by Webb, Peggy
“Don’t stop now. You have my undivided attention.” His voice was soft, seductive, and exceedingly intimate.
Maggie’s breath caught in her throat and her ruby popped to the floor. What had happened to fun and frolic? They were playing a new game now, and only Adam knew all the rules. His eyes consumed her, and she felt like a golden butterfly trapped in a bright blue flame.
Swiftly she bent down to retrieve her ruby, her skirts fanning out around her on the polished wooden floor. Adam was quicker. He knelt down, scooped up the imitation jewel, and held it just out of her reach. “Is this what you’re looking for?”
He was kneeling so close beside her that she could feel the scratch of his wool-clad thigh against her thinly clad legs.
“Yes.” She reached up to take the ruby, and he caught her arm with his free hand.
The heat of his touch on her bare arm spread through her body and licked little flames along her nerve endings. For a small eternity their eyes caught and held, and then he turned his gaze to the ruby.
“It’s still warm from your skin.”
She shivered in spite of the flame that was now burning boldly through her body. Her legs felt loose and rubbery. If she could get them to move, she’d grab her ruby and run.
Adam turned the ruby in his hand. “It’s fascinating. When I turn it this way, the light catches one side and I think I’ve seen all its sparkle. But when I turn it this way, an entirely new facet is revealed. I wonder if I could ever discover all there is to know about this jewel?”
The blue fire of his eyes devoured her once more, and she knew Adam wasn’t talking about rubles.
“It’s not real.” Her voice was barely a whisper in the huge, empty room.
“Isn’t it?” Adam asked softly. “From where I sit, it is.” His eyes caught her up and carried her into a new dimension. “I’m bewitched.”
She looked at the lock of hair hanging boyishly across his forehead, at the soft down of the skin across his handsome cheekbones, and the dark beard shadow on his square jaw. He was mistaken. She was the one bewitched. And if she didn’t move her legs soon, she would be so completely under Adam Trent’s spell that there would be no escape.
“I need to go. Your friends will soon be back.”
Her words didn’t have the impact she’d thought they would. She half expected him to become all spit and polish again.
He bent so close that his breath stirred the soft tendrils of hair around her cheeks. “Then, Maggie, my tigress,”—his words caressed her name and possessively emphasized her new title—”I suggest you hurry. I’m not partial to sharing.”
He placed the fake ruby into her trembling hand and closed her numb fingers over the jewel. Bending his head, he kissed her closed fist, a warm, lingering kiss that melted Maggie all the way down to her gold-polished toes.
Together they stood up. His hands grasped her bare shoulders, the fingers pressing warmly into her flesh. Her lips parted, and she waited for the kiss she knew would come, the kiss she dreaded and the kiss she desired.
But Adam released her and stood with his gaze burning over her face.
Maggie spun around and hurried from the room. Behind her, she could hear the sounds of the bankers reentering the room. She whirled past the open-mouthed panda-bear doorkeeper and rushed into the ladies’ room.
She leaned, panting, against the tile wall, marveling that she was still in one piece. With shaking hands, she changed her clothes and walked out into the cold December
evening.
All the way home she wondered just who had won this latest encounter, and why.
o0o
In a fit of indignation she flung her belly-dancing costume into a corner of the closet, then marched to her kitchen to make a huge popper of corn. She carried the overflowing bowl of popcorn to her den and shared the fluffy white grains with her three dogs.
The impatient thumps of Frisky’s tail told her that she was getting more than her share, but Maggie didn’t care. She stuffed the delicious morsels into her mouth and brooded. It would serve Adam Trent right if she got so fat she couldn’t ever fit into that wretched belly dancing costume again.
Maggie was in a general snit. For two days she stomped and fumed around her house in such uncharacteristic ill humor that even her dogs gave her a wide berth. She kept telling herself that Adam Trent had nothing to do with her mood, but at odd moments she would find herself thinking about his incredible eyes and the way his hair fell across his forehead.
She got so mad at him for intruding on her thoughts that she fervently hoped he had to go to another banker’s meeting and that he froze his tail off en route.
o0o
The capricious sun that had hidden its face from the South for days beamed down with a vengeance on Tuesday, melting all the ice and restoring activity to the town.
After an unexpected holiday, Maggie’s second graders were buoyed up with energy and enthusiasm. She breathed a sigh of relief when they went off to the library and gave her a much needed break. Even the stiff cushions of the sofa in the teachers’ lounge felt good as she collapsed on them.
“If the Lord will just let me live till Christmas vacation next week, I’ll probably give up cussing.” Martha Jo sank onto the cushion beside Maggie and kicked off her shoes.
Maggie grunted in assent. “That’ll be the day.”
“I take it you haven’t seen today’s paper.” Martha Jo reached into the box on the coffee table in front of them and grabbed a chocolate doughnut.
“I haven’t had time. What does today’s paper have to do with Christmas vacation? The school board hasn’t changed the dates, has it?”
Martha Jo rose and crossed the lounge to retrieve the newspaper that was lying on top of the copy machine. Flipping it open to page two, she began to read: “Prominent Tupelo Citizen Blasts FOA. Adam Trent, president of Mutual Bank, leveled some high-powered criticism against the Friends of the Animals. “
Maggie was on her feet, breathing fire, her exhaustion forgotten. “Let me see that.” She grabbed the newspaper and scanned the article rapidly.” Calling the group uninformed... Uninformed indeed! The barbarian! ...and stating that the goal they hope to achieve is the same as that of honorable sportsmen... Ha! There’s no honor among assassins. ...he suggested a summit meeting between himself and the group’s volatile leader, Maggie Merriweather. I’ll just bet he did.
“I’ll show him volatile! Citing their childish tactics as an example... Wait till I get my hands on him!” Maggie flung the paper down and stomped around the small teachers’ lounge.
Martha Jo watched her with amused admiration. “That’s why I surmised that you had not seen the paper. The magnificent Mr. Trent dealt us quite a blow, didn’t he?”
“It’s not even a glancing one. I don’t care how many interviews the prominent Mr. Trent gives, he will not stop us.” Maggie’s feet, in black leather boots, tapped the floor angrily, and her sapphire blue wool skirt swished about her legs as she marched up and down, plotting.
Suddenly she grinned and plopped down on the sofa. The grin became a satisfied chuckle.
“It must be good. What diabolical plan have you hatched against the magnificent enemy?” Martha Jo licked the chocolate icing off her fingers and reached for another doughnut. “You really should try these, Maggie. Mrs. Samuelson made them for us.” She held one up to her friend.
Maggie took the doughnut and absently laid it on top of her purse. “If Adam Trent is impressed with our childish tactics now, just wait till I finish with him this afternoon. He’ll have to call a special press conference just to spread the word.”
“If you’re not going to eat that doughnut, give it back to me.” Martha Jo bit off a generous mouthful. “If I didn’t have a scout meeting this afternoon, I’d go with you.” She leaned back against the sofa. “What a magnificent hunk.”
‘The doughnut?” Maggie grinned at her.
“No, you goose. The man.” Martha Jo sighed dramatically. “Or
haven’t you noticed?” She narrowed her eyes and looked closely at Maggie.
Maggie turned from the close scrutiny and began gathering up her class’s papers. Land, though, hadn’t she noticed! She’d worked herself up into a sweat trying to imagine what Adam Trent’s bare chest looked like. Not to mention his gorgeous legs.
“The bell’s going to ring.” She rattled her papers and wished the bell would rescue her. She wasn’t ready to admit to her friend that not only had she noticed what a magnificent hunk the enemy was, but that she had also consorted with him shamelessly.
“You have noticed! I want to hear every juicy detail.”
“The bell’s ringing.” Maggie snatched up her papers and flew out the door of the lounge.
Martha Jo’s voice echoed down the hall after her. “We’ll discuss this later.”
o0o
Maggie helped her twenty-two chattering second-graders bundle into warm coats and hats and answered dozens of questions about the next week’s Christmas party. When the dismissal bell finally rang, she waved them all out the door.
She jumped into her pickup truck and hurried home on the bypass. Intent on her errand, she gave her pets a hasty greeting and rushed inside for her trumpet. Slinging the case onto the seat next to her, she roared back down her driveway and headed into Tupelo, straight toward Mutual Bank.
Christmas shoppers crowded the city streets, and Maggie had to circle the block three times before she could find a parking space in front of the downtown bank. Working quickly, she unsnapped her trumpet case and took out her silver horn. “So, you like a challenge, do you, Adam Trent?” she muttered as she worked. “Well, today you’re going to get more than you bargained for.”
Letting her trumpet dangle from her hand, she entered the bank through the revolving glass doors and walked through the crowd, scouting the place. She was looking for the perfect spot, a central space for the grandstand play she had in mind. Adam had asked for a summit meeting. He was going to get it.
A row of tellers’ windows lined one side of Mutual Bank, and a row of polished desks, occupied by discreet-looking women, lined the opposite side. Smack in the middle of all the polished brass and shining glass and judicious efficiency stood an oak table just waiting for Maggie and her trumpet.
Grinning wickedly, she swung herself atop the table with hardly any trouble at all. Only a few people noticed her ascent, and they turned their heads quickly aside. Maggie stood up on the tabletop, planted her feet firmly apart, and lifted the trumpet to her lips.
The brazen notes blasted forth in the staid old bank. Da, da, da, dum, de, dah. “Charge!” Maggie yelled.
One bank teller dropped a roll of quarters, and another frantically pressed her foot on the alarm button. An excited crowd gathered around Maggie as quarters clanked across the polished floor and alarm bells clanged throughout the bank.
A door banged open on the mezzanine, and Adam Trent barreled out of the president’s office. Leaning over the balcony, he viewed the mass confusion in his usually sedate bank. He quickly spotted the source of the trouble, towering atop his check-writing table like a beautiful avenging goddess.
“Maggie!” he yelled. “Get down from there.”
Maggie smiled with pleasure. She had enticed the lion from his lair. Lifting the trumpet to her lips, again she played the cavalry charge. The milling crowd looked up at the enraged man on the balcony and back at the gleeful woman on the table. Excitement mounted as the audience began to speculate about the unusual and chaotic situation.
“Maggie! Stop that.”
“You wanted a summit conference, Adam. I’ve just called the meeting to order.”
“Order? Get off that table.”
“Why? The whole world already knows about my childish tactics. It was right there in the newspaper, in black and white.”
“Maggie,” he said, warning her. The bank alarm still sounded, and people in the chattering crowd were taking bets on who would win the argument. Piped in Christmas music played on beneath all the hubbub.
“Will somebody turn off that alarm?” Adam yelled in the direction of his office.
Abruptly, the clanging stopped. With long, angry strides Adam crossed the mezzanine to the executive elevator. He was whisked downstairs, where he emerged like a stalking beast going in for the kill. The crowd parted before him.
Maggie watched him coming. The sheer physical impact of him—the powerfully built body, the magnificent eyes, the firm, square jaw—hit her in the stomach, and she almost began to regret what she was doing to him.
It was too late to back out now, though. She was already committed to her maverick ways of confronting him.
With grudging admiration Maggie observed him as Adam assumed a smooth, professional manner the minute he met the public. He was in perfect control as he turned to greet them, to shake their hands, to assure them that he would take care of the matter at hand. His progress toward her was impeded by excited customers, but not once did he deviate from his target.
He was so close now that Maggie could see the tiny flecks of blue in his tweed jacket. She took a deep breath and steadied her horn against her lips once more. It was time to attack. With her lips pressed tightly against the mouthpiece, she played “Taps.”
Adam’s face was grim as he looked up at her. “We have piped in music here, Maggie. You’ll have to take your live show somewhere else.”
“It’s not a show; it’s a statement. Friends of the Animals intend to bury hunters.”
Adam heaved a resigned sigh. “Somehow I’d rather you were marching on my lawn with signs.”
“That’s not my style.”
“How well I know!”
Adam let his eyes travel slowly over the woman standing proudly on top of his oak table. He took in the tousled mane of honey-colored hair, the stunning cat’s eyes, the full, sensuous lips, and the alluring curves of her body under the soft angora sweater and swirling wool skirt. A glimpse of slender leg showed between the bottom of her skirt and the top of her black leather boots. She certainly did add spice to his antiseptic bank.
A small grin played around the corners of his mouth. “I don’t suppose I could interest you in coming down quietly like a good little girl.”
The smile was not lost on Maggie. She’d have to be careful or Adam Trent’s charm would make her forget her purpose. “The volatile’ leader of FOA?” She lifted her eyebrows. “Never. You’ve had your say; now I’ll have mine.”
“Maggie, about that newspaper story—”
“Yes. About that newspaper story, Adam Trent. Ordinary schoolteachers aren’t sought out for interviews as often as prominent bankers, but, as you can see, we have our little ways of making our viewpoints known.”
“Do you have to stand up there?” His grin grew wider. “Not that I’m complaining. The view from down here is fascinating. Not to mention educational.”
Maggie was nonplussed for a moment. She glanced quickly down at her skirt to assure herself that it was long enough to cover the subject without being too educational. After all, she had intended to pulverize Adam Trent, not entertain him.
“Surely a man of your prominence in the community has better things to do than gawk at me. Don’t you have a helpless animal or two that you could be killing?”
With a swiftness that took her breath away, Adam reached up and grabbed her around the waist. He swung her down with ease and casually flung her across his shoulder. Her head and arms dangled helplessly down his back, and her legs were imprisoned across his chest. He sauntered back across the main floor of the bank, holding her like a sack of potatoes.
And, to her mortification, he even stopped to talk to his customers on the way.
“Did Alfred take care of that Christmas loan you wanted, Mrs. Richmond?”
“He certainly did, Mr. Trent. My, my! This has been an interesting day.” Mrs. Richmond adjusted her wool scarf and peered through her bifocals at Maggie. “Who is she, Mr. Trent? Somebody you hired to put on a
show?”
Adam laughed. “She did liven things up a bit, didn’t she, Mrs. Richmond?”
Behind his back, Maggie protested by smacking his backside with her horn.
“Ouch!”
Mrs. Richmond craned her neck so she could look up at her handsome banker. “What was that, Mr. Trent?”
“I said, ‘Have a happy holiday,’ Mrs. Richmond.”
“Liar,” Maggie muttered.
Adam gave her a tweak on the bottom. “Behave, Maggie.” They continued their progress toward the elevator.
“Good thing Mrs. Richmond didn’t see that. Monster.” She attempted to put fire in her voice and failed miserably. Somewhere between Taps and Mrs. Richmond, she had gone from noble activist to absolute putty. It must have been about the same time her stomach impacted with Adam’s broad shoulder. She contemplated his muscled thighs as she dangled upside down across his back. Why did Adam Trent have to be so butterflies-in-the-stomach magnificent?
The elevator door slid open. Adam stepped inside with his shapely burden and pressed the button for the executive floor.
“Put me down,” Maggie commanded.
Adam’s right arm tightened around her legs, and his left hand reached up to pat her on the bottom.
“You’re the one who came for a summit conference, Maggie. Don’t tell me you’re ready to leave yet.”
Maggie swallowed the dryness in her mouth. She admitted it—she was ready to run like a scared rabbit. Adam Trent had set her on fire, but not for her cause.
“Of course not,” she lied bravely. “I’m ready for you to put me down so that I can see your face when you explain those absurd accusations you made to that newspaper reporter.”
“Maggie, that didn’t happen the way you think.”
“How do you know what I think?” She tried to squirm off his shoulder. “Put me down!”
“So you can blast that horn in my face?” He put both hands on her legs to hold her still. She thought she might faint. Maggie Merriweather, who rarely blushed and never fainted, actually considered going into a Victorian swoon in Adam Trent’s arms.