“I see. So basically, you rushed to judgment, Inspecteur. You know in America I would sue you.
“Again my apologies, M'sieur Devereaux."
“Yeah...” Max muttered under his breath, “...And I have a flight to catch."
Thirty-nine
Nikki glanced at her watch.
Midnight—the witching hour. She yawned and stretched, moving her head from side to side. For over three hours, she'd slaved over the manuscript revisions. And as much as she hated admitting it, her editor had been right. Relaxing in a hot tub had done the trick. And the glass of wine hadn't hurt either.
Once she'd allowed the memories and emotions to surface, they'd overwhelmed her. But instead of crying or sinking into her usual morass of self-pity, she'd grabbed a legal pad and filled page after page. Pages of things she hadn't thought about in years.
Things her mother would have a fit over when she saw them in print.
Not that she'd written another Mommie Dearest, but her childhood had been bleak. Lived on the wrong side of the tracks. Never had the right clothes. Left alone while her mother worked low-paying jobs.
Before hitting her rebellious teens, she'd tried to please her mother with good grades or washing the dishes ... anything. But mama could've always done it better, or so she said, loudly and frequently.
“Enough of that shit,” she muttered. She'd dwelt in it long enough. Hitting the print icon, she listened with satisfaction as the printer warmed up. She'd send Geoff the latest revisions first thing in the morning. Thankfully, he had given in to her demand for privacy as far as her love life went.
Not that she'd had one. On the other hand, he'd insisted she reveal the circumstances and aftermath of the date rape. She'd eventually agreed, only because she hoped it might keep another naive girl from the same fate.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The alarm! Triggered by the front door opening. She jumped up and grabbed the desk lamp.
The beeping stopped. Deactivated. Then footsteps.
“Max?"
“Yes."
Nikki heaved a sigh of relief. Damn the man. Why in the hell hadn't he warned her, let her know he was coming?
When Max walked into the sunroom, she was still debating on whether or not to pitch the lamp at his head.
“Sorry,” he said with a shrug and wearily set his luggage down. “I didn't mean to frighten you. I should've called."
“You scared me to death.” She set the lamp down, noting how tired he looked, the dark circles under his eyes. He needed a haircut, his chestnut hair curling longer on his strong neck. The unkempt curls made her want to...
Nope, not going there.
“I see you're up and around. Recovered from your injury so soon?” he asked, his tone sarcastic.
“My knees are just fine. How did you know?” she asked. “Alexa?"
“No, you're big news on the continent. Cable and the tabloids. I saw pictures of you leaving the hospital with McDougal."
“His name's McHugh."
Max shrugged, his eyes never leaving hers. “Whatever."
“Geoff was here when I fell. My knees kept swelling so he took me to the ER. No big deal."
“You don't owe me any explanations. Whoever you see is entirely up to you."
“Not that it's any of your business, but I'm not seeing Geoff. He's my editor—period,” she replied with a huff. “Besides, I wasn't the one partying all over Paris. Don't tell me you've tired of the jet set life."
Max walked toward her. “It wasn't like that.” Instinctively, she stepped back.
“I want to explain what I couldn't explain before. I—"
“I don't need your explanations. We did the wild thing. You moved on. I have too."
“You said you weren't seeing McDuff."
“That's not what I meant. I mean my book is finished, and I have a book tour starting next month."
A quick smile crossed his face. “That's wonderful.” He took another step toward her.
She retreated again. “Yes, it is. But I'm afraid it means you'll have to find someone else to ride herd on Alexa. I'll store my things at Marti's while I'm on tour. After that, I'll find a new place to live.” She watched ... and waited for his response. He frowned; the muscle in his jaw twitched.
Good. At least it was a response.
“I see."
To her confusion, the muscle in Max's jaw kept twitching. Afraid of losing his baby-sitter, she guessed.
“Alexa still awake?"
“Maybe.” She shrugged, then added, “She went up about twenty minutes ago."
“I'll go up and see her, but I'll be back. I have something important to tell you—very important."
“Not interested.” She glanced around the room, anything to distract him.” But her curiosity got the better of her. “Okay. What's the big deal?
He reached out, touching her chin with one finger. Ever so gently, he directed her gaze back to his. His eyes narrowed. “It's important. Be patient."
Trembling from his touch, she watched in amazement as Max turned on his heel and left the sunroom. “Jerk.” She swore at his retreating back. He must have me confused with one of his flavors of the week.
She grabbed the latest pages of her manuscript and straightened them into a neat stack. She'd finish proofing them in bed. Max Devereaux could just kiss her you-know-what.
At the bottom of the stairs, she met him on his way down.
“Alexa's asleep,” he said.
“I'm going to bed too. You'll just have to find someone else to discuss things with.” She tried brushing past him, but he placed his arms around her. “Please?"
She pushed against his chest, but not before she caught the faint scent of his spicy after-shave. “Let me go."
He released her and stepped back. “I want—no, we must talk. We can't go on like this."
Hands on her hips, she drew back and looked into his damned green eyes, wishing with all her heart, that the sight and smell of him didn't still make her heart race and her body burn. “Let me get this straight. Now, you want to talk? If my memory serves me, we got hot and sweaty, and the next morning you said it was all a big mistake and—"
“I thought I was—"
“I'm not through. Please allow me the courtesy of finishing my own sentences."
Max nodded, remaining silent, his expression blank.
“You took off to Paris, stayed for nearly a month. Played around with at least one of your fellow countrywomen. Basically had a high old time. I think that pretty much sums it up, don't you?"
“No."
“No? What little detail did I miss? The one where you ordered me to come back to the house, like I was a servant?"
“That's not how it was. I-I...” Max faltered. “...I know you're angry. I hurt you. I was wrong."
“Wrong? You? Whatever is this world coming to?” she fumed. “You think you can come in here say you're sorry and make it all better. What's wrong? Get dumped like I did? Did she crawl out of your bed the next morning and tell you it'd all been a terrible mistake?"
He stiffened. “I can't stand it when you act like this,” he said between gritted teeth."
Nikki huffed, “You don't have to stay."
An expression of pure bewilderment crossed Max's face. “This is my house."
“I don't care. You came home, unannounced, scared the hell out of me."
“Alexa knew I was coming. I called her from Orly.” His confused expression was quickly replaced by one of concern. “Why are you so nervous? Has something happened?"
“Nothing's happened,” she lied. “Don't be ridiculous. And don't change the subject. When I heard the alarm, it startled me, that's all."
“You're sure?"
“Of course.” No point in telling Max about a bunch of creepy e-mails. He'd just laugh and tell her to stay off-line.
“The lamp looked like a deadly weapon when I came in. Are you sure nothing's happened?"
She sighed, then in a ge
sture born of nerves, glanced over her shoulder. “The townhouse has a top notch security system. We've been quite safe.” She put her foot on the bottom step. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I was on my way to bed."
“There's still something I need to tell you."
“Can't it wait until morning? I'm tired. You look tired too. Actually you look like hell."
“Thank you,” was his ironic reply.
She bit her bottom lip, resisting the growing urge to grin. “Did I say that out loud? I must really be tired."
A smirk played about his lips. “You're right, it can wait ‘til morning."
~ * ~
When morning came, Max rolled out of bed at eleven, still jet-lagged, pulled on a pair of jeans and stumbled downstairs for his first cup of coffee. Neither Nikki nor Alexa was anywhere to be found. “Just like her—running away again."
“Damn.” Nikki'd turned off the coffeemaker. “Bless her passive-aggressive little heart,” he muttered. He grabbed the coffeepot and staggered to the sink. Emptying the cold coffee into the sink, he rinsed the pot, dumped it, then refilled it again.
After a search, which took more energy than he had, he discovered Nikki's hiding spot for the coffee beans. He poured them into the grinder, he punched the button and waited.
It took forever, but finally the red light went off. The aroma was almost enough to snap him out of his torpor. Almost.
It took barking his shin on an open cabinet door to wake him completely, that and spilling the newly ground coffee all over the kitchen floor. “Shit."
“Your English has really improved. You daughter will so proud.” Nikki said from the doorway.
“I didn't hear you come in.” He bent over and rubbed his shin, allowing his gaze to travel up her long red, spandex-clad legs to the white jacket that stopped just above her hips. “Where've you been?” he asked, disgruntled because she looked so damned appealing.
She unbuttoned her jacket and shrugged it off, tossing on the counter. “I took Alexa to her music lesson. Bitsy and her mom are picking her up afterwards for shopping. And I met Marti at tae-bo,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
“Tae-bo? Is that Chinese cooking or self-defense?” he asked, hoping to lighten her mood. Her eyes narrowed. Obviously, he'd failed.
“Cute.” She looked down her nose at him. “Are you going to clean up your mess, or do you expect me to do it for you?"
He straightened up. “I'll clean up. You're not a servant."
“Oh really? I must have you confused with the crazy Frenchman who demanded I come home and resume my governess duties."
He ignored her bitter tone. She had every right to be angry. He didn't blame her. But what really irritated him was how she used her anger to keep him at a distance. It worked too.
He bent over, giving his shin a final rub. “We need to talk. I discovered some things in France I want to tell you about."
“Hm, let's see now. What could it be? The franc is doing poorly against the dollar, or French women make better lovers?"
“You're impossible,” he sputtered. “You're the most infuriating woman I have ever known."
“Merci Maxim, I do try my best to live up to your expectations.” she said, ready to storm from the kitchen.
“Merde! Don't go. It's important."
She whipped around, raised her chin in defiance. “Our discussion is over. I have to change."
“Dammit, Nikki. Just once will you listen to what I have to say before you flounce out of the room in a fit?"
Stopping in her tracks, she drew herself up to five-feet, ten-inches of blonde fury, then raised her hands in front of her, warning him to stay back. “No. You've had your say. I'm here for Alexa, but you would be doing me a large personal favor—one last one, if you please—if you didn't speak to me ever again about our mistake."
“But—"
“Those are my terms. Take it or leave it."
“Fine."
“Fine.” She took a deep breath. “And another thing."
“Tell me. I can handle it,” he heard himself say, knowing it would infuriate her even more.
“I don't flounce!” Then she awarded him with a fake smile and sashayed from the room.
Dammit. How could he protect her from whatever danger threatened? She wouldn't listen to reason, much less a warning. Leave it to Nikki to push his buttons with such deadly accuracy.
And all before his first cup of coffee.
PART THREE:
PAST AND PRESENT COLLIDE
Forty
February 2001
Max stared out the window of the eighty-eighth floor. February in New York City was not the city's best time of year. The night sky, black and starless, was imbued with a sense of foreboding, when he should have been elated—elated by the prospect of seeing Nikki that evening.
Tonight might be different, he thought, away from the townhouse, the scene of all their disagreements ... and their one night of passion. The last six months had been a study in futility. She'd avoided him. And he'd done the same, but only because she seemed to wish it.
Stupidity—his own. Insensitivity too. The words—he couldn't take them back.
It was a mistake.
Perhaps, tonight she would see him in a different light. Would she remember another night twelve years earlier—the only time they'd ever danced together. Someday, she might even forgive him. He clenched his fists. Not damn likely.
Without warning, the door to his office opened. He turned.
Jolie, the vice-president of the agency stood with arms folded, tapping her foot. “We have a crisis."
“What now?” he asked, mildly perplexed. Everything was a crisis to her.
“There's—uh, been another incident with Ian Starr and one of our models on the Monte Carlo shoot."
“Ian Starr? I gave strict orders years ago that we never use him again."
“I know,” she replied evenly. “Everyone knows, but apparently Dano became ill and Terry made the substitution without first clearing it with anyone."
“Which model?” Max demanded, knowing already what had happened.
“Tonia, the one from Brazil, and pretty much the same scenario as with Nikki. I don't have all the details."
“How is she?” He had a pretty good idea; his memories of Nikki's emotional highs and lows after her date-rape were still fresh.
“Tonia's been treated and released. She'll be on the next flight out of Nice."
He shook his head in disgust. “How could Terry have gone against my express orders?"
“I think he was in a bad spot, needed to keep on schedule, keep the shoot going.” Jolie shrugged. “Starr was available."
“I want a full explanation, but Terry will have to go."
“I'll see to it."
“Good."
“Now, one more thing, Tonia's mother is on the line. I'm afraid she's very upset and will talk only to you. How's your Portuguese?"
“Fair.” Max sighed, then glanced at his watch. He still had to shower and change for the Mardi Gras gala. He'd planned to have his driver pick him up, then Nikki, but Tonia's mother understandably deserved his time and attention.
He walked over to the desk and hit the intercom button. “Crystal, I'm running late. First, call Nikki and tell her I'll meet her at the gala, then call Randy and have him pick her up. I'll take a taxi. And put Mrs. Alvarado through."
He turned his attention again to Jolie. “Anything else?"
Jolie shook her head. “No, that should cover it."
The intercom buzzed, “Mrs. Alvarado for you, sir."
“Boa noite, Alvarado de Sra. Como são? Estou tão arrependido..."
~ * ~
Across town, at Marti's co-op, Nikki grabbed hold of the rice-carved post and looked over her shoulder at Alexa. “Pull tighter."
“You're going to have to suck it in, Nik,” the teenager said flatly and pulled on the corset ties.
Taking a deeper breath, she groaned a breath
less. “I am."
“Just not enough.” Alexa tugged again.
“Don't get carried away. This isn't a real corset, kiddo.” Just the same Nikki held her breath, while Alexa tied the strings.
“But I wanted to do you like Mammy did Scarlett,” she said with a giggle, then fell over on the bed, holding her sides.
“Very funny. I'm not sure I've ever had a nineteen inch waistline, like Scarlett."
“That's what the corset's for, silly."
Nikki looked down at her costume. Why she'd ever decided to go as Marie Antoinette, she'd never know. To think that women actually used to parade around in such garb everyday of their lives—well, it was mind-boggling. At present, the only part of the costume she'd managed to don was the corset and lace-frilled pantaloons—hell, who knew what the French called them? At least there were no whalebone stays in the corset. No point in taking authenticity too far.
“Here, help me with the panniers."
“The what?"
“That wide contraption over on the chaise. It goes around my waist."
“Oh that thing.” Alexa jumped to her feet. “It'll make your butt look five feet wide."
“True.” Nikki nodded. “I don't know how they managed to walk down a hall without knocking someone down."
Alexa grappled with the panniers, and together they managed to settle them around Nikki's waist, tying them securely.
Nikki twisted about, trying to see the clock. “What time is it? The limo is supposed to be here at eight."
“You have plenty of time. It's only seven-thirty."
“Plenty of time? I still have my makeup and hair."
“Why don't you do your face, then put on the dress? You're wearing a wig, aren't you?"
Nikki nodded. “Good idea. Don't know why I'm so flustered. This is just another society whoop-de-do."
“Because you're being honored ... and maybe ‘cause Daddy's your date tonight?” Alexa retorted, an impish smirk spreading across her face.
“That's just for show. The chairman assumed your father would bring me and seated us next to each other on the dais. I couldn't ask her to change it without making a big deal."
See You In My Dreams Page 34