by Jule McBride
“She’s…”
“In a nursing home in West Virginia.” Lo winced, knowing she’d said too much. And yet she felt so compelled to tell this man things. Everything but the whole truth. “I—I wanted to make some money, and there weren’t really jobs there for me. At the time, Gran didn’t want to leave the state, but she would now. I just thought if I—”
“Came here and made good?”
There was no mistaking the hint of irony in Max’s voice. She nodded. “That I could take care of her.”
“The way she took care of you?”
Lo nodded again. “She’s not really fit to be by herself, but she hates the nursing home. And since I didn’t want her to worry about me, I never admitted…”
That I’m pregnant. She’d never even mentioned Sheldon, since the stoically religious Gran would have given her countless well-deserved lectures on the evils of sex before marriage. Lo suddenly thought back to her school years at St. Mary’s with the nuns and Father Burnes. And look at me now.
“You never admitted…” Max urged.
“That—er—I’ve split up with my husband. So Gran thinks I still have my job.”
“And she can’t figure out why you haven’t sprung her from the nursing home yet?”
Staring at Max, Lo wished he wasn’t so incredibly astute. He’d be a hard man to hide anything from. “You guessed it.”
“She doesn’t know you’re pregnant?”
Lo shook her head.
Max looked steadily back. There was no mistaking this man’s compassion. It was everywhere—in the candle flames that- danced on his cheeks, in his golden eyes and in his hair. It seemed to surround him like a soft light. “Well,” he said gently, “I’m sure things will work out.”
Lo doubted it, but the sincerity in his eyes almost made it true.
His laughter broke the silence.
She raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?”
“Do I still have to do those damn dishes?”
She smiled. “You’ve been so nice, I guess I’ll let you dry instead of wash.”
“I’ll take what I can get.”
She rose. He followed. And soon, with the candles snuffed out and the lights back on, they were standing side by side at the sink. A companionable silence fell between them—as if there were no secrets, no lies.
Max nodded at a pot. “What do you say we save that one for tomorrow?”
“What do you say we just throw it out?”
Max laughed. “A girl after my own heart.”
I am after his heart, Lo thought, her own thudding. Months of reading his articles had made her think she could love him. Tonight, she’d realized it was true. Oh, yes, she could definitely love a man like Max Tremaine.
When the dishes were done, Max tossed the dish towel aside and turned toward her. “Guess that’s it.”
She leaned against the counter and nodded. A silence followed that was too long and too felt. Suddenly breathless, Lo tried to block out the dreamy music. Max stepped a pace closer. For months, Lo had fantasized about Max—and a moment exactly like this. But she forced herself to turn away by barely perceptible degrees. Then she inched along the counter.
Not that he let her go. He leaned lithely, caught her hand and then shook his head as if to say her girlish maneuvers were unnecessary. He wanted to kiss her. She wanted to kiss him. And both of them knew the other one knew it. But she couldn’t! She was in legal trouble. Not to mention eight months pregnant and living under an assumed name—his name!
Lo’s knees suddenly began to buckle. Before she dropped to her haunches, she locked her legs tight. Her mind raced at a million miles a second. What if she seduced Max? What if they married and he became the father of her baby and Gran came to live with them in this nice little cottage…?
Lo, you should be committed!
But what if she didn’t kiss him? Would he call the police? Would her own friend Dotty Jansen come to arrest her? This time, when Lo’s knees slammed together, she could hear the bones crack.
“Max…” Max said softly.
“Hmm?”
“Mind explaining why you arranged for the candlelight and music if you weren’t at all interested in a good-night kiss?”
“I…”
She was far too embarrassed to tell him the truth. She hadn’t been expecting a soul. She’d just felt lonely. And feeling lonely made her think of the Thanksgiving dinners her family had shared years ago—when Gran was younger and Lo’s parents were alive. So she’d cooked herself a turkey. Then, on impulse, she’d set the table for two, just to pretend…
“I did it to foster a good bodyguard-client relationship!” Lo suddenly squeaked, feeling as if she’d won at “Wheel of Fortune.” If only Vanna White would appear with a car, so she could drive right out of this kitchen….
Max’s voice was as soft as silk. “The bodyguard what?”
Somehow, the man had gotten right next to her and his head was angling downward. Lo felt hot all over. Scorchingly, searingly, blazingly hot. She could feel the color on her face spreading to her chest, rising in splotches. All her fantasies about Max were coming true, and everything was just as she’d imagined—the heat seeping through his shirt, the warmth of his breath, the…
“Relationship,” Lo whispered.
“I think everybody ought to have one,” Max returned.
“But you can’t get too close to your clients.”
“How can I protect you if you’re far away?”
The man had a point. “But you’re my employee.”
“Pulling rank?”
“No, but I don’t think you should kiss me. I mean, not that you were thinking about it. But if you were…” It was pointless. His mouth was mere inches from hers. Just far enough away that she could see him smile, just close enough that his breath tingled against her cheeks. “Look,” she ventured, “it’s really not a good idea to…you know.”
“I don’t really know.” Max’s twinkling eyes drifted over her. “But all night, I’ve been guessing. And I’ve definitely been thinking about kissing you.”
When she saw the hunger in his gaze, Lo’s.pulse surged. Dinner had hardly curbed Max’s appetite. And she guessed he meant to have her for dessert. Illogically, she considered running for the fridge and again offering him pie. And then she thought of Albert Einstein. If only she could turn back the clock and reset the dinner scene—this time, without the candles and music.
“Honey,” Max said softly, “I am going to kiss you.”
Lo moaned. “But it’s just not right!”
“Believe me, Max,” Max said right before his lips claimed hers, “this is the only thing I’m sure is right.”
4
An Object in Motion Remains in Motion Until Stopped by an Outside Force
MAX KISSED like a Mack truck. No warm-up and full speed ahead.
All Lo could do was flail her arms wildly as if she were stuck at the roadside and trying to flag him down for help. “Stop!” she kept protesting. “Stop! Stop! Please stop!”
But the words were so muffled they sounded like “Op, op. ‘Ease op.” Graceful protest is simply impossible, she decided, when a man’s lips are clamped to yours like wet barnacles to a dock post.
Lo told herself to back away, but Max’s eighteenwheeler smooch had already backed her so far into the kitchen sink that her hind end was getting wet. Her waving hands slapped the counter, then wound up around his neck. She wasn’t sure of her motives-if she was trying to strangle or hug him—and she was still so shocked, she wasn’t even kissing him back.
Not that the man’s kisses seemed to require female participation. He kept right on trucking as if being the only driver on the road didn’t bother him in the least. So Lo did the only thing she really could-gave in.
And sweet heaven, did it feel good.
Max’s velvet lips probed. His playful tongue teased. And his corded forearms tightened around her back. The whole time, Lo was breathing in the delectable scents of co
ffee and road dust and longforgotten aftershave while Max’s silken, tousled hair and light golden stubble brushed her cheeks. When she shifted her weight, his hard, flat belly pressed the cushioning swell of her own.
Maybe I’ll just go along with him for a quick spin, Lo thought illogically. The second she relaxed, Max gentled the kiss, as if to say he was awful glad she’d scooted from the passenger seat and come over to his side. Suddenly feeling as flimsy as a wrung-out rag, she reminded herself that she could probably voice a coherent protest now.
Instead, she purred, “Bet you played football in high school.”
Max smiled against her lips. “Quarterback.”
She knew that, of course, since she’d scrutinized all his yearbooks. “Brains and brawn.”
He leaned back a hairbreadth. “Which do you like best in a guy?”
Lo thought of the way Sheldon’s criminal mind had destroyed her life. “Brawn.”
Max chuckled. “How shallow.”
Lo’s answering smile turned wan. Lord, she was in trouble. Max was so sexy. And so nice. She knew he was smart, too. She just wished she didn’t like him so much. Not his open, easy manner. Or the sexy, masculine way he smelled. Or the fact that he cared about the world beyond himself.
“Brawn, huh?” he murmured.
“I’ve run into my share of trouble with the brainy variety,” she whispered back.
“Variety? You make guys sound like garden plants.”
“Face it, some are weeds.”
“And some are Venus flytraps.” Max grinned and devoured her with another kiss.
Lo gingerly squirmed sideways. “Look—er—Boots, our situation is a little sticky.”
“That’s why I’m sticking with you.”
There was just no stopping him. The Venus flytrap planted his lips on hers again. This time, the kiss was an obvious invitation to more. Lo tried not to R.S.V.P. so enthusiastically in the affirmative. But the kiss was as sure as fate and taxes, and it felt so right and good…
Until Max gasped.
Lo’s eyes flew open just in time to see Max step back, stare at her belly and swallow hard.
“It kicked me,” he said.
Lo’s hand shot to her belly just as the baby moved again. Bone-deep defensiveness made all the color drain from her face. “It hardly kicked you intentionally!”
Max stared at her. “Look, I was just.”
Everything in his stupefied expression reminded Lo of why they shouldn’t be kissing. “I know what you were doing,” she forced herself to say. “Which is why you’d better stop.”
Clearly thinking of how the baby had surprised him, Max said, “It was nothing personal.”
Thinking of the kiss, Lo said, “It was very personal.”
Max’s longing eyes now locked on her lips. “Really, I was just surprised. I mean, I felt this thing—”
Lo’s eyes bugged. “This thing is my baby!”
Max squinted, clearly wondering how their first kiss had veered in this strange direction. “I know that.”
She crossed her arms. “Then why were you so surprised?”
“It just caught me off guard. Okay?”
“No, it’s not okay.” And you’re just like Sheldon. Given his position at the Times, Max was probably a fast-track careerist who didn’t care about family and kids. Or like to be crossed, she decided when Max’s eyes narrowed. Still feeling the cocksure pressure of his lips on hers, she glared back. “A big guy like you has to be on guard against an unborn baby?”
“No,” Max growled. “I—”
“Please.” She held up her hand. “I’ve met plenty of men like you, so I know exactly what you’re trying to say.”
Right now Max wasn’t trying to say a thing. He was merely gawking. “Men like me? Look, lady, is this some kind of a hormonal thing?”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry,” he returned with measured calm. “I’ve just read that hormones can kick in during pregnancy. The, er, New York Times did a series of articles and…”
Max had done the articles. Lo had seen them at the library. “And?”
“And,” he continued smoothly, “I’m sure it’s not true.”
He was lying. He was right, too. Her wacky hormones had spun out of control. Not that it was polite of Max to mention it. Especially since it was his kiss that had made her short-circuit. She’d been such a fool to give in and kiss him back. And now, before she did something worse, she really had to get out of here. She glanced casually over her shoulder, gauging the distance to the stairs. Then she simply whirled around and fled.
“Max?” he yelled.
What he meant was, “Get back here, lady.” Not that Lo was about to reverse directions. Not even when she heard the heavy tread of his boots behind her.
His soft curse sounded. “Max? Oh, Ma-ax.”
She had to get to her room! She had to think! She’d just made a complete fool of herself. She scrambled upstairs, ran inside the master bedroom and slammed the door. Leaning breathlessly against it, she decided she could kill Max Tremaine for showing up unexpectedly and kissing her like that.
It was all too much.
And now her insides were zinging with wild, crazy energy. It was hormonal, of course. It had nothing-zilch, zero, nada—to do with Max Tremaine. From experience Lo knew the miserable emotional episode would pass, but for now, her small body didn’t seem large enough to contain all her pent-up energy. If only she could have some release…
Like eating that mint-chocolate-chip Häagen-Dazs in the freezer. Or flinging herself on the bed for a good cry. Or making love to Max.
She could, too. Because he was upstairs now—and heading right for her bedroom. Lo’s flattened palms glided over the door. Tears sprang to her eyes. She was in such a mess! Even worse, the most appealing man she’d ever met didn’t like her baby. He’d kissed her like the devil, then called her unborn child a thing!
Lo took a tremulous breath, wishing there was a lock on the door. Fortunately, because she was pregnant, she’d been watching her diet and taking vitamins the size of horse tranquilizers. Even her hair was strong, twice as thick as it used to be.
So she waddled right across the room, grabbed an armchair, hauled it back to the door and wedged it beneath the doorknob. Then she stalked to the chest of drawers. From the top, she swiped aside magazines and books. Then she hunkered over, pressed her shoulder against the chest and shoved. After a moment, her grunts turned to sighs. Even with her new pregnancy muscles, the chest was too heavy. Her eyes darted to the door again.
Max was right outside. She could feel him.
Scampering in front of the chest, she wrenched open the drawers and began emptying the contents. Fistfuls of jeans, nighties and underwear flew every which way. When a see-through blue robe unfurled in midair, Lo’s heart wrenched. She’d bought that gown months ago in L.A. She had planned to wear it the night she returned, after Sheldon Ferris knelt in front of her and proposed….
“Are you all right in there or not?” Max demanded.
I’m just fine. As if to prove it, Lo slammed the drawers shut, adjusted her weight against the dresser again and pushed. This time the chest slowly scraped across the hardwood floor—until it hit the door.
Now she was safe.
Feeling relieved, Lo whirled around. The room looked as if a cyclone had hit it. Clothes and magazines were everywhere. Maybe she really had lost her mind. Max Tremaine had sure been looking at her as if she’d gone crazy.
“Could you at least do me a favor and answer me?” he yelled.
What was there to say? Lo plopped down on the bed and stared at the door. Suddenly, the furniture in front of it looked extremely heavy. How had she managed to move it all? She clasped her hands nervously in her lap.
“Max?”
The voice coming through the door was muffled by all the furniture. “Just go away!” she shouted, guessing she owed him that much.
And then the last thing she expected happened.
When she thought she heard his steps recede down the hall, she actually burst into tears.
“What is wr-wrong with me?” she sobbed. She knew she couldn’t afford to fall apart. But Max’s kiss had unhinged her. It was no darn wonder the man’s articles weren’t accompanied by a photograph. If they were, every woman in America would be spinning through the revolving doors of the New York Times trying to get a piece of him.
Heaven knew, Lo hadn’t wanted to stop kissing Max—and her baby was nearly due! It was all so wrong. And yet so right. She wiped away her tears. Given her outburst, Max was probably calling the police right now….
Or would he take pity? A kiss like the one they’d shared sure made her feel more merciful. Besides, all she wanted was to stay out of trouble, have her baby and go somewhere she could live with Gran.
Gran. Lo sighed. She’d wanted to make her so proud. That was why Lo had put herself through college and headed for the bright lights and big city.
Where you completely failed.
How could she have come so far, only to be spit out like chump change? Because of her, everyone in this part of Connecticut had lost their jobs. Even worse, she was unmarried, pregnant, on the lam, kissing men she barely knew…
And so hungry she could eat a horse.
Her stomach growled, and Max’s sexy, rumbling voice teased her consciousness. “Eat a little more and I’ll help you do the dishes.”
Lo should have listened to him. But no. Now she was locked in her room, where she’d surely starve to death. The shiny white surface of the refrigerator gleamed in her mind. She saw herself dreamily opening the door and reaching into the freezer for that mint-chocolate-chip Häagen-Dazs. She could actually feel the ice crystals teasing her fingertips and taste the cold, gooey ice cream melting on her tongue. A hunger pang squeezed her belly. The baby kicked in consternation. And she realized she was salivating.
Not that she was about to move.
Lo merely stared miserably at the furniture stacked in front of the closed door. Because the only thing she desired more than that Häagen-Dazs was to avoid Max’s unnerving kisses.