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What’d happened while he was in the kitchen? She’d been starting to relax around him. He’d even gotten her to laugh once while they ate when he’d reminded her of the time he’d taken her bowling and she’d thrown her ball into the adjacent lane—and got a strike.

The guy next to them had been thrilled.

But then he’d walked into the living room and she’d had the strangest look on her face. Her gaze had been far off and her cheeks were stained bright pink. It’d been a damn distracting sight, because Genny had looked exactly like a woman who had been thinking about sex. Hot, incredible, mind-blowing sex. The kind of sex they’d had on that New Year’s Eve.

He kept his eyes trained on the guileless antics of the citizens of Mayberry on the television, but his thoughts were the polar opposite of innocent.

This time when he remembered that night, it was different. He sifted through the carnal memories and wondered. That look of heated arousal on Genny’s face when he’d walked into the living room made him suspect for the first time that maybe . . . just
maybe
Genny remembered that night with more than just shame and regret.

CHAPTER
SIX

THREE YEARS AGO

 

S
ean’s eyebrows went up in amazed amusement when Max exploded with laughter at Sean’s joke. He continued to guffaw as Sean, Genny, and he got off the elevator and headed toward the penthouse, the sound echoing harshly off the granite-tiled walls. Sean’d never seen Max drunk. The older man was the consummate professional, smooth, clever, and controlled.

Sean figured Max’s unregulated secret fetish was why he’d never seen Max drunk. Drunkenness and secrets didn’t tend to go well together.

Sean had suspected from the beginning that Max had very good reasons for hiring him as his secondhand man at Sauren Solutions. Now that he’d seen Max operate, now that he’d met Genny and observed Max and his wife’s relationship, Sean thought he understood Max’s motivations pretty well.

What Max saw in Sean’s background wasn’t just the toughness and edge that came from a poverty-stricken, crime-ridden childhood in New Orleans, his distinguished service in the Army during Desert Storm, or his recruitment and rise within the ranks of Army Intelligence.

No, like any good intelligence operative, Max had taken special note of Sean’s occasional write-ups for insubordination, contrasting with the honors and medals won for uncommon—maybe even foolish—bravery. Sean had rebelled against authority as a general principle most of his youth, but when he made exceptions because of genuine respect, he served not only with fierce loyalty, but was willing to risk danger and death to do so.

That was the kind of man Max wanted working for him; the type that would have thrown his body on a live grenade in order to save his boss’s life. Sean figured Max wanted his own personal version of the President’s Secret Service agents.

He thought it said a lot about the shortcomings of narcissism that Max actually believed
Sean
was that man.

He figured there wasn’t any harm in Max’s mistaken assumptions about his psychological profile. If Max felt safer because he believed he controlled some emotional deficit in Sean’s psyche, far be it from him to tell him he was way off base.

Genny smiled widely at Sean over her shoulder when he helped her out of her coat. She looked stunning, decked out in her New Year’s Eve attire—a long, ivory knit wraparound dress that caressed and clung to her feminine curves in the most gawd-awful sexy manner. The sophisticated dress had a deeper V on the neckline than Genny typically wore. It’d been the biggest challenge Sean had ever faced to keep his eyes off the enticing valley between the swells of her breasts while they’d spent the entire evening together. It’d been both treat and torture to gaze upon the vision of her all night, to touch her body while they danced and made small talk that didn’t begin to match the messages being broadcast in their eyes as they stared at each other.

After he’d hung her coat on a hook, he delved his fingers into her hair, carefully rearranging the gleaming waves on her back, savoring the feeling of the silky strands sliding along his skin. A man could only take so much temptation, after all, and over the past several months, Genny had started a fire in his belly—a fire that felt as if it would soon consume him.

She froze at his impulsive caress. He’d never touched her so intimately before. Sure, he’d put his arms around her as he taught her how to shoot. It quite possibly was the only reason they’d both become so enthusiastic about the activity. And once he’d discovered Genny was ticklish, he’d taken a great deal of pleasure in teasing her, using it as an excuse to touch her with seeming innocence.

But his fingers in her hair on such an intoxicating night?

That was different.

“Your hair was a little mussed,” he murmured near her ear, releasing the soft strands reluctantly. He saw her shiver.

“Oh . . . thank you.” She gave a nervous laugh and stepped away from him. But Sean knew the moment had been about as insignificant to her as it was to him. He knew it with a basic, primal instinct that he’d learned to trust long ago.

He followed her into the living room to join Max, a forced smile on his face. The evening had suddenly gone flat, feeling like a work chore instead of being any fun. Sure, it was titillating as hell to stare at Genny all night, to watch her laughing and to feel her body moving so sensually beneath his hand.

But who the fuck was he kidding?

He was the third wheel here. The thought of what might happen between Genny and Max after he left—how they’d likely take their New Year’s celebration to the bedroom—made that old stubborn streak flame to furious life.

If staying prevented Max from touching Genny for a while, hell . . . he was
glad
to be the annoying third wheel. With any luck, the bastard would be too drunk to do the deed if Sean outlasted him, he thought acerbically when he saw Max uncorking yet another bottle of champagne.

“We already finished off three bottles at the Pump Room,” Genny chided when they joined Max at the bar. They’d had a great time at the Chicago landmark restaurant, telling stories and laughing and ordering new dishes to try. They’d spent almost four hours there, Max playing the raconteur; Genny and Sean enjoying the older man’s New Year’s Eve high spirits and sharp wit.

Max’s festive mood had surprised Sean a little, as his boss had indicated they would be mixing business with pleasure when he’d asked Sean to join them. They’d been hired by a Fortune 500 company’s CEO to investigate the shady dealings of its chief financial officer. The suspect covered his tracks extremely well, however, and Max had said he wanted to pick Sean’s brains about hiding funds in off-shore accounts. Sean had picked up a lot of related knowledge when he’d been a Foreign Affairs Officer in Iraq and, later, Germany.

But Max had barely mentioned two words about methods of hiding money all night.

“Well, we’re celebrating, aren’t we?” Max asked jovially as he filled three flutes. In his tuxedo and with his handsome head of silver hair, he looked as natural pouring champagne as he had dancing with Genny earlier that evening. Sean had to admit they made a striking couple as they moved gracefully among the other dancers. He’d shared a couple of dances with Genny as well, but he knew he could never measure up to Max in the sophistication department.

Not that he’d given a rat’s ass about how he looked dancing, as long as he got to touch Genny, to feel her body gliding sensually beneath his appreciative hands.

Max handed them their flutes and raised his own in a toast. “To another record-breaking year for both Sauren Solutions and Bujold Designs,” he said, referring to Genny’s boutique and design firm. Sean smiled at Genny. He liked that she’d kept her maiden name. She’d told him before that since she’d already gained a modest reputation in the fashion community when she married Max, she didn’t want to alter her name.

Sean was just happy that Max hadn’t succeeded in putting that particular stamp of ownership on her.

Genny’s eyes met his over the rim of her glass as they drank. Her red lips curved as she tipped the icy fluid between them. Sean watched her through a narrowed gaze. He’d been getting erections off and on all night while he stared at Genny across the table from him or held her in his arms while they danced. After one dance he’d had to excuse himself and go to the men’s room to cool down, not treasuring the thought of returning to the table where his boss sat, his wife on his arm, with such an obvious boner pressing against the pants of his tux.

But now as he stared at Genny sipping champagne and thought of the warmth and sweetness that would reside between her lips, a rush of heat and blood pounded into his genitals. His cock swelled and ached, and even though Max started talking, Sean couldn’t interpret what he said or tear his eyes off Genny’s lush mouth.

He’d never known desire could tear at a man so much. The need to touch Genny—to possess her—felt as if it clawed at him from the inside out.

She slowly lowered the flute. Her eyes looked unnaturally glassy as she returned his stare. Sean was hyperaware of the throb of her pulse at her elegant throat and the gentle rise and fall of her full breasts.

He became vaguely aware that Max chuckled as he set down his champagne on the bar. Max removed the flute from Genny’s hand, but still, Sean and Genny couldn’t pull their gazes off each other.

Somehow Sean knew exactly what was going to happen next, even though just this afternoon he would have scoffed at the idea. He found himself skating right on a knife’s edge of dread and wild anticipation.

Blood pounded both in his ears and in his cock when Max spread a hand over the side of Genny’s hip and rubbed.

“You look beautiful tonight, Genevieve.”

Her lips opened as if she would speak, but she swallowed convulsively instead.

“Doesn’t she look amazing?” Max asked, turning his attention to Sean. He continued to stroke Genny’s hip as he spoke, letting his fingers delve into the firm flesh of her buttock. She stood as though frozen, her elbow still bent in the same position it’d been in when she held the champagne flute.

“I’ve never seen anything lovelier,” Sean replied, his gaze still locked with Genny’s. He studied her expression, searching. After spending so much time with her for the past six months, Sean understood that while Genny wasn’t necessarily a sexual innocent, she was far from being a player.

Did she understand what was happening here? He’d back off if she showed an ounce of disgust or fear, but he was so desperate for her, so crazed with need, Sean admitted he might only see what he wanted to see if it gave him the opportunity to make love to her.

“I’ve seen how much you admire my wife. I’ve seen how much she reciprocates the feeling.”

Sean tore his gaze off Genny’s face and looked at Max.

“Nothing has ever happened between us.”

Max laughed softly, the sound resembling a low, vibrating purr. “I believe you. If it had, perhaps the air wouldn’t be so thick with pheromones. You’ll forgive an old man for being so affected by it, I hope?”

Genny started slightly, as though she’d just awakened from a trance. “Max—”

“Hush, Genevieve. I’m not complaining,” Max soothed. He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Perhaps it’s too much to ask, but it would give me so much pleasure to share in all that passion. Just for one night? That’s all I ask. You wouldn’t deny me that, would you, sweetheart?” he coaxed near Genny’s ear. He nuzzled her hair aside and pressed his lips to her neck.

Genny stared at Sean as Max kissed her, the glassiness of her wide gray eyes striking him once again. He’d thought it was an effect from the champagne before, but now he knew it was a sort of fevered excitement. The knowledge made his cock lurch next to his thigh.

But Sean saw the uncertainty, as well; the way she looked at him for guidance, some indication of what he wanted . . . what he thought was right.

Max continued to stroke her body more intimately, sliding his hand along the outer swell of a breast. He cupped his palm, shaping her flesh to his. A snarl shaped Sean’s mouth even as lust stabbed through his cock. It was a damn erotic sight, but a feral fury rose in him as well as he watched Max finesse the firm flesh.

It was the strangest combination of emotion he’d ever experienced in his life. It did something odd to him, caused some kind of volatile friction inside him. He’d had a brief, potent impulse to wrap his hands around Max Sauren’s throat and squeeze. It should have been a glaring warning for him to get out of there.

And fast.

But he’d ignored it, chose not to acknowledge it, because he couldn’t bear the idea of walking away from Genny at that moment.

Perhaps Genny read some of the ambivalence that suddenly overcame him because when Max’s hand shifted down to the belt of her wraparound dress, her hand rose to stop him.

“Max . . .
no.
Wait.”

“It’s only fair, isn’t it, love?” Max murmured silkily. He knocked aside her hand. His long fingers unfastened the knot that secured her dress. “The type of thing going on between you and Sean can’t be denied for long. As your husband, I’d rather be there when it happens, than not. In fact, I’m looking forward to it.”

Genny looked a little desperate when Max slowly parted the two sides of her dress, exposing her body to Sean’s gaze. But her lips and cheeks had deepened with arousal and her pulse fluttered rapidly at her throat.

“Well, Sean? What do you say?” Max asked, removing his hand and stepping back . . . allowing Sean to look his fill at his wife.

Sean just stared for a long moment while his blood surged wildly in his veins. She wore an ivory demi-bra that left the tops of her lush breasts bare, a tiny pair of matching bikini panties and pale thigh-highs that were only slightly lighter in shade than her lustrous skin.