes, the smell of her skin, the feel of her lips against his, the taste of her.
He felt an urgent need to be inside her, but first he took the time to prepare her, stroking her with his fingers until she was wet and ripe, until her eyes had gone soft and misty and he felt the laxness in her muscles. She was beginning to toss and tiny sounds came out of her mouth, somewhere between a murmur and a gasp. Already he knew the signs that she was close.
He parted her thighs, raised himself over her and held her gaze with his as he slowly entered her. Her hips rose to meet him and she pulled him into her body, sucking him deep. She was already so close, and he found he was racing to catch up. She went wild beneath him, bucking against him, and when she grabbed his ass and dragged him hard into her he couldn’t stop himself. He exploded even though he’d intended to wait until she’d crested, but even as he felt waves of bliss pound through him he heard her cries, felt her body spasm around him and knew that the bliss was shared.
He kept moving, slowing things down, enjoying the aftershocks, unwilling to break the intimate connection. She stroked his face and the simple gesture was as intimate as anything else they’d shared.
She said, “This is the first time we’ve had sex in a bed.”
He looked deep into her eyes, as changeable as the endless sky during an Alaskan summer and said, “We’re not having sex.”
“We’re not?” She wiggled her hips as though checking that their bodies were still connected.
He grasped both her hands in his, entwining their fingers. He began to move again, slowly, enjoying the exquisite feel of her soft, wet heat. “We’re making love.”
