All she wanted to do was go inside, lock the door, have a nice cup of tea and then sleep off the lingering after-effects of the “wee shot” that dratted doctor had given her last night. She’d slept like a log and woken up feeling like one as well. Heavy, wooden-limbed, and stiff.
But to her surprise, the front door was opening.
To her even greater surprise, Max Wolfe was coming out. Of her house. And he was wearing a pair of the ugliest sweatpants she’d ever seen, not to mention a parka that was about three sizes too small. In puce.
Those drugs must have been a lot stronger than she supposed. She blinked. This couldn’t be happening.
But it was. Within seconds he was at her door, all hazel eyes and tousled hair, and smiling at her, unfastening her seat belt like she was three instead of twenty-seven.
Ineffectually, she batted at his hands. “What are you...what...wha—”
“Quiet. You’re still fuzzy from the medications. Come here.” His voice soothed her and crept into her brain like another kind of drug. A horribly arousing one.
His arms slid beneath her and lifted her out of the car like she was a feather. God, the man was strong. She was no feather. More like an entire duck and then some.
“I...what are you doing? Mr. Wolfe. Put me...ouch!”
Her ankle grazed the car door as she was hoisted against his chest. His nice, manly chest. The one that had figured largely in several of her private fantasies. She sighed.
“Sorry. But you’re in no condition to walk and you know it.”
Carefully, he carried her into the house while Phoebe fluttered behind them.
Peta stared at him helplessly, trying to stop her arms from slipping up and around his neck. God forbid she should let him think she was enjoying being carried around. Well, she was, but damned if she was going to let on to him about it.
He carried her into her living room, and gently eased her into the recliner that was now arranged before the fireplace. A fireplace that was presently filled with a rather energetically crackling fire.
Dammit. She’d never been able to get one to do that. Her attempts had resulted in more of a smoky glow. This one snapped and popped very nicely.
She felt her temper rise. “Would someone tell me what the hell is going on?” She looked at Max and Phoebe who stared back at her. “Why are you two here? What’s all this about?” She waved at the fire.
Something large and black landed on her lap and made her jump. It kneaded her thighs and resolved itself into the purring weight of a big black cat.
“And who the hell’s this?”
Max calmly reached down and extended the footrest. Peta noticed that the cat glared at him in much the same fashion as she herself was doing right about now.
Phoebe settled in a matching chair, and Max perched on its arm.
“Max is your houseguest and caretaker, dear.” Phoebe smiled serenely.
“What?” Peta’s screech disturbed the cat who mumbled beneath Peta’s hand. Odd how cats just seemed to be able to get people to stroke them. She rubbed his ears soothingly, and he purred.
“That’s Mr. Peebles,” grinned Max, nodding at her lap. “I’m afraid we’re a pair. Love me, love my cat, as they say.”
Love me? For a blissful second, Peta’s eyes closed and she wished she could. Naked skin and all.
She blushed.
“There was another accident last night, Peta. While you were in hospital, Max’s apartment ceiling caved in. He was lucky to get out alive.” Phoebe nodded at him.
Peta stared and noticed the large band-aid that was partially hidden by that glorious hair. The silken strands that just shrieked for a woman to run her fingers through it. Her color deepened. “Oh. Uh...sorry to hear that, Mr. Wolfe.”
“I think you’d better call me Max. Seeing as we’re going to be roomies, we can dispense with the formalities, don’t you think?”
“Roomies?” Her eyes opened wide. “What do you mean, roomies?”
“Well, darling, it makes perfect sense.” Phoebe gazed at her placidly. “You have a bad sprain there and can’t get up and down stairs. In fact you have to stay off it for a day or so at least. Max has nowhere to live for the time being, but is pretty much all in one piece. Except for the clothes, of course. They were Claude’s...” Phoebe’s voice trailed off as she glanced at him. “And you probably should think about shopping, dear boy. They don’t really fit you very well...”
“They seemed like designer originals to me last night, Phoebe, and I can’t thank you and Claude enough.” He smiled.
Peta’s heart wobbled. Damn the man. When he smiled like that he could charm the bloody birds out of the trees.
“Well, I’ll pass along your thanks when I go visit Claude’s grave next time. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”
Given that Claude had passed on to his reward some twenty odd years ago, she now understood the oddness of Max’s attire.
“I take it you lost everything, Mr.—er—Max?” Politeness forced her to inquire. Her mind broke out into a sweat as it considered the rather naughty idea that he might be naked under those dingy pants.
“Just about. Got my cell phone, my wallet, Mr. Peebles, and the fire department bravely rescued a couple of pairs of shorts. But that’s about it, I’m afraid.”
Well shit. There goes that fantasy.
“I’m sorry to hear that. But you can’t stay here—”
“Of course he can, dear. In fact, it’s absolutely necessary. You can’t be left alone, you know. Not for the next twenty-four hours, at any rate. Concussion and all that. Max has to wake you every couple of hours, just to make sure you’re okay.”
If he was going to wake her every couple of hours, the one thing she wouldn’t be was okay.
“Look, darling, I’m going to make us some tea, and Max is going shopping. You just take a nice nap for a while, and when you wake up we’ll sort out the details. All right?” Phoebe stood up.
The heat from the fire and the warmth of Mr. Peebles purring contentedly on her lap soothed Peta, and she allowed exhaustion to creep in to her befuddled brain.
“Okay.” It was a weak response, but the comfort of being in her own home, warm and safe, was overwhelming. Funny thing, that. Having Max around was making her feel safe.
She closed her eyes with a sigh, and let her mind drift.
*~*~*~*
Max watched her sleep and as he did so he wondered if his new jeans were a size too small.
He’d shopped for clothes and stocked up Peta’s fridge in record time while Phoebe stayed with the invalid, then arrived home, handed Phoebe her keys and shooed her out the door. He’d worry about his own car later.
Right now, he just wanted to be alone with Peta.
And watch her. Watch her chest rise and fall under the crocheted throw he’d tucked around her, and watch her eyelashes as they quivered on her cheeks. Her ankle was bandaged, and she’d taken off her shoes, but her toes were perfect.
He surprised himself. Since when had he been interested in a woman’s feet unless he was nibbling on them prior to moving up her legs? Since when had the curve of a woman’s cheek stirred his cock to life?
She looked all soft and tranquil, and the few bruises he could see were fading. Her knuckles were skinnedand he had the oddest urge to pick up her hand and kiss the scrapes better.
He shook his head. Where the hell had that come from?
His youth had been spent at the best schools, the best summer camps and the best college, and certainly hadn’t included things like getting boo-boos kissed better. His parents didn’t have the time. His father was on his way to a distinguished judicial career, his mother active in every charity known to mankind and then some, and neither had given more than a cursory hug to their son.
He hadn’t cared, particularly. He’d insulated himself at an early age from that sort of thing, and considered himself lucky to have enjoyed the life of the privileged few. He could ride, play chemin de fer, knew good
clothes—with the possible exception of these jeans—and had a pretty good grasp of life in general, not to mention a degree in business which he hadn’t used since a certain nasty episode in Boston nearly a year ago.
He considered himself intelligent, well-read, and knew he was attractive. The scores of conquests that had paraded through his sex life had reinforced that idea.
So why did he want to heal Peta’s knuckles?
It was a puzzle. But the clock was ticking the afternoon away, and he knew he had to wake her. Puzzles could wait for later.
He knelt down by her chair and for a second his senses swam as her fragrance hit him. Hard.
She was flowers and hospitals and woman, and he closed his eyes, breathing in that insubstantial something that was uniquely her.
Gently he raised his hand to her cheek and stroked it. “Peta?”
She stirred slightly.
“Peta, honey, wake up.”
Her eyelids flickered and then rose. She stared at him sleepily, and for a moment or two he could swear he saw something hot behind her eyes. Her lips curved in a welcoming smile. “Hullo, Max,” she said.
Her voice went straight to his crotch. Jesus Christ. Two words spoken in that charming British voice, thick with the honey of sleep, and he was hard as a brick.
Mr. Peebles jumped up onto her lap and she suddenly snapped into awareness. “Oh heavens. What time is it? Is something wrong?”
“Nope, nothing’s wrong. I just have to wake you every now and again. We have to check you out for concussion, remember?”
She sighed and stretched, wincing a little. “Oh yes, now I remember. Lord, I’m stiff. And you—“ she glanced down at Mr. Peebles “—aren’t helping.”
“Come on, down from there,” said Max. He reached out to pick up the boneless lump of black fur. The lump became a rather irate feline.
“No no, he’s all right, really. I was just joking. Leave him. I like the warmth. It’s...it’s comforting. We always had cats when I grew up...” Her voice trailed off as Max leaned over her chair and stared into her eyes. “What...what are you doing?”
“Checking your pupils. If they’re dilated we have to call in to the doctor.”
She stared back at him, their faces only inches apart. “So,” she breathed. “Are they dilated?”
He was busy swimming in gray pools, and for a moment didn’t even hear the question. “Uh, what?”
“My pupils. Are they dilated?”
He wondered how he was supposed to tell. It didn’t help that her gaze had dropped to his mouth, and she was licking her lips. He wasn’t sure if it was conscious or not, but if he was reading her right her mind wasn’t on the state of her pupils.
Come to think of it, neither was his.
The fire was warming them, the room was quiet, Mr. Peebles was purring happily on Peta’s lap, and Max wanted nothing more than to lower his head and taste her.
“I think...” he said quietly. “I think they’re good.”
“That’s nice,” she answered, never lifting her eyes off his lips.
He couldn’t have stopped himself to save his life. He lowered his head and closed the distance between them, almost brushing her mouth with his.
She sighed.
And the doorbell rang.
*~*~*~*
Peta jerked back from Max’s mouth and disturbed Mr. Peebles, who leaped from her lap with a yowl.
She wanted to yowl too. She’d been so close to having his lips touch hers.
“Er...I’ll get that,” he said.
“Yes. Perhaps you’d better.” Before I say to hell with this ankle and rip your clothes off.
Dear heavens. What was she thinking? Just because the man had no place to live and was taking care of her for a couple of days didn’t mean that she was going to let him seduce her.
Besides, she had cherished no illusions about Max. For him, she was probably the most available port in the storm at the moment. After all, he couldn’t possibly bring one of his little bimbos over to her house. That, she would never allow. If there was going to be any bimbo-boinking, then she was going to be the bimbo who got boinked.
She sighed. No one could be further from a bimbo than she was.
She gave up worrying about it, listening instead to the sound of voices from the hallway.
There seemed to be a long and enthusiastic conversation going on. Peta could hear a woman’s voice and another man’s, as well as Max’s. Funny thing. She could distinguish Max’s deep rumble quite clearly, but the others just blurred for her.
They sounded as if they were arguing, or at least having an energetic discussion about something.
Then there was quiet, and Max re-entered the room, followed by two people.
“Um, Peta? You have visitors. You feel up to it, hon?”
She tried to ignore the little thrill that traveled through her at his casual usage of the term “hon”. It was probably natural to him. Doubtless he called all his girlfriends “hon”. Did he look upon her as his girlfriend? Oooh. Now there was a thought.
She wrenched her mind away from the attractions of one Max Wolfe and focused on her visitors.
Oh Gawd, no.
Standing with polite smiles on their faces were the two people she could have happily spent the rest of her life not seeing.
Cary Stiles and his sister Diana.
Chapter Five
“Oh you poor darling.”
Diana Stiles’s elegant tones gushed into the quiet room, and Max gritted his teeth. “Does it hurt much? I’m so sorry. We came as soon as we heard.”
The word “why” trembled on the tip of his tongue.
“Poor sweetheart,” soothed Cary. He moved over to Peta’s chair and knelt down next to it. In exactly the same spot that Max had occupied only moments earlier. He wondered if a swift boot up the rear of Cary’s designer pants might be appropriate.
“Er, well. This is a surprise.” Peta’s words held a slight edge. Max could hear it clearly, but apparently Cary couldn’t, since he was busy trying to take one of her hands in his own.
“You must have known we’d come by and see if there was anything we could do,” said Diana. The fact that she hadn’t moved from his side didn’t escape Max.
“How nice,” said Peta noncommittally.
“Yes, how thoughtful,” added Max.
“And here you are with your very own private nursemaid, too,” cooed Diana. “Aren’t you the lucky girl?”
Max removed his arm from Diana’s grip. It was akin to wrenching a limb from a vise. “I’ll fix us something to drink,” he said.
“Ooh, lovely, darling. I’ll help you.” Diana-the-vise was back.
“Make mine a scotch and water, will you?” called Cary. He remained glued to Peta’s side.
“Sorry. No alcohol. Peta’s on medication. You’ll have to make do with coffee.” Max tried not to let the satisfaction creep through into his voice. He wasn’t a damn waiter.
“Um, Max?” Peta craned around Cary to catch his eye. “It’ll have to be tea. I don’t have any coffee, I don’t think.”
He grinned at her. “Yes you do. I went shopping.”
“Oh, darling. What a good person you are,” said Diana, giving him her worshipful blue-eyed look. The one that had lured him into her bed several months ago.
“Yes, aren’t I?” He bit the words out and turned to the kitchen. Diana followed close behind. Very close. If he’d stopped short, she’d have broken her nose.
He hated leaving Peta alone with Cary, but he really had no choice in the matter. And hard though it was to see Cary all over Peta, it would have been even worse if Diana had chosen this moment to be indiscreet.
Fortunately, she waited until they reached Peta’s kitchen. Then she was indiscreet.
She slid her hands around Max from behind, stroking up and down. Quite a long way down. Over his crotch, in fact.
“Ooooh, Max. I’ve missed you so, darling,” she breathed.
“Di
ana, I—“
“No, no, don’t say anything. Just let me feel you.”
She felt him. Enthusiastically.
For some reason, Max found his cock unresponsive. He had a moment’s blinding fear that he’d died and nobody had told him. Then the truth dawned on him. He had no sexual interest in Diana. Not anymore.
She left him colder than the stone birdbath that sat full of snow outside Peta’s kitchen window.
Her fingers found the button on his jeans, but before she could unfasten it he pulled her hands away and stepped to the counter, putting some distance between them.
Diana pouted. It was one of her favorite expressions. She probably only had about four of them. Worship, pout, lust, and another, rather irritated narrowing of the eyes that he was getting right now.
“What’s the matter, Max? Afraid that little pumpkin next door will hear us?”
He frowned. “Peta is not a ‘little pumpkin’. And we are presently in her house so I think a small measure of respect is in order, don’t you?”
Diana’s eyes narrowed even further. “That didn’t seem to worry you at Edward Sharp’s Christmas party, now, did it? I seem to remember you found a good use for that linen closet...”
She backed him up against the counter and rubbed her ample breasts against him. “It was fun, Max. Let’s do it again.”
Distaste flooded his mind. He’d never liked being blatantly pursued. Oddly traditional in his thinking, to him it was the man who should do the chasing. Old-fashioned, yes, but he still harbored a dislike of overly aggressive women. Especially ones who seemed to feel that they had a right to glue their bodies to his. In someone else’s kitchen.
“Diana, that night was fun. No arguments there. But we’ve both moved on. And you know why.”
She went back to expression number one. Pouting.
“But darling—“
“No buts, Diana. I prefer my sex to involve two people. Any more, and I’m gone. I made that plain.” He turned away from her, pulling free and reaching for the new coffee pot he’d added to his shopping cart earlier.
My Hero Page 3