by Jule McBride
“Oh, Gene,” Colleen quickly interjected. “We know them!”
Helen squinted at Lo and Max, then Gene. “I’m sure they just came in for some…”
Gladys picked up the thread. “For some…”
Jeffie’s scream suddenly sounded from the back of the store. “For some Trojans!”
LAUGHING, MAX COLLAPSED on the bed, pulling Lo right on top of him. When he caught his breath, he whispered, “Trojans.”
“But they’re just sandwiches,” Lo whispered back.
“Just like a falafel or a club,” Max returned.
And then they started laughing all over again-until their eyes teared and Lo was clutching his shoulders. Max could still see Gene gaping slack-jawed at him and Lo in the convenience store. Poor Helen and Gladys had clutched their boxes of highfiber cereal as if hoping that might make the situation more regular. No doubt Colleen was already phoning everyone in the neighborhood to report the incident.
Between gasping breaths, Lo finally said, “I can’t believe we actually held up a 7-Eleven.”
Max’s shoulders started shaking with merriment again. In the silence following Jeffie’s comment, Max had dragged Lo to the bin of water pistols near the door, taking the situation to new heights of absurdity. Once they were armed—Lo with a pink pistol, Max with a blue—they’d loaded the pistols with Evian water from the cooler. Then they’d squirted their weapons in the air. “Hand over the goods,” Max had snarled between chuckles, “and nobody’ll get hurt.” He’d quickly paid for their purchases and they’d escaped out the door.
Now, with a breathy sigh, Lo rolled off him so she was beside him on the mattress. “Well, Mr. Stover—” she surveyed him through narrowed, dreamy green eyes “—I’m not sure I’m still in the mood.”
She’s so beautiful, he thought, his breath catching. He wanted nothing more than to claim her. Raising an eyebrow, Max said huskily, “Not in the mood?”
Lo shook her head. “I’ve been laughing too hard,” she explained. But her lips, still red and wet and pouty from one of his kisses, curved in a soft, seductive smile that betrayed her readiness.
Propping himself on an elbow, he lithely caught the hem of her sundress, rolled it upward, then lifted it right over her head. As he tossed it to a far corner of the room, the yellow fabric caught the sun, and like a rippling beam of light, it floated to the floor. His voice lowered with emotion. “At least I’ve finally got you where I want you.”
Her voice was raspy. “Where’s that?”
“In bed.”
Lo sighed with mock boredom. “I guess that’s a start.”
“Definitely a start,” he murmured. Slowly, he caressed her with his eyes, his gaze roaming over her lacy white bra, her swollen belly, her panties. Lifting a finger, he trailed it slowly from her forehead down her cheek.
Ah, why did you fall in love with her, Max? he wondered. He’d fallen hard and fast. Looking at her now, he knew that. Should he come clean? Suggest they pack tonight, go south and hide in Mexico? He tried to tell himself that giving up his career wouldn’t be so bad. Every time he looked at Lo, he wanted to quit writing articles, anyway, and start writing poetry. Besides, his bohemian kid sister would love having a fugitive brother.
He sighed. Well, one thing was certain—if he and Lo stayed in the Connecticut suburbs much longer, she’d definitely get caught. And I can’t live without her.
“What?” she prompted softly.
Max merely shook his head, his finger dropping from her chin to her chest, grazing her collarbone. He thought of his brush with death on his last tour in South America, and how every glance from Lo’s green eyes and every breath from between her lips had stirred him back to life on his return.
“From the first moment I saw you,” he found himself saying, “I wanted you. My hands wanted to touch you. My mouth wanted to laugh with you…kiss you…taste you.” And, oh, his eyes had wanted to watch. To see her turn wild beneath his caresses. To see her face when he thrust into her, forcing rippling pleasure through her.
Her words were barely audible. “I’m feeling a little bit more in the mood now.”
Max pierced her with his gaze, his eyes saying what his lips couldn’t yet. That he wanted her more than a little bit. He wanted all of her—body and soul. And he was going to demand he got it. His voice caught. “A little bit’s not good enough.”
“I want you a lot,” she corrected.
But, Max, you’ve been lying to her. You’ve been taking mental notes on every damn moment you’ve spent with her, so you could turn her in and break the story. He swallowed against the dryness of his throat, against his guilt. He’d lied for a lark. For a story. Lied, thinking he might easily seduce her-which he had. And all along, she’d thought he was her damn bodyguard. Well, at least he hadn’t gotten her killed.
Yeah, you’re a real mensch, Max.
Shoving aside his thoughts, he unclasped the front of her bra, gently opening it, pushing aside the cups, his eyes drinking in her breasts. Leaning down, he drew one into his mouth, then the other. Lavalike heat pooled in his lower belly, then he felt a swift, undeniable tug of arousal. A soft hum thrummed in his chest as he kissed her breasts, his palms gliding over her, touching her everywhere—her rounded belly, her lightly tanned calves, the curving insteps of her feet.
“Maybe if we start here,” he murmured, still suckling her, “one thing will lead to another.”
“Do you really think so?”
But already her eyes were shut and she was starting to writhe beneath the ministrations of his mouth. Against his lips, her nipples formed pebbles, hardening as he tugged them. His hands drifted down, stroking her intimately.
And then her hands found him. The way her fumbling fingers teased his burgeoning zipper made it obvious she hadn’t had many lovers. Her touch was almost more than he could bear; torturously sweet and dangerously endearing, it made him feel full. Heavy. Like he couldn’t hold back. Like he was about to explode.
He had to claim her. With the deep rumble of a groan he could no longer contain, he set about doing just that. She craned her neck to meet his lips, and while he removed their remaining clothes, he captured her mouth in a wet, hard, possessive kiss. When he came free of his slacks, he knew he couldn’t restrain himself long. He was about to burst.
“I need to be inside you,” he whispered, rolling away just long enough to put on a condom. Then, kissing her with unspeakable tenderness, he maneuvered himself above her, then beside her, never breaking the kiss but still searching for a position.
He could feel her tense with apprehension and knew she was experiencing a sinking realization that this wasn’t going to work. “It’s okay,” he whispered soothingly between kisses.
She groaned softly. “But it’s not.”
“It will be, honey,” Max assured her, “because I’m a real patient man.”
And he was. Still, no matter how they turned and twisted, it didn’t seem right. She was just too pregnant. Pressing a blistering kiss against her lips, Max finally turned her on her side, his warm hands caressing her as he helped her move. Gently, he started to edge in behind her.
Lo’s relieved sigh spoke a thousand words. “Maybe this’ll work.”
Max’s answering chuckle was barely audible. “Don’t be so nervous.”
“Don’t be nervous?” she whispered back. “You know, I don’t exactly do this every day.”
“That’s all right…” He trailed hot, wet kisses along her side. “I’m the kind of guy who’ll settle for every other day. Unless I’m provoked.”
“Am I provoking you?” she murmured.
“Oh, yes,” he said, sighing.
And with that, he edged even closer. When his hard length grazed her silky backside, he felt her flesh quiver. Gently, he guided himself to her. Then for a sudden, stunned second, Max couldn’t breathe. Lying on her side, Lo was so yielding and vulnerable to him—so open. His chest squeezed tight, his heart so tender.
With
his face buried in her neck, he released a final low-voiced moan as he entered her—slowly, carefully—thrusting deep, deep inside.
“Wait,” she gasped. “I’ve never…” Had a man love me from behind like this.
Her unspoken words hung in the air as Max blew on a string of kisses he’d left on her skin. “Just lean—lean back against me,” he whispered brokenly. “Just lean like you’re sitting in my lap.” He guided her with his hands and voice and heart until she found a rhythm that silently pleaded with him, begging for his slow thrusts to turn wilder, deeper, harder.
And then he was lost. Over and over she sank silkily onto him, the soft flesh of her backside molding to the cradle of his lap. It no longer mattered that a world of lies lay between them. With each agonizing thrust, Max realized all that mattered was the love they shared.
They peaked together. Their faces, cheek to cheek, were molded together. Each of them gasped—and as that shared moan passed between them, they felt a shared joy. A shared silence, away from the rest of the world. Because this moment was all their own.
For a long time, Max felt the sweet spasms of her orgasm—holding him and letting him go, mixing with the warmth of his own pulsing climax—and he tried to block out that moment when he would have to tell her the truth. He suddenly wished he’d never come home. And wished he’d never lied.
Because he loved her so much. And he knew the right thing to do was to. turn her in—and let her go.
10
The Truth Will Always Out
OUTSIDE, THROUGH THE OPEN screened top of the kitchen’s Dutch door, Lo could see an early morning haze lifting to reveal promising blue skies. “Not a single cloud in sight,” she murmured.
Maybe Max would keep sleeping, so she could take their breakfast back upstairs to bed. With a satisfied sigh, she tightened the sash on her long, pearl white robe, refilled T-shirt’s kitty dish, then turned her attention to the counter and began whisking eggs in a crockery bowl. Through the screen, she heard a bird chirp, then a car door slam. Listening to the bacon sizzling in the nearby skillet, she swung around and snatched up two bread slices just as they popped from the toaster.
When the baby kicked, she smiled. Surely she’d go into labor soon. And if she could only find some hard evidence to clear her name, maybe Max could become part of her and the baby’s life.
Max loved her. He’d told her so last night. When he’d first whispered the words, she’d been nearly asleep, drifting in a heavenly netherworld of sensation—breathing in his scent, feeling the warmth of his arms wrapped around her. “I love you so much,” he’d whispered. And even if he hadn’t, Lo would have known by the way he’d held her—like something precious he’d cherish forever.
Humming softly, she glanced toward the door again—and gasped. The morning buzz in the air seemed to cease, and her hand stilled on the whisk. Carefully setting down the bowl, she turned around slowly, clutching the edge of the stove.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered.
Sheldon Ferris merely stared at her through the screen.
He was as handsome as always—his blue eyes stark against his tan, his dark hair neatly trimmed. But now Lo knew who he really was. And fear, loathing and murderous anger tangled inside her.
Then she thought of Max.
“Great,” she muttered, glancing toward the stairs. If Max came down, she was in real trouble. Hey, honey, she imagined herself saying, I’m wanted by the police, in case you haven’t put two and two together. But don’t worry, with time off for good behavior, I’m only looking at ten to fifteen. And by the way, I’d like you to meet my ex-lover, the father of my baby and the man who got me into this mess.
“Cat got your tongue?” Sheldon asked silkily.
“My tongue’s quite intact. So you’d better get away from that door.” When he didn’t move, Lo stalked toward him. As she barreled onto the porch, she saw his gray Porsche in the front driveway. Then she realized his eyes were flickering over her nightclothes. Following his gaze, she nearly tripped over the robe’s hem.
“Sure you don’t want to invite me in for breakfast and coffee, Lo? I’d hate for the neighbors to see you in nothing more than a negligee and robe.”
She ignored him and kept moving—backing him right down the porch steps and then beneath the carport. Another two steps and he would have landed inside Max’s convertible. “How did I ever fool myself about you?”
Sheldon’s smile didn’t meet his eyes. “So you’re not going to invite me in? Afraid your latest lover might find me consorting with you in his kitchen?”
“Consorting?” Lo gasped. When Shel’s eyes drifted over her belly, they held no surprise at how far along she was. That the baby didn’t matter to him chilled her, but she kept her gaze steady. “Consorting?” she repeated. “You’re just lucky I haven’t killed you—yet.”
“Ah,” Sheldon murmured, “So Max Tremaine is your lover.”
Her mind raced. What could Sheldon know about her and Max? “Don’t assume you know anything about my relationships.”
“Maybe I know more than you think I do.”
She knew she should be accusing him, getting him to confess that he had set her up. But with a sudden rush of temper, she said, “You don’t know anything about relationships. You’re incapable of them.”
“The SEC would disagree.” Sheldon’s eyes challenged her. “They feel I’m successful at all my undertakings.”
“Oh, you’re the picture of success.” And he was, with his tailored gray suit, perfectly combed hair and boyish face. “But you’re willing to climb over anything in your path to get where you’re going, including your own unborn child.”
Sheldon glanced pointedly at the house. “The way you sleep around, did you really expect me to believe that baby’s mine?”
“Not yours?” Lo stared at him slack-jawed. “You really are the lowest of the low.”
“Don’t push me.”
“Don’t push you!” She sank against a column of the carport for support. “You set me up—”
“Don’t blame me for crimes you committed.”
His smug smile was making her blood boil. “We’re alone. Are you going to lie even when no one else can hear?”
“I’m not lying.”
“Months ago, your lies ruined my life!” Lo burst out “And now, here you are, destroying my life again.” She suddenly wanted to hit him—and hard. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. “How did you find me? And what do you want?”
Swiftly, he traversed the scant space between them, trapping her against the carport’s supporting column. Rawboned terror shot through her. Why hadn’t she seen past this man’s pretty-boy facade to the vast emptiness beyond? She suddenly realized Sheldon Ferris was capable of anything.
Including strangling her.
Just as his fingers closed around her neck, she opened her mouth to scream for Max. And then she imagined herself saying, Honey, could you do me a little teeny favor? Could you just write up a big frontpage article for the New York Times, explaining how I fell in love with and got pregnant by a psychopath? And, gee, maybe I can clip it and send it to Gran. Oh, hon, she’ll be so proud, I’m sure.
Lo decided to keep her mouth shut.
But Sheldon’s hand was still on her neck. It was loose enough that she could breathe, but she felt dizzy. As the world slid off-kilter, only the rigid column pressed against her back kept her upright.
“I came here,” Sheldon said, “because I want to know exactly what you’ve told him.”
Oh, no. He thinks Max and I are working together to clear my name. Her voice was strangled. “Told who?”
Sheldon’s lethal stare said she’d better start talking, and fast. “Max Tremaine.”
“Max who?”
“Tremaine.” He ground the name out. “You’re living with him.”
Sheldon was afraid, Lo realized. And she was dead meat if she let on that Max wasn’t helping her, that she was still the only person
who knew Sheldon had framed her. Judging by Sheldon’s grip on her neck, he didn’t intend to get caught anytime soon. But to what murky depths would he sink in order to keep her quiet? Lo suddenly imagined herself perched on the Brooklyn Bridge while he affixed cinder blocks to her feet.
She’d remain calm, of course. Perhaps before she took the final plunge, she’d scrutinize the cement slippers. In a husky Greta Garbo voice, she’d say, “Not my style, darling. I prefer shoes from Bloomingdale’s and Saks.”
Sheldon was losing patience. “What did you tell him?”
Trying to stall him, Lo said, “How did you find me? Were you the guy who went to see my grandmother in the nursing home?”
“No.” Sheldon glared at her, his lips curling back from his teeth. “Your boy Tremaine dropped by to see me. He also sicced his P.I. dog on me. Zach Forester’s been camped out in my office all week.” Sheldon’s eyes turned crafty. “But I’ll figure out what they know. I can’t afford bad press in the Times. And I can’t have that Zach guy snooping around.”
In spite of the fact that a lethal hand was tightening on her tender flesh, relief rushed through Lo. The calls Max said were from the agency were from a P.I. Max already knew who she was—he’d gone to see Sheldon and was probably trying to clear her name. Maybe Max even had hard proof she was innocent. But why hadn’t he told her he knew her true identity?
“Did you hear me?”
At Sheldon’s low-voiced growl, Lo snapped back to reality. “What?”
“I said I came with an offer.”
That was rich. “I think it’s a little late for us to take up a peace pipe.”
“Maybe. But here’s the offer—you get out of town and I don’t tell the cops where you are.”
In a flash, Lo imagined herself leaving town—and Max. Not to mention her obstetrician. “I can’t!” she howled. “I didn’t do anything wrong. You set me up. You ruined my life. You made it so I can’t even go get Gran. And then you come around threatening me! Get your lousy hand off my neck!”