Max wrapped her arms around her mother, kissing the top of her head. “You giving me advice like that is just too creepy at my age, Mom. I’m going,” she stated, waving her fingers over her shoulder before slipping out the door.
The walk to Campbell’s, one she insisted upon rather than him picking her up, gave her stomach a chance to settle. Whatever those papers Fin sent said, it could damned well wait. Fin wasn’t going to spoil the excitement she was experiencing about seeing Campbell with what was more than likely more threats and demands.
Instead, she focused on Campbell, the completeness she couldn’t help but notice she’d felt when they’d made love. His insistence that she talk to him if she started getting cold feet. He’d been very expressive in his wishes. Almost intense, and Max wanted to understand why.
She wanted to know what happened to Campbell after high school. Where he’d been between then and now, and why he’d left everything to come help his father.
Her knock on his door held no hesitation this time. For the moment, the multitude of uncertainties she was always knee-deep in was quiet.
God save the poor man if there was a sudden uprising.
The grin Campbell greeted her with was mischievous. “I didn’t have to come drag you over here by your hair. I’m impressed,” he said, chuckling.
“Why would you have to drag me over here? You did say food was involved, didn’t you?” she teased, falling into his arms when he enveloped her in them.
“I did. But I thought for sure you’d be so wrapped up in the ‘Oh, my God, I had sex with Campbell last night’ post-coital freak, you’d forget there was pizza involved.”
Her laughter bubbled upward, unhindered and light. “Oh, trust me, pal. I never forget when Giuseppe’s with mushrooms and olives is involved. So where’s my pizza?”
“I’ll show you pizza,” he muttered against her mouth, making her melt when his tongue swiped hers before taking possession of her lips.
“Hey.” Maxine mock-fought against his effort to drag her toward the bedroom. “You said food. I came. I see no food.”
His hands went to her waist, lifting her up to carry her into the bedroom. “I’ll show you something way better than food.”
Arms wrapped around his neck, she snuggled against his neck and asked, “Is this something better going to provide nutrition, because I have to tell you, I didn’t get this ass starving myself. It must be maintained.”
“I love your ass,” he growled into her ear, sending an army of shivers along her arms and up her spine. “I promise there’ll be pizza if you shut up now and let me remind you why you’re a brave little soldier for not freaking out.”
Max’s head fell back on her shoulders, taking him in. “You swear there’ll be pizza? You’re not just saying that to get in my pants?”
Between small nips of the sensitive spot on her neck, he said, “I’d do pretty much anything to get in your pants. So, yeah, there’ll be pizza.”
Her giggle was so lighthearted, it almost didn’t sound like hers—it was unfettered by anything but the absolute thrill Campbell’s words brought. The thrill his desire for her gave her. “Aha. Well, then, commence with the pants thing.”
Campbell tipped her onto his bed, eyeing her with a smile. “I have condoms,” he stated, as though he deserved a pat on the back.
“And yet you forgot the pizza. Men,” she joked when he lay on top of her, fiddling with the buttons on her new blue blouse.
Taking her lips, he made her forget all about pizza when he pushed her shirt aside and cupped her breast, running his fingers over her nipples. She had no hesitation pulling his shirt up over his head, tossing it aside to sink her fingers into his flesh.
Everything about him was hard, planed, hot, and when he tugged at her jeans, she didn’t even consider the fact that they were tearing each other’s clothes off in broad daylight. It was enthralling, but brief, as her focus was drawn to his fingers parting her flesh and stroking her clit.
Max’s moan was low, from deep within, her need usurping everything else but Campbell’s hands and mouth on her. Frantic fingers tore at his jeans, shoving them down and away before encompassing his cock in her hands, guiding him to her, spreading her legs so he understood she couldn’t wait.
Somewhere between her giggles of delight that he’d forgotten where he put the condoms he’d boasted about and the sweet bliss he brought when he sank into her, she experienced another discovery.
Being with Campbell was more than just sexual. It was easy. Comfortable but exciting. Those notions left her sighing when he pulled her hips flush to his, scraping her clit with the crisp hairs at the base of his cock.
Reason left and only a primal need for fulfillment remained. Each thrust of his hot shaft, each hiss of his breath was so sensual it was all she could do not to scream her pleasure.
The tightening in her belly, the white-hot fissures of pleasure slicing through her, were only made more pleasurable by Campbell above her, his sinewy neck taut, his strong arms tense.
The visual of him, taking her, driving into her, stretching her, his desire for her, sent her tumbling over the edge in a crash of sharply sweet release.
God, he took her breath away.
And once more, she fought the knee-trembling fear she’d find herself consumed by someone again until she was just Maxine Cambridge.
Finley Cambridge’s pathetic ex-wife.
“Hmmm,” Max cooed. “Pizza.”
Campbell wiped a gooey string of cheese from her mouth, pressing a kiss to her sauce-stained lips. “Hmmm, pizza.”
They sat on his bed, Max in his shirt, Campbell in just his jeans. When he gazed at her, she found she was less likely to look away, and the panic accosting her earlier once more subsided.
“So you wanna tell me what exactly happened to Max Henderson?” His question was casual, but Max knew he’d made a point of keeping the question light.
“In twenty words or less?”
“In as many words as it takes.” He leaned back against the pillows with a smile, patting the space beside him in invitation.
Her shoulders lifted upward. “You know, I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. Almost eleven solid months of thinking, and crying, and okay, even a little boozing. Yet I can’t seem to pinpoint where exactly I lost Max and became Maxine—this woman who, because her husband had money, people instantly thought was shallow and designer-label obsessed. Which was anything but the truth. Were those things nice? Hell, yes. Did they define me the way everyone seems to think they did? No. Because if they did, I’d already be on the hunt for some filthy rich seventy-five-year-old. Who, by the way, would give me back my trophy-wife status.” She gave him a quirky smile, closing her eyes to savor her next bite of pizza.
“I get the impression part of what went wrong was Finley just doesn’t act like he’s much of a team player. As you matured, and your ideas of what a marriage should be changed, his didn’t.”
Her pause was long, the silence deafening. The muscles of her throat worked while she forced her brain to find the words to accurately describe why she’d let herself become so lost, so consumed by a marriage that had left her unable to care for herself and her son.
Maybe her prior statement wasn’t entirely true. She did know when the will to fight had vanished—or maybe, in hindsight anyway, it was just that she’d fought the wrong fight. Instead of fighting for her dignity, her pride, herself, she’d opted to give all of those things up to pacify a man who’d never once thought his affairs were the result of his wrongdoing. They were always justified by his infamous disclaimers. “If you had just done this, Maxine . . .” he’d said, “I wouldn’t have done that . . .” You could fill in the blanks with whatever adjective Fin could find at the time to prove she’d literally driven him to sleep with someone else.
“The first affair Finley had,” Max said, clearing her throat, “I was so clueless it makes me sick, looking back now. All those late nights he was working weren’t anything new—I just
never believed he’d do something like that to me. I think that’s where everything became an out of control SNAFU. I lost sight of everything else but keeping it together. Keeping my commitment to my son, my marriage. Keeping Finley happy, because for some crazy reason I thought his happiness was all that counted. So once the initial shock passed and the back draft had died down, I was determined to make everything shiny again and forget how much it hurt to know he’d gone elsewhere to . . . you know. Then I went to the extreme of whatever shiny is. I swore I’d be the wife Finley so openly decided I wasn’t. I’m pretty sure that’s when I lost who I was.”
“But I’m guessing somewhere deep inside, that just wasn’t working out, stuffing all of your feelings aside in favor of his,” Campbell stated rather than asked.
Her laughter might have been bitter if it weren’t the truth. “Oh, I stuffed. I set aside all my internal protests and the ‘What about mes’ to the ‘Deal with it’ bin in my mind and focused on making everything as perfect as was humanly possible. I worked out seven days a week no matter what. I had my hair lightened. I gushed over every stupid, menial thing he did like he deserved a standing O for just walking through the door every night. I hung on his every word like he was the automobile industry’s answer to the Dalai Lama. I had Lola, our maid, make his favorite meals. I was picture-perfect every waking second, and it was exhausting. Each time he’d ‘break’ our marriage, I’d run behind him with my tube of superglue, pick up the pieces, and glue it all back together as best I knew how.”
“And you finally came to the conclusion that somewhere along the way, there were too many pieces lost in the breaking.”
“I’m a slow learner,” Max joked wryly, resting her head on his shoulder. “When I found out about Lacey, that’s his fiancée and my best friend’s sister, I hit a wall. I think it had to do with the fact that the other affairs he had were with nameless, faceless women. Lacey . . . Lacey was too close to home. I talked Fin into giving her the job at the dealership to begin with.”
Campbell’s whistle was sharp. “Your best friend’s sister. Ouch.”
“But in a way, I’m grateful for Lacey. The night I left Fin was the night I realized nothing was ever going to be enough for him. He’d always want something shinier, faster, prettier. I think the most pathetic thing about my marriage is that I really believed if I kept everything just so, if I re-created whatever Finley found so special in me when I was twenty, I could keep it all together. I just forgot that what he found so special was sagging and in need of a boob job.”
Campbell kissed the top of her head. “Is that what you think loving someone is all about? Boobs and butt implants?”
“It’s what Finley loving someone is about.” Max shook her head with disgust for herself. “I know now my rationale was skewed. I think I even knew it then, but I was willing to sacrifice anything to keep my family whole. I thought that even though the sacrifice involved my integrity, my self-esteem, it was a price I was willing to pay. And before you go there, no, I didn’t stay married for the money because I never in eleventy billion years would have believed Finley would cut us off the way he did. I really believed, right up until a month after I left him, he’d help me get on my feet if we ever parted ways. Did I enjoy being rich? Who wouldn’t? Would I trade all I’ve gained since I began this divorce thing? Uh, no.” And she wouldn’t. Despite poverty, despite the fear of not providing for Connor, she’d never go back to someone thinking they had the right to take everything away from her.
“So he really has left you with nothing. How’s that possible in this day and age?”
Her snort was ironic. “Oh, you’ll love this. I signed a prenup I was completely unaware was a prenup.” Max held up a hand to thwart his inevitable outrage and disbelief. “You don’t have to beat me up about it. God knows I’ve done plenty of that since I saw the copy of it. I remember signing things. I also remember not asking a single question about them, because I trusted Fin. How’s that for blind faith in your man?”
It was Campbell’s turn to snort. “And there’s no legal recourse? That’s outrageous. He’s a multimillionaire and you’re—”
“So close to being homeless I was scouting garbage bins for boxes Connor and I could glue together to make a double-wide. If not for my mother, that’s where we’d be. Thank God for the job here in the village, because now, everything’s taken a turn for the better. The prenup’s ironclad. At least if what my dial-a-divorce lawyer says is true. I can’t afford to get a decent lawyer. You know, the reputable kind that calls you back after he’s charged your credit card for doing nothing more than shuffling papers. But I’ve finally come to grips with the fact that I did this to myself. I let Finley own me lock, stock, and custom silk draperies from France. I never pursued anything other than being his wife and Connor’s mother. He might not have been in love with the idea of me going back to school when I broached the subject, but I was the one who let him tell me he didn’t think it was a good idea. I was the one who caved. Me.”
“But he must, at least according to law, have to give you child support for Connor, right?” Campbell asked, clearly still baffled.
Max looked down at her hands, wringing them together. “He does.”
“And you’re not pushing that why? At least for Connor. There are laws that say he has to give up a percentage of his yearly income for child support, right? Even if you waived the right to his fortune.”
“Yes, that’s true.” The guilt she felt over not going head-to-head with Finley brought self-loathing of the worst order. “How did you know that?”
Campbell’s smile was wicked. “The Internet is a valuable tool, and I’m not ashamed to admit I went searching for an answer after finding out you had absolutely nothing. So explain to me why Connor should suffer because his father can’t keep his pants zipped?”
Because it meant taking Finley Cambridge on, and quite frankly, she was afraid. Not to mention, her lawyer seemed a-okay with accepting the paltry amount of money Finley’d first offered. He just wanted Finley to sign the papers so he could get rid of her and her constant calls to complain about his crappy lawyering.
“You’re afraid of him,” Campbell assessed correctly. “You’re afraid if you put up too much of a fight, you’ll lose more than you already have.”
“Call me a chicken-shit, but yes. I’m afraid of Finley Cambridge, okay? And if I don’t fight it, if I agree to what he wants and sign the papers, then it’s just done. He gets to keep his money, and I’m divorced.”
“So if you’re willing to give him everything without a fight, what’s the holdup?”
Money, money, money. That’s what it was all about, wasn’t it? “I can’t afford to file the papers. Court fees cost money, but I’m putting some of my paycheck away each week. Maybe next millennium I’ll be divorced,” she joked, twisting the sheets between her fingers.
Campbell’s pause made Maxine wonder if he thought she was holding off for other reasons. “I swear that’s the reason. It’s the only reason.”
“I’m not doubting that. Here’s what I’m wondering—if Finley was so into Lacey he asked her to marry him before he’d even told you he was screwing around, why hasn’t he filed himself?”
Yeah. Why hadn’t he? Surely Lacey must be tired of hanging around, waiting to have that platinum wedding she so wanted. “I don’t know. I just know that his money doesn’t matter to me. I’ll find a way to take care of Connor myself—even if it won’t be in a lodge with five-star accommodations and us wrapped in silk. I just want to be free of Finley.” With a jut of her chin, she flashed defiant eyes. At the wrong person, but defiant nonetheless.
Campbell cupped her chin, stroking her trembling lower lip. “Don’t be defensive, Max. I’m just trying to understand. What I’ll never understand is how Finley could allow Connor to pay for his mistakes. That he doesn’t want to give you anything for being a good wife for twenty years blows, and I think he’s an asshole, but to not want his kid to be secure when he�
�s rich—that’s pretty damned sleazy.”
She’d be more embarrassed by her stupid fears if Campbell’s hand weren’t smoothing the muscles of her back in slow circles. “But you know what? It’ll be okay. If it weren’t for the fact that Connor’s suffering the way he is to make his point to his father, I wouldn’t care about the money period. Not even a little.”
“Really? Even after losing all those vacation homes and luxuries?” he teased.
“I won’t lie and say never having to worry about money sucked. It didn’t. But replace that worry with the kind that involves never knowing where your husband’s hanging his drawers, and I’ll take this over that any given day of the week. So, yes, I don’t care that I lost all those luxuries,” she said with honesty, surprised she really meant it. Well, except maybe for her shoes. She’d be lying if she didn’t admit to missing her shoes. “Because all of those luxuries never gave me what I needed most and was just too stupid to see I’d lost to begin with.”
“A separate checking account?” he joked with a luscious, teasing grin.
Maxine’s eyes fell to the sheets, her voice hoarse when she confessed, “My dignity. My integrity. My opinions. Clearly, as you’ve witnessed, I’m bordering zealot-like proportions when it comes to my opinions. I let it get out of hand sometimes, but having this new power is like being dubbed queen for a day. Or like being given a lightsaber you have no idea how to use, but choose to battle the Storm-troopers with anyway and ask for directions later.”
Campbell chuckled, tucking her closer. “Maybe you might want to hand off the baton every once in a while. Just so people don’t start calling you power hungry.”
Giggling, Maxine leaned into him. “Know what else? I’ve found this odd freedom in buying my own gallon of milk with the money I’ve earned. I nearly wet myself when I took Connor to McDonald’s the other day and the food I bought was paid for by yours truly. I know to someone like you, someone who’s been on his own for a long time, that sounds ludicrous, but for someone like me, it’s epic. Who’d have thought some greasy fries could be so empowering?”
You Dropped a Blonde on Me Page 28