Too Hot to Touch and Exposed

by LETO, JULIE

  With that, Barbara leaned across the desk, kissed his cheek and retreated, nodding approvingly at the large-brimmed straw hat as she left, deciding entirely on her own. Some retreat, he thought wryly. She’d won that argument, just as she’d won so many others.

  No use canceling the car since they were indeed going out, but he did have one phone call to make. He walked around his desk and shut the door. Barbara was still in the dark about their daughter’s humiliation and self-preserving deception and he planned to keep her there until he had no other choice. He didn’t blame Madelyn for running off and concocting that elopement story to buy some time to save face. In fact, he found the scheme incredibly clever, more so than he’d expect from his daughter, who was naively but endearingly honest and idealistic.

  And he couldn’t disavow his hand in her naiveté. He’d shielded her from the ugliness of the world, as was a father’s right, a father’s duty. But Maxwell Forrester had shattered that safe wall he’d built around his one and only child, and for this he would pay.

  Randolph certainly had no intention of scuttling the Pier deal at his own expense. But it seemed someone else had that agenda or, more than likely, it was just this upstart newspaper longing for a local scandal to increase subscriptions. Once he had the situation back under his control, he’d push his philandering, almost son-in-law out of the deal and make him pay for what he’d done to Madelyn.

  He’d pay dearly, and from what he could see from the photograph and caption, he’d pay with a lot more than money.

  ARIANA LEANED AGAINST the wall in the hallway, allowing Max to work the key to her apartment. It had been a long day—a glorious day. She was still giddy from the windblown ride back from Napa Valley, still dizzy from the bottle of Phillipe’s special wine they’d drunk just before leaving. With a borrowed blanket and a basket of cheeses and fruit, they’d found a secluded spot at his winery, shaded from view by rows of blooming vines and fat bunches of grapes. Actually, since Max planned to drive, she’d done most of the drinking. Not enough to get certifiably toasted, but enough for him to nearly seduce her amid the golden Chardonnays. A seduction she had, with great difficulty, rebuffed.

  No more making love out of doors, he’d proclaimed, then promptly tried to reverse his wise decision. Since they’d left the city, she’d tried not to think about the photo in the paper and all the potential problems the scandal could cause. He’d resisted her myriad questions regarding who would have the motive for such drastic measures or who would have known how to find them at his house, much less on his balcony. He hadn’t wanted to discuss his troubles, preferring to concentrate on enjoying the here and now with her. So they’d toured the winery, watched hotair balloon races, even attended a wine tasting on board a train that snaked around the lush hills of the valley. But they’d made love only at night, in the guest house Phillipe prepared for them. And during the glorious sexual byplay, they’d barely spoken a word. They didn’t need to. He knew what she liked and vice versa.

  On the way out to Napa, Max had invited her—oh, so subtly—to consider the possibility that their affair didn’t have to end when the week did. That the “distraction” their liaison was supposed to provide could be altered into a real relationship. The offer was so tempting. The potential payoff so great. But if Ariana had learned one thing about relationships, it was that they required sacrifices, compromises, give-and-take. And while she didn’t mind enjoying the ebb and flow of sharing Max’s life this week, she held tight to the belief that she wouldn’t be able to be so magnanimous once she went back to work next week.

  Knowing Max, hearing about his rise to prosperity, made her want her dream even more. She’d coaxed a few stories out of him over the past two days, tales of his search for success. She’d heard about how by age twenty-one, he’d graduated with a degree in business. How by age twenty-three, he’d earned his real estate license and was buying and selling properties while he successfully completed his MBA. How he’d met the right people, made the right contacts. And this deal with the Pier—the one he really didn’t want to talk about because of its connection to the embarrassing reference and picture in the newspaper—if he managed to pull it off, he’d be a millionaire several times over—his ultimate goal since childhood when he’d realized his family was poor.

  Her dream was decidedly smaller, simpler, but no less important. She didn’t just want a restaurant to call her own—she wanted a showplace. A unique dining experience that travel guides never overlooked, that the food critics raved over, that the locals enjoyed with the same fervor and comfort as the tourists. She couldn’t imagine attaining her goal without selfish, single-minded pursuit—much as Max had employed earlier in his career.

  Fact was, he was at the uppermost point of his arc toward success. She was just starting the climb.

  “Are you coming inside or does this hallway have some charm I’m missing?”

  Ariana turned toward his voice and blinked. The lights inside her apartment were all on; the television was tuned to the cable station playing a very sexy movie she’d been wanting to see. She could even hear the whir and crackle of her microwave making popcorn. He’d obviously gone inside while she stood in the hallway thinking. She felt like an idiot, but the aftereffects of the wine took the edge off her embarrassment.

  “I guess I drank more than I thought,” she said, sheepishly brushing past him and tossing her purse onto the black lacquered chest.

  “You’re probably tired. We didn’t sleep much last night.”

  She swept a kiss over his lips before heading toward her bedroom. “No, we didn’t. But I’m going to seriously relax tonight, just as soon as I change into my pj’s.”

  “Our relaxation techniques don’t usually include sleep,” he said, barely managing to cover a yawn with the back of his hand.

  “No, they don’t.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Maybe tonight we’ll try something new.”

  Max shook his head, amazed, as she smiled with anticipation and disappeared beneath the beaded doorway. He could always depend on Ariana to try something new with him. Something exciting. Something so special he was finally convinced there could be more thrills found with a good woman than with a closed deal or a jump up to a new tax bracket.

  And she’d convinced him without trying. In fact, he figured that if she knew the effect she’d had on him, she’d run for cover. He’d had absolutely no trouble keeping Ariana focused on the present during their excursion—no arguments when he declared they wouldn’t talk about anything serious and only enjoy the scenery, the view and each other. Unlike any other woman he’d ever met, Ariana was content to keep their interaction casual. And he knew why. If things remained casual, she could more easily say goodbye.

  Pushing his disappointment aside, he went back into the kitchen to listen to the microwave. They’d made a deal. She’d stick to it. But would he? Keeping his competitive spirit at bay was hard enough—keeping his growing disappointment under wraps even harder. Not to mention his pride. The realization that he wasn’t irresistible was about as easy to swallow as an unpopped kernel of corn.

  He didn’t often cook for himself or for others anymore, but he could microwave popcorn with the best of them. He timed the intervals between pops, shutting off the power before one kernel got scorched. Gingerly, he pulled out the piping-hot bag and searched for a bowl.

  He was just about to shout a question to Ariana when he heard her curse from the bedroom.

  “Ah, damn!”

  He looked around the corner from the kitchen to the living room, just in time to see her emerge with an overflowing armful of laundry.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “There’s nothing like the real world to intrude on your fun. I have to put a load in the washing machine.”

  “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

  She shook her head and expertly maneuvered to the door despite the hefty laundry blocking her view. “Not if I want clean underwear.”

&nbs
p; Max shot to the door and opened it for her, then blocked her exit with his arm. “Who needs underwear at all?”

  She sighed. “Great question, but I do like the option. Mrs. Li lets me use her laundry room downstairs, but she needs the machines on Tuesdays. My day is Monday and Monday is nearly over. I’ll only be a minute.”

  He let her pass, but not without bestowing one long, rather wet kiss to show her what she’d be missing if she didn’t hurry. She broke away, groaning as she ducked beneath his arm and made her way down the hall to the stairwell. “Promise more kisses like that and I’ll make it back in thirty seconds.”

  She’d twisted the knob and propped open the stairwell door with her foot before he could assist her.

  “I can keep that promise,” he said.

  With a smile, she disappeared. Max remained in the hall, staring at the door as it swung slowly closed. He could promise her kisses. He could promise her good loving. Hell, he could promise her the world—and deliver—if she’d let him.

  He made his way back to the kitchen, shaking his head. He couldn’t let her go. His nature didn’t allow for such sacrifice. His heart would no longer accept the emptiness he’d lived with so long. Not now that it knew the fullness Ariana put there, whether she’d intended to or not.

  He thought about Charlie. So far as he could tell, his best friend was an expert on two things—selling real estate and finding him the perfect match. He’d schemed brilliantly to bring them together. Ariana’s honest, adventurous spirit effectively broke down a wall Max hadn’t realized existed around his heart. But once Ari was inside, as she now was, he felt certain he couldn’t let her out. She understood him. Admired him. Wanted many of the same things he did.

  And therein lay the problem.

  As he pulled open the hot bag of popcorn and poured the contents into the large plastic bowl he found in a cabinet above the refrigerator, he realized only two things stood in the way of keeping Ariana in his life.

  First, the photograph. He assumed the whole incident was somehow set up, starting with the drug in his drink. Perhaps someone had been following him for weeks, learning his habits, watching for weaknesses they could exploit into a scandal. Common sense dictated that someone trying to sink the Pier deal had schemed to make him vulnerable to scandal and then planted a photographer to capture the results on film. They’d probably searched for shady business dealings or other dark secrets to exploit, and finding none, decided to concoct their own. Ariana’s presence, the timing of their liaison, was nothing more than an accident, a twist of fate.

  A wonderful twist, Max thought, popping a buttery morsel into his mouth.

  Considering all angles and all possibilities, Max knew there was nothing he could do to stop this potential scandal. He had no idea if more pictures would surface or if his investors would react negatively. For all he knew, the whole matter would die a quiet death.

  He also had to consider the second barrier to bringing Ariana into his life for the long haul—Ariana herself. He couldn’t fault her reasoning. Her dream was a big one, her goal admirable. But Max knew firsthand the sacrifices that had to be made to make a business work. He could adapt. So she’d work long hours. So did he. So they’d see each other mainly when he came to the new restaurant. He could live with that.

  Couldn’t he?

  Scooping up the bowl and grabbing two long-neck beers from the fridge, he set their feast in front of the television and considered the past two years, when he’d watched Ariana from afar, talking to her only briefly. When she was working, she was entirely focused, consumed with her attention to detail, ensuring that each and every patron of her establishment felt pampered and served and welcome. Every customer was a good friend, every employee family. She was excellent at her job—the best he’d seen in such a casual setting—one reason he’d been drawn to Athens by the Bay in the first place.

  Was it fair to ask her to divide her focus? Now, when she was so close to achieving everything she wanted, everything she deserved?

  The thought made him pensive. Frustrated. Annoyed as hell. He twisted open a beer and grabbed a handful of popcorn, stuffing his mouth and chewing. He was a genuine son of a bitch. Still selfish. Still self-absorbed. Still willing to bulldoze his way for the sake of his own needs.

  Because, dammit, he wanted Ariana in his life, no matter the cost.

  ARIANA WATCHED MAX from the corner of her eye, then glanced back at the screen. The sexy, romantic comedy had zero effect on whatever black mood had descended on him while she was downstairs separating the whites from the delicates. He’d barely spoken three words, and while he didn’t recoil from her arm entwined with his, he didn’t invite any other affection. She tried to console herself with the fact that he was tired and that tomorrow, the first business day this week, could result in a crisis over his Pier deal, but she sensed that his mood had more to do with her.

  “Max, what’s wrong?”

  He turned to her slowly. “You don’t want to know.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “I’m sorry. I’m being a jerk.” He chugged down the rest of his beer, now undoubtedly lukewarm since he’d done nothing but clutch the bottle for the past half hour. “I’ll get over it. I’m exhausted.”

  “I do want to know. Is it the picture? Are you worried there might be more? Worse things could happen, Max. Embarrassment never killed anyone.”

  He turned and clutched her hands, a smile fighting with the frown that had reigned over his face since she’d returned. “You’ve got a great attitude. I want you to know that I’m sorry for involving you.”

  “You’ve apologized a hundred times, Max. You know I don’t blame you. That’s not what’s wrong.”

  He glanced aside, then back at her. He wanted to tell her—she could see the signs. Deer-in-the-headlight eyes. Mouth slightly agape.

  He wanted to but he wouldn’t. Instead he stood, grabbed the empty beers and the depleted bowl of popcorn and retreated to the kitchen. She shook her head. Maybe he was right—maybe she didn’t want to know.

  Maybe she already knew and didn’t want to face the crossroads they’d arrived at—entirely too soon for her liking. While she’d sorted her dirty clothing downstairs, away from Max and his magnetism, she couldn’t help but consider how he’d come in and turned her life completely upside down in only three days. All she thought about was Max. All she wanted was Max. While she’d measured out the detergent and sprinkled white powder into the running water, she’d actually imagined what it would be like to live with him in his Russian Hill home. To wake up with him as she had at the guest house this morning, rousing him with soft kisses that led to lazy, wonderful sex. She thought about redecorating his ice-cold living room in Oriental style, merging their homes, merging their lives.

  And not once—not once—did she think about the restaurant, her long hours, her dream. All of a sudden, her personal goals seemed silly, unimportant and selfish next to the possibility of love. But hadn’t she felt exactly the same way with Rick?

  Max was not Rick, she knew that with the same certainty that she knew she was no longer the innocent child who’d married her first lover for all the wrong reasons. She was older, wiser. And unfortunately, that wisdom included the knowledge that when the week ended and she severed her affair with Max, she was probably letting go of the best thing that had ever happened to her.

  “I’m going to go put my stuff in the dryer,” she announced, hoping her voice didn’t squeak with the sound of tears she could feel coming.

  “Need help?” he asked.

  She shook her head and pasted on a smile. “No, I can handle it on my own.”

  She scurried to the door. Laundry, she could do by herself. But the rest of her life? Only three days ago she’d thought she could manage. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  13

  SHE’D BEEN GONE WAY too long. After watching more of the movie and then realizing he didn’t even know the characters’ names, Max had flipped off the television and ventured downstairs. He ha
d no idea where Mrs. Li’s laundry room was, but the hissing rush of water filling the washing machine drew him in the right direction.

  The intimate space, little larger than a closet, was tucked in the farthest corner behind the tea shop. A fluorescent light flickered slightly, casting a harsh lavender glow over Ariana as she draped damp delicates over the edges of a laundry basket. The curtain of tiny window, high in the outer wall, fluttered with a cool breeze.

  She worked mechanically, her gaze glossy and seemingly unfocused. But from the crease in her forehead and the decided dip of the corners of her mouth, Max judged he was the cause of her contemplative expression. He couldn’t blame her. He’d allowed his somber mood to ruin the movie, perhaps the entire evening. He decided enough was enough. If he wanted Ariana to seriously consider extending their relationship past the end of the week, he’d better change tactics quickly.

  Impulsively, he flicked off the light switch.

  “Hey!” she protested, twirling toward him.

  He stepped in immediately, closing and locking the sliding pocket door behind him. “It’s just me,” he reassured her.

  Clutching a pair of bright red panties in her hands, she sighed. Light from the alley flashed in from the high window whenever the wind threw the curtains aside, revealing her relieved expression. “I’m sorry I’m taking so long. I was just…thinking.”

  He took one step closer. “About us?”

  The room wasn’t large enough to allow her much of a retreat. When the washing machine stopped her from backing up farther, he moved in and pressed full against her. In an instant, he was hard with wanting. But sex wouldn’t be enough this time. Not for him. And he hoped she too was tiring of the game of physical pleasure only they both were pretending to play. Truth was, in three short days, they’d built the foundation of a relationship that could either be strengthened by honest emotion or would crumble into nothing from too much hesitancy, too much emotional denial.