“Florist,” came the distant reply, and she swore in exasperation as she plodded down the narrow staircase, furious at whoever had the gall to send flowers at such an early hour. She unbolted the door and indignantly bent to scoop up the newspaper and toss it onto the stair behind her before irascibly facing the delivery.
It was indeed a florist’s box that was held out to her, but this was no golden-winged FTD Mercury. Rather, it was a devilishly handsome, sheepskin-coated Max Kraig, eyeing her so strangely that she wondered whether she had suddenly grown horns. Then in a fit of mortification, she realized that she had come straight from bed. Her hair was loose and disheveled, her face scrubbed bare of all makeup, her eyes still groggy from the sleep which had shrouded her not five minutes before. To make matters worse, she was clothed only in an ankle-length flannel nightshirt, high-collared and long-sleeved, with soft Victorian ruffles at neck, wrist, and foot. She was primly covered, to be sure, yet it was her nightgown!
With a gasp of horror, she slammed the door shut on that most good-looking face, closing her eyes tightly as she willed the freshly groomed visage to disappear into the crisp morning air. Slumping back against the door, she opened her eyes and glanced frantically about her. What was he doing here? What right did he have to shatter the peace of her Sunday morning? It was bad enough that he had intruded on her thoughts yesterday, but this was unfair! Why was he here? And what right did he have to see her like this? As she struggled with the predicament, the doorbell rang again and again.
“Laura, open the door!” he called loudly, as she impulsively muffled the sound with a hand at either ear.
“Go away! It’s too early!” she answered his call with a loud and panicked one of her own.
“It’s after nine thirty. I’ve purposely waited this late. It won’t take long. Now open the door!” A renewed assault on the doorbell punctuated his words. “Laura, it’s cold out—” His voice broke off in midsentence as Laura simultaneously heard the heavy sound of the door next to hers. Mrs. Daniels!
Without further thought she yanked at her own door, shoved open the storm door, and all but dragged Max in by a bulky sleeve, too disturbed to note the dazzling smile he sent toward the face at the adjoining doorway as he was drawn past it, out of the cold, into the small hallway.
Ill humor mixed with embarrassment to produce raw fury. Hands on hips, Laura confronted Max. “Just what do you think you’re doing here?” Without a word, he held out the florist box. “What is this supposed to be?” she demanded testily as she glanced at the long, thin box before lifting her eyes once more to his face. And what a long way up it was, she suddenly realized, standing barefoot as she was before this imposing giant.
“A peace offering.” His voice was maddeningly velvet.
“For what?” The fury had already begun to melt against her will.
Deep chocolate eyes swept her face as he explained. “I…was rather rude when I slammed out of the library the other night. I owe you an apology.”
“You don’t fool me for a minute,” she retorted, clutching at the remnants of anger to cover her growing self-consciousness. “You just wanted to catch me off guard.” Had that been his intention, he had been totally successful. She felt perfectly foolish and utterly vulnerable standing there so helplessly beneath his penetrating gaze. She lifted a nervous hand to push back a wayward strand of shiny black hair.
“Actually,” he baited her boldly, “I was curious to see whether you spent the night alone.”
The fury returned. “Oh, you were, were you? Well,” she began, sarcasm heavy on her glib tongue, “it so happens that my man is still in bed. Ramon!” She shrieked defiantly back over her shoulder. “Ramon!”
Max grinned, that irresistibly devastating grin of his, as he scored her head to toe. “You know, I might have believed you if you’d pulled that one before you opened the door. But now…” He put the box down and opened the buttons of his heavy jacket. Although he was merely making himself comfortable, his action distracted Laura.
She was instantly fascinated by the teal color of his V-neck cashmere sweater, the fine fit of his darker corduroy slacks. Her obvious examination and approval was not missed by its object, a satisfied light entering his eyes as he went on.
“But now that I see you wearing that, I’d never be able to believe your charade.”
An unwelcome flush crept to Laura’s pale cheeks. “What’s wrong with…this?” Indignantly, she held out the loose folds of her gown. To add to her embarrassment, Max threw his head back in a hearty laugh.
“Oh, nothing’s wrong with it.” He composed himself enough to elaborate. “It’s just a little too…prim…for a tigress!”
“I’m no tigress,” she snorted quickly as she looked away in renewed humiliation.
“Oh, no?” His deeply seductive tone brought her eyes back to his, which made another foray over her largely hidden figure before climbing again. “I’ve seen you very proper at the office, very elegant at that fundraiser, and now very innocent here. But I know there’s a tigress deep within that very proper exterior. If there had been a Ramon upstairs, you would not be wearing this…frock!” He took a step closer and put a hand out to finger the lace at her neckline, his eyes caressing her softness in a way that held her speechless. It was the same hypnotic state which had begun to weaken her, first erasing any anger and stilling all resistance, then holding her entranced as his nearness kindled those delicious fiery feelings within her.
“You know,” he teased in a near-whisper, “about the only thing that stays the same is your nail polish.” He took one of her hands in his and lifted her fingertips to his lips, lightly kissing them, then placing her hand palm down against his newly shaven cheek. “And this…” His lips lowered to hers and those fiery feelings burst into flame, sending a tremor of desire through her.
Of its own volition her hand moved from his cheek to his jawline, tracing it lightly as her mouth clung to his for the moment.
“Sensuous Burgundy,” she murmured breathlessly against the thumb which had begun to outline her lips.
His tantalizing caress stilled for a puzzled instant. “What?”
A grin surfaced out of her passion-coated daze. “Sensuous Burgundy…my nails,” she repeated impishly, then laughed at the triviality of the information.
For a long moment he stood and looked down at her, the light of desire illuminating his mellow brown eyes. “That’s fitting,” he concluded huskily. “Sensuous Burgundy…and the tigress. Both go with you everywhere, one without, one within.”
As his voice faded to a hushed stillness, the smiles also faded. It seemed a moment of truth. For Laura the decision had been made during those sleepless hours when she accepted the profound effect this man had on her. She had to pursue the relationship; some unknown force bid her do so. For Max the decision had been reached in a similar manner, culminating in his arrival at the flower shop to purchase the single pink long-stemmed rose which now lay, forgotten for the moment, in its box at the foot of the stairs.
“Come here.” A hoarse whisper broke the silence, a redundant command as Max put a large hand to Laura’s waist and drew her flannel-clad form against him, within the warm comfort of his sheepskin jacket, within the protective circle of his arms. She wound her own arms inside the jacket and around his back as she buried her face against his throat, his clean and manly scent drugging her. A quiver surged through her veins as his hands explored the soft lines of her back, her waist, her hips.
“My God,” he exclaimed in a half-whisper, “you’ve got nothing on underneath this, do you?” It was an accusation to which she could only plead guilty. Drawing her head back to look up at him, she shrugged.
Where her senses had gone, she had no idea. She knew that she should go up and dress, yet she had no desire to. At least she should back out of Max’s devastating embrace, but she had no desire to do that either. Failing all else, she should have spoken up in protest of what seemed forthcoming, yet words eluded her.
In the next instant breath eluded her too, as she was lifted into the cradle of Max’s arms and carried up the stairs to be placed on her own two feet only when he had reached the soft living room carpet.
The eyes that melted into hers were tender, countering the faint tautness in his voice. “You’d better go get a robe and some slippers, or you’ll catch cold.” They were not the words she had expected, not by a long shot. And accompanied as they were by a kiss on the forehead, she felt strangely rejected. Whether he saw the hurt look in her eyes, she did not know, for he turned to retrieve the newspaper and the flower, and she turned and slowly headed for her bedroom.
As she opened the closet door and stepped into her furry mules, Laura wondered what she had wanted to happen. Puzzled, she wasn’t quite sure. Slowly, she padded to the side of her bed and sank onto the rumpled pink sheets, staring blindly at the frost patterns on the windowpane. Funny, she hadn’t thought that far in advance. She had only known divine ecstasy when he touched her, held her, kissed her. The pulsing knot that demanded more was an enigma.
The form that entered her periphery startled her. Looking up in surprise, she saw Max approaching, walking softly to where she sat, his eyes studying her subtly. As she gazed up at him, the familiar force seized her. Yet something held her back—was it fear of further rejection…or fear of the opposite?
The bed yielded to Max’s weight as he sat down, facing her. A large hand took her face and held it gently as he kissed her, slowly and thoroughly, his tongue delivering shivers of desire as it traced the soft fullness of her lips, then explored her mouth’s recesses.
Her breathing was heavy, as was his, when he released her. Impulsively, and in a gesture of innocence, she pulled her legs beneath her until she was kneeling opposite him. With her face now higher, she studied his, feature by feature, in unhurried wonder, her hands finding the thickness of his hair and burying themselves in it.
She made no protest as he sought the buttons of her nightshirt, releasing them one by one until there was a narrow flesh-toned slit from neck to waist. His eyes flickered to hers for a sign of objection, and when there was none, he reached up, took both of her hands from his neck and gently lowered them. Then in a motion slowed by adoration, he slid the flannel off her shoulders, pushing it down until her arms were freed.
If Laura felt any shyness at sitting half-naked before him, it was put to rest by the heartrending tenderness of his gaze. “How can one woman be so beautiful!” he murmured, stretching a hand out to outline the circle of her breast. She bit her lip to stifle the outcry of delight that surged at his intimacy. Lifting her hands once more to his shoulders, she drew herself closer, desperately needing a more binding touch than this first, painfully teasing one.
Sensing her need, Max took her into his arms, crushing her breasts against the softness of his sweater, as he reclaimed her lips, kissing her now with a hunger that belied his outward calm. Gently, he eased her down onto the bed before he released her lips to rain kisses on her neck and throat, then on her breasts. This time she gasped aloud when his lips touched her nipple, tantalizing a rosy bud with his tongue as his hand gently possessed its taut mate.
Laura had never dreamed of the height to which he took her with his caresses, driving her out of her mind with pleasure as he made his own every inch of the flesh exposed to him. She thought of nothing but how much she trusted this man, how much she wanted him, how very good he made her feel when he touched her.
The abrupt jangle of the telephone filtered through the haze of passion once, then twice, and a third time before Max’s voice joined it. “You’d better get that.” There was something in his tone that brought Laura tumbling off her high-flying cloud.
“It’s not important,” she suggested wishfully.
Max levered himself to look soberly down at her. “I think you’d better answer it.”
Fearful and suspicious at once, she groaned, “You didn’t leave my number with your service, did you?”
He didn’t budge. “I don’t have a service. Are you going to answer it, Laura, or shall I?”
It was all he needed to say. She was not yet ready to explain his presence in her home to herself, let alone someone else. Sliding quickly out from beneath his arms, she crammed her own back into the sleeves of her nightshirt, buttoning it as she made for the kitchen where the phone rang relentlessly.
“Hello,” she barked into the receiver, then steadied her voice immediately when she heard the identification. “Yes, Sergeant Adams…when was he taken into custody?…The charge?…Past record?…Where is he from?…Do you have verification? Let’s say $50,000…no, I don’t want him running around on the streets. Fine…yes, thank you, Sergeant.”
By the time she hung up, Max had returned to the living room and had begun to thumb through the newspaper. “Any problem?” he called, catching her eye.
She shook her head, intending her answer only for the phone call. “Some fellow has been arrested. Assault and battery with a dangerous weapon. They needed someone to set bail until the arraignment tomorrow morning.”
“Do you get calls like that often?”
“Every now and then,” she answered. Then she heard the sadness in her own voice as she added, “But not usually at as inopportune a time.” Realistically, she knew that the moment was gone. Perhaps it was a blessing. If so, why did she feel such profound disappointment? “Would you like some coffee?” she asked, the only practical thing she could think of to say.
Max still studied her, his eyes dark and unfathomable. “Only if you’ll have some.”
Without another word she set up the coffee maker, then stood back to watch it drip. The only sound from the other room was the occasional rustle of the newspaper. When the thin dark stream of steaming liquid had ceased to fall, she filled two mugs, then walked back into the living room, handing one to Max over the back of the sofa.
An eyebrow arched as he took the mug. “How do you know I take it black?”
She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, as she sat against the top of the sofa. “You had it that way at the party. I never forget a fellow purist!” Could she tell him that she remembered every such detail where he was concerned?
The paper was suddenly gone from his lap. “Laura,” he began, a faint frown thinning his lips, “you’re a virgin, aren’t you?”
She hadn’t been prepared for this line of questioning. “What does that have to do with anything?” she snapped sharply, her blue eyes widening in accusation.
Max’s gaze did not falter. “It has everything to do with what’s happening.” Then in answer to the muted skepticism on her face, he went on softly. “I would have gladly taken you a minute ago. You know that, don’t you?” If he had expected a simple yes or no, he had underestimated the will of the woman before him.
Cagey she was not; she could not hide the deep hurt that bewildered her. “Why didn’t you?”
There was a subtle hardening of his features; for a moment, Laura thought she had angered him. Then in a sudden movement he stood up and walked to the fireplace, keeping his back to her as he put one arm on the mantelpiece. The stretch of his sweater over the solid muscles of his back quickened Laura’s pulse.
“I don’t know.” It was small consolation to hear this paragon of competence make such a statement. She had assumed that Max always knew what he wanted and why, how, and when he wanted it. For him not to know why he hadn’t taken advantage of her when she was at her most defenseless, even willing, was a puzzlement.
His voice was low and smooth, its tension gone when he turned to face her. “I don’t know,” he repeated, an element of near defeat in his walk as he rounded the back of the sofa and stopped to look down at her. His eyes held the same warmth she had come to know, yet a distant quality had replaced the smoldering passion to which she had thrilled earlier.
His fingers held his mug as defensively as she held hers, using it as a makeshift substitute for the touching this closeness tempted. A thread of regret hung in
the air, a sense of loss which Laura, for one, felt acutely.
“I have to leave now, Laura,” he finally spoke, drawing himself up a little straighter in an effort to break the intangible bond that held him before her. Pride kept her from asking why, despite the voice within her that screamed it, and she somehow managed a smile. As she stood to walk with him to the stairs she felt the warm band of his arm slip behind her shoulders to draw her close once more.
“I’ll talk with you later in the week to set up a pretrial conference. I’d like to have this trial scheduled and over as soon as possible. Be good,” he murmured, his lips brushing the top of her head for a moment before he released her, and throwing his coat across his shoulders, he started down the stairs.
He had gone but halfway when he stopped, turned to her, the devilment which so affected her once more in his eyes, and grinned playfully. “Don’t forget to put that flower in water, tigress!” Before she could catch her breath the door had shut, leaving her with the memory of how he had looked at that last moment—tall and well-built, dark and daring, infinitely handsome, and totally endearing in the most masculine of ways.
It was a picture she carried with her for the rest of the day, particularly vivid when she looked at the solitary rose, long-stemmed and newly opening, which had been his peace offering. The situation was ironic, she mused. While his gesture had been suitably apologetic for his harsh words at the library, it had led to new developments that shattered any peace of mind Laura might have wished for. The clouded abyss loomed deeper, the mist growing denser with each lost foothold, the rock bottom an awesome mystery which held either ecstasy or misery, but hint of neither along the way.
Sensuous Burgundy Page 6