Hotbed Honey (15 page)

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Authors: Toni Blake

BOOK: Hotbed Honey
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Kimberly bit her lip, still thinking far more about being pressed against Max than listening to Carlo.
Oh, Max, Max, sweet, sexy Max
. Well, she amended, he
could
be sweet when he wasn't being resentful. And he was
always
sexy. She sighed and again chided herself for the terrible mistake she'd made that day three years ago with Margaret Carpenter.
Outside the closet, she heard Carlo moving around, putting his shoes on, she guessed. A moment later, everything went quiet and she knew he was gone.
Inside, she and Max remained still, and Kimberly closed her eyes, bit her lip and did what she'd done before—savored the moment, the connection with this man she loved, this man who lusted for her, this man who could never love her back because he thought she'd betrayed him.
Finally, he whispered, "Well, I guess you'd better, uh, open the door now."
"Right," she replied, and then she slid the door to the left, admitting the daylight from the room's window and ending the strange, forced intimacy they'd just shared.
Stepping away from him and out of the closet was more difficult than she'd imagined. It left her feeling oddly empty, oddly alone. Still, she wasted no time in moving toward the door, tossing over her shoulder in a voice far too breathy for her liking, "I'm gonna go freshen up a bit. I'll meet you downstairs."
"Kimberly, wait."
The request made her catch her breath. She turned to face him and gathered the courage to cautiously meet his eyes.
"I'm … sorry about that. In the closet."
Oh God. She really didn't want to talk about… She couldn't …
wouldn't
. "Sorry about what?" She shook her head lightly and feigned ignorance.
He blinked. "You know. About…"
She shook her head again. "No, I don't know. What?"
Max sighed and now it was his turn to give his head a vague sort of shake. "Nothing. Never mind."
"All right. I'll meet you downstairs in a minute."
And then she was out of the room and in their suite and in the bathroom, holding on to the counter and thinking,
How much longer can I do this?
* * *
A few minutes later, Kimberly hooked up with Max at the bottom of the stairs. "Where is he?" she whispered.
"Back out by the pool," Max replied with a roll of his eyes in Carlo's general direction. "He
loves
that thing."
Kimberly nodded and suddenly remembered Max pressing against her in the closet. Part of her wanted to leap on him and part of her still wanted to cry. She prayed neither desire showed on her face.
"How about that phone call?" Max said then, smiling. A real smile, Kimberly thought, honest and happy and without even a hint of malice. She loved that smile, and she had missed it, apparently more than she'd realized, because it warmed her heart nearly to bursting.
"Pretty insightful," she managed to choke out.
"So Carlo's just a middleman," Max mused. "Possibly even the low man in the operation."
"Sounded that way to me," she agreed.
"This explains why he was never caught with any evidence." He continued to smile and Kimberly smiled back at Max's sudden exuberance over this discovery, trying to be happy for him, happy for them both that they were making a little headway and finding out something the police had been unable to discover. But it was hard, considering all the horrible heartbreak and frustration she still suffered on the inside.
* * *
By the time they actually left for dinner with Carlo, Kimberly managed to feel a little better, a little more confident. She had to, after all. She had to be in character, and she wanted to play her part perfectly to pull this off for Max. Not just to show him she was a good P.I. but also because it was nice to see him happy.
It was only when they reached the Porsche that they realized they had a problem—it was a two-seater. "Hmm, this won't work, will it?" Max murmured. Kimberly knew he was trying to hide the troubled expression that wanted to reveal itself.
"How about taking the Jag?" Carlo suggested. The Jaguar. The one he'd seen in the garage. The one that not only didn't belong to them, but which they also didn't have keys for.
"Uh, well…" Max stammered.
Kimberly rescued him with what she hoped wasn't too lame of an answer. "That's cute, honey, but you don't have to be embarrassed to tell Carlo the truth about the cars."
Max looked at her, his eyes half alight with hope, but also with the question, Where are you going with this?
"The thing is," she said, turning to Carlo, "Max babies those cars to death. Only takes them out once or twice a year, and that's when we've checked the weather report to make sure there isn't a drop of rain in sight. Even then he won't park them in a parking lot where there are other cars—too afraid of getting a ding in the door. They're his hobby. Aren't they, Max?"
"Um, yeah." He nodded.
"You should see him, out here waxing them, polishing the dashboards. I think he dotes on them more than I do on my diamonds."
Good girl, Kimberly
, Max thought, relief flowing through him.
"So you wouldn't mind driving us to dinner, would you, Carlo?" he asked. He even stepped up to slap Carlo on the back.
"Well, I'd love a ride in the Jag, but … what the hell." He smiled. "Hop in."
The ride to the bistro in Carlo's late-model Camaro was fairly uneventful except that Max cringed each time Carlo shifted gears because his hand got so close to Kimberly's perfect knees. She rode in the front, of course, and Max sat in the back. He kept a close eye on those knees, whose perfection he'd never really noticed so much before right now.
Getting out of the car, Max decided to deter any touchy-feely plans Carlo might have for his "wife" by taking her hand on the way into the restaurant. She peered up at him, a flicker of surprise flashing through her eyes, but he gave her a quick wink and a knowing look and hoped she understood that he was just doing his part to keep Carlo's hands off her.
The bistro had a quaint outdoor-seating area that edged a wooded hillside. The trio was shown to an umbrella-covered table near the white picket fence that enclosed the area, and Max couldn't help thinking that it would make for a pleasant evening if Carlo hadn't been here. His hunger for Kimberly in the closet hadn't exactly faded over the half hour since it had happened, and he could imagine having a quiet dinner with her as dusk fell to night around them, their passion escalating with the decreased light. He'd reach out to touch her, first his hand on hers, then his fingers would glide sensually up her arm in a whispery caress. They would read the need in each other's eyes and he'd say to her very softly, "Let's get out of here." The ride to his place or to hers would be silent, but sexually charged, and then he'd slowly strip that pretty little dress off her and he'd get thoroughly reacquainted with her body. They wouldn't stop until the sun came up tomorrow morning.
"Max?"
Her voice jolted him from the fantasy and he looked up to see that the waitress stood poised to write down his drink order. "Uh, bring me a beer. Whatever you have on tap." The waitress nodded quickly and went on her way. Max realized immediately he'd stepped out of character—stockbroker Max Tate would have ordered wine or at the very least, an imported beer. But Carlo, as usual, was too busy mooning over Kimberly to notice and Max felt thankful he hadn't slipped up on anything more important than that.
Get a hold of yourself, Tate, before you screw this thing up.
Whatever was going on in his head for Kimberly was trouble, plain and simple. When he looked up to catch her smiling, it actually felt like more than lust, because he felt it in his gut as much as in his pants. Lust was usually a very straightforward and simple thing for him, a pants-only experience.
But, he reasoned, he and Kimberly had a history. Kind of a big one. So, of course, lusting for her would be more complicated. He shook his head. This was not what he needed. No way.
One more day, pal
, he lectured himself.
Hang on for one more day and then you can go home and be done with this stupid charade.
After their drinks arrived and they ordered dinner, Max turned his thoughts, and the conversation, to something that might be useful. He tried to casually wheedle out of Carlo anything about who else he knew in the city, who his friends were, what he did in his free time, but the guy wouldn't give an inch. He claimed he'd just moved here a few months ago and didn't know anybody. "That's why it's such a pleasure to meet you both," he said. "I mean, I really appreciate you taking the time to educate me about the stock market, Max. But more than that, I appreciate how you've opened your home to me this weekend, as well as given me the opportunity to get to know Kimberly." And then, of course, he grinned lasciviously at her, because he couldn't seem to be in her presence for more than a few seconds without doing that, the slimeball.
Kimberly tilted her head and returned the smile and Max's stomach tightened.
Then Carlo leaned toward her. "Oops. You have a little speck of something right…" he lifted a fingertip to the corner of her mouth "…here."
Kimberly giggled and it all served to make Max go even crazier inside. He wanted to fly across the table and rip Carlo's arm from its socket. He knew it was simply some combination of his ego combined with his desire, but he just couldn't control how crazy it made him.
Instead of flying across the table, though, Max opted for a much calmer and more effective reaction. He, too, leaned forward and deftly slid his hand to Kimberly's face, gently turning her toward him.
Her eyes widened on him prettily, looking tonight as rich and green as the foliage beyond the fence, and he liked what he saw in her gaze. Despite all the ups and downs of the day, he could tell she still wanted him, just as she had by the pool. "What?" she whispered.
"Just checking to make sure Carlo got whatever it was." He'd spoken throatily, not by design but because that's just how his voice came out when he was touching her.
"Don't worry," Carlo said. "I got it."
But for Max, Carlo wasn't even there anymore. There was only her perfect mouth, half-open and looking delectable, and her perfect eyes, all wide and wanting.
He leaned forward to kiss her, slow, gentle, short, chaste … and electrifying. He pulled back and saw the weakness in her eyes and it sent a bolt of longing to his pants, arousing him all over again. Oh damn. How would he possibly stand this for another whole day?
* * *
Alone in the master suite Kimberly felt as if she'd been run over by a truck. This had been the longest day of her life. At least on the day when she'd lost her job and Max at the same time, it had happened all at once, quickly, but this …
this
was a nightmare. Between Carlo's unwanted touches and Max's scintillating ones, her poor body didn't know
what
to feel. It was hard going from repulsion to passion and back again, over and over and over.
She bit her lip, remembering Max's kiss at dinner. What on earth had that been about? Was he trying to save her from Carlo or trying to remind her that he thought she'd gone too far physically with their suspect? Or was it just more lust?
That, Kimberly, was lust
. The words from earlier rang in her head. They still hurt to remember. And yet, maybe it was better than nothing. Even if he didn't love her, she couldn't deny that it excited her to know he still desired her.
She sat on the bed playing with the faux diamonds from the safe. This was the first chance she'd had to familiarize herself with the jewelry, as Max had told her to when they'd first arrived. She'd left the two men sitting by the pool with glasses of wine a few minutes ago—dinner had yielded no new information on Carlo, but Max was still working at it. Kimberly, however, was more than ready to be off-duty, thankful for a precious bit of privacy.
She pulled extravagant necklaces and bracelets from the round box, enamored of their exquisite beauty—fakes or not—but really too tired to concentrate on what she was doing. Still, she examined them and practiced working the clasps, admittedly a good idea on Max's part because some of them were unusual and took a little time to operate efficiently.

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