“What a great table,” she murmured, glancing at the view of the city from the wide plateglass window.
“It’s all about connections,” he said with a shrug.
“Like your connections were handy yesterday afternoon?” she asked, referring to the private investigators who’d paraded through her gallery.
His grin widened. He tried to hide it by lifting her hand to his lips and pressing a kiss on her knuckles, but Sophia caught it despite the lusty surge swirling through her tummy.
“I thought my connections yesterday were put to pretty good use,” he pointed out, arching one brow as he nibbled at her fingertips.
“I think you wasted those men’s time, since I can’t hire any of them,” she told him.
“I wasn’t talking about the investigators.”
“You’re incorrigible,” she said, laughing despite herself. Not sure how to handle this weird combination of desire and amusement, she pulled her fingers from his to play with her fork.
She’d agreed to this date in a fog of lust and she was pretty sure, since he’d insisted they have it this evening, that Max knew that. Despite her sexy fantasies, she hadn’t been sure the evening would be much more than stilted small talk, a good dinner and maybe another one of those sexy kisses when he walked her to her door.
But now? Now she was pretty sure her lusty hit-and-run was starting to turn into something more. Something a little deeper, a little scarier. Infatuation, she told herself. Nothing to back away from. She could like the guy, admire him for more than his tight butt and gorgeous eyes and still want to jump his bones, right?
Sophia’s breath shuddered a little as she contemplated just how great that jumping was going to feel. From the admiring look in his eyes, the jumping was going to feel incredible for both of them.
“YOU LOOK LIKE YOU’RE contemplating the fate of nations,” Max teased, wondering what had put that intense look on Sophia’s face.
Her eyes met his. The heated curiosity in those blue depths damn near melted his shorts. It was a look that said maybe. His body responded to maybe with definite hardening. His shoulders straightened. His abs flattened. His dick lengthened.
Slow down, he reminded himself. First-date rules meant his dick wouldn’t be getting any play tonight.
He wondered how soon they could have a second date.
“It’s not the fate of nations I’m considering,” she finally responded with a smile that put his resolve to the test. “Much littler fates, actually.”
Well, his fate wasn’t little, that was for damned sure. Resisting the urge to tell—or offer to show—her, he smiled instead and cast his brain around for some way to cool things down.
“So your family,” he said, grasping for a safe topic. “They aren’t involved with your gallery?”
Well, it wasn’t an ice bath, but there was definitely a little chill at the table now. Her eyes no longer promising the key to sexual nirvana, Sophia leaned back a ways.
“My family isn’t crazy about the gallery,” she admitted in a tone that was too casual to hide the hurt underneath.
“They don’t approve?”
She hesitated, then shrugged. “Let’s just say they felt keeping a distance would keep the peace.”
“Because you like to run your business your own way?”
“Oh, wouldn’t that be sweet,” she said, her words low and reverential, as if she were offering up a prayer.
What did she mean by that? And why did she look so sad?
Before he could ask, their waiter arrived with a basket of bread, a tray of dipping oils and his order pad.
Max leaned forward to resume his interrogation… No, the discussion.
“I love this bread. You can always tell a good restaurant by the quality of their bread, don’t you think?” she said before he could voice his question. “Had you discovered it before or was it through your cousin that you found it?”
Bread? Was that the best she could do? Max narrowed his eyes, noting her arched brow and closed look. Change of subject it was, then.
“One of the guys in the paratrooper squad grew up in the area. On his recommendation, I tried it last year when I was home on leave. My cousin getting a job here was just coincidence. One that worked pretty well,” Max admitted, “since it got us reservations.”
Her smile warmed him. A reward for following topic directions? She dipped a small piece of bread into the basil oil and made a seductive little humming noise when she tasted it. Max almost groaned. The woman was pure sensuality. He couldn’t wait to hear the sound she made when he kissed her. Would she moan? Sigh? Give one of those sexy little growls?
To distract himself, he broke off a piece of bread and asked, “So what’d you think of the investigators? Which one will you hire?”
“I told you already, none of them. I appreciate your trying to help, but I’ll take care of the gallery myself. Like you said, the police are investigating.”
Irritation simmered in his gut. Was she so stubborn she wouldn’t hire a professional? What the hell kind of businesswoman did that? Rico had been right when he’d said she needed looking after.
Then he looked past the proud tilt of her chin and saw the worry in her eyes. Maybe she couldn’t afford a P.I., which made him a jerk to keep pushing the subject. He wanted to help her, not make her feel bad.
Thankfully the waiter chose that moment to deliver their meals. Max waited until the plates had been settled and she’d had her first bite.
“If there’s anything I can do to help…”
“Thanks. But why don’t we talk about something besides my business issues,” she suggested with a tight smile.
Max considered. He didn’t mind pushing if he thought it’d get him what he wanted. But his goal wasn’t to piss Sophia off, or to simply get answers. It was to find out who was behind her vandalism problems. He could do that and stay on her good side.
Starting first thing in the morning, he’d simply become her stand-in P.I. He’d hang out, keep an eye on things. He’d ask questions and figure out who was causing problems. And Sophia wouldn’t have a clue. Which meant she wouldn’t get pissed.
Although the flying sparks might have been fun. He definitely liked the way she stated her mind. It was damned sexy to have someone strong enough to tell him how she liked it. He wondered if she carried that habit into the bedroom.
And how long it’d take him to find out.
“Sure,” Max said agreeably. “So who’s von Schilling?”
Sophia fumbled her fork. He winced, glad that the spaghetti didn’t slide off the tines and land in her lap.
“What do you know about von Schilling?” she accused, her eyes shimmering with suspicion.
“It depends,” he said, slicing one of the huge meatballs into quarters and forking up a bite. “If it’s Hans von Schilling the photographer, which would make sense given your gallery, then I know a bit. He rose to fame in the sixties with his show chronicling the seedy side of flower power. He ostensibly retired fifteen years ago, becoming a recluse in the past decade.”
The candlelight glistened off her lower lip in a very appealing way as her mouth hung open.
“My parents were contemporaries of his,” Max explained. Most boys got their first eyeful of naked women sneaking a peek at their dad’s Playboy stash. At nine, Max had gotten his at one of von Schilling’s shows. The man had a way with the naked lady pictures, Max remembered fondly. “My father more than my mother, I think.”
She set her fork down. Probably a good idea since her pasta was looking pretty precarious.
“Nice summary,” she acknowledged. “But I meant why would you ask me, specifically, about von Schilling?”
“Because his rep called while I was waiting in your office.”
Blue eyes huge with shock, her mouth worked. It took her a few tries to find the words, though. “You answered my phone?”
Forking up another meatball, Max shook his head. “Of course not. I listened to the mes
sage he left on your machine.”
She tapped those sexy fingers on the table, the move shaking her knife against its neighboring spoon in a gentle medley of irritation. Her eyes narrowed in irritation. Why? He hadn’t poked through her drawers. He hadn’t answered the phone, even though he had a personal history with the caller. And hadn’t he just backed down instead of pushing her to hire someone to patrol her building?
None of that came easy for him. But he was a soldier who knew how to assess a situation. And a man wasn’t raised by Tabby St. James without learning a thing or two about biding his time and picking his battles when it came to women. So he ate his spaghetti and waited.
He hadn’t eaten more than a mouthful before Sophia had enough of the finger-tapping. She pressed those sexy fingers flat on the cloth and leaned toward him.
He prepared himself for the tirade.
“How would you summarize von Schilling’s work?” she asked in the same tone one of his squad mates would use asking how he’d assess a ticking bomb.
Even though he had no clue what was going on, Max set his fork down to give her question the attention it deserved.
“Von Schilling. Brilliant composition, a mastery of mood, quirky humor beneath the edgy realism.”
She nodded. The huge smile that curved her mouth was so beautiful, he felt as if he’d been hit upside the head. Max had to lean back in his chair to catch his breath. Damn, she was gorgeous.
“He’s my hero,” she said enthusiastically. “I’ve studied his work. He sees the soul through the lens of his camera. His photo essay of the European cities was so evocative, it drove me to study in Paris for a year. That’s how I started specializing in candid pictures of faces. Not portraits. Portraits are usually masks. Candids give peeks into the soul.”
Her eyes shone with a passion that made him wish he could see her visions. She was amazing. There was passion, yes. And that was a total turn-on. But it was the compassion there that really got to him.
“Why aren’t you showing your photos?” he asked. He wasn’t an art buff, and he’d only seen a couple of snapshots from her camera view window, but they’d looked good to him.
The question shut her down, though. As if watching someone pull the shades on a sunny day, he could see her enthusiasm dim.
“No. My work isn’t show-worthy,” she dismissed. “Nothing even close to von Schilling’s caliber.”
“I’ll introduce you,” Max offered without a clue how he’d pull it off. The guy lived in a fortress in Santa Cruz, and for all Max knew, he hadn’t welcomed visitors in years. Would he even remember an old acquaintance’s gawking kid? Didn’t matter. Max loved the way her eyes had lit up, and he was going to make it happen for her.
“Thanks, but I don’t need an introduction,” Sophia replied, chopping his white knight impulse off at the knees. “His rep has called the gallery a few times over the past month. From the sound of it, he’s willing to meet anytime.”
“You don’t sound enthusiastic.”
“I’m not. I turned down the meeting.” As if talking about it ruined her appetite, she wrinkled her nose and set her fork and knife across the plate.
“Why?” Since his plate was all but licked clean, Max laid down his utensils, too, folded his arms along the edge of the table and leaned forward. “You said he’s your hero. From the sound of that message, he obviously wants to work with you. What’s the problem?”
Her sigh did lovely things to the glittery fabric of her dress. Max’s own sigh was pure appreciation as he watched the candlelight.
“While he’s delved into a variety of subjects, he specializes in nudes. Women.”
Oh, yeah, he nodded fondly. He’d been totally thrilled to discover just that fact. “I remember.”
Sophia gave a little roll of her eyes, shaking her head in typical female pity. But she smiled anyway.
“Since taking over the gallery, I’ve put all my energies into returning the gallery to its pre-erotic days. A show featuring naked woman in compromising positions would be a step in the wrong direction.”
Max shifted to attention. “How long had the gallery focused on erotica?”
“Four years.”
“Was that a lucrative focus?”
“Haven’t you heard? Sex sells.” She leaned closer. Her dress was fitted closely, so it didn’t gape, more the pity. It did, however, allow the candle to cast a tempting shadow, one he wanted to trace along the silky curve of her breasts. She gave a vampy flutter of her lashes. “Four-foot marble penises, fornicating copper couples, blown glass cli…” She trailed off with a little wince, then shrugged. “Let’s just say there’s definitely a market.”
He grinned. A woman who’d spent four or so years in a gallery that sold naughty bits blushed when discussing them. She was so sweet.
“And you recently shifted focus?” he clarified. “You let all those artists go?”
“I recently returned focus to the gallery’s original, historic objective. To feature the best of California photographs and photographers,” she explained. “And we don’t hire the artists. We show their work on commission. And yes, I’ve released all of the pieces as their contracts expired.”
Just as he’d thought. She was just too close to see the obvious. You’d think the cops would’ve caught on, though.
“Did you ever think that’s where your vandalism might be coming from?” He shifted, resting his arm along the back of his chair, waiting for her praise and gratitude.
Her hair slid like a heavy black silk curtain, covering one sexy shoulder as she tilted her head to the side. Her smile was a little stiffer now. Embarrassed that he’d figured it out so easily? Reassuring her would probably only add to her discomfort, so he waited.
“Actually, I did think of that,” she said. Max frowned. Were they on the same page, then? “Gina and I checked into the artists, and all seem to be doing really well. Nobody was hurt by the decision, nobody has any reason to resent the change.”
“You’re kidding? Nobody’s pissed? No one’s holding a grudge?”
A shadow flickered in her eyes for a brief second, then she blinked and it was gone.
“I’m sure whoever is behind the vandalism isn’t an artist,” she assured him.
Max frowned. He thought she was wrong. But he knew he couldn’t convince her without getting her pissed off. And pissing Sophia off would definitely ruin his plans for the rest of the evening.
Max struggled with his need to push, to grab hold of her business situation and fix it for her. He could clearly see the challenge in her eyes. If he pushed, she’d push right back. And not in a sexy, pleasurable way.
His two most vital urges battled. The need to fix a problem versus the need to romance a beautiful woman.
“Dessert?”
Max gave the waiter a grateful smile. Good timing. He had no doubt he’d be able to fix Sophia’s business issues. But tonight wasn’t about that. Tonight was about the two of them.
The two of them, and dessert.
That’s what mattered.
He’d fix all her problems tomorrow.
7
“THANKS FOR THE WONDERFUL evening,” Sophia told Max as calmly as she could when he opened the passenger door and held out his hand to help her from the sleek black sports car. She was glad for the help, since her knees felt like jelly.
How did women stand this sexual tension stuff? It was making her a nervous wreck.
“I’m glad you enjoyed dinner,” he said as he walked her the half-dozen steps from where he’d parked to the polished oak railing of the staircase leading up to her apartment.
They both glanced up at the well-lit landing, the lush dieffenbachia in a wicker basket glinting softly in the lamplight.
“I’d like to see you again,” he said, his hand on her arm preventing her from heading up the stairs.
Was this it? Their date was over? But…she had condoms. They couldn’t be done yet.
Sophia stared up into his eyes, the amuse
d charm matching his tone of voice. She flushed, her breath catching in her throat at the look in those dark depths.
Definitely desire. Appreciation, respect, amusement. Nice as those were, it was the desire she focused on.
He made her want. Want pleasure, want satisfaction, want him. Want it all. She could hear Gina’s voice, urging her to grab on for the ride. But for all her yearnings to feel those things with Max, she wasn’t sure how to handle this. How to ask him.
A part of her wanted to cry because he’d slowed things down enough that her brain could overrule her hormones. Another part of her, the part that had ruled her life for twenty-five years, was grateful. She needed to be careful. To be cautious. To not humiliate herself.
And given her lack of sexual experience, there was a distinct possibility that humiliation could go hand in hand with the naked tangling she’d been imagining.
Just as well to skip it.
“Actually,” she said quietly, “I’m going to be really busy for the next week or so. The gallery has a show this weekend and that and the ensuing sales and work will take up most of my time.”
“I’d imagine a show takes a great deal of time and energy.” He shifted his gaze from her to glance toward the front of the gallery and he nodded agreeably. “But maybe you’ll have a spare hour here or there for drinks or lunch?”
The temptation was overwhelming. The same as when her father had promised her a week in Santa Cruz, sans overprotective brothers, if she graduated magna cum laude. Or when Joseph had offered to let her run the gallery as soon as she received her master’s in fine art. But neither man had followed through on their promise. Oh, her father had tried, but Diego had followed her to Santa Cruz anyway. And Joseph? He’d never kept promises.
So she’d be crazy to give in to the temptation to see their relationship as…well, a potential relationship and not just an option for hot and wild sex. Wouldn’t she?
He was asking her to continue seeing him. To date. To build a relationship. With a man who, yes, turned her on like crazy, but also challenged what mattered most. Her control. Over herself, over her life.
Uniformly Hot! Volume 1 from Harlequin: Letters from HomeBreaking the RulesComing Up for Air Page 23