“I’ll only be ten minutes.” Still she didn’t move.
Neither did he. “Mm hm…Take your time.”
With a deep sigh, she slipped off of him and padded toward the bedroom. Max missed her heat the moment she left. The shower turned on, and he was tempted to join her. His body stirred at the thought of soaping her breasts and taking her pressed against the slick tiled walls, the warm water pulsing against their skin. He caught her scent on him as he tucked himself back into his jeans. Just her smell caused a rush of blood to his cock. He was a man obsessed.
The pasta was boiling, and the salads and bread were on the table when she joined him in the kitchen. She poured them each a glass of wine and handed him one. She had on the blue shirt he wore the other night and smelled of his shampoo. Seeing her in nothing but his shirt was sexy as hell. Her hair was combed away from a scrubbed face. God, she was beautiful.
“And you cook too.” She smiled into her glass.
“Only one meal.” He drained the pasta, threw in a handful of cheese and plenty of fresh cracked pepper and filled two dishes. “It’s my grandmother’s recipe.” Caprese salad. He raised two steaming plates of pasta. “Then cacio e pepe.” He pulled a baking dish from the oven. “Involtine di polo. It’s chicken with prosciutto and parmesan. And aranci in salsa di marsala for dessert.”
“Aranci in salsa di marsala…” She repeated his pronunciation perfectly. “I have no idea what that is, but it sounds delicious. Of course, anything you say sounds wonderful.”
“Oranges with honey and marsala. It’s my favorite. Sweet and light. I like to eat it with my fingers.” He lifted her hand and sucked the tip of her finger into his mouth. “Licking the honey from them. I’ll show you later.”
Her lips parted in a sigh. “Oh, I can’t wait.”
“Come, let’s eat.”
She took the plates of pasta from the counter and followed him to the table. “It looks so good. I can’t believe you cooked for me.”
“I enjoyed it. I don’t cook like this. Not for one. I cooked with my Grandma Vega growing up. Every Sunday we went back to her house and she made the best food. I have a big family. We sat and talked and argued and laughed and argued some more. The more wine, the louder the arguments. Meals lasted for hours.” Max held her chair. “Even after my parents passed away, we still ate dinner with Nonna every week.”
“Do you miss them?”
“Some.” He refilled their wineglasses.
“I come from a tiny family. I don’t remember my grandparents. I have one uncle, my father’s brother, but he lives in Ohio, and we lost touch after Dad died.”
“But you have the protective mother. Trixie?”
“Overprotective, yes. She’s not a cook though.” Em took a bite of salad. She closed her eyes with pleasure. “Mmmm, delicious.” She dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “I didn’t know you came from a large family. Brothers? Sisters?”
“Si, brothers. Three. I don’t talk about them. It’s private. They are all in the family business. I’m the black sheep who wanted something different. I still have my nonna, six aunts and uncles on my mother’s side, five on my father’s. More cousins than I can count.”
“So many. They must be proud of all you’ve done.”
He shrugged and cleared away some of the plates. “Tradition is important. The business is important. Family loyalty. Art is not so important.”
“With your talent? Art has a rich history in your family, too. You’re a descendant of—”
“Michelangelo.” The name choked him.
“Yes. They don’t see that as tradition?”
Here it was. Here was his chance to tell her. He took a healthy drink of wine. “You need to understand—”
“Oh, I do understand. Why are there people who still believe art is superficial? That it is an unnecessary luxury. That artists are all destined to starve.” Emily speared a bite of chicken and held it up. “Then a gift like yours comes along.” She slipped her fork into her mouth and sighed. “Mmmm. Artists are life’s flavor. The heart. The world would be cold and gray without them. You can’t let your family stand in the way of your success.” A frown marred her face as she stared at her plate. “Someone, just today, said you were on the threshold of becoming one of the most important artists of this century.” She placed her fork on the table and wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Nothing should stand in your way, Maximo. Not anyone. Not your family. Not even me.”
“You?”
Emily pushed away from the table and stood. “If I ever thought my being with you was hurting you—”
“Hurting me?”
“Yes.” She took a step toward Fame. “Your work. Your future.” She turned back to him. “I love being with you. I mean, at first you were so intimidating and this larger-than-life persona, but now, knowing you…these past few days have been magical. I feel like I’ve broken through into some secret garden no one else can see. If I damage that—you, your art, your career, held you back somehow—I couldn’t live with myself.”
Lavender. He stood and took Emily’s hand. “Who put this in your head?” I’ll kill her with my bare hands.
“No one.” She placed a hand on his chest. “I’ve been thinking about us and—”
“I think about us too.” He lifted her face to peer into her eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about us. I think about you every moment. When I open my eyes in the morning. When I lay in my bed at night. I see you. Feel you. Smell your perfume on my sheets. I sketch you and sculpt you in my mind. Pull your image from the clay. Find you in the stone.” He ran a thumb across her cheek. “Hurt me? My work?” He was more afraid of hurting her. “You? Never.” His words hung up on one another, but he had to say them. He had to fess up. He prayed she would understand. “Emily, I—”
“If I ever do,” she rushed on, “you’ll tell me the truth, won’t you?” Green eyes filled with worry peered up at him and snatched at his heart. “Promise me?”
“Yes, you have my promise. I’ll tell you the truth.”
Slipping her arms around his waist, she embraced him.
He held her tight to his chest and kissed her hair. You have my promise. “Is this what was bothering you earlier?”
“Yes, no. It’s everything.” She shrugged.
He ran his hands over her back, the smooth heat of her body coming through the crisp cotton of his shirt. “You delivered your exhibit piece, no?”
“Yes. It’s all set up. It looks great.”
“I’m anxious to see it displayed.”
“The show isn’t until next week, but I could arrange a private showing.”
“I would like that.” He tucked her hair behind her ear. “Tell me about this wedding.”
Em groaned and buried her head into his chest. “I’m old friends with the groom, but the bride asked me, and I foolishly said yes.”
“This is the boyfriend. The one from high school?”
She stared at him with wide eyes. “How did you remember that?”
“When you told me, I thought he must be an idiot to marry someone other than you.”
“You and Trixie share the same mind.”
“Even the mother thinks it’s true?”
Emily pulled out of his embrace and started clearing the table. “It’s not his fault. I broke things off. He wanted to settle down and make babies, but I had bigger plans. I don’t begrudge him anything. He and Cynthia love one another. I’m happy for them, but it’s one of those bittersweet things. I’d much rather go to the ceremony, wish them well, and leave. Now I’m part of a whole weekend of bridal activities. By myself. I know Jeremy and his parents, but Cynthia I’ve only just met, along with her posse of tall gorgeous bridesmaids, and me in a dress that…” She sighed. “I’d much rather spend the weekend with you.”
“It’s only a few days. We have tonight to be together.” He reached for her.
“I wish I could stay all night, fall asleep in your arms, and not wake up
until Monday.”
He smiled at her. “Again with the wishes?”
Emily handed him back his shirt an hour later, dressed and headed home. They’d taken their dessert to bed and fed one another plump sections of orange, licking honeyed wine off their fingers and each other.
Max walked her to her car, kissed her good-bye, and watched her drive away. It had been another amazing night. Even though he still hadn’t found the right moment to confide in her, their time together only strengthened his resolve and gave him hope their growing feelings would somehow be strong enough to withstand the blow.
He went back up to the kitchen and started to clean up from dinner. The apartment already felt empty without her, and yet, she was everywhere he looked. He hated the thought of not seeing her all weekend. He’d grown so attached to seeing her face every day.
As he stepped out of his shower that night, an idea struck him. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he rummaged through the back of his closet and dug that ridiculous tuxedo out of its trash bag. Tomorrow, he’d take it to the cleaners.
Chapter Twenty
Emily hugged Suzanne and patted her friend’s tummy before sliding into a booth at Java Jim’s. She ordered the King Kong Combo.
Suzanne sat with a bran muffin and a large glass of milk. “I’ll be happy when I can drink coffee again. And cosmos. And see my feet.”
“Stop. You’re not that big.”
“Yet.” She leaned toward Em and propped her elbows on the table. “So, are you ready for the big day tomorrow?”
Em huffed a laugh. “Not even close.”
Suzanne stretched her back. “Thank goodness I have today off. The shop is going to be crazy in the morning.”
Emily ripped open several sugar packets and dumped them into her vat of steaming coffee. “You’re still doing me, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“And you won’t make me look like a hooker?”
Suzanne’s jaw dropped. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course I trust you, but don’t you recall when you did my makeup the first time?” Em grimaced.
Suz threw up a hand. “I was eight.”
“And I looked like an eight-year-old hooker.”
Suzanne flipped a hand at Em. “Don’t worry about it. I promise. You’ll be gorgeous.”
“I’ll settle for average. Don’t try to talk me into the mink eyelashes, either.”
“Your eyelashes are fine. They’re just blonde.”
“AKA, invisible.”
“I can fix all that.” Suzanne broke off a corner of her muffin and popped it into her mouth. “Did you get the picture I sent of the hairstyle I want to try on you?”
“Yeah.” Em shrugged. “It wasn’t horrible.”
“I told you.”
Even talking about it made Emily a tad sick to her stomach. She dropped her face into her hands. “Why did I agree to this?”
“Because you’re still in love with Jeremy.”
Em’s head shot up. “Wrong. I’m still in ‘friends’ with Jeremy.”
“If you say so.” Suzanne shrugged one shoulder and pursed her lips. “I saw you the way you were looking the other day. All moony like. I know that look. If you’re not in love with Jeremy, then you’re in love with someone.”
“What? This pregnancy is messing with your brain.” Emily tried to hide behind her giant coffee cup. “You’re seeing things.”
“I am not. How long have I known you?”
“Evidently, too long,” Em grumbled and shot her friend a hard stare. Was she that transparent? If Suzanne was sharp enough to guess, then would she be having this conversation with Trixie next?
Suzanne lifted her eyebrows and gave a little gasp. “I knew it! Girl, you can’t fool me. I know that look a mile away. Spill it.”
“Fine, but I’m evoking the pact of the Blood Barbie Besties.” The B.B.B. was formed when Em and Suz were ten and they became “blood” sisters by pricking their fingers and swearing on their favorite Barbie dolls. It all started after Jimmy Easton kissed Suzanne behind the school and had the nerve to stick his tongue in her mouth. Suzanne had been horrified and made Emily swear on the pact to take the whole sordid story to her grave.
“Whoa! The B.B.B.? Who is it?”
Emily chewed at her lip, pushed her cup to one side and leaned as close to Suzanne as she could. “Do you swear?” She held out the sacred pinkie.
Suzanne linked her pinkie with Em’s. “Yes, dammit. Who?”
“Maximo Vega.”
“What!”
“Shhhhhh!” Em shot a glance around at the faces of the other startled customers. “Lower your voice,” she hissed.
“Oh my God. You serious? Oh my God. Oh my God!”
“You can stop saying that.” Emily proceeded to tell her the whole story about posing for him, what happened the night she came to her house, the night of the rainstorm, the mud, even about her run-in with Beverly Lavender yesterday. “I’ve been thinking maybe she’s right and I should walk away, but things are so great between us, and after last night, I don’t think I can. I don’t know what to do.”
Suzanne flopped back. Emily took a bite of her muffin, but it turned to dust in her mouth.
Suzanne leaned forward again and frowned. “Wait a minute. The night you stopped by the house was only like a week ago.”
“Things moved a little fast.”
Suzanne’s eyebrows shot toward the ceiling. “A little fast?”
“Don’t judge me. Tell me what to do.”
“I’m not judging, I’m just trying to wrap my brain around all this. Wow. This is huge.”
Em twirled her coffee mug around and around. “I know.”
Suzanne lowered her voice. “Is the sex good?”
“After the clay story, you really need to ask?”
“Oh my God, it’s amazing, isn’t it?” She danced in her chair.
Emily sighed and nodded. “There needs to be a new word for how amazing it is.”
Suz covered her mouth and screamed again. The older couple sitting at the next table left, giving them both a scowl as they passed their table. Suzanne waited until they were out of ear shot and whispered, “Does he know you love him?”
Em chewed her lip. “Not yet.”
“When are you going to tell him?”
She twirled her cup some more. This wasn’t helping. Could she turn the clock back and start over. Whoever said confession was good for the soul? This whole conversation was making her feel ill. “I won’t see him again until Monday.”
“So you’ll tell him Monday?”
Em mumbled, “Unless I talk myself out of it by then.”
“Wow. I still can’t believe this.” Suzanne shook her head. “Oh. My. God.”
“Would you please stop saying that?”
“Do you think he feels the same way about you?”
“I don’t know.” Em rubbed her forehead.
“Well, you have to know. You can’t run around dropping your panties every other minute if he doesn’t feel the same way.”
And there was Suzanne’s perfect black and white logic. The only problem with it was all those lovely gray bits in between. Em knew the reality of things but didn’t want to face it. It hurt just to say the words. “What if he doesn’t?”
“Simple. Walk away.”
“Simple? How is that remotely simple?” Emily rubbed her forehead as she considered the other alternative. At this point, she wasn’t sure which outcome was better. “What if he does feel the same?”
“Make me your Matron of Honor.”
Emily groaned. “I’m serious.”
“So am I. Just promise me I’ll be there when you break this news to Trixie. Front row tickets. Hey, I think it’s great. Why shouldn’t you be in love? And why couldn’t it be with,” she leaned in and whispered, “Maximo Vega?”
“What if Beverly Lavender is right and he’s playing me, and who knows how many others? What if I’m not the only one he’s
having unprotected sex with?”
“Oh my God! You didn’t tell me that! Are you nuts?”
Em shot another glance around the restaurant. “It just happened once.”
“That’s all it takes. You’re still on the pill, right?”
“Of course.”
Suzanne leaned closer again. “Do you think he’s sleeping around?”
“No. I thought there might be a thing between him and Lavender, but she would have reacted a whole lot differently when she found out we were in a relationship.”
“Okay, then, get through this wedding from hell.” Suz held up one finger. “Go to him on Monday and be totally honest with him.” Two fingers. “Tell him Lavender harassed you.” Three fingers. “Tell him you’re crazy about him.” Four fingers. “And jump the man.” Suzanne held up her hand.
“Sex isn’t the problem. What if he doesn’t love me?”
Suzanne shrugged and slipped her a sly smile. “Jump him anyway.”
Emily spent the rest of the afternoon packing everything she needed for the weekend. She still had to swing by and pick up her dress and shoes from the bridal shop, stop off and buy some stockings, and get to the church by five for rehearsal. She left Trixie a note. She’d see her in the morning at Pixie’s.
Cynthia had arranged for all twelve of her bridesmaids to stay over at the hotel. She said she needed their moral support.
From what Emily saw at the rehearsal, the girl was hanging on by a thread, and Jeremy wasn’t fairing much better. The three-ring circus of a wedding was already taking its toll, and they hadn’t entered the center ring yet.
Emily broke away from the pack to stand next to Jeremy. “Why couldn’t you have made me your best man? I’d look great in a tux.”
“Believe it or not, I did make that suggestion.”
“Shot down by the mother of the bride, huh?”
Jeremy gave a short bark of laughter. “I still have the shrapnel scars.”
Em stuck out her bottom lip. “Poor baby.”
He slipped his arm around her shoulders. “I never got a chance to call you back yesterday. Are you okay?”
She dropped her head on his shoulder. “I will be. I’m praying my dress fits.” She glanced around at the melee going on around them. “I suppose they frown on drinking in the church.”
Rock Solid Page 16