That Special Smile/Whittenburg

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  Max nodded, silently applauding Sylvie’s performance. If not for that moment of hesitation he might have believed her. He didn’t care what sort of relationship she had with her business partner, but he did find her dismissive denial interesting. It gave him the distinct impression that Sylvie placed herself above such a simple human failing as falling in love, and he couldn’t help thinking that someone needed to give her pedestal a good shake just to remind her she was mortal too. Smiling to himself, he enjoyed the fact that particular responsibility wasn’t his.

  “Ah,” he said, returning his thoughts to the subject at hand. “Julie’s dress shop.”

  Sylvie didn’t like the timbre of laughter in his voice, and she didn’t much care for the way he kept looking at her. “Has she talked to you about it?”

  “Practically nonstop.”

  “Her enthusiasm is a little overwhelming, isn’t it?” Sylvie smiled.

  And the way that smile took hold in her eyes caught him off guard, surprised him again, claimed his whole attention. He had to pause for a long moment, just to gain his bearings. “I guess you must share her enthusiasm if you’re willing to spend the winter in Eureka Springs. After the tourist season the town really shuts down.”

  He kept coming back to that, Sylvie thought. Was he hoping to scare her away with threats of boredom? “I never have trouble staying busy,” she replied. “And there will be dozens of details to take care of before the shop opens next spring.”

  “Julie said you’re good with details.”

  Sylvie saw no reason to deny it. “I am.”

  Max saw no reason to pursue the conversation. Sylvie Anne was beginning to live up to his expectations: a paragon of talents and virtue. Perfectly groomed, perfectly polite, and perfectly unexciting —except for her smile. He wondered where Juliette might be and when she might return. And he wondered what he could do to get rid of his unexpected guest. Placing his cup on the table beside the chair, he glanced up and caught Sylvie watching him.

  She didn’t look away. Neither did he.

  Her eyes really were green, he thought. He’d noticed their color before, of course, but only in a cursory manner and not with the usual attention to detail that was so essential to his work. So few people actually had green eyes. Usually, the shade was more hazel or gray, not a true green.

  Intrigued, he leaned forward, letting his gaze shift to her hair and its burnished contrast against her creamy skin. She was lovely, he silently admitted. Her outer sophistication didn’t quite match a certain winsome quality in her smile, and the shape of her glasses somehow lent a vulnerability to her appearance that he was sure she wasn’t aware of.

  She lifted a hand to adjust the glasses and Max wondered if it was a nervous gesture. He thought it might be and felt curiously pleased at the idea that she was unsettled by his observant gaze. He smiled. So did she. And an odd sensation skimmed his nerve endings, warming them to active awareness. Of all things, he was beginning to find her a bit of a challenge.

  “At the risk of interrupting your concentration,” she said, “would you mind if I had another cup of coffee?”

  Max didn’t stir; neither did he alter his concentration by any appreciable degree. Some mischievous impulse urged him to test her sense of humor. “You have very unusual eyes, Sylvie Anne.”

  “My ophthalmologist tells me the same thing. You should try to be a bit more original with your compliments, Max.” She lifted her shoulder in a perky shrug. “And if you truly want to win my support, you’ll stop using my middle name.”

  Win her support? He didn’t know what she meant, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask. Sylvie just might be more of a challenge than he was prepared to tackle. “Why don’t I just get you a refill?” He rose and came toward her.

  “Thank you.” Sylvie extended her cup and allowed herself a moment to enjoy the crease that amusement etched in his left cheek. It wasn’t a dimple. He was too ruggedly masculine for that. It was just a slight indentation in an otherwise lean face, and Sylvie felt a ripple of interest in a secluded corner of her heart. Phillip had told her once that if she ever found a man who could talk to her for longer than ten minutes without getting a crazed look in his eyes, she should handcuff him and take him home to meet her family.

  When Max took the mug and left the room, Sylvie couldn’t resist checking her watch. Seventeen minutes and still counting. That was, of course, if he didn’t duck out the back door.

  Somehow, though, she knew he wasn’t the type to run away.

  Besides, he hadn’t asked a single question yet about Juliette.

  Funny, she’d have pegged him as a man who got right to the point instead of wasting time trying to gain her support for his romance with her sister. Did he really think she had any influence over Juliette’s heart? Even if she had, she wouldn’t interfere. Especially since Juliette had far more experience with such things than she herself did.

  But Max didn’t know that. And she certainly wasn’t about to tell him.

  When he returned, Sylvie took the cup and saucer from his outstretched hand, murmured a polite appreciation, and cast a surreptitious glance at his expression. His eyes were clear, his smile even. But for reasons she couldn’t begin to explain, she felt uneasy.

  Tucking a strand of shoulder-length hair behind her ear, she grabbed the first random thought that crossed her mind.

  “Let me guess,” she blurted out as he settled into the chair. “You played running back.”

  His brows arched. “Football, you mean?” He shook his head and laughed deep in his throat. “No, mostly I played running scared. First time I stepped onto a football field in uniform, I promptly got tackled and broke my leg in two places. Since then, I’ve never understood why anyone wants to risk bone, tendon, and brain dysfunction for a sport.”

  “It has a lot to do with money, I’ve heard.”

  “Only for a chosen few. At any rate, I knew there had to be a less painful way to earn a college scholarship.”

  “And did you?”

  “Earn a scholarship?” He gave her a lazy smile. “Yes. Academic. Does that impress you?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “But then, I’m easily impressed by intelligence. And I also happen to know how difficult it is to get a scholarship. That’s the only way I was able to attend SMU.”

  He nodded and shifted to a more comfortable, more casual position in the chair. “I know. Julie told me all about it, from orientation right through your magna cum laude graduation.”

  “Juliette spends far too much time talking.”

  After a few moments it became apparent that Max wasn’t going to argue the point, which Sylvie thought showed remarkable intelligence. “She’s certainly spent a lot of time lately talking about you, Max.”

  There. His eyebrows rose at that information. “Really? What does she say about me?”

  Sylvie had known he would get around to asking that question eventually, but she hadn’t expected to have to prod him into it. She prepared to answer him, but as she parted her lips, Max interrupted with a laughing smile.

  “No, on second thought, don’t tell me. It would only embarrass both of us.”

  Somehow Sylvie didn’t think so. “Juliette has said some very nice things about you.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she has. She always has nice things to say about everyone.” Max allowed a subtle dare to insinuate itself into his voice. “But why don’t we talk about you, Sylvie Anne?”

  “There are so many reasons, I couldn’t begin to name them. And speaking of names, I’ll remind you, again, that mine consists of only two syllables, not three.”

  “I’ll try to remember that.” Max lifted the coffee cup to his lips and drank, wondering why she was so defensive about her name. Maybe she didn’t feel it meshed with her image. “I suppose I could think of a nickname.”

  Her green eyes became openly skeptical, as if she recognized he was teasing but was disinclined to acknowledge it. “I hardly think that would be worth your whi
le, Max. After all, we’re only going to be neighbors.”

  “That’s an easily corrected detail.”

  “I suppose so. But I’d hate for you to feel you had to move away for six months.”

  He laughed then, a low, husky appreciation for her dry humor. There might be hope for her yet, he thought. “I meant, Sylvie, that we could become more than neighbors.”

  “You think that’s an easily corrected detail?”

  The cool doubt in her tone clenched his sudden determination. In that instant Max made up his mind to become more than just a neighbor to Sylvie. Something more than simply the man next door.

  “I’m certain of it,” he replied smoothly. “Providing, of course, that one of us was inclined to correct it.” He leaned back, offered her a seductive smile, confident that, if nothing else, the winter was going to be entertaining.

  A suspicious warmth began in the pit of her stomach, but Sylvie dismissed it as inappropriate. What was he doing, flirting with her like that?

  “Providing, of course…,” she paraphrased him, right down to the playful arch of eyebrows. “…that one of us could be persuaded it was worth correcting.”

  He paused for effect. “Point taken, Sylvie Anne. Sorry. Sylvie.” He gave the last syllable a throaty caress. “I can be very persuasive when I put my mind to it. But I’m hardly ever unreasonable.”

  “Just unreasoned,” she murmured into her coffee cup.

  Amusement pulled at his lips and he didn’t resist the laughter that welled up inside him. “Time will tell.”

  Her lips curved at that, but just barely. She had no idea why he was flirting with her, but she decided it was the perfect time to bring her sister’s name back into the conversation.

  “Juliette tells me you’ve lived here for a number of years.”

  “That’s true.”

  “And Juliette said you have a shop downtown.”

  “On Spring Street.”

  “What kind of shop?”

  “You mean Juliette didn’t tell you?” His voice dropped to a soft bass and his eyes twinkled a seductive blue.

  The curious warmth in her stomach curled tighter and Sylvie was finding it more difficult to ignore this time. What did Max hope to gain by flirting with her?

  “Juliette said you own a toy store.”

  “She’s right. I do.” His smile deepened. “Was she right when she told me there’s no special man in your life?”

  “Why would she tell you something like that?”

  “Because I asked. Is it true?”

  “That, Max, is none of your business.”

  “Yet.”

  She held the saucer tighter and regarded him suspiciously. But he noticed the way she used her other hand to adjust her glasses and congratulated himself on his perception. Impulsive and foolhardy it would undoubtedly prove to be, but at least his strategy was getting a response.

  “You and I couldn’t reach that point of familiarity in six years, much less six months,” she said coolly.

  He shrugged. “You could be right, Sylvie. But as I mentioned, winters here can be long and boring.”

  “Which only proves you’ve never spent a winter next door to Juliette,” she said, setting her coffee aside.

  The crease made a fleeting reappearance in his cheek. “Or Juliette’s sister.”

  Her restless fingers drummed in silent annoyance against the sofa arm. She was beginning to suspect the motivation for this all-out flirtation, and she didn’t like the possibility at all. Part of her wanted to tell him exactly what she thought of him, but another part simply wanted to laugh at the complete nonsense he was dishing out. She chose a more middle-of-the-road approach.

  “You don’t seem to care what Juliette might think, Max.”

  His forehead wrinkled with a frown. “Well, no, I can’t say I’ve given it a great deal of thought. Is that a requirement?”

  “A requirement for what?”

  “For getting to know you better.” He relaxed against the back of the chair, stretched his legs out, halfway across the carpet it seemed, and crossed one sockless ankle over the other. It was a very casual posture and she resented it. He could at least sit up straight while he flirted with her.

  “You don’t know my sister very well.”

  He looked surprised and a bit confused. “You could be right.”

  “I am. So I’m going to do you a favor and give you fair warning that you’ll never make Juliette jealous by flirting with me. Or anyone else, for that matter. She’s not the jealous type.”

  His bewildered expression was a masterpiece of its kind. And then he chuckled, a quiet sound, a throaty ripple of laughter that wrapped a warm contentment about her heart and made her wish, for a fleeting second, that she could laugh with him.

  “And what would you say, Sylvie Anne, if I told you I have no ulterior motive in flirting with you?”

  “I would say you’d be in a no-win situation.” She reached for the coffee cup that sat neglected on the table beside her.

  Her challenge didn’t appear to faze him, except to alter his amusement to a full grin. “You’re absolutely right. Either way, it wouldn’t be very flattering to you, would it?”

  She put the cup back without bringing it anywhere near her lips. Juliette was right. He made terrible coffee. “Nor you.”

  “Then I may as well have ulterior motives.”

  “Suit yourself,” she said with an offhand shrug. “And while you do that, I’ll go back to Juliette’s house and wait for her there.” Sylvie tucked her purse under the crook of her arm and rose.

  Max got to his feet in easy acceptance of her decision. “You might as well stay,” he said, as if it didn’t matter much to him either way. “I’ll fix more coffee.”

  “No, thank you.”

  Max intentionally stepped close to Sylvie, closer than was necessary for a friendly good-bye. He half expected her to plant the spike of her heel somewhere in the middle of his foot, but instead she lifted her chin and, in one concise movement, adjusted those outlandish glasses against the bridge of her nose.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so intrigued with so little encouragement. Something about Sylvie appealed to his romantic instincts. Or maybe it was his sense of adventure that was leading him. Or could it be, he wondered, as simple as a purely physical attraction?

  “If you don’t mind?”

  Her words were pointed, and although Sylvie kept them dangerously soft, she didn’t let him see any sign of discomfiture—if there was any to see. But he sensed that she wasn’t as unaffected by his nearness as she’d like him to believe, or as she’d like to believe herself. But that, he reasoned with a wry smile, was what made her interesting.

  “Not at all.” He led the way to the front door and made a point of keeping his distance as she opened the door and stepped outside. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait here, Sylvie Anne?”

  “Absolutely sure.” She turned, hesitated as if weighing preference against etiquette, and then extended her hand for his handshake. “It’s been very nice to meet you, Max. The coffee was ... memorable.” Her gaze swept over him and her accompanying smile was genuinely amused. “Juliette, obviously, has no taste.”

  He took her hand and cradled it in his palm. “Well, I’m glad you appreciate the finer things in life, Sylvie. Come share my caffeine anytime.”

  “That’s very generous, Max. Maybe sometime before I leave, I’ll be able to have coffee with you again.” Her smile faded a bit as she flexed her hand and realized he wasn’t ready to let go.

  “I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, Sylvie Anne.”

  Not if she could do anything to prevent it, Sylvie decided. She had already seen all she wanted to see of Max McConnell. “Well, thanks again.”

  His fingers closed over hers and his thumb sketched a lazy circle on the back of her hand. “It was my pleasure.”

  For one brief second she enjoyed the caress and the fragile thread of an awa
kening perception that coursed through her. Then she took charge of the handshake and her hand was her own again. The blast of a car horn at that moment was the sweetest sound she’d heard in days.

  “Juliette’s home,” she announced unnecessarily as she stepped back and away from him. “We couldn’t have timed that better, could we?”

  Max was sure he could have timed it better with his wristwatch tied behind his back. But as he watched Sylvie walk toward the tiny foreign car that Juliette drove, he decided it wouldn’t hurt to spend a little time considering the consequences of the morning.

  He should, but he probably wouldn’t.

  Sylvie wasn’t like anyone he’d ever met — she wasn’t even like anyone he’d ever read about. But he had a feeling about her.

  Leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb, Max watched the sisters exchange greetings and welcoming hugs. There was a certain amount of family resemblance between the two, he supposed, although it wasn’t striking. Where Juliette’s hair was summer blond, Sylvie’s was autumn gold. Sylvie was taller than her sister, but not by much. And where Juliette was undeniably curvy, Sylvie was, well, more subdued, Max finally decided. There were other differences, of course, but he already knew that appearance was the least of them.

  He could see grocery sacks through the passenger window of the sports car. How typical of Julie to plan for her sister’s visit weeks in advance and then wait until the morning of her arrival to buy groceries.

  Max shook his head. Apparently, Sylvie was laboring under the mistaken assumption that he was enamored of her sister. He didn’t know how he’d managed to keep from groaning aloud when she’d accused him of flirting with her to make Juliette jealous. There was no way of knowing what Julie might have said to give Sylvie the wrong impression. After all, Julie said so very many things.

  Sylvie, on the other hand, was more cautious.

  She was worlds removed from Julie’s delightful, but exhausting zaniness. That in itself, he supposed, could be reason enough for this inexplicable attraction he was feeling. But Max didn’t really think his newly awakened interest was rooted in shallow challenges.