by Mary Campisi
“Thank you.” Candace was so beautiful. Did Max wish, even for a half second, that C.C. looked more like her?
Candace crossed her legs and C.C. tried not to notice how the dress shimmied up her thighs, gathering the attention of the men next to them, men on the short side of twenty-five. Candace smiled and dismissed them with a flounce of black hair. “Your father says you’re quite taken with Max.”
Bam! C.C. hadn’t expected that.
“It’s okay,” Candace said, as though trying to be reassuring. “Not many women can resist Max. He has a way about him, a boyish charm mixed with one look from those baby blue eyes, that make the female population do some amazingly stupid things.” She lifted a slender hand. “I will be the first to admit I was one of those women.”
C.C. did not want to hear this.
Candace touched C.C.’s hand and said, “Your father told me all about the unfortunate situation a few years ago. There’s no way you could have known the man was married.”
If the words before had been unwelcome, these were a sucker punch. The restaurant closed in on C.C., the noise escalating as the words slurred. She rubbed her temples and blinked hard.
“Catherine? Are you all right?”
C.C. reached for her glass of water and took a long drink. “I’d really rather not talk about that.”
“Of course. I understand.” Candace fingered her water goblet with a fuchsia nail. “Shopping for your father’s wedding gift was only part of the reason for this visit.” She met C.C.’s gaze and held it. “I don’t want to see you make the same mistake again.”
“Why would I?” she asked in a cautious voice.
Candace’s eyes misted. “Because Max is using you to get the deal with your father.”
C.C. let out a breath of relief. Candace was wrong. “That’s absurd. He already had the deal before he knew who I was.”
“Exactly. But what if he wasn’t the one making the deal? What if he was the one agreeing to the deal?”
“What are you saying?”
“Your father knows how much you wanted a baby and he’s determined to get you one.”
“What are you talking about?” And what did this have to do with Max?
“Max made a deal with your father. The development for a baby. I learned about it a few nights ago and knew I had to tell you.”
“Dad wouldn’t. And Max would never agree to that.”
“Your father did,” Candace said softly, “and so did Max. I think your father believed he was helping. And Max—” she sighed and shook her head, “—I just don’t know what he was thinking.”
Her father had lied to her? Max only made love to her to fulfill a deal? But what about the condoms, she wanted to yell. Why would he wear them if he were trying to get her pregnant? The answer blared at her; he wanted to gain her trust and thought there would be many more opportunities to conveniently forget a condom. He’d been diligent with those damn things, she’d give him that. He’d only slipped up twice.
She didn’t realize she was crying until Candace handed her a tissue and said, “Please don’t cry.” C.C. wiped her eyes but fresh tears spilled down her cheeks, along her chin, faster than she could swipe at them.
“I’m so sorry, Catherine. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything, but I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself.”
C.C. sniffed and blotted her eyes. “I needed to know.”
Sincerity coated Candace’s next words. “I hated deceiving your father, and he might not forgive me, but I had to tell you.”
“You did the right thing. Thank you.” C.C.’s attempt at a smile wobbled.
Candace swiped a hand across her own cheek “What will you do now?”
C.C. balled the Kleenex in her hand until it was a tiny wad. “I’m going to give them both exactly what they deserve.”
***
Max snatched his suitcase off the baggage claim belt and headed for the exit doors. He’d half hoped C.C. would surprise him at baggage claim. It had been a long week and the brief phone conversations ratcheted up his desire to see her again.
The meetings had gone well and they had a good chance of bidding on a similar project to this one outside of Los Angeles. But even the exhilaration of moving one step closer to realizing his dream could not compare with his desire to see C.C. again. He wanted her in his arms, in bed, naked.
He clutched the bag of triple chocolate cookies in his hand. Only a crazy man would travel two thousand miles with a bag of cookies. Crazy in love, that’s what he was. Who could blame him? C.C. was honest and vulnerable, smart and sexy. Max patted his trouser pocket, making sure the velvet box was still there.
Tonight he’d ask her to marry him.
He considered stopping by her place on his way home from the airport but decided to wait. He wanted everything to be perfect tonight and he’d start with leaving the condoms in the box.
Max arrived at C.C.’s at seven o’clock carrying a bottle of Dom Perignon, a dozen red roses, and a bag of cookies with the velvet box containing a two carat diamond solitaire hidden inside. Maybe he should have bought her pink roses, or the purple ones so many women went crazy over. But didn’t red mean love? Damn, he should’ve bought all of them.
He rang the bell and wondered if she’d have on the see-through red bra and panties. Or none. Now that had definite possibilities.
C.C. opened the door in sweats—the perfect cover for total nakedness. “Hi, baby.” He moved toward her. “It’s been a long five days.” He set the gifts on a table, lifted her in his arms, and twirled her around. “I missed you too damn much. Miss me?”
He bent to kiss her but she turned away and he grazed the side of her cheek. “Of course I missed you.” The words slid through her teeth. “But that was your goal, wasn’t it?”
“What’s wrong?” He loosened his hold and she stepped back as though the last place she wanted to be was in his arms.
“Should there be something wrong?”
What was going on? “Anytime a woman asked a question like that, it damn well meant there was a lot wrong.” He grabbed the roses. “Here. These are for you.”
“Thank you.” She made no move to take them.
“And these.” He snatched the bag of cookies and thrust it at her. Those she took. And tossed them on the chair.
“What’s gotten into you?” This was the part of a long-term relationship he didn’t miss—the guessing and the games.
“Nothing.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him.
She was doing that little thing with her jaw she did when she was annoyed. Max found himself doing the same thing. He clamped his mouth shut and waited.
Even angry, which she obviously was, she looked beautiful.
He gave out first. “Okay, this is not the reunion I’d planned.”
She cocked her head and lifted a brow. “No?”
“No.” Spurts of anger shot through him, dripping into his brain. “I thought we’d share something a bit more intimate,” he snapped.
“Would you like me to take off my clothes?” She tightened her arms around her middle.
He’d need the Jaws of Life to ply those hands away. “You know, why don’t I walk outside and we’ll just start over? Okay?”
Pain flashed across her face and then it was gone, replaced with tight lips, flaring nostrils, and a narrowed gaze that blocked out any emotion. “I think you should just go.”
“Go? Go where?”
Another head shake. “My plan was to make you angry enough you’d walk out, but that’s not fair. It’s not honest either. There’s no easy way to say this, except to come right out with it.” She met his gaze and her honey brown eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Max. I’m really sorry, but it’s over.”
The words made no sense, not to him, not when he refused to process the sound.
“I never meant to hurt you. It just happened.”
“Over? You mean us?”
She looked away.
<
br /> Max shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from punching something—the wall, the door, his head. Of all the women who’d chased him, he’d fallen for one who didn’t want him. How ironic was that? Still, he couldn’t accept it. “I don’t understand.”
“Please, don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be.”
Hadn’t he said those same words to dozens of women? Now he knew what it felt like to get burned. “Difficult for whom? Me or you?”
“Both of us. It serves no purpose.”
He glanced at the chair with the gifts he’d brought. “Hmmmm.” He took a few steps inside her condo. It looked the same as it had five days ago. The plum pillows stacked on the cream sofa, the glossy Chicago Metro edition on the glass coffee table, the potted Norfolk Pine in the corner. Yet everything was different now. “Was it something I did, sexually?” He wanted to remind her of every intimacy they’d shared. Several times. Sex had not been the problem—let her try to deny that.
She flushed the deep red of the roses he’d brought to celebrate the future he thought they had together. “No, it wasn’t that.”
“Well, at least my virility isn’t in question. What then, C.C.? I didn’t call you enough? I called you too much? I left the toilet seat up once or twice?” His anger escalated, but he couldn’t stop now. She was going to tell him so he could talk some sense into her.
“Max.”
He couldn’t lose her now. “I look at you and I see a beautiful woman I want to be with.”
She turned away. “Please don’t.”
She almost sounded like the C.C. he’d left behind five days ago, with that soft breathiness she used when she got emotional. Or when she exploded with passion. That he remembered very well. In detail. “Help me out here. Just tell me the truth.” He couldn’t lose her.
“It’s…”
He loved her.
“I’m seeing David again.”
He was going to marry—“What did you say?”
She cleared her throat. Twice. Then she opened her mouth and spoke as though she were making a presentation to the board. “I ran into David three days ago. He’s divorced now and…” her voice trailed off.
“And what?” He struggled to get the words out.
“We realized we still have feelings for each other. We’re going to give it another chance.”
“Did you sleep with him while I was gone?” A rush of pain shot through his chest, hard and hot and unbearable.
She looked away and said nothing.
Which told him everything.
“Does he know about me?” Let her deny that.
“I told him.”
Max advanced on her, narrowing the space between them until all he could smell was her citrus scent. “What was I to you anyway, C.C.? A human vibrator?”
Her jaw tightened. “I think you should leave.”
“Right.” He didn’t move. He couldn’t. If he walked out now, he’d be walking out of the best part of his life.
“I think it would be best if I worked through Rhyder from now on.”
He found his voice and managed to speak. “I don’t think so.” Max prided himself on how calm he sounded considering he’d just been pole-axed.
“It would only be awkward. Rhyder seems perfectly capable and he can relay the information to you.”
She was right. How was he supposed to sit across from her and talk about city ordinances and pretend he’d never touched her, never been buried deep inside her? Never planned to spend the rest of his life with her?
It was going to be damn awkward.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he said. “My office. 8:00 a.m.”
Chapter 12
Rhyder heard the banging seconds before Roxie Revito’s high pitched squeal bounced against the door. “Rhyder! Rhyder Remmington, you open this door right now or I swear, I will stand out here and yell until the police come.”
Damn that woman! What time was it? He shoved his glasses on his face and squinted. Two-thirty. A.M. What could she possibly want at this hour? He tossed a T-shirt and shorts on and padded his way to the front door. “Hold on, hold on!”
Rhyder unlocked the deadbolt and flung open the door. “Get in here before the cops show up.” He grabbed her arm and yanked her inside. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Roxie pushed his arm away and hissed, “Did you know about your buddy’s deal with Grayson Crowell?”
He took a step out of striking range. She might be a pixie, but he bet she packed a dynamo punch. “What are you talking about?”
She advanced on him like a she-cat scouting prey. “You knew.”
It was merely a guess; the woman had nothing on him. And where was Max? Had he actually told C.C.? Not a smart move. Max always cared too much about things—people, integrity, the truth. “You show up in the middle of the night like some banshee madwoman and accuse me of being involved in something I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Did you know about Max’s deal with C.C.’s father to get her pregnant in exchange for your damn office park?”
He pretended surprise but he must have been a half second too late with his reaction because the she-cat lunged at him and pummeled his arm. “You no good, son of a—”
“Hey!” Rhyder had no choice but to smother her with both arms to get her to stop. Even then she squirmed for a few more shots but he just tightened his hold. When she brought her knee up, he stepped on her other foot, hard. “That’s enough,” he ground out. “If you want a fight, go find a punching bag. If you want to talk, go sit down and talk.”
“You’re killing my toes,” she hissed. “Let me go.”
“Are you done attacking me?” He looked down to gauge her sincerity. Without two inches of eyeliner, he could see her green eyes. Cat eyes. And her skin was a faint olive, not the paste she wore in daylight hours. And her lips were soft and pink…
“Don’t you think about it or I’ll turn you into a girl.”
Rhyder jerked away. What the hell had come over him? This was the maniac she-devil. God, it was late and he was delusional. “Go sit down. We need to talk.” She trudged to his couch and plopped on it. The woman had the manners of a mule.
“You sit over there,” she said, pointing to a leather recliner. “And don’t touch me again.”
Ah, useful information. The woman didn’t like to be touched. Or maybe, she just didn’t like to be touched by him. Good. Now he knew how to get to her—a useful tool when battling one’s opponent. Rhyder slid into the recliner. “Now start talking, from the beginning, and see if you can keep your voice below screaming level and your hands to yourself.”
She growled at him. The woman actually growled. He would’ve laughed but she might lunge at him again.
“C.C. called half-hysterical tonight. Said Max made a deal with her father to get her pregnant in exchange for this all-important stupid office park.”
All important. It was a hellava deal and well worth an ounce of sperm for a woman who wanted a kid anyway. But he didn’t think she’d see it that way. “Did Max tell her that?” If he did, then Rhyder was screwed.
The pixie on the couch snorted. “Do you think he’s stupid? Of course, he didn’t tell her.”
“Then how did she come up with this ludicrous idea?” There was still a chance to squirm out of the truth. If Max kept his mouth shut nobody had any hard proof, which meant the accusations were just supposition, which meant Rhyder could continue to deny everything.
Roxie shrugged. “She’s not stupid, you know. Women can tell when it’s fake.”
“Well, that’s true. It’s a bit difficult for a man to fake it.”
“You’re crude. I wasn’t referring to sex, you imbecile.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Of course she wasn’t talking about sex, but he wanted to throw her off balance so she’d start spewing information before she realized what she was doing. His professor father had taught him that answers were always in the details, no matter how
insignificant.
Another snort. “I was referring to relationships. Women know when they’re fake.”
“And men don’t?” Now that annoyed him. She was treating men, a category to which he belonged, as a subspecies with limited reasoning and deductive capabilities. That, he resented. Very much.
“They are totally, totally, totally clueless.” She ruffled her spiky hair and groaned.
“You think Max was faking it with C.C.?” Strange, he hadn’t picked up on that. If anything, he’d been worried his friend was moving the other way, toward commitment and until-death nonsense.
“Yeah, I do.”
Rhyder glanced at the clock. Two forty-five. He should just call good old Max and ask him. What a great idea. He’d get an answer and he’d shut down Roxie Revito’s overactive imagination. If Max intended to go legit with C.C., then what did it matter if he made a side deal with her old man? It wouldn’t.
Not unless she found out.
“You know,” Rhyder said, reaching for the phone, “I think we’ll just call Max and ask him.”
“No!” She shot off the couch and grabbed the phone. “Do not call him. C.C. made me promise not to tell anyone.”
“But you just told me.” The woman was radically unbalanced, he was certain of it. Why couldn’t she possess one tiny part of her cousin’s DNA? Then he could reason with her and she’d understand and agree with him.
“Only because you can do something about it.” Her expression softened. “I can’t see her go through what she did with the last guy. We’ve got to find a way to help.”
“We?” How had he gotten dragged into this mess?
“You’re his friend.”
“Which is why I want to call him and set things straight.” He calculated her reaction if Max confessed his subterfuge. Did little Miss Hairdresser have scissors in that bag she’d lugged in? He had a feeling if she did she’d try to use them on him for more than a haircut.
“Max can’t find out C.C. knows.”
“Then what do you want, Roxie? I do not intend to sit up the rest of the night discussing unfounded accusations. If, and I say if, Max made some sort of deal with Grayson Crowell, I’d say it’s negated by Max’s true intentions.”