by Ryanne Corey
“When did they start spelling it like that?”
“Connor, if you want to look it up—”
“Okay, fine. I have a wide and varied vocabulary. I can come up with another word. Give me a minute.”
They were stretched out on their stomachs on the living-room floor, a Scrabble board between them. Maxie’s elbows were on the carpet, her chin resting in her hands. She was chewing on her lower lip, mostly trying to control her smile.
“Western hospitality,” Connor grumbled. “I fell for that one big time. Who the hell plays Scrabble anymore? Wait…wait, wait. I have one.” He rearranged the letters and looked up at her with a triumphant smile. “Ha! How’s that for creativity?”
Maxie looked at the board. “Lechery?”
“Lechery,” he confirmed. “That gives me a total of…forty-eight points. Your turn.”
“You should be in therapy, Connor.” Maxie arranged her letters on the board with careful precision. “There you go.”
Connor cocked one eyebrow. “Repent?”
She assumed an angelic expression. “It means—”
“I know what it means,” Connor interrupted. He was having a devil of a time keeping his mind on the game. Maxie had come from her shower smelling of apple-blossom shampoo and dressed in faded jeans and a scoop-necked white T-shirt. It was a modest enough outfit for sitting at the kitchen table and eating tuna sandwiches, but modesty flew out the window when she’d stretched out on the carpet across from him. There was just no way to ignore the luscious cleavage across the old Scrabble board.
But he’d tried for almost thirty minutes now. And thirty minutes, he suddenly decided, was more than enough.
“Oh, dear.” He swept his arm across the board, clearing it of every single letter. “Look what I’ve gone and done. I guess that’s the end of the game.”
Maxie raised her eyelids slowly, gazing at him through a sultry screen of black lashes. “Hmmm. I take it you don’t want to play games.”
The expression on her face left Connor struggling for air. She was a delicious mixture of child and woman, a barefoot temptress with still damp clouds of hair, a siren’s smile and captivating violet eyes that held a world of secrets.
“You’re right, beautiful girl.” He lifted a hand, touching the dark silk of her hair. “When you play a game, someone has to win and someone has to lose. Those are bad odds, I’ve decided.”
Maxie let out her breath in a soft sigh as he slowly traced the outline of her parted lips with his finger. “What are you doing?”
“I’m not playing games.” He gave her a smile, such a smile as the loyal viewers of Public Eye had never seen. It could have baked bread at ten paces.
“You and your smile,” Maxie managed breathlessly, “shouldn’t be let out after dark. You’re a menace to virtuous women.”
“Really?” He looked positively delighted. “I only wish to be a menace to one woman.”
Maxie considered this, her mouth quirked at one corner. Then, with a deep breath that did wondrous things to her T-shirt, she said, “Okay. Menace away, please.”
Connor had been a favorite of the ladies since puberty. He had enough experience to handle himself pretty well in your normal man-woman situation. But never, ever had he been face-to-face with a beautiful woman who happily gave him permission to “menace away,” then stared at him with eager anticipation. It put a crimp in his style.
“Maxie, how am I supposed to…I mean, I would appreciate it if we could just take things…oh, to hell with it.”
His years of football training stood him in good stead. With one graceful maneuver, he had Maxie on her back, both of her hands caught in his above her head. He went down to her mouth like a starving man, lips fastening hungrily over hers. He felt as if it had been years, ages, eons since he’d kissed her. Oh, those swollen, sinful lips…they seemed to brand him with her own unique variety of liquid fire. His tongue tasted hers and he shuddered clear through to his soul. This was like kissing a flower, still damp with morning dew. He drank deeply, slanting his head this way and that to get the full measure of her, yet still he couldn’t get enough.
When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were heavy-lidded and glazed with sexual heat. He gazed down at her, touching her cheek with shaking fingers. “You look like an angel,” he whispered, “who has just been thoroughly kissed.”
The faintest hint of a smile touched her pouty lips. “I don’t feel like an angel. I feel…menaced.”
“Tell me something,” Connor murmured. “How do you like to be kissed? Gently…like this…” He covered her lips ever-so-softly with a kiss as light as butterfly wings. “Or do you like it a little wicked…like this…” Again he took her lips in a long, demanding kiss, graphic and uncontrolled. The contrast between the two was powerfully erotic. Maxie’s hips began to stir fitfully against his, pushing, rocking, aching.
“That’s not so wicked,” she gasped, clinging to his shoulders with both hands. “I can handle it.”
“I’m not done, child.” His mouth kissed a smile against her petal-soft neck. “Have you always been so impatient?”
Maxie moaned as she felt her breasts settle into his seeking hands. His tongue traced tiny little circles over the pulse at her throat, then drifted lower, closing over the soft fabric of her T-shirt to suckle her nipples. The cool wetness through the light fabric was a shock, sending hot-cold sparks along her nerve endings. He suckled her long and slow, reducing her to a state of mute ecstasy. The gentle tug of his lips seemed to pull at the very heart of her. She gasped out a small sob when he finally pushed the fabric of her shirt above her breasts. She thought she might die from the pleasurable rush of air on her damp nipples. And, she thought hazily, it would be a splendid way to go.
“Am I hurting you?” He lifted his head, his eyes the darkest brown beneath a silken tangle of dishevelled hair. “Maxie?”
“Don’t want to talk,” she murmured. Her hands moved hungrily over his shoulders, kneading ridges of tensed, rock-hard muscles. Then they roved lower, exploring the gentle hollow of his back and the strong rise of his buttocks. “Your body is wonderful. You feel so…so…uhmmm…what are you doing?”
He held her eyes, deliberately moving against her with an age-old rhythm. She held his, reaching down to touch the damp, rock-hard nipples he had made such beautiful love to. It was an instinctive, purely sensual move Connor hadn’t expected from her, nor was he prepared for what it did to him to watch her touch herself. The resulting shock waves in his body came close to ending the whole thing right there. Never in his life had he been so completely out of control. And their clothes were still on.
Connor stilled his movements, willing himself not to explode. “Slowing down would be a good idea,” he managed hoarsely, eyes closed tight as he frantically tried to locate his willpower.
“Why?” Maxie’s soft voice seemed to come from far away. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, you did not do…” His eyes opened slowly, pupils wide and distended as he stared at the beautiful, rose-flushed face beneath him. Something Maxie’s mother had said to him earlier came back with a vengeance. When she finally gives her heart, it will be for the first and last time in her life.
“Maxie? This is probably a stupid question, but, when you asked if you’d done something wrong…”
A wary look came into her eyes. “What about it?”
“You almost sounded like you’ve never…you’ve never actually…”
Maxie pulled a deep, sustaining breath into her lungs. She was trapped, well and truly trapped. How embarrassing, considering her scandalous, wild-child reputation.
“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” she said glumly. “Twenty-four years old and still…extremely well-preserved.”
Connor gaped. He couldn’t see his own expression, but somehow he knew he was gaping. It simply had never occurred to him that Maxie might be a virgin. Never. And considering her impassioned and uninhibited response to him, it was even harder
to believe.
He rolled over on his back, lying shoulder to shoulder with her while he waited for his rational thought process to kick in. “I’m a little confused,” he said finally.
She blushed painfully. “I’m sorry. Maybe I should have said something. I’m not exactly sure of the etiquette here. Particularly when you consider my somewhat notorious background. Lack of trust was always a problem for me. I knew darn well no one wanted Frances Maxine Calhoon. Glitter Baby was the big draw. My pride just wouldn’t let me…well, anyway, there you have it. I’m sorry.”
His hand found hers, closing tight. “Hell, don’t be sorry. Maxie, if I had known…if I had even suspected…well, I’d have been a little more attentive to the details, to put it mildly.”
At his statement she glanced sideways, clearly impressed. “Really? You can do what you did with even more attention to the details?”
“I can certainly try,” Connor muttered. “Maxie, when it happens between us—and make no mistake, it will happen—it’s not going to be on the living-room floor after a rousing game of Scrabble. I got a little carried away there for a minute, but it won’t happen again.”
“It won’t?”
The woeful look on her face made Connor smile. “Let me put it another way,” he said huskily. “Someday in the future when you think back on the first time, I want you to have absolutely no regrets.”
“Of all the damn things,” she muttered. Then, though she could hardly think of a reason why, she started laughing. Not a mere chuckle, either, but a good, hard belly laugh. At first Connor looked at her the same way he’d looked at Harvey, the lop-eared rabbit—completely befuddled. Then he started to laugh as well, carried away by the absurdity of their situation. They laughed until there was no breath left, until their sides were splitting and their eyes were streaming.
When Maxie could finally find her breath, she said, “It’s not funny. Here I am, a retiree, no less, with my virginity still hanging like a millstone around my neck. No one would believe it, either.”
“I really don’t give a damn what anyone else thinks.” Connor sat up, drawing his legs to his chest and resting his forehead on his knees. Then, in a muffled voice, “Except you. I care terribly what you think. Maxie?”
“What?”
He lifted his head, looking down at her with a strange smile. “Is that all right with you? If I care terribly?”
She nodded slowly, her body still feeling fragile and unfamiliar. “It would make us even,” she whispered.
She thought he might kiss her again then, but he didn’t. Drawing on the last of his resolve, he stood, held out his hand and pulled her to her feet. As soon as she was steadied, he let go, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“I hear a cold shower calling my name,” he said, striving for a lighter note. “I’ll call you later, all right?”
“You don’t have to go.”
“Yes, I do, sweetheart. I happen to have very little willpower where you’re concerned.” And still he stood there, staring at her over-bright eyes, her passion-stained cheeks, the way her bare toes dug self-consciously into the carpet. She was perfect. She was everything he had never known he needed, till now. He smiled at her with such tenderness that tears misted her eyes. Then he turned and left without another word.
Seven
As Connor drove through the darkened countryside, he replayed every moment he had spent with Maxie since that first day at the feed store. When that wasn’t enough, he picked up his cell phone and called her number.
She picked up halfway through the second ring. “Hello?”
“It’s me.” He paused, listening. “Is that water running?”
“I’m in the bath.” There was rueful amusement in her voice. “Some people take cold showers, some take warm baths.”
“I wish I hadn’t heard that,” he muttered. “I’m not sure why I called. I think I miss your voice. Have I ever told you how sexy your voice is? It always sounds a little hoarse, like you have a cold. It’s really cute.”
“Connor, are you all right?”
“Sure. Just a little separation anxiety. Anyway, be careful. Don’t use your blow dryer or your electric toothbrush while you’re in there.” Why the hell had he said that? Connor winced and let go of the steering wheel long enough to thump himself on the forehead with the heel of his hand. His reputation as a smooth operator was obviously a thing of the past. Maxie affected him as no other woman ever had. He was a stranger to himself. “I’m going to hang up now. I need to get my foot out of my mouth.”
He was still rolling his eyes at his own idiocy when he turned down Main Street. Things were hopping in Oakley on this particular Friday night. The Dairy Queen was packed. Trucks and cars cruised up and down the wide, two-lane street, horns honking and teenagers calling out to one another. There was even a line—six people—waiting in front of the ticket office at the Westwind Theater. The Parent Trap was playing this evening, the original version with Hayley Mills. Connor felt like he had fallen through some cosmic black hole back into the fifties.
He drove past the small brick high school, reading the marquee with amusement. Lady Redskins Basketball Tryouts Monday. And below that, in big block letters, HOMECOMING DANCE SATURDAY!
Connor’s smile started way down in his chest and spread like sunlight to his eyes and lips. Again he picked up the phone and punched redial.
“Hello?” She sounded breathless.
“Me, again. Still in the tub?”
“No. I’m toweling off.”
“Oh, boy.” Connor closed his eyes briefly to appreciate the picture. “You don’t make this very easy, do you? Maxie, this time I’m calling for a good reason. Will you please go out with me tomorrow night?”
“You called back to ask me for a date?”
“Yeah. My dad said I could have the car.”
She started laughing and it was by far the sweetest sound Connor Garrett had ever heard.
“I’d love to,” she said.
The first package arrived just before noon the following day. Maxie’s face was blue at the time. When the delivery man tapped on the door, she happened to be marinating beneath a mud mask, using the last of an obscenely expensive concoction left over from her obscenely indulgent modeling days. She was primping for her date.
She pulled the door open a crack. “Yes?”
The man smiled, then jumped back in alarm. “Good hell…I mean, good morning, ma’am. I have a package for you. If I could have your signature?”
Maxie signed. He fled. She took the package to the kitchen and sat down at the table to open it. She gasped as lavender satin spilled out of the box like a lustrous bouquet of flowers. It was a sleeveless, floor-length dress, exquisite in its utter simplicity. Maxie knew with a certainty it had not been purchased in Oakley, Wyoming. The card inside was not signed, but it didn’t need to be. “Wear this tonight,” was all the card said.
The shoes were delivered an hour later, strappy silver sandals that were almost invisible. She had no idea how Connor knew her size, but they fitted perfectly. Again, she doubted very much they came from the discount shoe store in town.
The final package was delivered an hour before Connor was supposed to pick her up. Inside was a delicate silver choker, so fragile it looked spun out of silver threads.
Maxie wondered if Connor knew there was really no place to go within fifty miles with a formal dress code. Regardless, it was actually a pleasure to spend a good part of the afternoon on such frivolous activities as hairstyling and makeup. It had been so long since she’d indulged herself like this. When looking good ceased to be a job, it was actually a treat. She only hoped Connor would recognize her without the overalls.
The doorbell rang at precisely seven o’clock. Maxie took one last look at her reflection in the mirror, fortified herself with a deep breath and went to let him in.
“Well, look at you, Frances Maxine.” Connor’s dark eyes were wider and brighter than she had ever seen. His stunned
gaze traveled from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. He placed his hand over his heart, as if to encourage it to continue beating. “You’re…you’re…”
She looked down at her dress, chewing on her lower lip. “I’m…what?”
“I can’t describe it.” Connor walked slowly inside, shutting the door behind him with his foot. His busy eyes were on their third head-to-toe trip. “You look more beautiful than any photograph that was ever taken of you. Your hair…and that dress…”
She smiled self-consciously, at the same time taking in the picture he made in a black tuxedo. He wore it with easy confidence, the pristine white shirt a dazzling contrast against his dark skin. His glossy, honey-colored hair appeared to have been trimmed, shorter at the sides, waving over his collar in the back. His heavy-lidded brown eyes had never looked so warm and appealing.
“You clean up pretty well,” she said in a massive understatement. “They’re going to love you at the bowling alley.”
“What bowling alley?” The corners of his mouth tucked in a curious smile. “You think we’re going bowling?”
“As near as I can figure, the bowling alley is the only place in town open late on Saturday night.” But Connor only chuckled, apparently deciding not to explain. For the first time, Maxie noticed the small plastic container Connor carried. “What’s that?”
“Oh. I forgot all about it, what with the stunning scenery.” He opened the box, then placed a white gardenia corsage on Maxie’s wrist. “There. I thought I should get you the kind of corsage you pin on your dress, but the lady at Gretta’s Floral said everyone else ordered wrist corsages.”
“Everyone else? Everyone else who?”
“You’re very inquisitive tonight,” Connor reproved, his eyes sparkling wickedly. “On the plus side, you’re so beautiful it breaks my heart just to look at you.”
“I didn’t thank you for my presents, did I?” She smoothed the material of her gown with gentle fingers. “You have wonderful taste. How on earth did you know the size?”