It wasn’t fair that the scent of Joseph’s aftershave lingered in his bedroom. It wasn’t fair that he’d left his robe hanging on the bathroom door or that his damp towel was still in the shower stall.
“Maxie, get a grip,” she told herself.
She was not there to drive herself crazy with wild, impossible dreams, she was there for revenge.
The first thing that had to go was the bedding. Maxie pulled the green comforter off and piled it in the middle of the floor. She had no illusions about what she was doing. She was ridding the bedroom of everything his fiancee had touched. She didn’t plan to leave a single reminder of the oh-so-correct Susan.
With the spread off, she placed the swatch of leopard-print velour on his sheets. It gave exactly the touch she had in mind. Let him romp with his latest conquest on that.
Her conscience pricked her only slightly as she picked up the bedside phone and placed an order for the custom-made comforter.
“You want to cat around, Joseph Beauregard? Never fear, Magic Maxie is here. I’ll create a lair worthy of your newfound talents.”
She turned on the radio, found a station that played lively music to her liking, then immersed herself in her decorating task.
o0o
Joseph knew when he let himself in the front door that Maxie was in his house. He’d thought of nothing else all day.
When he hung up his jacket, he caught sight of something bright red. Her sweater was hanging in his closet.
He went toward the kitchen, intending to make himself a snack, then settle into his den with the Wall Street Journal. Music drifted down the staircase, something lively. He knew the tune but not the words.
Joseph started humming, his feet started tapping, and before you could blink an eye he bounded up the stairs, two at a time. Maxie was singing along with the radio.
He stood in the hallway, listening. Now he knew why the tune was so familiar. Judy Garland had sung it in A Star Is Born—”Lose That Long Face.”
It was impossible not to smile. Joseph realized he’d been doing a lot of that lately, especially today while he’d sat at his desk picturing Maxie in his house.
What was she doing in there? Whatever it was, she was having fun. Would she put touches of red in his bedroom? Something purple? Perhaps a throw pillow.
With his hand on the knob, he paused. She’d given specific instructions. He was not to enter his suite until she’d finished the job.
Instead, he knocked on the door.
There was silence, then Maxie called, “Who is it?”
“Joe.”
“Joe?” The door opened a crack. He saw a pert nose, the brightest blue eyes this side of heaven, tousled red hair, and fingernails painted yellow. They looked like sunshine.
“You’re home.” She glanced at her watch. “I didn’t expect you.”
“I took off early today. I knew you’d be here decorating.”
“You can’t come in. I want to surprise you.”
Warmth flooded through him. He couldn’t remember ever being with a woman who cared enough about him to want to surprise him.
“Why are you here?” she said.
“I live here.”
“I mean, at this door.”
From long practice, Joe knew how to think on his feet. “I forgot to get my handkerchiefs.”
“I’ll get them for you. Where are they?”
“Top drawer of the antique chest.”
With his ear pressed against the door, he unabashedly eavesdropped. She opened the drawer, then silence. Then he heard her say something. Pressing closer to the door, he deciphered the words.
“Damn, damn damn,” she said. “Jockeys, size thirty-four.”
Two spots of bright pink colored her cheeks when she opened the door.
“Here.” She thrust the handkerchiefs through the crack, then tried to slam the door.
“Wait.” Now what? All Joseph knew was that he couldn’t let her go back behind the closed door. “Do you want some pie? It’s lemon icebox.”
“Hmmm.”
She flicked the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip. It was one of the most erotic gestures Joe had ever seen. That small movement, combined with the delicious love-sound she’d made excited him more than all his former fiancee’s foreplay.
Daily he saw fresh evidence that he’d done the right thing.
“I have lemonade,” he said. “To cool us off.”
“Lemonade?” She brushed a damp lock of hair off her forehead. “I really shouldn’t. I have work to do.”
“It won’t take long.”
“All right. Even slaves need breaks. I’ll just have a quickie.”
If she had any experience reading a man’s eyes, she’d know beyond a shadow of a doubt what he wanted to do: He wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon in a slow tango of love.
And when it was over, when he’d taken the edge off his hunger, he wanted to carry her to his king-size bed, wrap his arms around her, and sleep until desire spurred him awake. Then he wanted to start with her, all over again.
He could tell by her expression that she knew exactly what he was thinking. What he couldn’t tell was whether or not she liked it.
“Close your eyes,” she said.
“Why? Don’t you like what you see in them?”
Her pink tongue appeared once more, briefly, leaving her bottom lip wet and slick and kissable.
“I don’t want you to see inside when I come out.” Obediently he closed his eyes. “I’ll tell you when to open them.” He heard the click of the door. “All right. You can open them now.”
Maxie took his breath away. Up close she was delicious, flushed skin and dewy lips. Bangles sparkled on her arms, a tiered denim skirt swayed around her legs, and a white peasant blouse slid off one shoulder.
“I’m starved,” she said.
“Me too.” He devoured her with his eyes.
“Shall we eat?”
“I’d like nothing better.”
Riveted, they stood in the hall, body heat rising between them, eyes locked, hips swaying. He couldn’t keep his hands off her.
Her skin was like silk. He slid his fingers over her scented skin, down her neck, and across her bare shoulder. Maxie sucked in a sharp breath.
His eyes never leaving hers, Joe bent down and traced the path with his lips. One touch was not enough. One taste only whetted his appetite for more.
“Joe...”
Her voice issued a warning, but her eyes issued an invitation. He accepted.
He crushed her hard against his body, bent swiftly, and captured her lips. She responded with an eagerness that took his breath away. Theirs was not the soft experimental kiss of strangers but the deep, hungry kiss of lovers.
Her lips were wet, open, wild. He plunged his tongue inside, lapping up her delicious juices, exploring her soft recesses. She made delirious love-sounds.
Joe felt as if he were going to explode. Bracing her against the wall, he thrust with tongue and hips in a rhythm as old as time. Her skirt swayed around them. Her fragrance invaded his already heightened senses, spurring him on.
“You drive me crazy,” he said.
Maxie stiffened. She couldn’t believe what she was doing. And in Joseph’s own house.
Only the day before she’d sworn to herself that he was definitely off-limits, and there she was acting like an alley cat. And all because she’d discovered Jockey shorts in his chest of drawers.
That wasn’t the whole reason she was backed against the wall panting, of course, but it was a big part of it.
She shoved against his chest.
“Fortunately, you don’t have the same effect on me.
If he looked puzzled, she supposed he had every right, but she wasn’t about to let that stop her.
“If this is your idea of hospitality, it stinks.”
B. J. would be so proud of her. Head high, she marched down the stairs, chattering all the way. Besides humming, it was what she did when she was nervous.
“I’ve changed my mind about pie. It’s probably laced with aphrodisiacs.” Joe didn’t say a word. Good. Let him listen. He might learn a thing or two. “I wonder if your ex-fiancee knows how lucky she is. Honestly, you have the habits of a tomcat. Whoever happens to be in the alley, that’s the pussycat you want.”
He roared with laughter. Bounding down the stairs, he caught her arm and drew her up short.
“What’s so darned funny?”
“I enjoyed that performance tremendously, Maxie. Are you always this passionate about everything you do?”
“Sometimes I throw things.” She tried to shake him off. “Let go of me.”
He ignored her. “I wouldn’t call you a pussycat. I think wildcat is more like it.”
“You bring out the beast in me.” It was the wrong thing to say.
“The same here, Maxie.” He undressed her with his eyes. “You definitely bring out the animal in me.”
She lifted her hair off her hot neck. She felt as if she’d been in a steam bath.
“That’s not the kind of beast I’m talking about.”
“You could have fooled me.”
She didn’t know why she’d ever gotten into a contest of words with a lawyer. She knew from experience that you could never win. B. J. had always outtalked, outfoxed, and outmaneuvered her, even when they were children.
At the foot of the stairs, Joseph steered her toward the kitchen. Lord, she’d never known that merely walking beside a man could be so erotic. She felt like one of the Salem witches, staked out with fire licking up her legs.
“I’d like that lemonade now,” she said.
He poured in silence, set the glasses on the table, then pulled out a chair for her. She’d have thought he was a perfect gentleman if she didn’t know better.
“I’ll have mine upstairs.” She jerked up her glass and was on the way out the door when he stopped her.
“Why are you afraid of me, Maxie?”
It was the sort of challenge she couldn’t resist.
“I’m not afraid of the devil,” she said.
“Every time I kiss you, you run like hell. I know it’s not displeasure, because you kiss me back.” She’d opened her mouth to argue, but he didn’t give her time. “That leaves only one alternative: fear.”
Unconsciously she put the cool glass to her hot neck.
“Don’t you dare slide that glass down the neck of your blouse. I’m only human, you know.”
“Is that why you back me into the first piece of furniture you can find every time you see me?”
“I know it’s not a gentlemanly thing to do. It’s hardly even civil. What can I say, Maxie? You’re irresistible.”
She slugged her drink, then plopped the glass back onto the table.
“I don’t know why I’m doing this,” she muttered.
“You said you were thirsty.” He assessed the level of the glass. “From the way you slugged it down, you were.”
“I’m not talking about lemonade.”
“I’m lost. Enlighten me.”
“All right, you asked a question, and here’s your answer: I only have the knack for long-distance relationships.” He quirked an eyebrow. “That’s right. The telephone.”
He had the good grace to be embarrassed.
“To be honest with you, I don’t have the knack for relationships, either. Especially with you.”
“Because I’m so inappropriate?”
“Maxie, you’ll have to admit that we’re totally unsuitable for each other.”
“If I cared about suitability, I would. Fortunately, I don’t give a fig for suitability and convention and public opinion.”
“What do you care about, Maxie?”
“Family. B. J. and Crash and the baby. I’m not about to do anything to mess that up.”
She marched out of the kitchen, head high, gloating that she’d had the last word.
Upstairs she locked herself into his bedroom, then raced to the mirror. She looked like a shipwreck. She pinched her cheeks to give them color. Why hadn’t she worn a brighter blouse? Anything except a white one, which made her look like a bar of Ivory soap.
She groaned and plopped onto the middle of his bed. Why couldn’t she have met him somewhere out of state or even out of town? Why did he have to be B. J.’s brother-in-law?
The scent of a woodsy aftershave surrounded her. Flopping over, she buried her head in Joe’s pillow and inhaled. Her body reacted immediately.
Hugging his pillow, she actually fantasized. When she had to clamp her knees together and bite her tongue to keep from groaning, she threw the pillow from her and scrambled off the bed.
Good Lord, she was turning into a ridiculous woman. What did she care if she looked like a bar of colorless soap to Joseph Beauregard? She was in his house to do a decorating job, not to seduce him.
Maxie attacked the curtains next. As she measured the windows she was thinking about the glamorous jungle-print silk blouse in her closet. She would wear that tomorrow. After all, it never hurt to look nice on the job.