Baddest Bad Boys(77)

For the umpteenth time, she wished she were more experienced. More sexually sophisticated. She had this nagging suspicion that seen one, seen ’em all, was based on a larger segment of the population.

The dismal truth was, she’d acquired very little hands-on skill during her marriage. Stefan had expressed disappointment the first night of their honeymoon and left her in tears while he went searching for a little more “action.” He’d blamed her for not being exciting enough to interest him. Then he’d browbeaten her for kissing Max before their wedding ceremony. Max had been drunk and stumbled into her room while looking for Stefan. He’d taken one look at her and swept her up in his arms. If Stefan hadn’t walked in…

Where would that kiss have gone?

Nowhere. When Max sobered up, he’d never mentioned it. Probably forgotten it. Stefan, however, had never let her forget, and had practically accused her of infidelity. He’d been a fine one to talk!

She pushed those thoughts away. Her marriage had been a mistake. She’d stayed in it way too long, nursing a tattered pride that in the end amounted to nothing. Pride did go before a fall.

Restless, she explored the room. The soft green walls and natural rattan furnishings suited the island motif. More French doors opened onto a small balcony that overlooked the same view as the library below. The adjoining bathroom repeated the rattan theme. Her case with her toiletries sat on the counter.

Ellie caught a glimpse of herself and grimaced. Her hair looked flat, her clothes travel-wrinkled. Suddenly an hour didn’t feel like nearly enough time. She turned on the shower.

As she blow-dried her hair afterwards, she mentally inventoried her luggage and decided what to wear. In her whirlwind trip to Nordstrom’s, she’d found a chic, black sundress with off-the-shoulder sleeves and a low-cut bodice. A strapless, pushup bra would guarantee that Max’s attention would be on her, not the dress. If she played her cards right, she wouldn’t be wearing either very long.

Back in the bedroom, she paused. A wrapped box sat on the dresser, a note propped beside it. A single red rosebud completed the trio. Max must have slipped in while she was in the shower.

His thoughtfulness made her smile. She brought the rose to her face, delighted in its fragrance. Her heart thumped at the flower’s meaning. A red rose.

She picked up the note. Max’s handwriting was as bold as his words.

Ellie,

In my dreams, you’re not wearing anything more than this.

Max

She eyed the box. It was small. Whatever outfit it held had to be skimpy. Sexy underwear, perhaps? The idea of Max selecting lingerie for her was titillating. And nerve-wracking.

Her palms grew moist. She picked up the box, found it heavier than she’d have guessed. The wrapping paper and ribbon hit the floor in shreds. Inside the package was a flat leather case emblazoned with an exclusive French jeweler’s crest.

Her eyes widened as she opened it. Nestled against white satin was a thick, gold-and-emerald necklace. The heavy piece fit like a choker. Matching drop earrings and two bracelets completed the set, which had no doubt cost a small fortune.

Her smile wavered as she reread the note. In my dreams… The meaning was clear. He’d thrown down the gauntlet. An emerald-studded gauntlet.

She took the case and crossed to the oval mirror standing in the corner. Then she dropped the towel and looked critically at her body, trying to imagine herself in nothing but emeralds.

Holy God! Could she do it?

7
Max cut across the south lawn. He climbed the steps at the side of the house, two at a time, and then strode across the patio, his mind still picking apart his latest problem. One of his major suppliers had suddenly demanded cash on delivery, citing rumors about DSI having cash flow problems.

This wasn’t the first time, and Max stepping in to personally handle the matter had enabled them to resolve it discreetly. But it was only a matter of time until it happened again. Rumors like this were insidious, difficult to trace and stop. Max had faced a similar situation after his father died. This particular pattern of industrial sabotage was especially difficult to prove, too. When he found the person responsible—

He stopped short when he saw the table. Maria, bless her, had taken care of everything. Wine, canapés, candles. Roses. He checked his watch, found he had ten minutes, maybe less. Not enough time to shower and shave.

He stroked the stubble on his chin. If he kissed Ellie he’d have to be careful. And he damn sure planned to kiss her.

He refilled the glass of wine he’d poured earlier, then paced across the lanai to stare out into the darkness. Tree frogs and cicadas chirped, their music carried on the sea breeze. Typically the night sounds relaxed him.

But not tonight. He was wound up, and with each passing second the tension increased. He prowled along the railing, eyes flitting from shadow to shadow.

His thoughts were chaotic, which was almost humorous, considering Max prided himself on clear thinking. His strategic skills had been honed to a reliable perfection that served him well. In business, he was coldly rational.

The problem was…Ellie wasn’t business. Not anymore. That line had been crossed and there would be no going back. In the past, he’d managed to keep his distance with Ellie by compartmentalizing, thinking of her in terms of corporate structure.

He’d even told himself the trip to Boston was about maintaining control of her stock shares. A business proposition. Until he’d found her note at the penthouse. ONE NIGHT. Then after the incident at the beach house, he’d told himself it was about her safety. Until he’d held her naked. Then every memory, every fantasy, every regret he’d buried over the years came home to roost.