The Reluctant Nude - Meg Maguire [28]
“Don’t act like your halo is so polished,” he murmured, letting her hear how close he stood behind her. “That touch was not so scientific.”
“Think whatever you want to. But don’t ever kiss me again.”
“I said I wouldn’t.”
“I’m not convinced you’re a man of your word. Now that I’ve seen what passes for ‘connection’ in your book.”
Max put his fingertips on her shoulder. She spun around slowly, more in search of a face-off than to be agreeable, he suspected. She glanced at his hand as if it were a spider.
“You aren’t shaking.” He pressed his palm flat against her.
She watched, unreadable.
He contemplated his next move. He rubbed his thumb along her clavicle. She was steady. He watched her swallow then traced a curled finger down her jugular. Her chin started to tremble.
Max gave her plump earlobe the briefest tweak and took his hands back, tucking them into his pockets. “What did you feel when you touched me?” he asked, stripping any challenge out of his voice and steeping it in pure curiosity.
Fallon looked down, at either his crotch or his safely pocketed hands. “You’re very warm,” she offered with a shrug. Her cheeks and lips flared pink.
“When I touch you.” Max reached out his hands again, inching them forward until he touched her elbows. “You are like fireworks.” He slid his palms up, slipping them inside her T-shirt sleeves and cupping her smooth shoulders. That skin. As petal-soft as a cliché. “You are like those little sticks, dipped in magnesium. That children use?”
“Sparklers,” she said, breath short.
“Yes. Your hands felt like sparklers, running up and down my body.”
“That sounds very painful.” She faked flippancy rather poorly, in Max’s opinion.
“Well, perhaps to you. I thought it felt very nice.” He kneaded the balls of her shoulders tenderly, daring her to start shaking again. When she didn’t, he let her go, satisfied that this was progress. Dissatisfied that such a caress wasn’t allowed to culminate in another kiss.
“It’s probably nearly four now.” He knew perfectly well it was two-thirty. “Why don’t we call it a day?”
“Fine by me.” She skirted past him to gather her jacket and bag.
“You did very well today, you know.”
“Yes, at least one of us can keep things professional,” she said evenly.
He was charmed by her nerve. “How delightful for me that obedience is a requisite of your position. I admire your work ethic.”
She narrowed her eyes a final time and let him open the door for her.
“Thank you for lunch.”
“Thank you for dessert,” he said, so happy to be flirting with a woman for the first time in a very long while.
She shook her head, pantomime frustration. “Whatever.”
“See you soon,” he called to her back as she descended the steps. The door eased closed, and he pressed his face into the screen, grinning. He felt the cat rub against his leg and reached down to gather it into his arms. With a wicked thought he pushed the door back open and stood on the top step.
“Hey, Fallon!”
She turned from ten yards down the drive and stared at him.
“So we’ve finally found something you and the cat don’t have in common!” He rubbed its head demonstrably. “What do I have to do to make you purr, eh?”
She gave him the finger and resumed her walking.
“Ooh, she’s feral!”
“And you ought to be fixed!” Fallon shouted over her shoulder.
He watched her walk away, shaking her head. He set the cat down and exchanged a blank look with it. “You’re fixed, aren’t you?” He glanced back up the drive as Fallon disappeared behind the pines, the mere sight of her making his body itch with unprofessional curiosity. “You lucky bastard.”
Chapter Five
“One for dinner.”
Fallon followed the bistro’s hostess and sat in a small corner booth. She scanned the menu with gusto. Hungry, yes, but she also craved anything that might take her mind off the tension that afternoon’s sitting had set loose in her body. When a middle-aged waitress appeared she ordered a beer and a bowl of chowder. The menu was taken away and Fallon studied the tabletop.
She was shocked