Mr. August (4 page)

Max shrugged out of his coat and tossed it aside. He zeroed in on a photograph that included Libby and several other designers. Libby stood out like a sore thumb with her pink hair. She was unusual, and gorgeous. And she was a touchy-feely woman. He liked it, but didn’t like that he did. She was a huge distraction and he had a book to finish. If he had half a brain he’d pay attention to the red flag that she was a material girl. His life got turned upside down by one and he didn’t need a repeat.

He needed to stay focused. Actually, he needed to get focused. And searching the internet for information about touchy-feely Libby Griffin was a step in the wrong direction. Max couldn’t resist one more link. It took him to a forum about the latest fashion trends and the celebrities that had the biggest impact on the industry. Blah. Blah. Blah. He almost clicked out when he spied a post about Libby. The anonymous author said Libby was no longer with Slayte Designs because Amanda Slayte whittled away the dead wood to make room for some new designers that would help take her label global. “Anonymous, my ass.” He hated when people hid behind the cloak of anonymity.

His gut instinct said Libby had gotten a raw deal and whoever created the post wanted her out of the way. Perhaps Amanda Slayte or someone from her inner-circle? It pissed him off, and more than ever, he wanted to discover everything about Libby. He lifted an eyebrow. She told him to stop by to check out her designs. Max was torn. There was an attraction brewing that was a Catch-22. Damned if he acted on it. Damned if he didn’t.

Libby stumbled around the campground for another fifteen minutes. When she was sure Maxwell was tucked away in his cabin, she returned to hers.

Snatching her laptop from the kitchen counter, she parked at the desk and toyed with the idea of neon. The dress she pictured so vividly found its way to the screen. Libby started with a plain black dress, mini length, and added splatters in lime green to the front—not too many, just enough to be stunning. She studied the result and decided it would be even more dramatic if the splatters started at the bust and went down one side with a few trailing to the back. Libby felt like a creative cauldron bubbling over with artistic brilliance—thanks to Max. She wondered what he’d do if she pounded on his door to share the joy. He’d either think she was a lunatic or be thrilled to death. Maybe both. It would be better if she kept the creativity going instead of thinking about the handsome grouch.

Libby jumped into another design in basic black. She added a smidgeon of hot pink. When she was done, she studied the sleeveless dress with a sexy choker collar and peek-a-boo slit at the chest. The hot-pink splatters again started at the breast but this time she directed them diagonal across the front. It was time to have some fun with shoes too. The choice was easy: hot pink, pointy-toed pumps. Libby pushed away from the desk, heart racing, palms sweating. A huge smile spread across her face. She’d always been a bit of a rebel when it came to her own clothes, and now, the non-conformist was showing up in her work. She’d have to be careful though; a hint of different was fine, too much was trouble.

Libby put her face in her hands and squealed with delight. Designing clothes was almost better than sex. Although, it had been so long since she’d had sex that she could be wrong. The few times she’d been intimate involved a smooth talking Casanova who thought hanging out with a fashion designer would turn him into a celebrity. She winced at the irony—the Casanova was now a top male model while she was back to square one. The whole relationship-attraction thing sucked. She was better with clothes than with men. Steph said she just hadn’t found the right one and when she did, he would knock her feet out from under her. Pfft. Whatever.

For the next few hours, Libby allowed her inner-vixen to take the reins.

Finally, lethargy rolled in, making her yawn more than click the mouse. It was time to give her imagination…and body…a rest. She studied her latest handiwork: low-rise pants with a splash of neon orange. “Gaudy.” Delete. Maybe the whole concept of neon was gaudy. Before she did something stupid like erase the entire collection, she clicked file-save. Libby drummed her fingers on the desk when the program asked her to name the file. She typed LibbyMax.

****

Max started for Libby’s cabin and did an about-face as he got to the porch. He couldn’t very well ask her to follow him to the auto repair shop to drop off his car. Well, he could, but that would be self-defeating. He’d kept everyone at a distance so he could write. Inviting her into his time and space wasn’t a good plan. Besides, he’d insulted her by suggesting she was a material girl. She didn’t seem to take offense, but she didn’t deserve it to begin with. He sighed. He really needed to adjust his thinking. Not every woman who liked nice things was a material girl. If it was the only thing they cared about then it was a problem.

He needed to apologize to Libby. And he needed a ride home from the repair shop.

Max tugged on Rory’s leash. “No guts, no glory.”

He rapped lightly on Libby’s door and she answered right away, as if she’d been standing on the other side waiting for him to knock. Maybe she’d had her eye scrunched in the doors’ peek hole. Her look of surprise said otherwise. She greeted him with a cautious smile.

“Max?”

Max failed at keeping his expression even like he’d planned. The second he laid eyes on Libby his mouth tipped into a grin. She was dressed in a white t-shirt with a pink flamingo on the front and pink plaid pajama pants. “Hi.” He modestly cleared his throat. “I was wondering if I could ask a favor.”

Libby’s smile put him at ease. “Sure. Name it.”

His thoughts went haywire. Actually, they went down a steamy path. Shit. Now was not the time. “I wondered if I could beg you for a ride.”

Libby’s gaze slid past him to his car parked next to her Jeep.

“I have an appointment to get my car fixed. Any chance you could follow me into town and then give me a ride home?” Max didn’t miss how her hazel eyes widened ever so slightly.

“I’d be happy to.”

“Thank you so much.”

Libby motioned for him to come in. Max didn’t move, except to shift from foot to foot. “Hey, I’m sorry about the material-girl comment. I don’t know where it came from.”

Libby smiled again, and Max focused on her incredible mouth. He shifted again, but it had nothing to do with wanting forgiveness.

“We were joking about your ex. Do you suppose it had anything to do with her?”

Not only was she beautiful, but also perceptive. “Probably.”

“Thought so.” Libby grinned so big it filled her face. She latched onto his coat sleeve and tugged him to the computer desk. “I need to change. While you’re waiting you may as well have a look at what you inspired.” She opened a program on her laptop. “All you have to do is click the arrow to go from screen to screen.” She raised her eyebrows up and down. “Hope you like them.” In a flash she was up the stairs and Max was in the chair checking out her work.

“Wow,” he said under his breath, as he flipped from one amazing design to another. He thought about the post he’d read online and realized he was dead-on with his assumption that she’d been let go because someone felt threatened. Libby Griffin had talent.

After the cool neon designs were some sexy dinner dresses that made him lift an eyebrow. His mouth unhinged when the creations turned a bit more…exotic. Sheer shirts. Leather skirts. Camo with lace. Instead of trashy, they were tastefully done and he could see Libby’s personal style coming through. He could easily picture her wearing camo and lace with her Cleopatra eyeliner. His gaze shot to the loft. Libby was staring down at him with a look of…hope? “Well done, Libby,” he said.

Libby flew down the stairs. “Really?”

“Really.” He meant it. The clothes were unusual like Libby. Sure, they weren’t something you’d wear to the office, but he was certain the buying public would go for them.

Libby felt the heat of a blush tinge her cheeks. “I’ve always wanted to do a line of apparel that stretched the boundaries a wee bit. I could never get Amanda to go for it. Since she’s no longer in the picture, I thought ‘why not.’” Although, when she made her debut at the end of March she wasn’t sure those particular garments would be included. She wanted to be taken seriously by her peers. The dark and delicious clothes might have to wait awhile.

“You did a great job.”

She hit him with a toothy smirk. “You’re not just saying that to get a ride home, are you?”

“Know this, Libby Griffin, if I didn’t mean it, I wouldn’t say it.”

Pride swelled in Libby’s chest. “You’re awesome, Max.” On impulse she moved in close, latched onto his forearms, and stared up at him. For a few wordless seconds their eyes held. A burst of excitement and nervousness flooded Libby. And she hoped Max felt a fraction of what she was feeling. His blue eyes shimmered and Libby’s heart did a flip.

Max’s expression was gentle. “You and I have something in common.”

The comment was unexpected. “Do tell.”

“We’re both right-brainers. You design clothes. I write books.”

Libby’s eyes widened. “You’re an author?”

He nodded. “But that’s a discussion for another time.”

Libby suddenly wanted to kiss him. Not because he was a right-brainer, but because he had a great looking mouth. She darted her tongue out to wet her dry lips and watched with fascination as Max did the same.

In a heartbeat, they dove at each other. Max circled her with his arms and planted his lips against hers. He moved over them, lightly at first, but when she leaned into his chest he increased the kiss. Every nerve in Libby’s body tingled, surprising her, confusing her, filling her with unforeseen desire. Libby kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck, losing control by the second.

Thank goodness one of them came to their senses.

Max drew away but smiled.

Libby blinked up at him. “Umm…”

“I know,” he whispered huskily. “We’d better get going.”

Max was floored that they’d kissed but he’d felt it coming the moment they met. Something about Libby drew him in, and not just her incredible mouth. It was something more. Something indefinable that seemed to surge between them and get stronger with each encounter. He liked it, but wasn’t sure he wanted it. It wasn’t the right time to get involved.

Their eyes met across the small space of the Jeep.

Libby’s full, pink mouth plumped into a smile. “Do you need to pick up anything while we’re in town?”

“Coffee,” Max said spontaneously. “I only have one scoop left.” He raised his brows mischievously. “I can’t write a word without a cup of coffee setting beside me.”

“I know the feeling. My creativity hinges on tea.” Libby made a swift turn into the grocery parking lot. She leaned toward him and whispered, “Be careful by the juice aisle.”

The reference to their skirmish over a carton of juice made them both laugh.

“I’ll be right back.” Max smiled his way into the grocery store. Never in his wildest dreams did he anticipate any of this. He liked Libby. Liked kissing her. Liked her smile. Liked her lightly floral scent. Liked the tiny diamond piercing in her nose. The pink streaks were growing on him too. He especially liked her break-with-ordinary-but-feminine style; particularly the choker necklace. Something about that thin piece of leather turned him on. He also liked how she made him forget the mistake of Shari. That thought poked his conscience…hard. Was Libby a rebound attraction that would dissolve once his book was finished? The answer made him frown so deep he could feel the creases in his forehead. Libby was beautiful but different. Not even close to the kind of woman he was normally drawn to. She was about to be a shining star in the fashion world and he lived a quiet existence when he was knee-deep in a novel. They were worlds apart in who they were and possibly where they were at in their lives. When he and Shari split, he vowed that his next involvement would be with his future wife and mother of his children. It was doubtful Libby was ready for anything that confining. Even though she got his blood pumping with just a look, it would be wise for him to step away before they both got hurt. That reality wiped away his good mood in an instant.

Max grabbed a can of coffee and headed toward the checkout. Along the way, his cell phone rang. He groaned when he identified the caller. Not again. “Hello,” he said with little-to-no enthusiasm.

“How’s it going?” Marco sounded upbeat, but Max knew something was up. Too bad they weren’t on video chat so he could roll his eyes. “Freaking peachy,” he said, unable to curb his sudden black mood. “What are you going to do, call me every hour?”

Marco laughed. “Nah. Just wanted to give you a heads up that Jean just left my office. She’s starting to pace.”

They both knew when Jean Symmun paced she would have Marco bug him until the manuscript was on her desk. Max wanted to throw the can of coffee. “Shit.”

“I know, man, sorry. She’ll probably be back in here bright and early. What would you like me to tell her?”

To piss off. Max hated this stage of the game. Jean Symmun, the Editor-in-Chief, was a hyper woman who made life crazy from time to time. “Tell her to take two antacids and call me in three weeks.”

“Yeah, right. I want to keep my job. I’m going to tell her that you’re on the last chapter.” Before Max could balk, Marco hung up.

Max frowned at the cashier, frowned at the boy who put the can of coffee in a bag, and frowned at Libby when he climbed into the Jeep.

Libby smiled. When he didn’t respond with the same he noticed a slight dip between her brows like she was trying to determine what prompted his change in temperament. “You’ve got your coffee so writing will commence?”

“Yep.” He looked straight ahead.

“What chapter are you on?” Libby tapped the steering wheel with her thumb while she drove.

“Twenty.”

“How many chapters do your books normally have?”

“Thirty or so.” His answers were stiff and unfriendly.

From his peripheral he watched Libby gnaw her bottom lip. “What’s the book about?”

Max was in no mood to discuss the book or make small talk, and he was mentally thrashing himself for being a jerk. But it was necessary.
Yeah right, August
.
Keep telling yourself that.
The truth was that he shouldn’t have gotten friendly with her in the first place. Now that he had, he could tell Libby was interested. He noticed how her eyes sparkled when she looked at him and the soft quiver in her voice when she spoke. As much as it pained him to cut things off, he had to. He didn’t want to lead her on that something real could develop between them.