Eventually she slept the sleep of the emotionally drained. In the morning she would apologize. In the morning she would decide.
Diana woke early, as was her habit, but Max had woken earlier. Padding to the kitchen to start coffee, she found him in her sunroom and stopped short. A mug in one hand, the other propped against the window frame, he stood gazing out the window at her snow-covered yard.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt.
She couldn’t look away.
But it wasn’t the stretch of bare skin across his shoulders and down to the waist of low-riding dark trousers that ambushed her attention. It wasn’t the strong curve of his biceps or the softer, paler line of his underarm. It was the way the morning sunlight slanted across his face, highlighting the plane between cheekbone and jaw and silvering the ends of his bed-tousled hair.
Her fingers itched for her camera. To capture the warm hews of his skin and the blunt strength of his bone structure against the softened mounds of powdery snow…
He shifted suddenly, straightening from his leaning posture, and Diana backed up a few quick steps. She felt oddly shy in her nightwear. And nervous of what she had to say, of how she might word her request.
But he hadn’t sensed her presence. He seemed distracted and she saw tension in the tightly bunched muscles across his shoulders. The fingers of his free hand curled into a fist and he punched the window frame, not solidly, but with a contained frustration that grabbed her by the throat.
Then he turned and saw her and for several seconds she couldn’t think or speak or move.
“I made coffee,” he said, and his voice still held an edge of morning gruffness. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. I’m glad you found everything. Did you sleep well?”
A silly question, she realized, as soon as his forest-dark gaze stilled on her face. “Did you?”
“Not so well,” she admitted.
Now was her chance to apologize for last night, but before she could compose the necessary words he spoke, his tone brusque, his message pointed. “You need to go to the police about your trespasser. And this place is begging for a decent security system. He proved last night he could walk right up to your front door, and look at this.” He swept an arm toward the window. “From the park out the back, you can see right through here.”
Diana’s gaze swept over the view he indicated with a new consciousness. Goose bumps broke out along her skin, and they owed less to the winter landscape than to the fear attached to his blunt comments. She wrapped the warm robe more firmly around her middle but that didn’t halt the chill beneath her skin. “If it makes you feel any better, I will talk to the police.”
“When?”
“Look, I’m not going to let Gregg into the house if he returns. And you’re scaring me with this talk about security and people looking into my home.”
“Good, if that’s what it takes. Because when I was walking up your path last night…when I heard that breaking china and raised voices…”
His voice stopped abruptly, but his harrowed expression took over where the words left off. Never would he admit it, but he’d been genuinely frightened for her safety. Diana’s vexation with his bossiness dissolved into mush.
Her expression softened. “You really do care.”
“Yeah, I care. I hate the thought of walking out of here, not knowing you’ll be safe.”
His tone was rough with an emotion that made Diana’s heart skip several beats. It restarted somewhere higher in her chest and she knew this was it. Her decision made in the space of a heartbeat and in the end it wasn’t even difficult. “You would know I was safe if I came with you.”
“To Kentucky?”
“Yes.” Her gaze met his with steady certainty and they both knew what she was saying yes to. “I would love to come with you, if your invitation still holds.”
Eight
They traveled in the Fortune’s private jet, arriving at Lexington’s Bluegrass Field shortly after ten. The manager of the stallion syndicate sent a car to meet them. When the driver, who introduced himself as Roland K. Abraham, learned that Diana had never visited their county before, he took it upon himself to transport them to their hotel via the scenic route.
“Only if that doesn’t hold up your meeting.” Diana turned worried eyes to Max. “What time do you need to be at the hotel?”
“We got plenty of time,” the driver assured her via the rearview mirror. “The boss won’ be arriving at the hotel for more than an hour yet.”
“Do you want to see the sights?” Max asked.
“’Course she does,” Roland interceded. “Everybody needs to see why Bluegrass County makes the world’s fastest horses and the world’s smoothest bourbon.”
He didn’t allow them an opening to refute those claims before launching into an eloquent monologue that hit all the high points of his home for the past sixty-three years. “Born here and never felt inclined to leave,” he divulged, before pausing to point out the Keeneland Racecourse.
“Best park in the country.” At length he told them why, a blur of names and facts that meant nothing to Diana. “You ever been racing here?” he asked Max.
“I haven’t had that pleasure.”
“You need to rectify that real quick. Bring your wife back in the springtime. Buy her a pretty hat, take her racing on Stakes day.” He whistled softly through his teeth. “Yessirree, all those pretty fillies make that a fine day’s racing.”
Diana snuck a peek at Max’s face. He didn’t look perturbed by the driver’s casual assumption that they were a married couple. And she could hardly correct the man.
Um, sorry to disillusion you, Roland, but I’m just along for the ride.
Warmth bloomed beneath her skin when she recognized her unintentional double-entendre. On top of Roland’s reference to women as fillies, that flip comment would definitely have left the wrong impression. Just as well she had kept silent.
Except the meaning behind the unspoken words—the meaning behind her presence here at Max’s side—reawakened and rippled through her senses…as it had done a score of times since making her decision early that morning. She wanted to take a leaf from Max’s apparent impassivity. He’d said little all morning. If anything he seemed slightly distant, distracted no doubt by the upcoming round of meetings.
She understood, but that didn’t help calm her growing anxiety. In her mind she wanted to be Strong Sexual Woman, able to have this man she desired, to take pleasure from his body and to want nothing more. But in her heart she doubted she owned that ability.
Despite genetics, she’d never been the best at role play. She’d failed miserably in the acting classes she’d been forced to take. She’d hated every minute of every class.
“Diana?”
Zoning back in, she found both pairs of male eyes watching her. Waiting for an answer…? She pulled an apologetic face. “Sorry, I was woolgathering.”
“Roland asked if the heating was too high. Would you like it turned down?”
“Yes. Thank you. It is warm,” she lied, pretty sure the question had been prompted by a flushed face that owed nothing to the temperature.
“How long you folks fixin’ on staying?”
“That depends,” Max said evenly, “on how things work out.”
Diana’s tummy jumped into her throat. Business, she reminded herself. He’s talking about business.
“If you stay on for the weekend, you’ll be needin’ your heating. They’re predicting some wild weather.”
“Snow?” Max asked.
“So they say. As you can see—” he angled his head to indicate the rolling fields outside “—we already had a few inches this week.”
The fields were coated in a layer of white so smooth it might have been painted on. Everything, she noted, was neat and manicured. Mile after mile of wooden fences, the lines of posts meticulously straight. Avenues of trees standing in soldierly ranks. Stud farm entrances signposted in gilded lett
ering beside ornate iron gates.
It was all so unlike the scrambling disorder of her nerves.
The men were still discussing the weather—snowstorms here were worthy of discussion, apparently—and then how black fences were replacing white in some places. They were cheaper to maintain, according to their expert guide. Diana listened selectively until the conversation moved on to a particular farm they were passing and she realized that Max knew rather a lot about it.
“You’ve visited here?” Diana asked.
“This is where I bought the mare.”
“Maggie?” Neck craned to study the farm’s impressive entranceway, she didn’t realize her unconscious use of the nickname until she felt his questioning gaze on her face.
“Maggie?” he repeated. “Are we talking about the same horse?”
So she told him about the day of the photography shoot and how she’d come up with the name.
“You renamed my horse?”
“I nicknamed your horse. It’s a technique I use. A bonding between me and my subject,” she said haughtily, self-conscious that she might sound daft and very aware that his attention was fully on her for the first time since they’d left Sioux Falls. “You don’t have to like my choice of name. You can stick with Bootylicious,” she added.
She’d thought he might laugh or at least joke about that name, but she was wrong.
“I like it,” he said in a low voice, and his appreciative gaze caused a ripple of pleasure to roll through her body. “And here I was thinking you didn’t like horses.”
“Maggie might be the exception.”
“You have excellent taste,” he said.
“I know.”
He smiled at that, but then he seemed to become lost in her eyes and she wondered if he could read the message so boldly emblazoned on her brain.
I do have excellent taste, I chose you as my lover. My only lover.
“Glad you came?” he asked.
“We’ll see.”
The smile faded from his eyes, leaving them dark and serious and intense. “Just remember, it’s your choice. No pressure.”
Diana discovered that she hadn’t believed him, not in her heart, until they checked in at the hotel.
There’d been an awkward moment as they walked across the lobby of the elegant old-English-style lodging and a booming Midwestern voice hailed Max. The syndicate manager, Roy Crowley, strode up to them with two colleagues in tow. While the men shook hands, Diana tensed, waiting to see how he handled her introduction.
“This is a friend of mine, Diana Fielding,” he said.
No uncomfortable pause while he considered how to qualify her status and for that she forgave his use of her maiden name. She smiled, relaxing, because he’d made it so easy.
Or he would have done, if one of the men hadn’t missed her name.
“Diana Young,” she told him as they shook hands, unaware of the unconscious contradiction until she felt all eyes on her.
“Wasn’t it Fielding?” Crowley asked.
“It was,” Max said shortly. “But now it’s Young.”
Needless to say, all the men looked confused and when Max excused himself so they could check in, Crowley said, “No need. Your room’s taken care off. It’s a junior suite, has its own sitting room. Very spacious.” His gaze shifted to Diana. “I hope you’re comfortable there, ma’am.”
Which is when Max smoothly interceded to say they required separate rooms. In that moment Diana realized that anything from here on in really would be her choice, instigated by her first move. “Thank you,” she said quietly as they crossed to the front desk.
“You’re welcome.”
Crowley invited her to join the group for lunch, insisting they wouldn’t bore her with horse talk. He was wrong…and he was right. They did talk horses right through the long meal but she was far from bored.
Seeing Max in his element was a revelation. He didn’t dominate the conversation as Crowley and a younger wise-mouth lawyer attempted to do, yet when he did speak he commanded the whole table’s attention. He didn’t have to condescend or try to make an impression. He did that through his knowledge and sharp observations. Diana was captivated.
At one point, when he countered a loud assertion by the lawyer with quick logic, she’d wanted to stand and applaud. But then she realized this wasn’t a performance. This was simply Max, doing what he did best, and making her fall even more deeply under his spell.
That sobering thought sat her back in her chair for the remainder of the meal.
Later, when the men moved to a meeting room to get down to business, she grabbed her camera and took a walk. After spending several hours in her element, doing what she did best, fading light sent her back to her hotel room. But she felt good, invigorated, happy, and the prospect of the night ahead—of, for the first time in her life, being the seducer instead of the seducee—only caused her heart to beat faster with anticipation rather than with the nerves that had assailed her during their morning travel.
Washing her hair reminded her of the previous night in her kitchen, when Max had stroked the loose tresses and commented on the familiar scent. She applied extra conditioner, rich with the warm notes of vanilla and amber. The whipped body soufflé she worked into her skin, all over, had notes of the same fragrance.
She was almost done primping when Max called to see if she would like to join them for dinner.
“Have you wrapped up business?” she asked, sounding all sensible and calm despite the thump-thump-thump of her elevated heartbeat.
“Not quite. Pettit is being obstructive.”
The know-it-all lawyer. “That figures.”
“Looks like we’ll be thrashing this out for a while yet.”
“Then I’ll pass on joining you for dinner,” she decided. “Let you continue your thrashing without inhibition.”
He tried to change her mind but she insisted she would be happier ordering room service. When he started to object to that, she silenced him by saying, “Look, I’m just out of the shower and, really, I’d as soon not have to get dressed.”
After a beat of silence he recovered. “You might want to get dressed before you open the door to room service.”
Smiling, she coiled the phone cord around her hand. “Will you let me know how your meeting ends up?”
“It might be late,” he warned.
“I don’t mind. I’d really like to know. I’ll put some champagne on ice in case you want to celebrate.”
Diana came awake slowly. Foggy with disorientation it took a moment to place herself. Lexington. The King George Hotel. Sitting room in the suite. Someone knocking on the door….
She sat up in a rush. Max. She’d nodded off while waiting for his very late meeting to finish. She’d insisted he let her know the result.
Instantly alert, she wrapped the sash of her robe more snugly around her middle and padded to the door. She swung it open in a rush and found Max glowered down at her. “Didn’t you learn your lesson last night about opening the door to anyone who knocks?”
She was too pleased to see him, even tired and scowling, to take exception. “Not anyone,” she told him, opening the door wider. “Only you.”
Max had been about to ask how the hell she knew it was him, but the way she said “only you” and the way she stepped back from the door to usher him inside, wiped the reprimand from his tongue and the weariness from both mind and body.
He accepted the unspoken invitation and followed the sway of her white-robed hips into the cozy sitting room. A log fire flickered in one corner. Classic R & B crooned from the stereo speakers. She turned the volume down a notch.
“I’m sorry I didn’t hear you. I must have dozed off. Would you like a drink?”
“Please.”
She pulled the promised bottle of champagne from a standing ice bucket and arched a brow. “Are we toasting a successful deal?”
“We are but I need something stronger than champagne.” He poured himsel
f a liberal glass from a bottle of bourbon on the bar.
“Success?” she asked. “Signed, sealed, delivered?”
“Not quite delivered, but yeah. We’ve shaken hands.”
And her wide smile made up for all the day’s aggravations, for all of Pettit’s posturing and Crowley’s blustery speeches. Abandoning the French sparkly, she poured her own glass of the hard stuff—only half-full he noticed—and clinked it against his. “Cheers.”
Their eyes met above the rims of their lifted glasses. The local blend packed quite a kick but not as much as the warmth in her eyes.
“You look tired,” she said. “Sit.”
He wasn’t tired any more but he sat, mostly because she’d curled herself into one corner of the plushly upholstered lounge. He took the other end and watched as she tucked one leg up under her bottom. Her bare foot arched over the edge of the seat and he wondered if she wore anything beneath the plush white robe. He hoped she wouldn’t keep him wondering long.
“Do you want to talk?” she asked. “Or would you rather just unwind.”
“I’m all done with talking business. Why don’t you tell me how you spent your afternoon?”
She told him about her long walk through the streets of Lexington, about the places she’d seen and the photos she’d taken, and he found himself unwinding much more than he could have imagined when she’d opened that door. When he’d wondered what kind of disappointment he was setting himself up for by coming knocking so late at night, especially after she’d taken so long to answer. He sipped his drink and he listened to the enthusiasm in her voice and watched the muted passion in her eyes as she explained the whyfors and whathaveyous of her shots.
Then she stopped, her expression suddenly self-conscious, a flush of pink rising from inside her robe to color her throat. “I’m sorry. I’m putting you to sleep.”
“Never.”
She must have realized then that his gaze had dipped from her throat to the deep V of her crossover robe. To the shadowed curve of one breast. She didn’t rush to cover up. She took a slow sip from her glass and allowed him his second’s peep show.
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