Uniformly Hot! Volume 1 from Harlequin: Letters from HomeBreaking the RulesComing Up for Air

by Rhonda Nelson

  “Your uncle has already made arrangements. There’s no point arguing about it,” she said quietly. Then, as if she was afraid of what he’d say next, she made a show of looking at her watch. “I have to run, Maximilian. I have a meeting with my, um, with a friend… An employee. With, well, a lunch thing. We’ll discuss this later, shall we?”

  And with that confusing announcement, that was that. Stunned, Max just stood there as she swept from the room.

  He strode into the parlor and dropped onto the couch. Everything he was so pissed about—the manipulations, the arrogant decisions for his own good, the lack of respect toward his choices—he’d been doing the exact same thing to Sophia. Just like everyone else in her life had. And yet, she’d found a way around it.

  Maybe once he’d made it up to her, she’d help him figure out how to fix this mess.

  TWO DAYS LATER, MAX STRODE through the doors of Esprit and stopped, stunned.

  “Holy shit,” he muttered.

  It was incredible. Instead of a huge, empty—albeit elegantly empty—expanse of polished wood flooring, white walls and a few framed photographs lined up like soldiers in formation, the room was filled. Filled with color, with motion, with imagery. Framed photos still lined the walls, but at varying heights that drew the eye. Rather than a bare floor, there were easels strewn in what looked like a strategic pattern to move people through the room toward the back. Candles were lit in wall sconces he’d never noticed before, and sweet-scented flowers burst from round vases in wooden pillars. The red velvet settees were still there, but next to each was a small table. Probably to set drinks or food on, he imagined.

  “What do ya think?”

  He’d been so focused on the room he hadn’t noticed Gina come in. Max turned. He stared. He blinked a couple of times, then shook his head. Even if he had noticed, he wouldn’t have realized it was her until he’d heard her voice.

  “I think it’s very different,” he said, his brain trying to take in what his eyes were seeing. Gina was…normal. Smooth black—and only black—hair, tucked neatly back in a lacy headband. Minimal makeup, wire-rimmed glasses and a simple black dress without a rip, tear or pin anywhere. Sure, she still had metal glinting off her face and her shoes looked like something Frankenstein might wear. But all in all, she looked normal.

  He didn’t understand.

  “Why’s everything so…”

  “Uptight?” Gina offered when he hesitated.

  Max grinned, not wanting to put his foot any further in hot water by agreeing.

  The smile was enough for Gina, though. She went into her gameshow hostess routine, waving her arms and using a snooty tone. “The Ode to Love show will not only be featured on the evening news, there will be reporters of all sorts, reviewers and a guest list that reads like the who’s who of Northern California. Rumor has it even the governor has been invited.”

  “Rumor?”

  “Yep, a rumor started by me when I slipped his invite into that big blue mailbox up the street.”

  “Sophia really pulled out all the stops.”

  Gina looked around and nodded. “She said this is her last chance. It’s the show she’s always wanted to give, but was saving for the right artist.”

  “I guess right’s subjective when you’re on the edge of a cliff.”

  Gina wrinkled her nose. “Actually, this exhibit is amazing. If you get past the nipples, it’s some of the best photography I’ve ever seen.”

  Max wanted to ask how much she’d actually seen to make that judgment, but he didn’t want to have to deal with two pissed-off women tonight. Sophia herself was going to be difficult enough.

  Then he looked at the pictures. Actually looked past the pomp and décor.

  “Damn,” he breathed. Gina was right. They were stunning. The play of light against shadow. The pictures all told a story, some subtle, some harsh. One photo in particular caught his attention. An elderly woman holding a toddler. The contrast of the woman’s skin, wrinkled and spotted, against the pure unblemished sweetness of the little girl’s was moving. But what really told the story were the eyes. The same shape, and even though the photo was black-and-white, Max was sure they were the same color. There was a touching continuity in the photo. A reminder that life circled.

  “These are Tristan DeLaSandro’s photos,” Gina told him. “He’s one of the artists Soph’s been wanting to bring in. He’s got some erotic stuff, too. It’s in the back two rooms with von Schilling’s work.”

  “Is von Schilling’s this good?”

  Gina nodded. Before she could say anything, they heard the rat-a-tat-tat of high heels from the hallway.

  Sophia.

  Max turned to face her. Gina scurried away.

  Sophia stopped just inside the arched doorway, one hand on the wall as if to steady herself.

  “What’re you doing here?” she asked, her tone more breathless than confrontational. Good. He was tired of confrontations.

  “I told you I’d handle security for this evening’s event,” he reminded her quietly. Did her eyes dim a little or was it just wishful thinking on his part?

  The sight of Sophia in another of those sexy little black dresses made him want to drool. This one had wide straps that crossed over her shoulders and breasts, a glittery sort of belt that made her waist look tiny and a skirt short enough that he could get his hand up without her worrying about wrinkles. She’d paired it with a pair of sexy little black strappy sandals and black hose that had a seam up the back. He’d spent half his teenage years and all of his adult life fantasizing about stockings like that.

  He wondered for a second if she’d known he was coming, and somehow tapped into his deepest sexual desire and worn them just to torture him. Given how angry she’d been when they’d last spoken, he wouldn’t put it past her.

  “What do you need to set up the security for the evening?” she asked calmly. He could see the hurt in her eyes. Knowing he’d put it there made him ill.

  He’d make it up to her, though. Just as soon as this evening was finished.

  “A couple of buddies will be here within the half hour. We’ll mingle, guard and generally make sure nobody lets loose their pet skunk. You do your thing,” he told her reassuringly. “We’ll make sure everything’s secure.”

  Sophia gave a cute little wrinkle of her nose, looking doubtful. “Can you do this without being obvious?”

  Max gave her a long stare. “The guys will be in fatigues and wearing guns, but they promised not to wear camo face paint, so they should fit in fine.”

  Her lips twitched. Max’s shoulders relaxed a little. At least she hadn’t lost her sense of humor. “They’ll be dressed in suits?”

  “Just like me,” he said with a raised brow. Her eyes skimmed his body, light and quick. As if she were afraid if her gaze lingered anywhere too long, he’d get all turned on and grab her.

  She was smart that way.

  “Fine. Coordinate with Gina,” she said, turning on that sexy little high-heeled sandal and walking away.

  Max rocked back on his heels and considered. She looked as delicious from the back as she did from the front.

  But he needed to keep in mind that the back, just like the front, was off-limits.

  When she reached the arch leading to the hallway, she shot a long, considering look over her shoulder. He had no idea what the look meant. He had no intention of finding out.

  But damned if she didn’t get him rock-hard with just the flick of those long eyelashes of hers.

  SOPHIA MOVED THROUGH the gallery with a friendly smile, playing the ultimate hostess. Guests with food and drinks, check. Happy faces and the occasional laugh, check. A comment here, an observation there about the photos, double check. It was all going great.

  Von Schilling hadn’t been willing to come to the show. Apparently public events harshed his mellow. But the other three photographers featured were all in attendance, charming the patrons into buying their work and, in Tristan’s case, into a few
trysts in the hallway.

  She should be ecstatic. It was going even better than she’d hoped. Instead, though, she felt like screaming. It was like being in a pinball game. She was ricocheting from room to room, always looking over her shoulder to make sure she stayed away from Max.

  She could barely concentrate. Every time she saw him, she pictured him naked. Then, just as her body started to heat up she’d remember how he’d totally overstepped her boundaries and hired that attorney and anger would chill her right down. If this kept up, she was going to catch a cold from the constant body temperature changes.

  “Excuse me?”

  Sophia almost jumped out of her heels.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you,” the elderly man said. He had one of the show brochures in his hand and, she noticed with a tingle of excitement, had circled quite a few of the featured photos. “I’d like to make a purchase.”

  “Of course,” she told him, almost purring as she looked at the list he handed her. “Right this way.”

  Ten minutes later, it was all Sophia could do not to dance across the polished floor while singing “Money.” What a fabulous night.

  And because she was feeling so good and wanted to keep this great feeling, she decided this was the perfect time to tell Max to take his platoon of canapé-munching security wannabes and head on down the road.

  Shoulders back, chin up and determination in place, she scanned the room. There, at the far end by the arched doorway she caught sight of a dark-haired man. She didn’t need to see through the crowd to be sure it was Max. The heat curling in her stomach assured her it was.

  She’d taken two steps when something caught her eye.

  Oh, God, not again.

  A movement across the room caught her eye. Max. Frowning, he gave her a long stare. Then he scanned the room, immediately honing in on the skunk curled up under the red velvet settee. Pepé Le Pew all tuckered out and napping.

  Nobody else seemed to see it, though.

  How could they not? It was lying there snoring, for crying out loud. Maybe because it was black-and-white, like the pictures?

  Sophia looked at Max again, her eyes pleading. She was so close. The show was going so well, halfway through the evening without a hitch. They’d sold a third of von Schilling’s inventory already, along with a large number of the other artists’ work. Her commission would soon be enough for a down payment on the building. Not that she’d figured out how she’d get an actual loan or anything.

  One step at a time, she figured.

  First the down payment. Then collateral. Then a loan.

  Only now she’d shuffled Get the skunk the hell out of here to the top of her list.

  Max had apparently gotten her silent message. He gave her a nod and jerked his chin toward the doorway. Sophia pressed her lips together, then nodded.

  Stepping into the room, she raised her voice so the dozen people milling about the room could hear her. “Ladies, gentlemen, if you’d join me in the main gallery, we’ll be…” What? A dozen pairs of eyes stared at her, asking the same question that was ricocheting through her mind. She caught sight of Tristan DeLaSandro. Sexy as hell, he lounged against the wall with the look of a man who wasn’t worried about a thing.

  “We’ll be joining one of our guest artists, Tristan DeLaSandro, who will be happy to answer any questions about his work.” She wondered why nobody seemed to hear the hysteria in her voice.

  Tristan was inches away. Tall, dark and all bad-boy artist, he had a half smirk on his face. Sophia cringed, waiting to get blasted.

  “Nice distraction from the skunk,” he murmured before continuing into the larger gallery. A few seconds later, she heard the soft timbre of his voice, then laughter as he entertained the crowd.

  Max waited until the room emptied before slowly, carefully approaching the skunk. Sophia’s mouth went dry. Both nerves and desire worked through her system. She knew this was a serious situation. A skunk spraying would ruin the event—and the photographs. But, oh, baby, watching Max work was like watching a sexy ballet.

  He probably looked like this when he defused a bomb. All intent and focused, like a cat stalking its prey. He stopped at one of the easels and slipped a flat cardboard box from behind the display. With quick, soundless moves, he folded it together, stepped silently toward the settee.

  Sophia held her breath, both in anticipation and in self-defense. The skunk didn’t move when he dropped the box over its head.

  Her hands pressed tight against her mouth, she watched him slowly, carefully slide the box onto its side. He closed the flaps and gently lifted it.

  Still no noise from the box. And, thankfully, no stink. Before Max could take another step, one of his friends brushed past Sophia and took the box. She and Max watched him hurry through the arch. Sophia wanted to follow him, to make sure it didn’t spray in the back room and that, please, oh, please, he didn’t let it out by the building.

  But her knees were too shaky for her to even attempt to walk.

  Instead, she gave Max a horrified look.

  “I thought you were securing the building,” she whispered.

  “All the doors are covered,” he told her. “The only way that skunk got in here is if some woman carried it in her purse.”

  She wanted to dismiss that as ridiculous, but she knew better. Who the hell carried a purse big enough for a skunk, though? And more important, who hated her enough to cart a stink bomb under her armpit into a public place?

  “St. James.”

  Together, they turned. One of Max’s friends gestured them to the back room. Heart sinking, Sophia forced her feet to move. Max pressed one hand on the small of her back and she almost whimpered and threw herself into his arms.

  “What’s ruined?” she asked when she reached the storeroom where the caterer and staff had gathered.

  “Nothing,” Becca assured her. “The food’s fine, the wine’s fine. Nobody’s messed with it.”

  “Someone sure tried, though,” the big blond friend of Max’s said. His haircut said he was military. His huge shoulders said he was a force to be reckoned with. It was the grin on his face that Sophia couldn’t read, though.

  “What happened?” Max asked, curving his arm around Sophia’s shoulder. She didn’t know if the move had been deliberate or habit. She didn’t care. She shifted closer, needing his warmth and strength.

  “Someone got into the catering truck and loosened the parking brake,” Becca said, her lips white and trembling. “It hit the lamppost, and while everyone ran out to check it, somebody dumped the trays of canapés and fruit on the floor.”

  “Man or woman?” Max asked.

  “Woman,” Becca and Blondie answered.

  “Back up food?” Sophia asked.

  “Across the street in the cantina’s kitchen,” Becca confirmed. “I’ve already sent someone to get it.”

  Before anyone could say anything else, Gina popped her head in. “Soph?”

  “In a second,” Sophia said impatiently.

  “Um, now would be better.”

  She glanced at Gina, noted the red splotches on her assistant’s pale cheeks and how huge her eyes looked behind her boring glasses.

  “What happened?” she said, ducking out from beneath Max’s arm and hurrying over. She followed Gina into the hall where they wouldn’t be overheard. The heat warming her back assured her that Max had followed.

  “Someone called a tow company. There are eight trucks out there trying to tow patrons’ cars away. Apparently they were told the exact ones to take.”

  “The most expensive,” Max guessed.

  Gina nodded. “I convinced them to leave, but just as the last one pulled away, a different company’s tow fleet showed up.”

  Max cursed. He moved toward the door but before he could take a second step, Sophia grabbed his jacket. She was afraid if he left her, the building would collapse or something.

  “Can you send one of the other guys?” she asked quietly.

>   He gave her a long look, then unclenched her fingers from his jacket and held her hand. “Gina, find Allen. He’s on duty in the main gallery. Wearing a butt-ugly tie with fish on it. Have him deal with the tow trucks. I’ll get someone else to cover the front room.”

  Gina nodded and hurried out. Sophia gave him a grateful look. Before she could throw herself into his arms, though, another harbinger of doom called out.

  “St. James, Louie sent me to find you,” a huge man said in a gruff voice.

  Sophia gulped. Like Max and the rest of the security team, he was dressed in a suit and tie. But unlike Max, who looked sexy and urbane, or the blonde, who looked like a buffed surfer going to church, this guy looked like The Hulk on his way to court. He had no neck, so the tie looked like it was hanging from his chin.

  “What’s up?” Max asked. She could feel the tension radiating off him, but his words were calm. She glanced at him. His face was calm, too.

  She felt some of the tension draining from her own body.

  “Someone tried to start a fire,” The Hulk said.

  The tension came back with a vengeance and brought a whole slew of terror with it.

  “It’s out. Some woman lit a trash can back in the office. Louie doused it with a pitcher of ice water before it caught hold.”

  “Oh, God.” Sophia twisted her hands together. Her mouth went dry and spitless.

  “Did he see who did it?”

  “Yeah,” the guy told Max. “He walked in on her. While he was watering she tried to run.”

  “And?”

  “He grabbed her. Dumped another pitcher over her head when she kicked him. He’s holding off calling the cops until you decide what to do with her.”

  “Where is she?” Max and Sophia asked together.

  “Locked in the office bathroom.”

  “Take care of things,” Max ordered.

  Sophia didn’t bother to protest his taking over. She was so grateful to have him here, she’d have curled up on the floor and cried if he hadn’t taken charge.

  Needing his strength, she slipped her hand into his and hurried along the hallway one step behind him.

  “I thought I had it all handled,” she said quietly, her words almost a whisper. “I did everything I could think of to make the show a success.”