“I was, but that’s not the case now. I’m staying on a while longer. There’s some unfinished business I need to attend to.”
Suspicion flickered in the shadowed depths of her eyes. “Business with the horses?”
Max took a second to contemplate his answer, a second when the tension of their own unfinished business, of all they’d left unsaid or should have left unsaid, crackled between them in the midnight-quiet room.
“We made an offer on a stallion,” he told her, sticking to the business facts. “The owners have yet to see reason on a price. They will.”
She laughed at that, a wry response that sounded part relief and part rebuke. “Do you still always get everything you go after?”
Jagged memories of another wedding day, of a diamond ring in his pocket and an empty seat beside him on the long flight home, sliced through Max’s senses.
No, he hadn’t always succeeded in what he’d gone after.
“Not always,” he said with a tight shrug. “Sometimes it takes longer than anticipated…and sometimes I change my mind about what I want.”
He wasn’t talking about horses now. He was talking about the unfinished business of their attraction, and thinking how this time there would be no talk of weddings and commitment, no second travel booking, no diamond ring in his pocket.
This time would only be a holiday fling, the same as the first time should have been.
Once he got her back in his bed….
Conviction burned deep and steady and low in his gut as he met her eyes. “The photography job is yours, Diana, if you want it.”
“Is this your way of apologizing?” she asked, still wary, still suspicious.
“It’s my way of admitting I was wrong to let you walk away from a promised job.” Straightening from the desk, he held out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”
Four
Of course Diana wanted the job. And of course she took it, despite the niggling concern that Max’s unfinished business in Sioux Falls involved more than horse-dealing. Every time she recalled the dark gleam of satisfaction in his eyes when she’d said yes, her apprehension grew.
What, exactly, had she shaken hands on?
Several times on Sunday she picked up the phone, intent on demanding an explanation. But then she asked herself if his motivation mattered. She wanted the job; she should take it. She didn’t want anything beyond the job; then that was her call to make.
Max Fortune didn’t have to get everything he wanted, his way.
That thought turned out to be somewhat prophetic, because early Monday morning—the day of their rescheduled shoot—he called her. He had to go to Kentucky for the day, a meeting over the horse deal. Unavoidable. Could they postpone?
“Given your short time frame,” she said, thinking on her feet, “wouldn’t it be better if I went ahead today? I’m sure Sky or one of her grooms could wrangle the horse.”
Silence.
Delighted to have gained the ascendancy, she continued with calm confidence. “That’s if you trust me to know what I’m doing with the camera…which I hope you do, since you engaged me, specifically, for this job.”
Without his disturbing presence, the shoot had gone brilliantly. Once set loose in the field, his mare had pranced about and performed for the camera like a trouper. In fact, Diana had recognized so much of her mother in the horse’s showmanship that she’d secretly nick-named her Maggie.
But her delight on the day was nothing compared to her excitement on seeing the results in print. She’d wanted to tear out to the estate and show them to Max then and there. But it was late and she wasn’t certain he’d even returned from his trip. If he had, they could end up alone, side by side, leaning over a desk scattered with prints. Hands brushing as they both reached for their favorite. Eyes meeting as they acknowledged that shared moment.
Bad idea. Very bad idea.
So she’d sealed the proofs in an envelope which she’d given to Eliza to deliver. Then she’d spent the ensuing two days starting every time the phone rang or the door to the gallery opened. Being midweek in winter, that wasn’t very often. His continued silence was gnawing at her patience.
This morning—Thursday—she’d called the stables and learned from Sky that he’d gone somewhere with Nash for the day. She wasn’t sure where or when he’d be back. Diana left a message impressing her urgency. To deliver the finished prints tomorrow, she needed his order as soon as possible.
By midafternoon he still hadn’t called. However Jeffrey had, from Rapid City where he was shooting a special commission over several days. Diana had been manning the fort at Click by working extra hours and, he hated to ask, but could she cope if he stayed an extra night?
After assuring him that she wasn’t in danger of overwork since things were midwinter slow, he suggested she close the doors and go home ahead of the forecast snow.
“It has barely started to flurry,” she protested.
“All the more reason to leave now. See you tomorrow, Diana. And thank you for being so adaptable with your hours. You are a treasure!”
A smattering of snowflakes drifted sporadically from the lowering sky as she finished locking up. Distracted by the weather and the prospect of a cold walk to the parking lot, she wasn’t thinking about Max for the first time in several days. She dropped the keys into her tote bag and turned toward the street…and there he was, right there in front of her.
It was such a shock that she slipped on the wet stoop and might have landed ignominiously on her backside if he hadn’t caught her elbow and stopped her slide.
“Steady,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
Yes, he did. By both arms and with her nose pressed close to his chest. When she inhaled, the sting of icy air was tempered by a combination of body-warmed wool and even warmer man. That didn’t help her regain her equilibrium much.
Max, being Max, released her in his own good time. The big, capable hands that cupped her elbows slid the length of her forearms to her hands. A frown pinched his brow. “No gloves?”
“I left them somewhere.” Hearing how lame that sounded, she winced. “In my car, I think.”
“Is that where you’re heading?”
“Yes, and then home.”
Which sounded even lamer. Next she’d be telling him where she’d parked her car and why, and then they’d move on to the scintillating subject of the weather and why she’d shut the gallery early. Perhaps if she reclaimed her hands she might also reclaim the use of her brain….
“I’d given up on hearing from you today,” she said. “Let me get my keys and I’ll open up again.”
“You’re not worried about the weather? I don’t want to hold you up now it’s snowing.”
“This isn’t snowing,” she told him. “And you’re holding me up more by not letting go of my hands.”
He didn’t let her go. “Do you have coffee in there?”
“I have the makings.”
“Let’s go somewhere that has it already made.” Crowding even closer under the narrow awning that sheltered the gallery’s entrance, he nodded toward the adjacent block. “How about that place?”
Heart sinking, Diana followed the direction of his gaze. “Alberto’s is nice, but…”
Alberto had a fascination for Broadway musicals and had decorated accordingly. The last time she’d eaten there, Diana found herself seated beneath a huge poster of her mother. It had felt odd and uncomfortable, yet she didn’t like drawing attention to her relationship with the famous Maggie Fielding. In Sioux Falls she enjoyed being plain old anonymous DianaYoung. Not Maggie and Oliver Fielding’s daughter. Not anyone’s wife-on-display.
“But?” Max prompted. “Do they serve coffee?”
“Yes, but—”
“Is it warm?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are we standing here freezing appendages off? Let’s go.”
Diana relaxed a smidge when she discovered that her mother’s picture had been supersede
d by Hugh Jackman in white trousers and Hawaiian shirt, brandishing maracas. Alberto himself bustled over to take their coats and show them to a table. “This one,” he said, choosing a table for two, “is warm and cozy.”
But Max gestured to the row of diner-style booths along one wall. “We’ll take one of those. We need the bigger table for business.”
“You bring this lovely lady here to do business?” Alberto’s gaze swept dramatically heavenward.
“And to warm her up,” Max said. “It’s snowing outside and she forgot her gloves.”
“It’s not snowing,” she felt compelled to point out, for the second time. “It’s barely a flurry.”
Alberto scolded her over the gloves all the way to their table, but his dark eyes twinkled as Max slid into the booth alongside her instead of opposite. After taking their coffee orders, he handed them each a menu and waved aside their protestations. “You want to warm your lady, first you need to feed her. We can fix you a meal or perhaps one of Gia’s delicious cakes? You decide while I make your coffee.”
He left and Max leaned closer. An ironic smile tilted the corner of his mouth and lit his night-forest eyes. “Does our host have anything to do with your buts?”
Slightly lost in the effects of that smile, Diana frowned.
“Out in the street, when I suggested we come here.”
Oh. Right. Those buts. “Alberto loves to play the role of authentic Italian host. You may have noticed his love of theatre.”
“Hard not to. I doubt Eliza was responsible for this interior design.”
In the process of looking around at the dramatic decor—posters and props and garish imitation sets—he managed to shift closer on the bench so their arms and shoulders brushed. So much for relaxation. So much for his crack about frozen appendages, too. The man radiated enough body heat that one second of fleeting contact warmed her from the tip of her long nose to her equally long toes.
As for his allegedly frozen bits…
Shielding her face behind the playbill-sized menu, she couldn’t help glancing down. Just a brief peek at well-filled denim and the relaxed spread of his muscular thighs on the dark bench turned her slightly giddy. And very warm.
Bad move. Gigantic bad move.
“You want anything else?”
Diana blinked. And cautiously lowered her shield. She presumed he meant…“To eat?” She moistened her lips. “Are you eating?”
“I had a late lunch with Creed, so I’m good. But don’t let that stop you.”
She needed a few seconds to regain her composure, to rid herself of this hyper-sensitivity to his nearness, to attune herself to business. Meanwhile she studied the menu, and to her chagrin heard the low rumble of her empty stomach.
“Did you eat lunch?”
Under his questioning look, she sighed. “Not yet.”
“No wonder you’ve lost weight.”
“I’ve put on several pounds this winter,” she retorted defensively, which only drew his gaze to her body. Contradictory warmth flushed through her, part response to his slow, lazy-eyed appraisal and part anger because she shouldn’t have to defend her weight. She closed the menu purposefully. “I’m going to have the chocolate amoretti cake.”
With finely-honed timing, Alberto arrived with their coffees and took her order. After he’d left, Diana signaled that it was time to get down to business by nodding at the package of photos he’d tossed on the table.
“Have you had a chance to look at the proofs?”
“Yes,” he said. “They’re good.”
“You say that as if you’re surprised.”
“I am surprised you got everything so right on your first job.”
Sky must have told him….
Diana felt the flush of color in her face, annoyance at being caught out and counter-annoyance for feeling that annoyance. It wasn’t as though she’d lied to him. The question of her experience had never come up.
“My first paid job,” she countered, angling her body in the narrow seat so she could meet his eyes. “The series I took at the Fortune estate, of Sky’s horses and the barn and the big house, took months of hard work. If you’d cared to ask, I would have suggested you come down to the gallery to see the exhibit.”
“They’re on show?”
“At Click.” And because he still looked dubious, she couldn’t help adding, “Jeffrey chose to exhibit them over a lot of professionals.”
His eyes narrowed. “Jeffrey your date at the wedding?”
“That’s right. Click is his gallery and studio. Jeffrey also teaches classes, which is how I started in photography. He saw something he liked and took me under his wing.”
“I bet he did.”
Diana bristled at the implication in his mocking drawl. “You said yourself that my work is good. And now you’re inferring that Jeffrey only took me on to, what, get me into bed?”
Her voice rose indignantly on the last phrase, because she could see in his expression that he did think this. And the notion was offensive, to her and to Jeffrey, who had never treated her with anything but respect. They dined together regularly, they’d done the wedding semi-date, but he’d never tried anything. Not even a quick goodbye kiss. And Max dared to imply…
She had to pause her silent fuming when one of Alberto’s daughters brought her dessert. Max charmed the girl with his Aussie accent and his smile, which didn’t help Diana’s mood much. When he ordered them each a second coffee without consulting her, that highhandedness added another element to her simmering pot of ire.
Struggling for composure, she picked up her spoon and cut through the multi-layers of cake and frosting and cream. But she couldn’t bring it to her mouth. She was pretty sure the effort of swallowing would choke her. “Don’t judge Jeffrey,” she said tightly, “by your own standards.”
“Are you suggesting that I gave you this job to get you into bed?”
“Why did you offer it to me? What made you do a complete about-face?”
“I told you. Sky had engaged your services—I shouldn’t have made the work untenable. Also, I liked your vision of the photos you wanted to take of Booty, as an athlete.”
He knew exactly what to say, the clever devil, but Diana remained wary of his flattery. “Is that all?”
“You said an apology wouldn’t be enough. Do you remember?”
Of course she remembered. She’d told him it would take more than sorry to make up for his offensive comment about sharing her body. The memory still twisted tight and ugly in her stomach. “And you think this will do it?”
“I think it’s a start.”
A start toward what?
Diana’s heart did a little bumpety-bump as she recalled how this had begun in the library with talk of his unfinished business. She remembered the breathless catch in her lungs as the punch of shock hit: she might very well be that business. And she reminded herself that it didn’t matter because once he selected his prints and paid his account, the job was over.
“A start, yes,” she said briskly, pushing her plate out of the way and reaching for the photos. “Now let’s see which prints you want to order so we can finish.”
Max let her go ahead and think that…for the time being. Meanwhile he turned his attention to selecting pictures. It wasn’t a tough task. He’d decided on his favorites from a score of impressive shots the first time he opened the envelope. But he made a big deal of studying them all again because he enjoyed listening to her serious-voiced explanations and he enjoyed watching her eyes light with enthusiasm and he enjoyed the way her body started to relax next to his as she became engrossed in the subject.
On the other hand, he was very aware of the weather and couldn’t stretch the process out for as long as he would have liked.
Leaving the restaurant he paused to squint at the sky. Enough snow had fallen to whiten the pavement and the lamps cast an eerie glow over the streetscape.
“Is this snowing?” he asked.
“Almost.”
He heard the smile in her voice and felt the brush of body contact as she craned her neck to look past him. He also felt her deep-seated shiver as the wall of cold hit.
“Isn’t it pretty?” Her voice held an abstracted note of wonder. “I wish I had my camera!”
“You’re shivering too hard to hold it steady.”
“No. I’m not.”
Amused by her indignation, Max shook his head.
“Come on. Let’s get you to your car or Alberto will have my hide for not keeping you warm.”
“I’m parked a couple of blocks—” she pointed off to their right “—down there.”
“A couple of blocks?”
“It’s not far.”
“Speak for yourself, snow-babe.” He hunched deeper into his jacket. “I’d have to walk it two ways.”
“You don’t have to walk me to my car.”
He gave her a yeah, I do look and because he could feel her gathering resistance, took matters into his own hands. With an arm around her shoulder, he tucked her firmly into his side where she had always fit so well—the perfect height, the perfect shape, the perfect response purring through his blood. “I’m parked right here. I’ll drive you that couple of blocks.”
Ignoring whatever protest she muttered, he hurried her to the four-wheel drive Nash had loaned him for the duration of his visit and bustled her into the passenger seat. When she fumbled with the seat belt catch he took her hands in his and found them ice cold. He swore beneath his breath. “You’re frozen already and you wanted to walk to your car?”
“Only my hands, which I would put in my pockets if you’d let them go.”
She attempted to tug free of his grip but he held on a moment longer. “You’ve changed,” he said quietly, looking into eyes that, but for their wariness, hadn’t changed in ten years. “I don’t remember you ever being this argumentative.”
“I don’t remember you ever being this domineering.”
He laughed and shook his head. “I don’t remember you having such a sharp mouth. You used to be softer. Quieter. More amenable.”
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