Summer Kisses (249 page)

Annabel stopped and sipped, determined to halt the nonstop stream of words before she revealed anything more intimate or personal.
The champagne must be the reason for this motor mouth tendency.
She imagined his ridicule if she expressed her secret desire to someday work as a producer for an investigative news team. That would give him personal knowledge of her that she just didn’t trust him to have in his hands.

Suddenly she felt much too warm and too aware of the dawning interest in the depths of his dark, watchful eyes. As she took another sip of the Dom, she unfastened the top button of her jacket.

Their salads came and went almost without notice. Suddenly, the waiter whisked away the empty plates and presented their entrees with a flourish. Hers, a visual masterpiece of colors and textures. His, a butchered, broiled, carnivorous display. Alvin, bless him, also reappeared bearing another bottle of champagne.

Unprompted, Max refilled her glass and encouraged her to raise it for another toast. “To a better understanding between us. We’re halfway there.”

“To a better understanding.” She ignored the little tingle shivering down her spine when her gaze met the challenge in his
. A better understanding of what? Halfway where?
Neither of them wanted to be anything more than the wary acquaintances they’d always been.
Did they?
Absolutely not.

Annabel remembered too clearly comforting her friend DeeDee as she sobbed her eyes out, ballooned with pregnancy, after he’d dropped her a couple of years ago. And then there were rumors about a young intern who’d left the station under mysterious and undisclosed circumstances. The station hushed it up, but speculation abounded that Max had caused the college student’s dismissal. The creep.

“Do you remember my friend DeeDee?” She watched and waited for an emotional response.

“DeeDee?” He sipped his scotch and appeared to test the name on his tongue along with the Jack Daniels. Squinting, he avoided looking her in the eyes.

“Yes, DeeDee Stevens. She’s working in Kansas City now.”

“Nice girl,” he said, neutrally. “Good news market.”

“She has a little boy.” Oops, the comment sounded a bit more direct than she intended.

“Does she? I knew she was knocked up when she left town.”

“You don’t know anything else about it, Mr. Sensitive?” She waited breathlessly for his response. “I thought you two dated for a while.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Flash in the pan. We shared some laughs at a time when she was figuring out what she really wanted.”

“Like, a father for her baby?”

“Like that,” he said, shrugging again. “It didn’t have anything to do with me.”

The lukewarm denial left her wanting something more definitive. “Didn’t it?”

“Hold on,” Roger interrupted before she figured out how to get more out of Max. “I want you both to raise your champagne glasses. Then, Annabel, you circle your arm through his before you take a drink. You know, like they do in wedding pictures.”

She bent her arm and followed the instructions. She and Max leaned closer. He smelled even more spicy and delicious than her dinner. “Are you interested in having children?”

Max sputtered and reared back. “Whoa, there, Morgan! Don’t go getting any ideas. There’s not really a wedding in our future.”

Roger groaned over the ruined shot. “Do it again. This time, lock glances and lean into one another like you mean it.”

Annabel tried to put some heat into her gaze, but the look probably came across as irritation more than desire. Shifting closer to him, she whispered, “Get over yourself, Williams. I just wondered if a guy like you has any little ones tucked away somewhere.”
Like Kansas City.

For Roger’s benefit, Max gave her a smile seductive enough to melt her strongest defenses, but he answered through gritted teeth. “No, I don’t.”

“Honestly?” She swept her eyelashes downward and processed the response. He sounded sincere but looked annoyed.

“Trust me.” He nuzzled her ear. His breath brushed her neck. “I’d
never
walk away from a child.”

Breathing in his scent, she wanted to snuggle into him, surrounding herself with his heat and strength. But she hesitated. He’d been vague about his relationship with DeeDee. His reputation insisted he was a jerk with women, albeit a gorgeous, charming, seductive jerk. The most dangerous kind.

“So.” Opting to play it safe, she straightened in her seat. The tension evaporated with the staged moment. They returned their attention to their meals. “About the award. Why do
you
want to win?”

He looked up and gave her the mocking version of his trademark smile. “Just to keep you from getting it.” He raised and lowered his eyebrows at her in a ‘How about that?’ gesture that almost made her laugh.

“Tell me the truth,” she urged. “You want it, too. As much as I do. I can tell.”

His hand stalled over the strip of beef he’d just sliced. “Are we still talkin’ about the award, darlin’?” True to form, his Southern accent came out full force when he teased or flirted with the opposite sex. Not that he directed it her way very often.

Her temperature spiked a notch. Without a doubt, she simply had to undo another button or faint from heat stroke. He’s a womanizer and a jerk,
remember?

“Yes,” she answered after a too-long pause. “Be serious.”

“You’re serious enough for both of us.” Since it was the truth, the quiet observation didn’t sound nearly as insulting as it could have.

“Old news.” She tossed his comment aside with a flick of her fingers. “But really, about you…”

He straightened his shoulders and put down his fork. “Winning might polish up my image.”

Hmmm, she thought he had the exact image he’d earned. Hard-driving, relentless reporter. Rowdy bad-boy. “You’re the leading reporter of the most highly-rated news team in town with a reputation for pursuing a story until you’ve exposed every sordid detail. Your style may not suit my taste, but no one doubts your professional integrity. But your personal image could use some scrubbing up.”

“According to my agent, winning this kind of community service award would benefit both.”

She paused to think about that.
What was she missing?
“Why would you care?”

“I’d care if I wanted to leave the market.”

It took real effort to keep her mouth from dropping open. The information he’d casually lobbed her way would make a hell of a scoop. And it might very well mean there was an upcoming opening at his station. How many reporters did she know who would kill for a shot at Max’s job? “Are you
planning
on leaving Cincinnati?”

For a moment, he looked taken aback, then he shrugged again. “You didn’t hear it from me.”

“I won’t say a word.” She had the childish impulse to put her fingers to her lips and pretend to turn a key.

“If I hear any rumors,” he warned, “I’ll know where they came from.”

“Not me,” she said.

“Or me,” Roger added.

“Damn!” Max clapped a hand to his forehead. “How did I forget a giant like you was sitting there recording all this?”

“Nah, except for that toast, I quit recording when the entrée arrived. Footage of people chewing is never attractive.”

Except for Max. He chews rather well.
Clearly, his superior chewing ability was lost on Roger. She concentrated on making sure she didn’t give voice to that opinion.

“Plus,” Max said, “
you
hate to miss a meal, even for the sake of your art.”

“That, too.” Roger finished off his second steak and swiped his napkin across his mouth. “Especially when the station’s paying. Do we have time for dessert?”

“Do we?  It’s—It’s—” Annabel squinted to focus on the blurry hands of the diamond-encrusted watch Carl had given her on their wedding day. She didn’t remember the numbers being this tiny before. Bringing her wrist closer to her eyes, she then pushed it farther away, certain she could see better with a different angle and better lighting.

Where had the time gone? Between eating, drinking, and conversation, they now lagged way behind schedule.

“We’re late!  If we leave now, we might make the symphony at intermission.” Lurching to her feet, she grabbed hold of Max’s arm as she toppled into his lap. His arms slid around her waist and he pulled her close. Annabel longed to stay where she was, to see what would happen next, but the look of interest in his eyes sent her head spinning. Confused, she jumped up. “Come on! We have to hurry.”

Max sat beside Annabel front and center in the darkened Music Hall with something she’d call “Wagnerian” booming about them. The music didn’t suck too badly after all. It boomed and reverberated at a pulsing and relentless volume. The musicians suffused the notes with more power and emotion than Max would have expected a stage full of stuffed shirts to produce.

On the way over, he’d nearly run a red light at Annabel’s urging. The only interruption to her concern about missing the first half of the program was her speculation about what music would be presented in the second. He’d pushed the speed limit and imagined her trim body naked just to keep his eyes from glazing over with boredom.

If someone had asked for his opinion on classical music earlier tonight, he would have assumed they meant classic rock or early Elvis. This richness, this invigorating experience that filled the air around Max and set his pulse pounding existed beyond his normal musical boundaries.

The closest he’d ever come to being carried away by music before was in the living room back home in Nashville when his dad played guitar and harmonized with Max’s two sisters. That always got to him, but in a different way.

The orchestra moved into a rousing piece that he recognized from an old Coppola movie. Annabel leaned against him and he turned to share the bit of cinematic trivia with her. Her head landed on his shoulder. Her long eyelashes shadowed her cheeks, her lips parted slightly.

She’d fallen asleep!

Too much champagne, apparently. Maybe he should have monitored her intake. But, hey. He was nobody’s father, she wasn’t getting behind the wheel of a car, and she was definitely old enough to know her own limit.

He’d noticed and encouraged the way she’d loosened up after the first glass, but he hadn’t realized how tipsy she’d gotten until she’d giggled over the third refill. It turned out that a giggling and tipsy Annabel charmed his socks off.

The excited flush of her cheeks, the tendrils of hair escaping their pins and curling playfully along her jaw, the gleam of hope in her eyes as they discussed the award, all had him wondering what other surprises she concealed under her buttoned-down, look-but-don’t-touch facade. Damned attractive, even though she clearly didn’t have a high opinion of him or his reputation—personal or professional.

Of course, he could have done more to change her opinion, but what was the point? She’d obviously made up her mind about him a long time ago, and he’d have to reveal other people’s secrets to make her change it now.

He smiled and took advantage of the current situation, putting his arm around her and pulling her close. Breathing deeply, he inhaled her enticing scent, lightly sweet and baby fresh. Nothing overtly sexual, cloying or artificial for Annabel, of course, just the pull of something refreshingly honest and temptingly off-limits.

She snuggled into him, her upper body nestled against his, oblivious of her actions. The long skirt with the high-rise slit twisted beneath her, revealing one pleasing limb from ankle to hip. The three buttons she’d undone on her jacket gaped open, exposing the swell of a breast and the hint of red lace.

Well, well, well
. Who would have expected Annabel Morgan to sport red lace undies?

He shifted in his seat, heating up. Annabel squirmed, too, bringing her arm across his chest and curling her hand around his neck. Her soft breath teased his ear, in-out, in-out, in soundless counterpoint to the orchestra.

The volume, the tone, and the urgency of the notes swelled and increased around him, heavy with promise, building to a crescendo, and begging for a conclusion. His body responded to Annabel and the music with equal escalation.

A fanfare, a flourish, an abrupt silence preceded thunderous applause. The appreciative audience leapt to its feet with shouts of “Bravo” and “More, more.”

As if on cue, Annabel’s hand dropped to his crotch.

Max remained glued to his seat.

Suddenly, her eyelids fluttered open. She jerked her head from his shoulder, and they stared at one another, nose to nose. The confusion cleared from her eyes while shock drained her cheeks of color. Straightening her spine, she snatched her hand away as if scorched.

He let his smile spread as she settled her rigid dignity around her like a full-metal jacket. She stood up, pulled her jacket into place with an efficient snap, straightened her skirt, and applauded with the others.

Max rearranged his junk and climbed gingerly to his feet.

After they waited through what seemed like a curtain call for every frigging individual member of the orchestra, the lights went up and the crowd crept out sedately. Max held onto Annabel’s elbow to prevent her from slipping away.

“Roger didn’t want us to leave in the first crush,” he reminded her.

“Oh, right.” She opened the ridiculously small black purse she clutched like a lifeline. “I probably need to make some repairs before facing the camera again.” After retrieving a mirror, she reached up to smooth the sides of her hair, but he clasped her wrist.

“Don’t,” he said as her pulse beat double-time beneath his fingertips. Interesting. He twined a wisp of hair around his finger and let it spring back into place. “You look sexy like this. Approachable. Touchable.”

She pulled her hand away and hid it behind her back. “Wh-Wh-Where—“ She cleared her throat. “Where did Roger say to meet him?”

“He said to wait here.”

She nodded again, looking at the stage, then the ceiling, and finally, the doors. At everything but him. “How did you like the performance?”

“Very stimulating.” He winked. “Was it good for you, too?”

Annabel leaned against the Jeep’s headrest as Max pulled into her driveway. Through the open moon roof, thousands of stars sparkled against the dark velvety sky. She pretended to study them while she scrambled to locate the shreds of her composure.