As the two gazed into the golden flames, a feeling of contentment floated about them, a feeling of oneness which Laura would have liked to preserve for all time. Suddenly, she wondered whether he felt the same, and the thought became all important to her. Unable to ask, she skirted the issue.
“I bet you’ve snowed many a lady with this little hideaway.”
The hand around her shoulder tightened perceptibly on her arm as though in punishment for the prying barb. But when he met her challenge, his words took her by surprise. “You’re the first.”
The first? Her dark head swiveled quickly upward to view his face. He was serious. “You’re pulling my leg,” she quipped nonetheless, needing a moment to assimilate this information and its implication.
“I’d love to,” he crooned in mischievous response to her metaphor, “but that might get a little out of hand.” His arched eyebrow did not escape Laura’s gaze and quickly, she looked back at the fire, determined to probe his feelings further.
“Why not? Why haven’t you brought others here? Surely there must have been special women…” Her voice trailed off as she chided herself for her use of the past tense. Perhaps there were special women now. Perhaps she was but one of several. Somehow she sensed it was not so. His words confirmed that.
“Special women? There’s only one woman who fits into that category, and she’s here with me now. As I explained to you once before, Laura, this is my own very private place. And”—a catch of humor entered his velvet-smooth voice—“if I suddenly see or hear public reference to it, I’ll know who’s to blame.” He drew her into a playful hug, which was a little too intense and lasted a few moments too long for mere playfulness. Not that Laura wasn’t in a playful mood; the confession he’d just made elated her. She loved him; now he’d called her a special woman in his life. It was a start!
They sat before the fire, toasting comfortably in its warmth, engaged in easy conversation as the hours passed. They talked of the summers Laura had spent as a child at her family’s summer home on Lake Champlain, where she’d discovered her proclivity for physical activity—swimming, tennis, bicycling. Max recalled more subdued times, his family life revolving around the business to the sacrifice of the type of relaxed gathering Laura had experienced.
“Is that what this house is for…to assure you a source of relaxation?”
“You might say that,” he began hesitantly. “I believe that you have to make time for the more frivolous things. My family never did that.” He paused, training his brown orbs on her blue ones. “And you know how demanding our profession can be. Did it bother you to leave everything for this weekend?” His question carried a deeper meaning than the surface words implied, and she answered it with the brightness of her eyes.
“I wouldn’t have come if it had,” she reasoned softly.
“Is that so?” A huskiness swelled in his throat as he lifted a hand to cup her chin, fingers caressing the gentle line of her jaw, then moving to trace her lips. Intoxicated by the muskiness that filled her senses, Laura sighed helplessly, her lips moist and parted in alluring bloom.
With a shuddering groan Max pulled her around and onto his lap as his lips accepted her invitation. Crushed against the hard firmness of his body, she surrendered completely to his masterful seduction. When his arms loosened, it was to permit them to rove more intimately over her back, her rib cage, her breasts. Instinctively, her body arched toward him, her nipples taut beneath the layers of fabric that agonizingly held his flesh from hers. Her tormented groan was a new and more heady invitation, a mindless offering from amid a mindless heaven.
Ragged breathing punctuated the deep growl by her ear as he tore his lips away abruptly. “Or is it just my body you’re after, you little siren?”
Indignant, she loudly decried his allegation. “That’s absurd! I wouldn’t have come just for that!”
Something had changed. The voice that now taunted her was even and astonishingly devoid of the passion that had coated it seconds before. “How do I know that? How do I know this isn’t a trap?” Unable to believe her ears, or the nearly impersonal tone assailing them, she stared open-mouthed at the dark face, suddenly demonic in the fast-dying fireglow. “How do I know that you won’t make demands on me once I’ve taken your precious virginity?” Her loud gasp was ignored as he dealt the final, insane blow. “How do I know I won’t be compromised on the Stallway case?”
Hurt and infuriated, Laura’s muscles mercifully held as she bolted out of his arms and away from him. “How dare you suggest such things!” she cried in frantic grappling with her madly seesawing emotions. To be so deliriously happy one minute, so distraught the next—it just wasn’t fair! Striking out to conceal the pain within her, she turned, white-faced, to confront him. “You are an arrogant bastard! Do you really think your body is that irresistible? I came here for many reasons, but you wouldn’t understand those.” He sat in maddening relaxation, one knee crossed over the other, as he calmly bore the brunt of her tirade. It was his very composure which shattered hers. “And if you think for a minute that I intend to sacrifice my ‘precious virginity’ to you, you’ve got another thing coming, counselor.” The label was a sharp reminder of their professional relationship to herself even more than to him.
Trembling legs carried her to the stairs. She grabbed the bag she had left there and climbed up to the studio, where she fully intended to spend the night.
“You’re sleeping in my bed.” His words were low and directly behind her. In her uproar she had not dreamed he was following her, or she would have safely slammed the door against his entrance.
Clenching her fists, she turned to him. “I’d rather burn in hell!” she seethed.
To her dismay, he grinned that anger-melting grin of his, which had reduced her to a marshmallow too often in the past. This time she vowed to resist.
“You’ll neither burn in hell nor sleep on that sofa. I will sleep on the sofa. You will sleep in my bed.”
“I don’t want to sleep in your—”
“Keep still and get going, or I’ll change my mind and take you right here on the floor.” He was having fun, she marveled through her haze of fury. He thoroughly enjoyed her discomfort! Therefore, to rob him of his pleasure, she willed all anger into abeyance, raised her chin, and eyed him defiantly. Her voice, by some miracle, was cool and steady.
“Fine. I’ll take your room. Since your studio means so much to you, it’s all yours!” Raising both hands in a gesture of concession, she bent over to grasp her suitcase, pulling her hand away in red-hot reflex when it met his. Leaving him to carry the bag, she straightened her shoulders and crossed the hall. A moment later her suitcase was by the foot of the oversized bed and its bearer had retraced his steps to the door.
Turning to assure herself of his exit, Laura caught the raking gaze he gave her body before he left, calling softly as he closed the door, “Sleep well, tigress!”
It was a curse, nothing less! Sleep was an unreachable goal, she concluded after hours of trying. On the surface she had no complaint. The bed was firm and roomy, thoroughly comfortable, the blankets warm and enveloping, the sheets crisp against the soft fabric of her nightgown. No, what kept her awake had nothing to do with the physical conditions of her predicament. Rather, it was the psychological quagmire that deprived her of the blissful escape of sleep.
There was hurt, raw and painful, at the implications of what Max had said. Had he really thought that badly of her to imagine her harboring ulterior motives for coming here with him? It was incredible! He’d never seemed distrustful before.
There was bitter disappointment that he felt so little for her to have made such accusations. She’d had such high hopes, particularly after the things he’d said earlier. He’d seemed so sincere…and genuinely affectionate. Why had he suddenly lashed out at her?
Finally there was profound distress at his blatant reference to the upcoming trial, when they would have to regard each other with total indifference. There
was no small amount of irony in his statement; it was not he, but Laura who had risked the most by coming away with him. It was Laura who chanced being compromised. Surely he saw that!
The early dawn hours brought with them, much as the light after the long, dark night, a certain understanding. Max had wanted to provoke her, to set her off, for some unfathomable reason. He had purposely baited her and she, fool in love that she was, had bitten—and grossly overreacted!
She firmly believed as she watched the darkness of night yield to the pale blue hues of dawn that he had not meant what he’d said. He did feel something special for her; he did trust her; he did want her here. But for some reason he had wanted, last night, to put a distance between them. Why?
All of her musings reverted to one heady possibility—that Maxwell Kraig’s feelings for her were even deeper than he was ready to accept. Either he had not wanted to make love to her (and that possibility appeared remote, in light of the bold arousal she’d been keenly aware of) or he had not wanted her to give him the one thing that might imply a greater commitment, both by her and by him.
It was a mind-boggling puzzle that she grappled with. Yet the solace in the belief that there was hope for a return of the love she so deeply felt enabled her to fall, finally, into a heavy sleep, even as the first shafts of sunlight came through the window and into the room.
She awoke to the touch of a firm hand on her shoulder. The smile, relaxed and carefree, that filtered through her grogginess set the tone. If he held no grudge, neither could she. Slowly, she smiled back, inwardly pleasured at awakening to the sight of a freshly showered, denim-clad, sweatered Max.
“Forgive me?” he asked softly.
Her smile broadened, even as she reproached herself for her spineless capitulation, and she grumbled mischievously, “I seem to remember having heard that one before.” Correctly interpreting her smile as a response in the affirmative, he scooped her up into his arms, then collapsed onto the edge of the bed.
“What are you doing?” she squealed in surprise.
The voice was deep, though controlled, as though he still doubted something. “Kiss and make up?”
A soft giggle slid through her lips. “You’ve never asked to kiss me before.”
“I’ve never been such an arrogant bastard before. May I kiss you?”
Laura’s blue eyes peered at him skeptically, and her voice was a saucy whisper. “Just a little one.”
That was exactly what she got, to her immediate regret—a simple, light kiss on the lips, which was over before she’d even begun to be warmed. Perhaps that had been his very intention, she mused, as she found herself unceremoniously released to flip back to the pillow.
When Max made no move to leave, Laura’s gaze questioned him. “Was there something else you wanted to say?”
The whiteness of his smile dazzled her. “How did you sleep?”
“Not bad.” She lied, and he called her on it, noting the dark smudges shadowing each eye. Mercifully, he forced her to confess neither the extent of her poor rest nor the reason. Rather, he deftly changed the subject, inviting her to dress and come downstairs, informing her that they were going out for breakfast.
It was downhill all the way, with a return of good humor on both their sides. Breakfast was at a small shop near the ocean and was followed by a marketing expedition to buy food and drink for the weekend. It took little effort for Laura to blot out the events of the night from her mind; she was too much in love with Max to dampen his good mood. For when he was at his best, as he was on this day, he was irresistible.
The day passed in quiet relaxation. In the bright light of the sun, the house was even more cheery and open, the sea its ever-present companion, with its steadily crashing serenade. Laura spent hours by the window, looking out at the water’s cold wonder. Then at Max’s urging they dressed warmly and walked on the beach, hand in hand, in the most euphoric of moods.
Although Laura thought Max looked more tired than usual—and just how well had he slept the night before, she wondered mischievously—she dared not ask. Both avoided talk of their relationship, tacitly declaring a moratorium on any mention of affection, desire, or purpose. Increasingly, Laura found this to be the most trying. As day passed into evening, and Max served a feast of steak, salad, and wine, Laura ached to tell him of her love, so swollen had she grown with it.
The after-dinner hour found them planted once again before the fire, this time with a small distance between them, as though in open declaration that this night would be different from the last. And indeed it was.
Calmed by the wine, lulled by the soft music which sang from the stereo, hypnotized by the fire, and finally overcome by the fatigue which three hours’ sleep the night before had caused, Laura curled sideways on the sofa, resting her head against it as her eyelids slowly drooped, then closed, blinding her to everything but the quiet sounds of the night, the fire, the music, the ocean, and her own most fervent dreams. It was she and Max, alone and in love, prowling the shoreline once again, hand in hand, hearts as one, their inner beauty in perfect harmony with that about them.
Suddenly, above the brush of the wind and the spray of the sea salt, warm lips touched hers in gentle cleansing, warming them from the cold of the winter air. When she awoke, the lips were there, soft against her own in tender caress.
Infinite tenderness sprang from the brown eyes that traveled about her every feature, adoration from the hands that held her hair back from her fire-flushed cheeks. “I think it’s time you went to bed,” he whispered. “You’re exhausted.”
The sound of his voice, so near and dear, brought Laura to full awareness. Suddenly, she knew exactly what she wanted. Blue eyes widening in apprehension at the thought of those hands, those eyes, those lips deserting her once more, she heard the urgent whisper, her own heartfelt plea.
“Max, don’t leave me alone tonight.” At that moment she wanted him more than anything else in the world. It was in part the gnawing ache in the core of her femininity that propelled her toward him; but it was also the intense psychological need to be one with this man she loved. She knew that this was indeed one of the reasons she’d come with him to Rockport. Only his total possession could satisfy the raging fires within her.
His expression had sobered beneath her plea, his dark eyes penetrating her very being. “Tell me what you want, Laura,” he urged softly, his hands having fallen to the sofa on either side of her, their bodies close but no longer touching. This last was a preview of a potential hell, an emptiness she doubted she could endure.
Speaking without hesitance, her eyes luminous with a gathering moistness, she heard herself voice what she wanted above all else. “I want you to hold me, to touch me, to kiss me. I want to do the same to you. Make love to me, Max…” Her last words were barely audible, yet he caught every one. For an instant he hesitated, searching her depths before taking her in his arms and crushing her against his chest. Of their own accord, her hands had found their way to his brown-maned nape, clinging there with a strength born of intense longing.
There was a moment of panic when he pulled gently away from her, though his instantaneous “Shhhh” stilled her protest, as with deft movements he spread several billowing throw pillows onto the plush carpet before the fire. The resurgence of desire that flooded through her when he took her hand to ease her down to lie before the hearth was intoxicating. But Laura had no intention of being intoxicated. She was wide awake, of sound mind, and determined to experience Max’s lovemaking to the fullest. It was the moment she’d waited for all her life.
Sensing her need, he overrode his own burning desire and bid his movements be slow and gentle, ever mindful of the maiden voyage this was to be. With infinite care he eased the wool sweater over her head, then, one by one, released the buttons of her shirt until it fell aside. Her bra was a simple matter, unhooked and discarded, leaving her naked beneath his gaze. When his mouth began an exploration of her flesh, she arched to meet it, the need to be to
uched overwhelming her.
Soft words of love, murmured low and warm against her breasts, brought their pink tips to crested peaks. Manly fingers skimmed her collarbone, her rib cage, and the deep valley connecting the two.
Driven herself by the need to explore, Laura sat up before Max and spread her hands beneath his sweater until he whipped off the offending wool, leaving his dark brown hair rakishly rumpled over his forehead. Yielding to the impulse she had to fight in times past, she combed it aside with slender fingers, shifting to her knees and lifting her mouth to taste his in turn.
Then she freed him of his shirt, savoring her first view of the manly chest which so expressed Max. Shy at first, then with growing conviction, she ran her hands over his skin, raking the soft, dark hairs as her fingertips outlined his muscular shape.
“Come here, little tigress!” he growled, suddenly impatient. As he hauled her against him, she gasped aloud at the texture of bare chest against bare breast, and her own impatience grew to explosive proportions. “If you take your things off, I can remove mine,” he suggested against her hair, with a practicality inspired by pure and urgent need.
A brief moment later they stood naked before one another, lit and warmed by the graceful golden flame of the fire. Laura’s eyes watched Max’s as they fell from her face, to her chest, to her stomach and thighs, finally returning to the dark secret triangle that had never before been probed. When his eyes returned to hers, there was an admiration in them that fuelled the building fire within her.
“Now you look at me, Laura,” he rasped. “I want you to see how much I want you, to feel how much I want you.” Beneath his command she lowered her own gaze, marveling in the breadth of his shoulders, the firmness of his chest, the tapering slimness of his waist and hips…and the magnificent manliness that graphically interpreted his words. Unable to tear her eyes away from the boldness, she heard him utter from above her, “Touch me. Go ahead. Don’t be afraid.” She was in confrontation with this new and awesome force, yet she let him take her hand and guide it to himself, revealing now to her his own secrets as his other hand explored hers.
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