by Karen Rose
“You should get this knee checked out, Max. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe just my pride.” He winced. “And my tailbone. Shit.”
She watched as he struggled to stand, then fell back again with a muffled curse. “Let me help you get up.”
“You can’t. I’d pull you down with me.” He lifted an eyebrow and she could see the gleam in his eyes even in the darkness. “Now that’s a thought.”
His teasing did the trick, soothing her nerves and restoring the easy camaraderie they’d shared over dinner with his zany brother. Chuckling, she braced herself on her heels, crossing her arms across her chest. “Nice try, Max. Next you’ll be telling me your car’s out of gas. Here, hold on.”
He viewed her with new confidence, gripped her forearms, and together they eased him to his feet. “You’ve worked in a hospital.”
“No, but I’ve spent enough time in them.” She tried to bite back the words, but it was too late. The hospital was something she never discussed with anyone. Not even Dana knew all the details of her injury and recovery. Burying the most painful memories deep was the only thing that seemed to keep her going, especially when she’d first escaped. It appeared some of those memories were breaking loose and bubbling up. Maybe Dana was right. Maybe she was starting to feel safe. Then again, maybe she was just naïve, like Tom had accused. The thought still stung. To change the subject she looked away. “Here’s your cane. Let me walk a step ahead in case there’s more ice.”
He clenched his teeth and took a few steps. “I thought the woman was supposed to walk six paces behind.”
“Ah, the pitfalls of our field. Get out of the past, Professor, and into the twenty-first century.” Hearing him merely grunt in reply, she looked over her shoulder to find him leaning on a light pole, his face contorted with pain. “Or should I say cut the macho act and let me take you to a hospital?”
“No hospitals. I hate the damn things.”
Remembering how she’d also hated them, she relented. “Okay, then let me drive you home.”
“No. We’re going to dinner, even if it kills me.” He took another step, then grimaced. “And it just might.”
Caroline shook her head. He didn’t need dinner. He needed an orthopedic surgeon, but she wouldn’t press the issue. There would be other dinners, she thought, quelling her disappointment. “Let me take you home, Max.”
He gritted his teeth and leaned on his cane. “No. We are going to dinner.”
Caroline rolled her eyes. The man’s head was thick, which was fortunate as his head took the brunt of his fall. “Tell you what. I’ll take you home, throw something together and we can still have dinner. What’s wrong now?” she asked, exasperated when he didn’t move.
“This wasn’t what I’d planned.”
Caroline sighed, her breath instantly turning to vapor momentarily blocking him from view. “Plans change, Max. Either I take you home or I take you to a doctor. Your choice.”
“You’re a bossy woman.” But he eased his foot forward, still leaning heavily on the cane.
“So I’m told, by sources more experienced than you. I’m also a good cook.”
“Then home it is.”
His house was old-fashioned, white with gingerbread-type latticework in the eaves. A front porch wrapped across the front and around the side where a classic porch swing moved in the night wind. She could see a tire swing hanging from one of the massive trees in the front yard. A light was burning at the front door, but there was no evidence of anyone else around for miles.
“Nice place,” she said. It was. It was the kind of house she’d always known existed, always known normal people lived in. Loved each other in. Where mothers rocked their children to sleep at night and husbands said “I love you” and murmured endearments for no reason at all and didn’t drink themselves into abusive rages.
Caroline put Max’s car in park and sat staring at the front porch, almost hearing the happy cries of children, almost seeing flowers blooming in the neglected beds lining the porch. The house drew her, or maybe it was the illusion of normalcy that exerted the magnetic pull. Either way she was setting herself up for an enormous fall. The man, the house. The fantasy of it all.
Max studied her profile in the soft light of his grandmother’s front porch. She was staring at his house with an expression so wistful, so sad it twisted his heart. “I’m glad you like it. Let’s go in.”
His driveway was blissfully empty. No Dave, no Ma, he thought with relief, as he fished for his house key and opened the door for Caroline. Alone, he thought, in the darkness of his foyer.
Finally.
Caroline blinked when he flipped the switch, flooding the foyer with bright light.
“Sorry. My grandmother had bad eyes at the end so all the lights in the house are this bright.” He tugged at his gloves, shoved them in the pocket of his overcoat. Watched her turn and, in her quiet way, take it all in. Recognized how important her reaction would be.
“It’s nice, Max.” She crossed to the far corner, heavy with shadows and dust and trailed her finger along a vertical line of smudges on the wall. “Oh, look. How sweet. Which one is yours?”
Max felt a warmth fill his chest at the memory of Grandma Hunter’s growth chart and at the way Caroline’s face had softened as she spied it. That her eyes had snapped to it almost immediately despite the corner location didn’t surprise him in the least. She hadn’t looked at the dingy paint or loud wallpaper, but at the signs of home and love. He took the few steps to join her and, reaching over her shoulder, inhaled her scent before pointing to one of the tallest marks.
“That one. That was on my thirteenth birthday.”
Caroline’s head tilted back to see where he pointed. “About the same size my Tom is now.”
And where did Tom get that height, Caroline? Max wanted to ask. But he didn’t, because she didn’t offer and because he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know the answer.
“Yes. I remember the day like it was yesterday.” The back of her head nearly brushed his shoulder as she looked up and it would only take the tiniest of movements to bring it into contact with his body. His minute shuffle forward was plenty enough to accomplish the task. She tensed, but didn’t pull away. He took that as tacit agreement to continue.
“And?”
Oh, yeah. Thirteenth birthday. His mind had flown from sweet memories in the past to the sweet fragrance she wore in the very real present. He shuddered out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I was thirteen and all I wanted was a dirt bike. My older brother had one and I’d coveted it from the day he turned thirteen. I suspected Pop would get it for me, but I wasn’t really sure. Ma had fought him tooth and nail when he bought Peter’s.”
“Peter would be your older brother.”
“Uh-huh. He’s five years older and twin to my sister Catherine.”
“Peter and Catherine the Great, eh?”
Max nodded, using the motion to brush his cheek against her temple, feeling the slight tug of her hair against his evening stubble. He could hear the amusement in her voice. “You’re quick. My dad was a history buff. Anyway, he—”
“Was?” Caroline interrupted, turning to look up at him, sadness in her eyes.
Max cleared his throat. “My father died in a car accident twelve years ago.”
She was quiet for a long moment, just looking at him. “You loved him.”
Yes, Max thought. As much as it was possible to love a father. More. But the words wouldn’t, couldn’t come. His throat had closed shut against the wave of sudden, intense memory.
Caroline lifted a tentative hand to his cheek, cupping his jaw. “Then you were lucky.”
Her gentle touch was a soothing balm, easing back the barrier that went up so automatically. “Yeah, I guess I was.” She stood there, looking up at him, those blue eyes filled with compassion and tenderness. “I take it, then, that you were not.”
She pulled her hand a
way. “No.” She forced a smile. “Tell me more about the dirt bike.”
So he did. Anything to wipe that wounded expression from her incredible eyes. “Ma thought we would break our necks out there, but Pop was of the firm opinion that boys needed an outlet for their energy. So we had the cake and ice cream and I was practically dancing in my seat. Then Grandma Hunter wanted to mark my height and I didn’t want to. I told her I was too old and she became so sad. I never could stand to see her sad, so I folded and trotted over here and stood obediently while she drew the line. Then she leaned up and whispered that I had become a man, that this was the last year she would be able to mark my height.” He swallowed, remembering the sharp sense of loss he’d felt at her words.
“Because you showed respect for her feelings.”
“What?”
“You were a man because you showed respect for her feelings. A boy wouldn’t have done what you did, Max.”
The memory became even more poignant. “I suppose you’re right. I never thought about it that way. I always thought it was the magic of being thirteen. Or growing too tall for her to reach the top of my head.”
“So you got your dirt bike?”
“Yep. I ran outside and there it was, all shiny and new. Pop had come through for me.” He chuckled. “Then Pop drove me to the hospital the next day when I broke my wrist. And Ma never said I told you so.”
“What a wonderful memory.”
His eyes focused on the top of her head, her dark brown hair picking up the bright light of the foyer and he suddenly wished for the muted shadows of candlelight. Memories of bikes and birthdays and falls on the ice vanished as a slug of lust hit him square, rekindling the state of half-arousal he’d borne all day into a blazing urgency. He wanted her.
“Why do you always wear your hair up in a braid?”
Caroline’s eyes widened. “It’s easier. Max, what—”
But he’d already pulled the band from the tail and was working to free the entwined strands. “I want to see it down,” he said, his voice gone husky, then watched that irresistible blush color her cheeks once again. It seemed like an eternity since he’d touched her.
Caroline felt heat surge and unbuttoned the top buttons of the coat she still wore. His palm cradled the back of her head, his fingers gently scraping her scalp as they worked their way into the thickness of her hair, sending it falling to the middle of her back. His other hand freed the buttons on her coat and pushed it from her shoulders, blindly hanging it on a hook behind him.
“Caroline?”
With difficulty she lifted her eyes and saw him staring down at her, his intentions fair and clear. She mustered a faint nod and then ceased to think at all when his mouth covered hers. His mouth was everything she’d dreamed. Strong and soft, it monopolized, demanded and gave back everything it took. And more. He nudged, nipped and feasted, still touching with only the hand on her head and those sensual lips. The heat smoldered deep within her body, then ignited, unleashing a response she’d never known she held at bay. Her hands clutched great handfuls of his overcoat as if it were a lifeline, a tether to anchor her as the storm of new emotions nearly swept her off her feet.
She was on the brink of changing her life, but the knowing didn’t make the moment any less awesome. She wanted him, wanted his hands on her, wanted to feel his body against her own. In all her life she’d never wanted like this, never believed she was capable of such an insatiable craving. In the seven years of freedom, she’d never once felt the liquid tug of desire for a man, any man. Not until this man.
She felt smooth fabric and hard chest under her hands as they flattened against him, shoving his overcoat aside and running up his chest until they met the warm skin of his neck and clasped there, bringing him closer. Inching up on her toes, she pressed her body upwards, seeking a more complete fit.
Max had wondered how it would be, dreamed of how it would be. But it was better than his dreams. It was perfect. She was perfect. Her lips molded exquisitely to his mouth, yielding to the pressure of the kiss, at first returning it in her more reserved manner. He moved her head with his palm to increase the tenor of the kiss by a degree, seeking new angles and finding beauty in each one, losing himself in the sheer feeling of her. Then her hands clutched at him and her reserved response simply exploded.
Knowing his kiss had so affected her was more arousing than any of the smoother moves he’d ever had put on him by more sophisticated women. Feeling her arms lock around his neck released the strangled groan that had been building deep within him for days. But still he managed to hang onto control by a thread. Until her body twisted against him. Restraint evaporated and his free hand slid down the curve of her back, cupped her round bottom and lifted her higher. One step brought her shoulders into contact with the wall and she started in surprise, throwing her hips forward and against his rigid erection.
For an electric instant both Caroline and Max went still, frozen by the blatant carnality of the contact and everything it implied. Max lifted his head to find her eyes open, a mix of unbridled desire and astonished wonder. The desire made him press harder, deeper into the softness of her body. But the wonder made him pull back. This was another first for her, he was certain. He would stop this time. That there would be a next time was a given fact.
He released his hold slowly, until her feet again touched the floor, the physical bond between them broken. Wisps of hair framed her face, whipped about by the rapid breaths he exhaled. Her lips were plump and full, her cheeks chafed by his beard. She was beautiful.
“God.” He dropped his head, resting his cheek on the top of her head. His heart was jerking like a jackhammer, his lungs pumping like a bellows. His body was throbbing painfully. He’d never felt so alive. This was good; he knew it intuitively. This was where he was supposed to be. And she was where she was supposed to be. In his arms.
“What?” Caroline asked, hearing a voice totally unlike her own. Breathy and … sexy? Hard to contemplate. She— Caroline, reborn into a woman who could tear a groan from a man like Max Hunter. Incredible. Reality. The hands she’d locked behind his neck loosened and slid forward to frame his jaws, caressing lightly with her thumbs before dropping to her sides.
One of his large hands still tangled her hair and he used it now to gently tug her head back. His lips brushed over her reddened cheeks, dropping soft, plucking kisses along the curve of her jaw to the sensitive spot behind her ear, just above the collar of her sweater. Another shiver raced down her spine.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured in her ear. “I scratched your face. Tomorrow, I’ll shave first.” Then he stepped back and shrugged out of his overcoat, watching her face the whole time.
Wonder gave way to amazement. He was sorry because he’d scratched her face? Caroline fought the urge to shake her head. So this is how normal men behave, she thought, but even as her brain formed the notion she knew it wasn’t true. There was nothing normal about Max Hunter.
In small phases, amazement gave way to amusement. Tomorrow? She arched her brows, tilting her head as she watched him hang his coat on a hook next to hers. His eyes never left her face as if he were watching for any flicker of refusal and the thought made her heart swell. Considerate and vulnerable in a cocky kind of way. A newfound confidence bloomed.
“Promise?” she asked.
“Promise what?”
“Promise you’ll shave.”
A grin warmed his eyes before settling on his mouth and the effect on his face took her breath away. He was the most incredible-looking man. She tested her tender lip with the tip of her tongue. With the most inventive mouth. He hadn’t kissed. He’d devoured and cherished in the same effort. Tomorrow. Mercy.
“Cross my heart.” Loosening his tie, he pointed to the kitchen. “And now it’s time for dinner.”
Caroline cracked an egg into the bowl of Max’s restaurant-grade mixer. His kitchen tools were something out of Better Homes even if the dècor was classic sixties. “Leave the math
assignment on the dining room table. I want to see it with my own eyes. And remember, no camping trip during spring break if your report card has a C in math where a B should be. And, Tom?”
“Yeah, Mom.”
Caroline shook her head at her son’s barely veiled patience, clearly hearing in his voice the strain from the night before. Rarely had they allowed so much time to pass before clearing the air and now Caroline wasn’t sure how to talk to her own child. So she fell back on the familiar. She was his mother. Like it or not. “I’m sending Dana over to check on you in about an hour. Do not let anyone else in the apartment.”
“I know, Mom.” A pause and the sound of the refrigerator door opening. “Do not answer the door and do not get into a car with strangers, no matter how delicious their candy,” he finished sarcastically.
Caroline sighed. “Am I that bad, honey?”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, then Tom sighed too. “No, not really.” He bit into an apple, the sound cracking in her ear. “You’re a good mom,” he finished with his mouth full, and just like that the air was cleared. “And usually responsible,” he added lightly. “But give me the number where you are anyway and call me before you leave for home.”
Caroline complied, hearing the effort he was making. “And I’ll be home before curfew, sir.”
“See that you do.” He hesitated a beat. “Mom? I’m sorry I got so mad last night, but …” He drew a breath. “But you just met him and … Mom, are you sure this guy is okay?”
Love surged, and with it a deep sorrow that her son would ever think to ask the question. “Yes, sweetheart, he is. But if it will set your mind at ease, call later.”
“I will.”
“Bye, doll.”