“Good God, you scared me to death.”
“That wasn’t my intent. I simply wanted to make sure you enjoyed yourself.”
“Why don’t I believe you?”
He chuckled, a devilishly sexy sound that slid along her senses. He wore those soft, button-fly jeans, one button left undone at the top, and no shirt. “Really,” he persisted, “how was it?”
Wary, she said, “It was all right.”
“That’s it? Just all right?”
With forced cheerfulness, she answered, “It was great. There, are you satisfied? Can I go to bed now?”
“Did you have sex?”
She gasped. “Absolutely not.”
In the dim light spilling through the window, she could see his slow satisfied smile. “See,” he said, “you aren’t nearly as forward as you keep trying to convince yourself you are.”
Now she was insulted.
“I am completely forward. A tramp really.” She sniffed. “I just wasn’t in the mood.”
Though who’d ever be in the mood for some guy who stared at her breasts all through dinner, at one point even leaning close and telling her he’d “like to meet those babies”?
Excuse me?
She had hardly known how to respond. Slap him? Belt him? Throw her water in his face?
She had asked him to take her home.
Now here she was, wanting nothing more than to climb into bed, pull the sheets over her head, and lose herself to dreams. She’d had enough reality for one day.
“If you don’t mind,” she said, “I’m exhausted.”
“Let me help with your robe.”
Help and Max, late at night in her bedroom, could only mean trouble. Especially since every ounce of her boldly professed new stance as a Modern Woman had evaporated under Don Galway’s leering gaze.
“Thanks, but I can manage on my own.”
Max stood up from the chair and her heart about leaped out of her chest. He looked at her with a predatory gleam in his eye that made her feel the need to flee—though where she’d go she had no idea, since they were in her bedroom.
“Max,” she warned, eyeing the comforting confines of her thick comforter and soft flannel sheets. “I think I’ll just get into bed and call it a night.”
But before she could make it past him, he caught her hand.
“What are you doing?” she stammered.
“I’m picking up where we left off earlier.”
She felt a shiver of concern . . . and anticipation.
He leaned close. “Don’t be afraid, Vivienne.” He murmured the words against her neck, nipping at the skin. “We’ll go slowly.”
Her breath shuddered through her. She remembered that very first thought she had had of him when she saw him at MBL Holdings. Of his naked body barely covered by a sheet, of him moving slowly, deeply, watching a woman’s passion. She felt panicked and totally in over her head.
“I’m really tired.” She faked an exaggerated yawn, too unsettled to know what to think. “I’ve got lots to do tomorrow. A full day of multitasking.”
“On Saturday?”
“Never too soon to get next week’s work out of the way. See, I’m going to show you I deserve that raise.”
Max chuckled, a deep rumble of sound that tingled down her spine. “Tonight I thought we’d start with Lesson One.”
Oh, my gosh!
“Now, Max, really.”
“You said you were modern and deserved to find out about life . . . and passion. If you are hell bent on learning”—he ran his finger along her shoulder to her chin, tilting her face to his—“who am I not to help?”
There was that help word again.
“What was it you called me?” he asked. “A knight in shining armor?”
“I said you weren’t a knight in shining armor.”
His gaze turned steamy. “Were, weren’t? Why let a mere n, t, and apostrophe stand in the way?”
She wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. But decided on not when he guided her back into the bathroom.
“Call me a tad out of the loop, but what are we doing in here? Doesn’t sex belong in a bed? Not that I intend on having any. At least tonight, that is. Tomorrow or the next day, and I’m in, modern woman that I am.”
He only smiled, capturing her against the doorjamb, his thumb running over the fullness of her lips. “I’m going to kiss you.”
Despite everything, anticipation fizzed through her like pink champagne, and a deep sighing moan followed when he gently pressed his mouth to hers. The touch was warm and tender, teaching, shaping her kiss to his. Her heart fluttered, and her eyelids closed when she felt the heat of his tongue slide ever so softly across her lips.
“Open for me,” he whispered.
She did, relishing the jolt of sensation when he tasted her. He showed her what he wanted. Sucking and nipping, his arms coming around her to pull her close.
When her fingers curled into his arms, she felt his simmering desire.
“That’s it, Vivienne. Touch me.”
Their kiss deepened, his hands lowering to cup her hips. For one intense, heated moment, he pressed his erection against her. She could feel the hardness, could feel his deep, shuddering breath.
But just as suddenly, he pulled away. He looked down at her with a mix of heated sensuality and kindness. “You turn me into a schoolboy. You make me want to damn everything and slip inside you until I come.” He lined her jaw with one hand. “But not now. This is about you.”
“But I thought—”
He pressed his finger to her lips, pulled her to the chaise longue that stood against the bathroom wall, then gently forced her to sit down—just as she had forced him to do early that evening. She had a shiver of understanding that this lesson would be about making her feel . . . and turning the tables.
Slowly guiding her back into the soft cushions, he took each of her feet and raised them, planting the arches on the edge of the chaise, her robe fluttering down her thighs. Thank goodness she had a camisole and panties on underneath.
“Max, what are you doing?”
Her voice shook, though with a traitorous anticipation instead of indignity.
“Close your eyes,” he commanded softly.
“I don’t think this is wise.” But she closed her eyes anyway.
When she did, she felt the whisper of his palm brush up her calf, then along the inside of her thigh. Her breath caught when his finger ran along the edge of her panties.
She barely heard the gruff sound of rumbling laughter. “Amazing. Do you even own any plain white underwear?”
“Do you have to be amazed at everything I do?” She tried to push up, but he wouldn’t let her.
“Sorry,” he stated—but not all that apologetically, she thought. “Just lie still and close your eyes.”
“Max, really.”
But he was persistent, and finally, trembling, she settled back, his strong hands spreading her feet a bit more as he kissed the inside of each knee. “Your skin is so soft,” he breathed against her.
He picked up one foot and kissed the arched instep. Unable to help herself, her body tingled, yearned for whatever it was he would do to her as he lowered her foot back to the velvet cushion.
She felt exposed and vulnerable and very much alive beneath his touch.
“Keep your eyes closed,” he commanded quietly.
She could tell that he moved away, and her body shivered with anticipation. But her mind careened with surprise when the next thing she felt was a feather-touch on her toes.
Her eyes popped open, and she found Max sitting Indian-style on the floor, his large hands holding a tiny brush as he began to paint her toenails with her favorite hot pink polish.
“What? Why?”
“Hush, I’m pampering.”
“But what does this have to do with sex?” Then she cringed.
“This has everything to do with sex,” he stated arrogantly. “Sex is about passion and pleasure. About
which you have a great deal to learn.”
Then suddenly she was laughing, a full, deep burst of complete joy.
“Hold still,” he admonished.
Remarkably she did. She leaned back, much as he had earlier, while he painted her toenails, his head bent in concentration, a lock of dark hair falling forward on his brow.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you’d done this before.”
His eyes glinted. “Years ago. When Pat was nine. She had a dance recital, and all the other little ballerinas had pink toenails. But she’d hurt her hand. Pat begged our mom to paint them for her.”
He concentrated on finishing Vivi’s small toe, then nodded proudly. She watched, felt her heart squeeze in her chest for this complicated man. “I take it your mother said no.”
“She had more on her plate than she could handle.” He shrugged, his broad shoulders rippling, and started on her other foot. “So I painted Pat’s toenails.”
“You’ve been parenting for a long time.”
He didn’t say anything, only stroked on the color with the same concentration that she suspected he applied to everything he did.
“I’d think spending time with Lila and Nicki would be just as easy,” she said.
His hand stilled and he glanced up, seeming to debate his answer.
“I was eleven when I painted her toes. A lifetime ago. At nineteen I became the one person in my brothers’ and sisters’ lives who had the responsibility of providing a good example.”
“And that ruled out painting toenails?”
“It ruled out a lot of things.”
“Then why are you painting mine?”
He twisted the bottle closed and set it aside. “Because this time it’s about showing a grown woman about passion. And because you turn my world upside down”— one corner of his mouth crooked—“making me crazy.”
“Good crazy?”
Max shook his head and laughed. “I never thought of crazy as being anything but bad.”
She tried again to get up, but his smile turned heated and he captured her wrists. “I’m not finished.”
He kissed her palm, making her shiver with yearning. She couldn’t move until the polish dried anyway, making her captive to whatever else he wanted to do to her. And really, who was she to deny this man a bit of retribution for all her pampering of him earlier? Crazy or not.
But when she expected his kisses to continue, he surprised her again by pulling out a bottle of lotion and pumping a dab into his callused palm.
The attention was heavenly. He massaged her hand with a competence that made her body melt, and when he finished the first, she sighed her pleasure as he took the other.
“Who knew sex could be so good?” she murmured.
With a deep chuckle and an ease that spoke of his incredible strength, he pulled her up, then slid in behind her. His hands were warm when he touched her neck, the edges of her robe falling away, catching on the rise of her breasts. He massaged and kneaded her shoulders until she couldn’t hold back the moans that bubbled up. When his strong fingers sank into her hair, kneading her scalp, her whole body turned to putty in his hands.
“How does that feel?” he asked.
“Incredible.”
Better than incredible, she thought as ease turned to awareness of his hands on her body, as his strong palms worked their way down her spine. His touch was intimate, making her senses come alive with a bone-deep desire. Every inch of her skin sizzled with sensation, and she began to anticipate what came next.
Would his fingers slip beneath her panties as they had before and brush against her tender skin? She knew she was wet, could feel her own heat.
Would he finally spread her legs and slide deep inside?
Just when she reached out to him, wanting to feel the hard contours of his body, he stepped away.
When seconds passed and he didn’t return, her eyes opened. It took a second for her to understand, then she squeaked her protest. “Where are you going?”
He stood at the doorway, tall, handsome, looking utterly satisfied with himself. “To bed.”
“That’s it?” She struggled to make her muscles work so she could leap up. “You paint my nails and give me a massage and call that Lesson One?”
“Exactly.”
Disappointment made her give an unladylike snort.
Max grinned. “Tsk, tsk.”
“Don’t tsk me.”
“You’ve had enough for one night.”
Then he winked at her, clicking the door shut behind him, leaving her to wonder how long she’d have to wait for Lesson Two.
Chapter Twenty
The next morning, when Patricia arrived, Nicki convinced her that she had to go to the mall.
“You?” Pat questioned, glancing at her little sister as they drove down Mesa. “You hate to shop.”
“I don’t haaaate it,” Nicki replied. “In fact, I’m into clothes and stuff now.”
Pat reached across the console and pressed her hand to Nicki’s forehead. “Are you feeling all right?”
Nicki shot her a scowl. “I’m fine.”
“This is Vivi’s doing, isn’t it?”
“It is not. I just want to go to the mall, not rob a bank.”
“Don’t get smart with me, Nick.”
Nicki gave a long-suffering sigh. “Sorry. Can we just please go? I promise it won’t take long. You and Lila can even wait in the car.” Nicki hesitated, debating. “I have to get a present for someone.”
“All right. But hurry.”
During the next ten minutes, Nicki dashed into the mall, found the store, explained her needs to the sales-person, made her purchase, brought it out to the car wrapped in pretty paper, then wouldn’t breathe a word as to who it was for.
“It’s a surprise,” she explained.
A surprise for herself. Fake boobs with nipples, just like Vivi had said. They were really weird in an awesome sort of way, soon to be the crowning glory to the newly pink and powerful Nicki Landry. As much as she still wasn’t crazy about Vivi, Nicki had to admit she was the only person she knew who dressed like Mindy Wasserstein—and Mindy seemed to know something about getting guys.
So if she had to be nicer to Vivi to learn a thing or two, fine. She’d stomach the nanny’s smiles and cheerfulness. She’d put up with the way Vivi let insults roll off her back like water off a duck. She wouldn’t even make any more snide remarks about Vivi wanting to be a Christmas bride. Not that the wedding was going to happen now. Nicki started to smile, then shook it away. She would do what it took to learn the ropes.
Part of Nicki actually had begun to think that Vivi wasn’t that bad. In fact, there were times when it was kind of nice to have her around. She was smarter than she looked, amazingly, and she didn’t put up with crap like all the other nannies had. Not that they had wanted to. They just had had no idea how to deal with her or Lila.
Heck, Lila’s weirdness and all hadn’t even fazed Vivi—as if Lila wasn’t weird at all. Which was totally true, but no one had ever seemed to get that.
First thing Monday morning, Nicki announced she had to be at school early to do an extra-credit project. Hence the need for the big bag she brought with her.
Max, of course, had already gone to work, so she didn’t have to do any convincing there, and Vivi fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Lila wasn’t so easy, primarily because the littlest Landry had found the surprise the night before. Now Lila sat in the back seat of the big, lumbering Oldsmobile, her arms crossed sullenly over her chest. But Nicki knew the secret was safe. As much as Lila didn’t like what Nicki was doing, her little sister would never tell.
Before a single soul arrived at school, Nicki ducked into the girls’ bathroom. It was really weird putting the jelly-filled plastic things in her bra, and even weirder trying to move them around so that she didn’t look like she had two small melons strapped to her chest. But by the time the other kids started showing up at Coronado High, Nicki had walked o
ut of the bathroom dressed in one of the few short shirts Vivi had left, a skintight T-shirt with a wild-haired princess painted on the front.
Nicki tried to act like she wasn’t nervous. She walked across the tile floor in the heels she had been practicing in, like a runway model walking down a stage.
“Who’s the new girl?” she heard someone ask.
“Wow” came next.
“She’s outstanding.”
Outstanding. The highest compliment, out of an assortment of completely and utterly satisfying statements—that is, until someone else added, “Take a look at those knockers.”
She wasn’t so crazy about the knockers comment, but she was crazy about the way every guy there stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of her.
“Nicki?”
Pivoting around, she saw Steve Bonner, younger brother to Brandon.
She waved, her heart pounding, her knees feeling all weak and bendy like licorice sticks because if Steve was around, Brandon couldn’t be far away.
“Hey, Steve,” she said, as cool as possible in a way she’d practiced in the mirror.
Steve looked her up and down. “What happened to you?”
He didn’t say it in a “Wow, you look awesome” sort of way. It was more like “What planet are you from?” But then his brother, her wonderful Brandon, appeared like a vision on the horizon.
This was it.
This was her moment.
She tried to act cool as she smiled, even though she could feel her lips starting to quiver and she was almost certain her eyelid started to twitch. “Nothing happened to me.”
Steve’s scowl deepened and she was having a real hard time denying that he didn’t appear happy or impressed by her new look. As Brandon came closer, still not seeing her, she had a moment of sheer stomach-churning doubt.
Maybe this was a mistake.
Maybe frilly pink power clothes were a crock and she was making a total fool of herself.
But then her mind went still, and her heart about burst out of her chest, when Brandon finally saw her. He froze, his head coming back as his gaze narrowed in focus. His dark eyes traveled over her real slow, and she had the distinct feeling that he was imagining her without clothes.
The Wedding Diaries Page 19
