Fortune's Perfect Match

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  “Max! That’s wonderful.” The true, surprised pleasure on Emily’s face told him that she really hadn’t known. He’d even bluntly asked Tanner if the fact that he’d been seeing Emily had had anything to do with the promotion, and Tanner had denied it. But until that moment, Max realized he’d still harbored a few doubts that she might know more about his career at Redmond Flight School than he did.

  He cleared his throat, feeling a little like some kid blowing his own horn to impress a pretty girl. She still didn’t know the most important part. The thing that had meant the most. “Anyway, he said I could either take the raise the job comes with, or I could work on my commercial license in trade, instead.”

  “And once you have that, could you be one of his charter pilots?” she asked, looking excited. “He talked to you about it, didn’t he? I can tell by looking at your face that he did.”

  He and Tanner had talked a long time about Max’s options. Long enough that it was finally sinking in that Max wouldn’t be going anywhere. Not unless he chose to. And when Max had asked Tanner outright why he was putting so much faith in him, Tanner had just looked right back at him, steady as the day is long. “Why wouldn’t I? I think this place means almost as much to you as it does to me. And I need somebody I can count on. You’re that somebody.”

  Now, Max looked at Emily and didn’t think about the fact that she was his boss’s sister-in-law. He thought about the fact that she was his woman. For however long it lasted. “Some day, yeah, it’s possible that I could be flying for Redmond Charter. If it’s what I decide I still want.” He lowered his mouth close to her ear again. “But what I want right now is to get to our room.”

  He felt the breath she inhaled. Then she took his hand and followed him out the other door. They crossed the summer-sweet grass to the cottage, which looked pretty much like a miniature version of the main building. Max unlocked the door and they went inside. Emily dropped her purse on the floor, and he dumped the totes alongside it.

  He wasn’t sure if he reached for her or if she turned into his arms first, but it didn’t really matter. Because she was finally there, her mouth opening under his, her fingers tangling in his hair.

  One part of him realized he hadn’t shut the cottage door and he backed her up against it until he heard it latch, and his hand swiped over it until he found the lock and turned it. And then because it struck him that the door was a remarkably convenient surface, he stayed there, leaning into her, feeling her arms, her legs, everything about her opening, welcoming him.

  He managed to hit a light switch on the wall by the door, and lifting her right off the ground, he turned and carried her across the room to the high, brass bed that the soft light had revealed. Before he even settled her in the center of the bed she was pulling at his belt, dropping little kisses down the center of his chest that burned right through the shirt he was still wearing.

  He groaned and pressed her back against the bed, tore the shirt over his head and returned to her, flicking open every single button of the butter-yellow dress until he could spread it wide, feeling like he was unwrapping the most longed-for gift.

  Lacy white cups molded her breasts. Matching lace panties were cut high on her long, lean legs. He wrapped his hand around her waist and rolled her against him.

  Her eyes met his. “I missed you,” she whispered, “manager Max.”

  He felt his lips tilt. He’d missed her, too. But a lifetime of knocks wouldn’t let the words out and all he could do was thread his fingers through her silky hair, spreading it out around her like a white-gold halo. “And every time I close my eyes, I think of you like this, This-Is-Emily-Fortune.”

  “Naked on a bed?” She smiled broadly, obviously not particularly offended by the idea.

  He drew his finger down her nose, moved it over her soft, perfectly shaped lips. “Looking white and glowing like some sort of angel.”

  Her smile died and her eyes turned soft. Hazy. She slowly lifted her hands, cupping his face. Then she leaned up and pressed her lips against his, so softly and gently that it made something in his chest ache.

  “Did you bring an entire box of the, um, you-know-whats?” she whispered.

  It took him a half a beat. Then he laughed softly. His shyly passionate angel. “Close enough.”

  She slid her arm around his back, pulling him down to her, tangling her long leg around his. “Perfect,” she whispered throatily. “You can go get one in just a minute,” she promised.

  It was a little more than a minute.

  And it was more than one that he ended up getting.

  But long after they were both finally, totally spent and Emily was sprawled against him, taking up her share of the bed as well as his, Max lay there staring into the shadows.

  It did feel perfect.

  But he knew from experience that things far less perfect hadn’t lasted.

  So how could this?

  Chapter Twelve

  They had breakfast on the small, private terrace that the cottage possessed, overlooking the River Walk while it was still so early that the only people around were an occasional jogger and someone walking their dog. After showering together—another first that not only had them running out of hot water but had Emily corralling the flood of water that escaped with the thick, terry cloth robes the B and B thoughtfully provided—they went exploring. They walked along the famous urban park themselves as it slowly became more busy with shops opening, artisans setting out their wares. Max even bought her a narrow sterling bracelet with a daisy dangling from it and fastened it right around her wrist.

  She’d held it up and jiggled the dangling white daisy, hard-pressed not to cry over the sweet feelings burgeoning inside her. “It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever received,” she’d told him.

  He’d just smiled indulgently and flicked his finger against the diamond drop hanging at her throat before sliding his fingers through hers and pulling her off to the next stand.

  They’d eaten spicy empanadas that they’d washed down with icy lemonade and since they still had a while before they had to turn in the cottage key, they’d returned to the old-fashioned brass bed where he slipped her out of the red sundress she was wearing and they made love yet again.

  It was evening by the time they drove back to Red Rock, and Emily knew that in her wildest dreams she couldn’t imagine ever feeling as happy as she did sitting beside Max. Seeing the smile on his face, the light in his eyes that seemed to be there now even when he wasn’t flying.

  But she still needed to tell him.

  And the longer she waited, the harder it was becoming.

  Just when she’d start to think she’d garnered the nerve to bring it up, he’d tell her something that made her laugh, or start talking about the flight school and be so engaged in what he was saying that she couldn’t bear to stop him, or he’d run his fingers down her spine and cause her to simply be unable to think at all.

  Which is how she found herself lying beside him that night, in his very own bed, listening to him snore softly while his arm rested heavy and warm over her hips, with the words to tell him what she’d done still locked away inside her.

  * * *

  Light was streaming through the slats of the wide blinds hanging in Max’s bedroom window when he woke the next morning. His arm was asleep from where Emily’s head was resting, but he didn’t care.

  He slowly brushed her hair away from her cheek but she didn’t stir. And even though he was strongly tempted to slide his hand beneath the T-shirt of his that she was wearing and find the warmth he knew would be waiting, he let her sleep undisturbed. He carefully worked his arm out from beneath her head before sliding off the bed, and smiled when she sighed and dragged his pillow against her cheek, rolling over right to the spot he’d just vacated, her long legs stretching out.

  He smiled. “Bed hog,” he murmured.

  She slept on.

  He quietly grabbed some clean clothes and left the bedroom, pulling the door shut so
he wouldn’t disturb her. He showered and dressed and went down to retrieve Mrs. Sheckley’s newspaper and deliver it to her. By the time he escaped from her a half hour later, returning with a dozen blueberry muffins that were heavy enough to be used as door stops, he could hear the shower running and knew that Emily was awake.

  He left the muffins in the kitchen and went to the bathroom door, knocking loud enough that she’d hear over the water. “I can make eggs or I can wash your back. Take your pick,” he said through the door. He knew which he preferred, but he was pretty content, either way. He liked the idea of sitting at his counter eating breakfast with her. Maybe afterward, they’d go out to the Double Crown, beg a few horses off of Lily for the afternoon and go horseback riding. “Emily?” He knocked again, louder. “You want some breakfast?”

  He heard a muffled sound. Then her voice, that didn’t sound like her voice at all. “Fine.”

  He frowned. Cracked the door open. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

  The shower stopped. “I’m fine,” she repeated, her voice sounding thick and choked.

  Clearly, she wasn’t fine.

  He pushed open the door, not caring that she gasped and tried to push it closed again from where she was hunched over, sitting on the edge of the tub.

  She was wrapped in one of his towels, but she was dry as a bone, her hair hanging down like a curtain, hiding her face. Obviously, she hadn’t been in the shower yet at all.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She just shook her head, not looking at him.

  Alarm was growing inside him. “Emily.” He crouched down in front of her, sliding her hair away from her face. “What is it?”

  She finally looked up at him.

  Her eyes were red. Her cheeks splotchy with tears. Her lips worked for a moment before any words emerged. “I got my period,” she finally choked out.

  Relief doused alarm. He smiled a little. “I hear that happens with women,” he said gently. “It’s not the end of the world.”

  She just stared at him, shaking her head, tears leaking out her eyes. “You don’t understand.”

  He really didn’t. He was a guy. He had a grasp of the technical matters, but whatever it was that made women sometimes seem a little…edgy…around that time, was a mystery. “Is there something I can get for you? Anything you need?”

  If anything, she began crying harder, her shoulders shaking as she buried her face in her hands. “I thought I was pregnant.”

  He blinked, then shook his head as if his hearing had gone faulty. “What?”

  She slowly lifted her head. Wiped the towel over her face, but tears continued sliding down her cheeks. “I thought I was pregnant,” she said more slowly, but no less thickly.

  He hadn’t misheard.

  He stared at her, seeing the sheer misery on her face, while his brain scrambled to make sense of the situation. “We’ve always used protection and it’s only been a week since that first time.” The words came out sounding flat.

  Accusing.

  The same way the heavy stone sinking through his gut felt.

  “So I’m pretty sure you didn’t think you were pregnant from me,” he added when she offered nothing in return except a hiccupping, muffled sob. Which meant she’d thought it was someone else who’d done that deed. “What were you planning to do? Use some advertising spin and try to convince me the baby was mine?”

  Horror washed over Emily, adding to the grief she couldn’t seem to stem, hearing Max’s voice go from disbelief to this awful icy coldness. “No, that’s not it at all. Max—”

  He turned and walked out of the bathroom.

  She instinctively went after him, tightening the towel around her when it started to slip.

  He was in the bedroom, standing in the middle of the room, seeming to be staring at the bed. “I’d actually started to let myself think you’d be sharing this bed for a while,” he muttered.

  Her heart ached. She’d hoped that, too. Even when she’d feared what his reaction would be once she’d told him, she’d held on to that hope. “I wouldn’t have lied to you like that,” she said. “If I h-had been—” She couldn’t even get out the word.

  Pregnant.

  Because she wasn’t.

  He crossed his arms over his chest, obviously unconvinced. “Why not? Courtney sure in hell did.”

  Courtney. The ex-girlfriend who’d lied to him about Anthony. She shook her head sharply. “No. No, this isn’t like that, Max.”

  But he wasn’t listening. “Who was he? Thought you’d said it’d been a long time since you’d had sex,” he reminded. “Was that just something you figured I wanted to hear? It wasn’t necessary.” His voice hardened even more. “I would have still scr—”

  “There wasn’t anyone,” she cried out. “I was artificially inseminated.” She wanted to step closer to him, but everything about him—from his crossed arms to his expression that looked cast in granite—prevented her.

  She took a deep breath, trying to gather some composure and failing miserably. “The same day we went to Etienne’s—” her voice hitched again “—I’d had an appointment with the doctor that morning.”

  His brows pulled together, his eyes narrowing. “Artificially inseminated,” he repeated. “With whose semen?”

  She shook her head wildly. “It doesn’t matter. An anonymous donor. From a cryobank in California.”

  “Should’ve just lied about being on the pill when I asked you,” he said flatly. “I’d have believed you and if the thing had took, I’d have never known the difference.”

  “I was going to tell you.” But she knew how little her words meant.

  Way too little.

  Way too late.

  Her hands were bunched over her chest, holding the towel up, holding her heart in. “Max, you know me. You have to know I wouldn’t have lied and told you a baby was yours if it wasn’t.”

  “And how would I know that, Emily?” He swore succinctly. “You sure in hell kept a pretty big damn secret, didn’t you?”

  Burning tears escaped her eyes all over again.

  This time not because there was no baby growing inside her after all. Not because yet another one of her steps to become a mother had proven futile.

  But because she knew she had no defense. He was right.

  And now he was staring at her as if he hated her.

  “The procedure was already planned before we got involved,” she said thickly, still wanting him to understand, even though he was standing there, shaking his head, looking as if he didn’t want to hear another word. “Nearly all I’ve done since I survived that tornado was try to bring a child into my life. It’s all I’ve wanted.” She sucked in a breath, still feeling as though something had been ripped from her arms. “It had nothing to do with you.”

  “It did the second you slept with me,” he returned, his voice flat. “You should have told me.”

  “And you would have walked away.” She waved her hand. “Just like you’re going to walk away now,” she finished hoarsely. “Aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question but she still couldn’t help praying that he’d deny it.

  He didn’t. “I don’t believe any of this,” he finally muttered.

  She sank down onto the foot of the bed, too devastated to stand.

  Not only had she lost the baby that had turned out to be only a wish in her mind, anyway, she’d lost Max.

  All through her own selfish, cowardly, actions.

  “I had it all planned out,” she said dully. “I investigated adoption agencies, but the waiting lists are endless so I hired an attorney who handles private adoptions. Only none of the potential birth mothers who initially responded to us were interested in placing their baby with a single woman. So then I turned to artificial insemination. My sisters had conceived pretty easily, so why shouldn’t I?”

  She stared at her hands, but all she saw was Max’s eyes. Shocked. Cold. “Except after having that procedure done—twice—” her voice went hoarse a
gain “—I’m no closer to becoming a mother than I was when you held my hand and told me my future was waiting.” She dashed the tears off her cheeks yet again, wondered if they’d ever stop.

  But then what did it matter?

  Tears. No tears. Nothing could erase the past few weeks. There was no rewind button, no do-over.

  She wasn’t pregnant.

  And whatever chance she’d had with Max was just as big an illusion.

  She heard him mutter another oath. And then suddenly he moved, yanking open a drawer and slamming it shut again.

  “Here.” He shoved a white, folded handkerchief into her hand that looked as if it had never once been used.

  She took the soft cloth and pressed it beneath her eyes. It smelled like him.

  “So you wanted to keep up with your sisters.” His voice was hard. “Have a baby, too, just like them.”

  Fresh pain spread through her chest. “No. It was never about keeping up with them.” She looked up at him. “Haven’t you ever longed for something so badly that you would do just about anything to make it happen?”

  He just looked at her.

  Of course he had.

  “I never expected you,” she whispered. “To fall in love with you.” There. She’d said it, knowing the truth of her words just as well as she knew they didn’t matter. Her heart was well and truly out there, swinging in the breeze, and there was no hope that his would join hers there. “I know it’s crazy and too soon. And I know I should have told you what I’d done. What my plans were. I just…I just didn’t know how.”

  He exhaled roughly. Shoved his hands through his hair. “You want a baby that badly,” he finally said. A little less flat. A little more gruff.

  “Yes. I do.” It was too late to matter now, but she wasn’t going to hold back how deep that desire went. “More than anything.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t.”

  She’d known, hadn’t she?

  He’d said children weren’t in the cards for him and instead of taking heed, she’d just plowed on, believing that if he could resolve his feelings about Anthony, it would be all right.