All I've Ever Wanted - Adrianne Byrd [45]
She thought about it for a moment, and then smiled. “Maybe we’re becoming friends.”
He nodded and smiled, too. “Maybe we are.”
Chapter 21
After their talk, Kennedy lay awake for a long while in Max’s bed, staring up at the ceiling—alone. She had nervously made calls to area hospitals, and then some that weren’t so local to make sure neither Tommy nor the Warners had been admitted following the trouble at the ballpark.
When she came up empty, she felt reassured that they were safely on their way, but she wasn’t sure enough about it to sleep.
How easy it would be to walk up to Max and confess the past week’s events. It was what she wanted to do, but something in her gut told her to hold her only bargaining chip for just a little longer—long enough to get Tommy safely out of the line of fire.
As she thought back on their discussion, she was amazed by how much they had in common, yet at the same time how different they were. She shook her head. She wasn’t making any sense.
Closing her eyes, she tried to will herself to sleep, but to no avail. Instead, a pair of rich dark eyes stared at her from behind her lids. She smiled at the kindness and honesty. Slowly, her mind crystallized every detail of Max’s face.
Who could ever have been crazy enough to break that man’s heart? From what she knew of him, he was a strong, caring and funny man. She had a feeling that when he loved someone, he gave his all…expected the same in return.
For some reason, she tried to conjure a picture of what Little Frankie would look like—despite the fact that she had never seen a picture of the boy or his mother. The result, of course, was a tiny replica of Max.
The image thrilled her.
Kennedy’s eyes flew open. What on Earth am I doing? She sat up and glanced around the dark room, assuring herself that no one had seen her smiling and hugging the pillow like some crazed teenager.
It was one thing to be attracted to Max. Heck, she couldn’t think of a single woman who wouldn’t be, but it was something else entirely to be dreaming about the man’s child.
Maybe Wanda was right. All she needed was to get laid. And hadn’t he offered?
Kennedy cradled her face in her hands as she tried desperately to pull her mind out of the gutter. Maybe she had sustained a head injury during the chaos at the stadium. At least that would explain her strange reaction to Maxwell Collier.
If not, it only meant one thing: she was horny.
Grabbing a pillow, she buried her face in it to stifle her scream of frustration.
Max frowned toward the hallway when he heard Kennedy toss and turn during the night. It wasn’t surprising she couldn’t sleep after the day’s harrowing events. After they’d talked, he did feel like he’d come away with a better understanding of her.
There were times when he felt that she, too, had loosened up toward him; maybe she had begun to trust him a little. But she still wouldn’t come clean about what she knew about Underwood’s death.
What he hadn’t planned on was telling her so much about himself. Strange thing was that he wasn’t sorry about it.
Visions of her walking around his apartment, wearing nothing more than his pajama top, drifted through his mind. He’d never seen a sexier woman. The few times when he’d caught a glimpse of an exposed leg or shoulder, when the large top shifted awkwardly, a primal urge seared through him.
She’d confessed she’d loved Lee Carsey and something within him wondered what it would be like to be loved by her. Would she give as much as she took? Would her love strengthen her man? Would she be faithful?
Something told him that the answer to all his questions was a resounding yes.
In the distance, he heard the bedsprings creak and knew that she was tossing again. Maybe he should knock on the door and see if there was something he could do to help her get some sleep.
He groaned. Who was he trying to kid? Sleep was the last thing he wanted to do, and who could blame him? The woman was every man’s fantasy, and she didn’t even know it.
He pressed the small light button on his