by Kay Lyons
"Are you finished, Ms. Cohen?"
Sally's question drew Holland's attention away from him and Max released a breath he hadn't realized he held.
"Yes. Thank you, Sally. May I help you clear the dishes?"
"No, Ms. Cohen. You enjoy your evening."
His phone chimed and he flipped it over to check the screen. "Pardon me. I have to take this."
"Of course."
Max excused himself from the table and answered the call on his way to the door but not before taking a last look at Holland, her blond hair gleaming beneath the light. She smiled at Sally and asked about her day, and the softly spoken query visibly touched his grandmother's longtime employee and left him wondering if there wasn't more to Holland Cohen than just a pretty face. "Bane."
* * *
With Sally busy cleaning up, Violet tucked away in bed for the night, and Max handling the business call, Holland felt at loose ends. Normally when staying at a residence, she was either working or out exploring in her downtime. But as she paced across her bedroom to the window and saw the sparkling blue water of the pool below, she decided to take advantage of the opportunity while she could. She needed a good workout and a swim would be perfect.
She moved to the dresser where she'd unpacked her swimsuits and settled on a simple black one-piece that held in her curves while giving her security to push herself in the water.
Suit on, hair braided, and coverup in place, she grabbed a towel from the stack Sally had given her earlier and opened the door to take a quick peek outside. No way did she want to risk running into Violet's handsome grandson. Bathing suit visuals weren't businesslike, after all.
Holland moved through the two-thousand-square-foot third floor of the house to the elevator, determined that once she got her workout in she'd do a lot more research on the Banes. One in particular.
The elevator doors opened with a whisper of sound, and once again she crossed the lower-level expanse to enter the living area, moving on through the screened-in patio, and outside. The temperature had dropped considerably and she hurried to strip off the cover-up.
Steam rose from the water's surface and she dove in with barely a splash. A shiver raced through her as she was swallowed up by the warmth. She broke the surface with a gasp and flipped onto her back to stare up at the sky, performing a lazy backstroke until she reached the edge. From there she flipped and pushed off, maintaining a fairly doable speed for several laps until she kicked it up another notch. By the time she finished, she was completely out of breath and hugging the edge of the pool while she regained her equilibrium enough to get out.
The heat of the pool did much to combat the cold breeze, but she dried off as quickly as possible and donned her cover-up. The hot tub beckoned, but after the swim, she was ready for a shower and bed.
She let herself back into the house as quietly as possible, double-checking that she properly locked the door behind her.
"That was impressive."
Holland lifted her head and turned to find Max regarding her from the doorway of the billiard room. He held a pool cue in his hands, his gaze direct as it swept over her from the top of her wet head to her bare feet. "Um. Hi. Violet said I earlier that I was welcome to use the pool."
"I heard. Do you swim a lot? That was some impressive speed."
He'd watched her? She felt her skin begin to flush. "Oh, thanks. I used to. High school and college teams. I usually finished last but it was fun."
Max smiled and she realized she liked seeing him smile. It made him more handsome, less like a man troubled by the world and her presence in his grandmother's home, and more like the thirtysomething he was. "Do you swim?"
"Not anymore."
Something about the way he said it caught her attention, but given the weight of the words and the tone, she knew better than to press for more information.
"It's early yet. Would you be interested in a game?" he asked with a tilt of his head toward the table.
She stared up at him. Interested? Yeah. She was. But games weren't her thing and she knew from experience wealthy men tended to view her as "game" material. A nice dinner date, perhaps arm candy for lack of a better descriptive… but she didn't have the background and upbringing for men with names like Bane.
The fact she was drawn to Maximilian Bane surprised her more than anything. It had been quite some time since she'd met a man who remotely intrigued her enough to consider practicing her flirting skills, much less wonder what it would be like if he'd step closer, lower his head, and—
"I suppose not. You're shivering."
She clutched the damp towel a little higher and nodded. "I-I… should change first, but, yeah. Sure. That is, if you don't mind waiting a bit." So much for going to bed early. But even she knew she'd probably just stare at the computer doing research on the man in front of her, and if that was the case, why not ask the source?
"I don't mind."
She managed a smile and unglued her feet from the tile floor. "Okay, then. I'll be back."
Her heart pounded in her chest the entire walk to the elevator and the ride to the third floor. Which was crazy because she wasn't a young girl getting asked to sit at the lunch table with her first crush. At thirty-three, dating wasn't new. But this wasn't a date and she still felt this way, and that, well, that was the issue. She'd turned down the last couple of invitations she'd received due to sheer lack of interest. So why accept this one?
Because you don't want him standing between you and your bonus?
No. That wasn't true. If Violet decided to change her mind, so be it.
Holland rushed into her room and stripped down.
Max was bored, passing the time in a houseful of women, and she was the only one relatively close to him in age. It wasn't interest that had drawn the invitation but necessity unless he planned to spend the remainder of the evening alone or go out for some fun in an area not yet awake for the summer tourist season.
She rummaged through the drawers holding the clothes she'd brought with her and found a pair of leggings. Thankfully she'd brought a super-soft turquoise top she loved. Was she trying too hard not to impress? Tough call. But she didn't want to look frumpy, either.
"Ugh, why is this so difficult?" she muttered, yanking on the leggings and donning the shirt because, in all of her debating, she wasted precious time. Dressed, she went to the bathroom. Her hair was best left braided until she could wash out the salt, but she did a light touch-up on her mascara and lip gloss and deemed herself as passable.
Her phone chimed and she glanced at the screen. Ireland.
Heard you scored a local assignment. Doing okay?
Yes. Fine. Heading downstairs to schmooze a bit.
After all, Ireland didn't need to know specifics. Or that Max had nothing to do with the job itself.
Fun! Any single, good-looking men involved?
Her sister would have to ask that question, wouldn't she? Ever since Ireland had fallen in love again, she'd been on a mission to set Holland up with one of her husband's friends, but thankfully the timing had never worked out.
Client is 92. Enough said, she texted back. Because if she opened the door by mentioning a super-sexy, presumably single Max, Holland knew she'd probably have to answer a bevy of texts from all of her sisters instead of heading downstairs to get to know the man in question.
She left her phone behind in her room and made her way to the elevator, all too aware of that pulse-racing thing repeating itself. She heard the billiard balls clanking together as she approached the room, and when she walked inside, Max racked them.
"Heard the elevator," he said simply.
"So I see."
"You any good?"
"We'll have to find out." It had been weeks since she'd played, but she and all of her sisters were good at the game thanks to way too many hours on bases with little to do and a father determined his girls would be able to hold their own in a male-driven world.
"You break."
&n
bsp; Mmm. He was playing the gentleman, giving her the advantage. It could help. Because while she wasn't a man-trashing feminist, she refused to deliberately lose just because it might bruise his ego. She also had a feeling Max was the type of man who'd be able to tell if she threw the game, which meant a fifty-fifty chance of him losing respect for her for doing so.
She chose a cue and chalked up, forcing herself to take a breath and slow her heart rate. Steady hands were needed.
Holland did a few practice slides of the cue and exhaled slowly once more before letting the cue strike. The crack of sound seemed deafening and she worried that she might have disturbed Violet upstairs, but given the size of the house, it undoubtedly wasn't an issue.
Several balls hit the pockets and she had a choice. "Solids." She'd always looked better in solids than stripes.
As she moved around the table and chose her next target, she felt Max's eyes on her.
"I get the feeling you're better at this than you let on."
His words brought a curl to her lips and she lined up her shot. And got it.
Max chuckled, the sound wry.
"Glad I didn't make a bet with you on this."
Mmm. That could be interesting. "It's not too late."
His gaze narrowed on her.
"That sounds like a challenge. What do you have in mind?"
Chapter 4
She rounded the table with a thoughtful perusal of her options, not only of the next shot but of a worthy bet that wouldn't seem too over-the-top. "Let's see. Ah. Got it," she said, smiling at him. "If I win, you tell me why you don't swim anymore. And if you win… I don't know, I'll give you five bucks."
"Five bucks? No."
"Ten?"
"The answer is worth way more."
She smiled at his words, aimed, and took her shot. Nailed it with a satisfactory slam in the pocket. "So what's it worth?"
"Dinner. Your favorite place."
Dang. Here she’d thought she wouldn't be throwing a game. "That seems a little one-sided."
"I guess that depends on who wins."
"Okay, then. Deal." And because she couldn't make it totally obvious that she wanted him to win, she lined up the next shot and nailed it but then scratched because she deliberately didn't put a spin on it.
Max lifted his thick eyebrows high but didn't comment as he fished the white ball from the pocket and moved around the table.
"Excuse me," he said, squeezing by her on the side closest to the wall.
She got a whiff of his cologne and liked the scent. Not too strong and not put on with a heavy hand. Double win, in her humble opinion. So many men were just as bad as women when it came to the proper use of scent, leaving a lung-clogging cloud behind them in their wake.
Holland turned to watch him take his spot at the end of the table, once again wondering what kind of work Max did that created the rough look of his hands. He took his shot and made it and she studied his technique. Her father had told her once that she could learn a lot about a man by the way he played pool or cards. A simple study would prove if he was reckless or impatient or deliberate, thoughtful, and took his time.
Max was the latter. Every shot came after quiet contemplation and probably more than a few physics calculations in his head as he overtook her score and gained the lead with some difficult shots she wasn't sure she could've made. Maybe she wouldn't have to throw the game to score dinner with a handsome man after all.
A quietness settled over the table as the game continued. Max finally missed and gave her another chance, but she missed by a hair and gave him the advantage yet again. Back and forth they played until Max lined up his final shot. "Did you hear that?" she asked, tilting her head as though hearing some faraway noise. "I think someone just called for us. We should go check it out."
"Nope," Max said with a gorgeous grin. "Didn't hear a thing."
He took the shot. Made it with all of the quiet deliberation and intent he'd played with throughout the game and slowly straightened. "Hmm. Looks like you owe me dinner."
She stared at the table as though pondering the meaning of life. "Double or nothing?"
His low chuckle brought a smile to her lips and a shiver raced through her. It was all too easy to imagine that low, sexy chuckle sounding in her ear as he pulled her close and…
Daydreaming much there, Holl?
"Dinner. Maybe some dancing."
Dancing? She did so like a man who would at least sway back and forth to the music and not sit there like a log. "Swimming is like dancing, you know."
He moved close to her and took the pool cue from her hand.
"Debatable."
"What? No. It totally is. There's movement and speed, timing. It all factors in."
She watched as he carefully laid the cues atop the table.
"I suppose one could see it that way."
She'd come downstairs barefoot in her rush because, at the time, she'd been so worried about what to wear that she hadn't actually thought about shoes. With Max standing so close, she had to tilt her head back even more due to her lack of height.
Had she always had a thing for tall men? Because right now she totally did. Max's height made her feel small and feminine and…
Slow it down, girlie.
"It's late and that swim wiped me out. I should go," she said, taking a small step back. "It's been a long week and I'm still a little jet-lagged."
"I should turn in as well. Same reason."
Max hit the elevator button and waited for her to precede him once the doors opened.
"You played a good game."
"Thanks. So did you."
"I had good incentive. It isn't every day I get to go out with a beautiful pool shark."
"Yes, well, you may not think so when I take you to my favorite place for dinner."
"Another challenge?"
"No. Just not everyone's cup of tea."
"I look forward to it."
They exchanged a glance that sucked the air from her lungs and made Holland question why she played with fire. The doors opened, and for the first time, Holland realized she and Max apparently shared the third floor, because he wasn't just walking her to her room. "Good night."
If her sisters were there, they'd have some comment about cutting the tension with a knife or the air sizzling. Carolina would be starry-eyed, for sure. Truth be told, Holland wasn't much better at the moment. The tension was there, the chemistry so elusive to her until now blazing out of control. But insta-love was insta-lust more often than not, and she didn't go for such things. She held herself to a higher standard. Intimacy—sex— for her it was all about connection, and until she had one, the handsome Max would remain at arm's length. No exceptions.
"Good night, Holland. Sweet dreams."
She bit her lower lip and walked to her room on trembling legs, leaning hard against the door once she was inside.
Dannng.
She'd told Carolina that she'd never had a man make her toes curl from a kiss. And she still hadn't. But just then? Max had made her toes curl just from the searing look he'd given her before walking away. He could've pressed her for more. Could've tried to kiss her. Could've done any number of things most men at his age and in his position of power and wealth would've done—had done—to attempt to gain access to her bed.
But he hadn't. And her interest in him ratcheted up several more notches because of it.
Dinner with Max was going to be interesting.
Holland spent the next morning and part of the afternoon following Violet through the three-story home, making notes on the items Violet wanted to sell, even though Holland wondered if Violet's decision to list the many pieces would be undone once Max sat down with his grandmother to talk about her reasons why.
Included in the growing list of items was a silver centerpiece Holland guessed worth fifty thousand or so, as well as a silver tea set that should bring a minimum of thirty. There was also a silver vase circa 1882 worth another twenty thousand. No
doubt these were the silver heirlooms Max had referred to, and only three of the many pieces Violet had Sally retrieve from storage and display on the dining room table for Holland to look over while the elderly woman retreated to her private rooms once more to rest.
Holland wandered through the house a second time, wondering if she could list the items in good conscience after having witnessed the depths of Violet's grief. Perhaps she could claim a family emergency and reschedule her stay?
Holland found herself in the sitting area on the second floor near the desk Violet had donated to the charity auction. She paused to take a more in-depth look at the desk, only then noticing the maker's mark underneath the right front side. She made a notation about the find and took a photograph for the auction booklet, knowing it would increase the value.
Holland's mental battle of whether or not to decline Violet as a client continued as she photographed the desk. She opened drawers to show the inside, then pulled it away from the wall to get the sides and back. A small noise sounded when she removed her fingers from the back and she gasped.
Did I break it?
She moved to the side of the desk and saw a section of wood sticking out beyond the rest. She gently pressed it and it went back into place. A secret panel?
Holland moved the desk farther into the room and pressed the section again, only this time when it extended, she gently pulled the piece to find a hidden compartment with papers tucked inside. "What on earth?"
She quickly looked the desk over, pressing and gently pulling anything that might remotely be a second hiding place, but didn't find anything. Still, the one in the back waited for exploration, and she rushed around the desk yet again to remove the papers, taking her time so they wouldn't rip.
They were quite old. The paper thin. Letters. With no return addresses. All were addressed to "My flower," Holland whispered.
Violet?
Knowing she shouldn't intrude, yet unable to stem the curiosity inside of her, Holland carefully untied the aged purple ribbon holding the letters bound and quickly counted them. Twenty-two.
Holland sank to the floor where she knelt and carefully opened the one on top.