Sensuous Burgundy Page 8

  “Are you all right?” There was no trace of anger in the voice that came to her, no fury in the hand that gently massaged her neck.

  Was she all right? What had happened to her? Why had Max’s attack on her affected her so violently? After hoping, day after day, that he would appear at her apartment just as he had, how could she allow him such a misconception?

  Without further deliberation she looked up at his face, blurred now through the tears that misted her vision yet refused to fall. “It was my brother, Jack. He came in last night. I…needed him. He stayed in the spare room and is on his way to see his girlfriend in Albany.” She hadn’t taken a breath during her speech, had merely let the words flow as quickly as possible. Now she buried her face in her hands as she sought to control her spasmodic breathing.

  In the next conscious movement she was pulled, fur jacket and all, into Max’s arms, sheepskin jacket and all. Her head rested against his sweatered chest, her arms were pinned between their bodies as he gently rocked her back and forth.

  “I’m sorry, baby. So sorry.” His deep-timbred choice of endearment made her melt even deeper into him, her upset vanishing as his arms maintained their healing touch. “It was stupid of me to go on like that,” he reproached himself, as his tone grew lower and more husky. “I’ve waited so long to see you alone.…I’ve wanted to call you so many times. When I saw him leaving with his bag, hugging you, I’ve never been as furious”—he drew back to look down at her—“or as jealous!”

  At that instant Laura knew that her brother was not too far from the truth. She was falling in love with Max! It felt so good to be with him like this! When he bent his head to kiss her, she felt the shudder pass from his body to hers. What was he feeling, she wondered, as she gave herself freely to the passion of his kiss. For a mere instant she pretended that his vibrations were alive with love, guiding her into delirious happiness. If only…

  “Forgive me?” He asked, his voice a gentle murmur against her lips.

  Once again she was lost in his magnetism. Her own voice surprised her when it whispered in hoarse response, “Only if you kiss me once more.” And he did, warmly and eagerly, making up for those long moments of frustration that had characterized the last few weeks. When finally he set her away from him, he appeared to be struggling with some inner torment.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “You! What am I going to do with you? You haunt me night and day when I’m away from you, then you tease me mercilessly when I’m here. You are a tease, you know, pulling stunts like that one-more-kiss bit!” Laura blushed under his penetrating gaze, her heart pealing with happiness at the tone of affection that came through his feigned annoyance. “There you go again with that maidenly blush!” he growled in adamant support of his claim. But before she could begin to control the color in her cheeks, he floored her again in a voice thick with desire.

  “Let me make love to you, Laura.” His eyes bore a burning hunger with their sober plea. The masculine aura about him set fire to Laura’s senses, exciting her even as it frightened her. “I’d take you to bed right now, if you’d let me.” His voice was deep and smooth, crooning his desire, his long fingers splayed through the hair on either side of her face.

  He felt the hesitation in her body before she said a word. But the compulsion to explain was too strong. “Max, part of me wants that more than anything else at this moment,” she began, “but, then, part of me is…afraid.”

  Misinterpreting her words, he grew infinitely tender and supportive. “There’s nothing to be frightened of, Laura. It would be so very, very beautiful—”

  “That’s not what I mean,” she cut in quickly, flustered by his misunderstanding. “I’m frightened of my own feelings, and what would happen afterward. There are so many things to be considered.” She shook her head in confusion, recalling vividly the discussion she’d had with her brother. “It’s all happening so quickly. I just need…a little more time.”

  Displaying once more an uncanny awareness of her thoughts, Max let his hands fall from her face and stood up from the sofa, removing his jacket and tossing it onto a nearby chair. “You said that your brother was here because you needed him. What did you mean?” His gaze examined her every feature as she stood to walk to the window.

  Shielded from his prodding gaze, she hesitated for long moments before gathering her courage to answer him honestly. “I was confused—about you, about me, about the trial. Jack and I have always been able to talk. So we did.”

  “And?” The voice was directly behind her, velvet-edged and strong.

  Wrapping both arms about her middle, she elaborated. “He helped me to see some things, others are still foggy.” She turned with sudden boldness to face him. “Jack says that I’ve been wrong about refusing to go out with you…”

  A glint of humor flicked in Max’s eye. “I like your brother already. He must have inherited the common sense,” he quipped in lighthearted reference to the not-so-lighthearted accusation he’d made in the courthouse library.

  A smile found its way through the mask of unsureness, as Laura made her shy confession. “I think he may be right.”

  There was neither arrogance nor smugness in the response. “I know he is, but you may have a point too, as much as I hate to admit it. If things are happening too quickly,” Max explained, his hands now rubbing Laura’s upper arms, “then we’ll just slow them down. It’s going to be difficult for me,” he added, the devilish gleam in his eye dissolving to an excited sparkle, “but I want you too badly to risk any discomfort for you.”

  His sincerity touched her, knotting her throat to preclude response. Mercifully, Max took over in his commanding fashion.

  “But, if I’m prepared to wait, you’ve got to meet me halfway,” he growled amiably. Laura’s arched eyebrow spurred him on. “Three things. First you’ll spend today with me.”

  “But I have to shop, to teach—” She protested feebly.

  “Then I’ll spend today with you.” Head and voice lowered simultaneously. “You’re not getting away from me so easily. Then, second,” he continued with growing enjoyment at the shaping plans, “we’re going out to dinner tonight. Alone. Just you and me. Understood?”

  Delighted submission was the rule as Laura quietly nodded her head. “And the third thing?” Having already precluded a night of lovemaking, the third was a mystery. She stood expectantly as he reached into a back pocket and pulled out a small, flat box.

  “Third, you will accept my contribution to Valentine’s Day.” There was smug satisfaction written over his features as she stared at him. Then slowly she took the box, carefully removed its gay red-and-white wrapping, raised the lid and removed a small pendant on an exquisite gold chain, a delicate gold heart embedded with a sparkling ruby.

  “It’s magnificent!” Tears of pleasure found their way, unbidden, to eyes of China blue.

  The irresistible grin shone anew. “I thought the ruby would go well with your nail polish. That’s perfect…Sensuous Burgundy.” He threw back his head in laughter at the reminder of the earlier conversation. When the laughter ended, Laura spoke, her voice emotion-filled.

  “Thank you, Max. It’s beautiful. I’ll always treasure it!” She unconsciously clutched the necklace in the hand held over her heart. At his pantomimed suggestion, she lifted the weight of her hair and allowed him to fasten the clasp, leaving the heart to fall gracefully to the hollow of her throat. At that instant she felt the heady sensation of lips against her neck. She would have burst with delight had it not been for Max’s change of tempo.

  He clapped his hands for attention and put forth his inquiry. “Now then, what is on the agenda for today? I think we’ve wasted enough time on the preliminaries.” The double meaning of his word was not lost on Laura, who sent him a dazzling smile before reeling off the things to be done.

  While he read the morning paper, she cleaned up the kitchen, quickly made her bed, stripped the cot her brother had used, and ran down to the
basement to put in a load of laundry. As she went from chore to chore, the small gold heart served as a reminder of the tall, dark man awaiting her patiently.

  “All set!” she finally declared, returning to the living room to retrieve her jacket and her date (what a satisfying title), stopping but briefly at her landlady’s door for a shopping list and money before allowing Max to drive her to the supermarket. Suitably impressed by the simple though luxurious interior of the Mercedes, she peered through the shade of long lashes at the profile of her chauffeur.

  “It seems almost sacrilegious to take this car to the market.” She smirked.

  Max kept his eyes on the road, following the direction of her pointing finger. “It’s not the first time. I have to eat too.”

  Curiosity aroused, she cornered him. “I would have thought you’d have someone—cook, houseboy, maid—to do that type of thing.”

  His mouth twisted into a grimace. “That’s the image, isn’t it?”

  Recognizing her error and his prior bitterness on the topic, Laura steered a more positive course. “Are you a good cook?”

  He shrugged, smiling gently. “Fair to middlin’. Maybe you’ll get a chance to sample my culinary talents one day.” He reached out to take her hand in an easy squeeze.

  “I’d like that,” she answered softly as they pulled into the parking lot.

  How the mundane ritual of food shopping could have taken on such a romantic air was an amazement to Laura, who was ever aware of the tall figure beside her, as well as of the familiar faces that greeted her, then sent admiring glances toward her handsome companion.

  When the food had been returned to the house—Mrs. Daniels’ to her, and accepted with a once-over to the man who delivered it—unpacked, and stowed, they headed toward the center of Northampton and the sports shop that had been holding a new tennis racquet for Laura. Encouraged by the sense of frivolity that danced within her, she then fell in love with a newly arrived tennis dress, which she promptly tried on and impulsively modeled for her most appreciative audience.

  “Not bad, for a lawyer,” was the official statement, the approval in the chocolate-sweet gaze that accompanied it telling her all she wanted to know. The splurge was complete with the purchase of new sneakers to match the dress, then they headed for home, where, to the astonishment of Max, she changed into sweat shirt, sweatpants, and a worn pair of sneakers.

  “And just what is that sexy new tennis outfit for, may I ask”—he eyed her dubiously, when she joined him in the kitchen—“if you were planning to wear this…ah…charming thing?” Amusement lurked in his gaze as he pulled at the bulkiness of the sweat shirt. Undaunted, she explained.

  “The children I teach are strictly underprivileged. That tennis dress would ruin any rapport I have with them.” Following Max’s example, she poured herself a glass of milk.

  “Then what is the outfit for?”

  A spontaneous giggle erupted from her lips at the comical look on the face before her. “Wednesday nights. I play with three women…for fun.” A twinkle sparked her blue gaze. “We do it up big on the court,” she jibed over her shoulder as she put her glass into the sink and headed for the living room. “Come on. We’ll be late!” Swooping up the pile of Valentine T-shirts, she plopped them into Max’s unsuspecting arms, picked up her parka and tennis racquet, and led him back out to the car.

  The children adored their T-shirts almost as much as they enjoyed the sight of the tall, important-looking Max, a most patient spectator on the sidelines during their lesson. With a perceptiveness typical of children, they soon properly interpreted the attention he gave to Laura’s every move; from that point on the ribbing they gave her was merciless. It was indeed a tribute to the warm rapport that they could tease her so goodheartedly.

  “I like him, Laura,” one child yelled at the top of her seven-year-old lungs from one end of the court to the other.

  “He’s watching you, Laura,” declared another loudly, as though Laura weren’t already acutely aware of the fact.

  “Laura, you’re not paying attention,” one particularly sharp ten-year-old scolded in a teasing sing-song when she missed a wide shot one of the other children lobbed her way.

  Through it all she parried the children’s gentle barbs, and Max’s obvious enjoyment of them, like the pro she was, keeping the youngsters on their toes with a steady barrage of tennis balls. It was, however, a distinct triumph when one of the boys, a precocious nine-year-old, turned the tables and piped up, “Let’s get him in here and see what he can do!” To the others’ instant cheers and Laura’s unmistakable surprise, Max did just that without batting an eyelash, grabbing an extra racquet from the pile of equipment and joining Laura on her side of the net, opposite the children.

  “I thought they’d never ask,” he exclaimed, no small amount of mischief written over his face. “It was getting pretty boring over there. I’m not used to being a watcher.”

  “I’ll bet you’re not!” she teased before making a pretence of turning her attention back to the children.

  For a few minutes the two adults, side by side, fed balls to their fledglings. It was immediately evident to Laura that Max was no stranger to a tennis court, handling his racquet with the ease of an expert, deftly controlling the often random returns of his opponents.

  Then without knowing quite how it happened, Laura found herself alone on her side of the net, with Max on the other, volleying exclusively and skillfully with her. Her class, eyes wide in excitement and pleasure, had moved to the sidelines and stood watching the actions of the duo, fascinated as though aware that something more passed between them than a tennis ball.

  To Laura’s pleasure Max was as strong a player as she’d competed with recently, yet she held her own unflinchingly. Even hindered as he was by his clothes which limited his freedom of movement, he easily returned every shot she hit, moving with grace and fluidity, anticipating her strategy and executing his own. The superior skill of his game brought out the best in Laura’s. When they finally finished playing to the reluctant moans of their entourage, she met him at the net and, in a moment of uninhibited delight, threw her arms around his neck.

  “That was terrific, Max!” she exclaimed gleefully, gasping for breath from the rigorous workout. “You didn’t tell me you played tennis! And you probably haven’t even built up a sweat.” She kidded him, savoring the broad grin that beamed down on her.

  “I don’t know about that. I could use a shower right about now.” He caught his breath, then turned to the children and raised both fists in an irresistible gesture of victory, Rocky-style.

  True to his word he dropped Laura at her apartment and returned to his hotel to shower and change for dinner. Laura badly needed the few hours to calm her racing pulse, both from the demands of the tennis game and, more critically, from the thrill of being with Max.

  As she lay on her bed fingering the gold heart at her throat, she realized that she could not remember a happier few hours. He had been helper, companion, competitor, spectator—and thoroughly at ease in each of the roles. How heavenly it would be, she mused, to spend every Saturday like this.…

  Dinner was a continuation of the enchantment, candlelight and soft music adding to a relationship that now blossomed openly. They talked of their childhoods, their families, the day they’d just spent together. Laura felt more comfortable with him, more at home in his company, than she could have ever imagined.

  “Tell me about what you do in your free time,” she finally urged, yielding to the curiosity that had occupied her thoughts. “It’s obvious that you play tennis,” she prodded.

  Max paused before answering her, drinking in the flush of excitement on her cheeks, which contributed to his own lightheadedness as much as the rosé wine before him. In the end he could not deny her. “Yes.” His voice was smooth and velvet-lined. “I do play tennis. At lunchtime, several times a week at a club in Boston. Beyond that,” he stated bluntly, “I lead a quiet life.”

  Caut
iously, Laura challenged him. “I don’t believe you. There’s got to be some basis for that public image.”

  The arching of a dark eyebrow alerted her to the coming reprisal. “Oh, there certainly is. I am invited out by some of the most admired women in Boston. There are frequent parties at one club or another, not to mention weekends yachting around the harbor.”

  The voice that issued a terse, “I see,” was a far cry from the one Laura had intended. This information gave her no pleasure. To her dismay a wicked smile burst forth on her date’s face, accompanied by a sly chuckle. He found her displeasure amusing.

  “But, you asked about my free time,” he then continued calmly. “I don’t consider those to be on my own time. They are business, a social necessity, and aren’t especially enjoyable.” Laura’s eyes were held by the intensity of his, speeding her heartbeat even as it sent her a shudder of relief. Spirits suddenly elevated again, she listened, rapt, as his soothing tone flowed on.

  “As for my free time, it really is quiet. I enjoy spending time by myself, away from the crowd. I like to read, to do crossword puzzles, even…to paint.” He grew almost shy, as he had once before when Laura had learned about a private and precious part of him.

  “You paint?” Luminous blue eyes widened in astonishment at this latest information.

  “I try. I’m not very good, I’m afraid. But it’s…therapeutic.”

  Admiration overflowed both Laura’s expression and her words. “I think that’s wonderful! Do you do it in your town house?” she babbled excitedly, in reference to the Beacon Hill house he’d described. His offices were on the ground floor, his apartment on the second and third floors.