The Sweetest Deal (8 page)

Max stood outside C.C.’s condo staring at four neatly potted red geraniums. He’d been standing there for ten minutes, fondling three tiny packets in his right jeans pocket.

He gritted his teeth. He could do this. It was just a three letter word, one he was quite familiar with—intimately, as a matter of fact.

Sex. The word clattered in his brain, shot down to his groin and banged on it. Sex, sex, sex! What was his problem? Lots of women would be ecstatic with the prospect of having sex with him. The deal he’d made with Grayson didn’t sound quite so horrible when he thought of the way C.C.’s eyes welled up when she mentioned Mr. Ex-lover’s pregnant wife. She wanted her own child, even if she were too afraid to admit it. He was going to give her that child. And who better than him to be daddy-not-husband? Actually, was there even another choice?

There. He toyed with the packets’ sleek packaging again. Reason prevailed and he relaxed. It was about the deal, and never mind that he’d spent the better part of last night thinking about C.C.—under him, on top of him, beside him—naked and breathy, her skin satiny beneath his touch, the taste of her, sweet and wanting. He squeezed the packets in his hand and took a step toward her door.

She might not even be home. After all, he hadn’t called or even told her he was coming to Chicago today.

What would he say if she asked him why he couldn’t wait to meet at his office? C.C. was funny about personal boundaries and she might take issue with him invading hers. Would he tell her he had no idea why he was there? Would he admit he missed her? She’d gotten to him and he couldn’t stop thinking about touching her, tasting her.

“Max?”

He should tell her the truth and screw cleverness. He needed to have sex with her before he burst. Where the hell had that come from?

“Max.”

Sex would be great for both of them—he’d make sure of it.

He missed her.

“I missed you, too.”

Max jerked around and found C.C. behind him, a sexy vision in pink sweatpants and a gray T-shirt. Her long hair spilled down her back in a mass of curls. “You have the most incredible eyes.”

“Thank you.” She touched her face and swept a strand of hair from her cheek. “I was just coming out to get the mail and I saw you standing here.”

He eased his hand from his pocket and shook his head, wishing they were inside her condo right now so he could bury his hands in her hair, explore that delicious skin…

“Do you want to come in?”

Oh, yes, he wanted in—badly. “Sure,” he managed, picturing C.C. spread out in bed, naked.

She smiled and turned away. “I’m up this way. Come on, I’ll fix you an iced tea.”

Max liked the way her butt moved in the pink velour. Pink made him think of the lacy thong he’d seen in her hotel room.

“I was just thinking about you.”

“Really.” He’d been thinking of
her
for days…weeks…naked…

“Yes,” she said, opening the door. “I was wondering when you were coming.”

Coming? He cleared his throat. Twice. “I got tied up with the planning commission.” And three last-minute phone calls from Rhyder informing Max he’d devised a spreadsheet for Max to chart his sex-capades with headings like time, position, frequency.

“Dad says they can be difficult, especially where conservation issues come in.” He watched as she plunked three ice cubes in his glass and poured. “If people worried a quarter as much about each other as they do about preserving reeds and grass, just think what kind of world we’d have.”

He loved her hands. Slender, capable, sexy…

“…and of course you have projections and future calculations.”

…those hands could do a lot
to
him.

“Max?”

“What?”

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.” She handed him his iced tea and sat beside him.

“Projections and calculations.” He took a sip of tea, avoiding her hands.

“Is something on your mind? You seem distracted.”

His gaze settled on her lips. “You distract me. I love your mouth. It’s very kissable. Has anyone ever told you that?” He wanted this woman and it had nothing to do with a deal or procreation.

“N-no.”

He traced her lips with his fingers. “Oh, yes, very kissable indeed.”

“Thhhank you.”

“I really did miss you.”

“Max?” She stared up at him, her voice breathy and uncertain. “Why are you doing this?”

The truth spilled out. “Because I can’t seem to help myself. Because it’s all I’ve thought about since the night of the banquet.” He kissed her chin, her jaw, her forehead. “Because you’re a beautiful woman who tries her damndest to hide it.”

The tiniest hint of a smile crept over her face. Max took that as a good sign and clasped her hands in his. “I haven’t been able to forget the night I undressed you after the banquet. I still remember the warm suppleness of your body. I want to see that again, feel that again, but this time I’d like you to be awake.”

She arched a brow. “You said you didn’t look.”

“One quick peek. That’s all, scout’s honor.” He held up two fingers and crossed his heart.

“Max Jerrnigan, you were never a scout.”

“True, but my brother was. I know the code, so that should count.” He made tiny circles along the back of her hand. “More importantly, I know the gentleman’s code of honor which says never take advantage of a woman when she’s sleeping,” he paused, “unless she’s given prior consent.”

C.C. swatted his arm. “You are a horrible, horrible man and certainly no gentleman. And this is not sexy,” she said, pointing to her gray T-shirt.

“That’s your opinion.”

She smiled, long and slow. “This,” she said as she lifted her T-shirt over her head to expose a see-through red bra, “is sexy.”

Max stared at her breasts, his eyes zeroing in on the dusky nipples peeking through the transparent material. He swallowed. “Sexy,” he breathed.

C.C. fluffed her hair and reached for the drawstring on her sweats. “And this,” she practically cooed as she stepped out of her pink sweats, “is definitely sexy.”

Max swiped a hand over his forehead and locked his gaze on the triangle of sheer red material she called underwear. He wanted her. Now. Period. “C.C., you’re killing me.”

She threw back her head and laughed, a full, heady sound that made him burn. Then she turned and walked away, the tiny red of her thong separating her perfect butt.

Max sprung off the couch and followed her.

“Max?” She turned at the doorway of what he hoped was her bedroom, and motioned with one finger. “Come here.”

“Baby, you don’t have to ask me twice. I’m here.” He closed the space between them in three easy strides.

C.C. plastered her body against his and threw her arms around his neck. “Kiss me,” she breathed. “Make me feel beautiful.”

“You’re already beautiful.” He wrapped his arms around her and buried his tongue deep in her mouth. She moaned, opening for him as he sucked and stroked. God, she was incredible, and he wasn’t going to question his luck. He cupped her butt and pulled her closer. She groaned, or was it him? He couldn’t tell and he didn’t care. Max broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers as he gulped in air. “We need to slow down.”

She jerked his shirt out of his jeans and reached for his belt buckle. “No, we don’t.” She undid his buckle and eased his zipper down.

A double zing shot through him. “I’m only a man, not a machine.”

“Only a man,” she repeated, flicking her tongue over his lips. “I like the sound of that.”

He couldn’t take much more. Max grabbed her wrist and said, “I want you too much. If we don’t slow down, right now, I won’t be able to in about two minutes.”

“I don’t want you to slow down. You can save that for the second time.” She slid her hands inside his boxers and cupped him.

“God, yes,” he groaned. Twice wouldn’t be enough. Hell, twenty times wouldn’t be enough. He wanted to bury himself inside her for a week.

She pushed his jeans down and stroked his shaft. “Let go, Max.” Two strokes. Three. “Show me how much you want it.”

He growled and eased her onto the bed, unclasping her bra and sliding it from her shoulders. Her breasts were small and creamy with the palest pink nipples. Heaven. He rimmed each nipple with his tongue and slid his fingers down her belly until her breath hitched.

“Oh, Max.”

He liked it when her voice dripped sex and desire. Need pulsed through him as he thought of how she’d sound with him buried deep inside her. He cupped the scrap of red between her legs.

She purred. “You’re torturing me.”

With a smile like that, she looked anything but tortured. “Shall I continue?” He flicked a finger over the scrap of red.

The smile spread. “Oh yes.”

Max stroked her through the silky fabric. Once, twice. Three times. She bucked against his fingers and moaned.

“That’s it, baby. Let yourself go.” She was dripping and he’d barely touched her. She’d probably fly off the bed when he put his tongue there.

Before the night was over, he’d have her flying around the room.

Max started to inch her thong down, eager to taste her, but C.C. pushed his hand aside and rolled on top of him. “You don’t get to do all the torture,” she said as she straddled him.

“What did you have in mind?” Was that calm voice really his? In ten million years, he’d never have thought Catherine Crowell would make him so hard, or straddle him. Or have such perfect breasts. Or get so hot for him. Or—

“Lift up.”

“What?”

“Lift up,” she said. Max lifted his hips and she yanked down his jeans and boxers.

“Oh, my.”

She stared at Max’s dick—big, hard, and pulsing under her close scrutiny.

He tried for casual. “Yeah, well, that happens when I have a half-naked woman straddling me. Sorry.” Casual his ass. He wanted to flip her over and pound into her.

A tiny smile flitted across her lips as she fingered the bead of moisture on the tip of his dick. Oh God. More. She ran those delicious fingers the length of him, her smile spreading as she stroked. She kept her gaze transfixed on that piece of rigid flesh as though it were a new and fascinating toy. He’d be her toy anytime.

“Oh my,” she repeated and ran her tongue over her bottom lip.

A pink tongue. Wet lips. Soft hands. Naked breasts. He jerked against her hand. A man could only take so much. The stroking increased and the moans started, but they weren’t his—they belonged to C.C.!

“I can’t take any more, Max. I have to have you inside me.” She pushed the thong aside.

“Wait.” He grabbed his jeans and fished a condom from the pocket. Their first time together would not be marred by any damn deal. Max ripped the packet open and fitted himself. “Torture me.”

C.C. didn’t need a second invitation; she impaled him. “Oh, Max.” She squeezed her eyes shut and rode, first with slow deliberate strokes and then faster, moving in a rhythm that spoke of pleasure and need.

He couldn’t take much more. Max inched a finger between them, found her clitoris and worked tiny circles on the swollen flesh. Her eyes flew open seconds before she exploded with a passion that spun him out of control. He grabbed her hips and drove into her. A breath later, he pulled her to him and split into a thousand pieces.

They spent the rest of the night learning one another’s body. He nipped and stroked, she molded and sucked. They both licked and mutually tortured, until Max stopped her the only way he knew how—by burying himself deep inside. Then she was the one whimpering and moaning in pleasure. Then she was the one begging him to stop his slow torture. He loved this woman. Completely. The truth hit him so hard he gasped for air.

Tonight was their night, no complications, no hidden agendas, no deals. Just the two of them sharing their bodies and their souls. Max wore a condom each time.

Soon, he’d do what he had to do.

But not tonight.

C.C. woke the next morning with an arm slung around her waist and a hairy leg pinning her to the bed.

Max.

She turned and watched him sleep. His dark hair curled over his forehead in a soft sweep that made her want to touch it, but she didn’t. A sleeping Max was calm innocence, and she wanted to take him in, wanted to take everything in that happened last night before he woke.

Each time they made love had been more powerful and intense than the time before. Was it really that good or was she that deprived? No, it was really that good. Something about his touch and soft reassurances made her want to please him, made her bold, even. He seemed to like that, unlike David who’d always wanted to be in charge.

Max had even been thoughtful enough to provide his own condoms. David always expected her to make the trips to the drugstore, said it was emasculating for a man to buy condoms. It bothered C.C. a little that Max just so happened to be carrying condoms in his jeans pocket, but she pushed the uneasiness aside. He’d come with a purpose and that purpose was her.

She stretched her body, aware of the unfamiliar but welcome soreness in certain parts of it. She closed her eyes and listened to Max’s quiet, even breathing.

David had never stayed the night, making one excuse after the other—early morning meetings, inadequate parking, no clean suits, not a Starbucks nearby. She hadn’t liked it, but she’d accepted it because she’d loved him, or rather, loved the person she thought he was.

Max wasn’t a liar or a fake. He drove her crazy at times, but he was honest with her. She would have gone on listing his attributes and his annoyances if the phone hadn’t cut in just then.

“C.C., you there, hon? Hey, it’s me. C.C.? I know, I know, you’re probably having sex with that sweet piece of meat from Joe’s Deli. Call me when you finish. Hey, I don’t mind, as long as it isn’t Rhyder Remmington’s partner. Ciao.”

C.C. slid a glance toward Max.

He was wide awake and staring at her. “Rhyder Remmington’s partner? That would be me.”

She shrugged and smiled. “Too late, I guess.”

“So, who was that and how does she know Rhyder?”

“She’s my friend. I asked her to do a little background check on your partner and see if she could find out a few things for me.”

“About me?” His expression turned from curious to grim.

“Not exactly.” She hesitated. If she told him, she’d look like a fool, but after last night, how could she lie? “I wanted her to find out why you and Candace broke up. For my father’s sake,” she said, and then added, “and mine.”

Max flipped onto his back and crossed his hands behind his head. “And what did she discover?”

The sheet bunched around his waist, exposing a broad chest covered with swirls of dark hair. She’d slept on that chest last night, breathed in his scent, and felt a connection with him that startled her.

“C.C.?”

A shiver pulsed through her and she looked away. “Actually, Roxie got sidetracked and didn’t get much of anything.”

“Roxie? You have a friend named Roxie?” His lips twitched.

“It’s not her real name but that’s what she likes to be called. And she’s not just a friend, she’s my best friend.”

He pulled her to him and kissed her. “Tell Roxie she has lousy timing. Tell her also that you’re having sex with Rhyder Remmington’s partner.” He traced a nipple. “Lots of sex.”

She couldn’t think when he was touching her breasts. “I will,” was all she could manage.

“Good.” He rolled her over and pinned her beneath him. “I’d planned on waking up to a little something other than talking about my partner.”

He wanted her again, she saw it in his eyes, heard it in his voice. She wanted him, too.

“Damn,” he swore under his breath. “I don’t suppose you have any extra condoms lying around do you?”

“No, I used the last ten up two nights ago. Sorry.”

He traced a finger along her lower lip. “Very cute.”

“I thought so.”

“Well, as my granny used to say—”

“Please don’t tell me your granny talked to you about sex.”

“No, but she did say there was more than one way to skin a cat.”

“Meaning?” Sometimes, Max Jerrnigan made no sense at all.

“Meaning, we might be out of condoms but there’s more than one way to give pleasure. Let’s take a shower and then I’ll show you exactly what my granny meant.”

***

It took two double caramel lattes and forty minutes to convince Roxie to have dinner with Max and his business partner.

“I do not want to sit across from that jerk while he critiques the way I cut my salmon.” Roxie dragged both hands through her spiked hair and groaned. “He’s bad karma, C.C. Messes up my personal fields just looking at him.”

“Hmmmm.” Right now Roxie could have confessed to a serial murder and she wouldn’t have gotten more from C.C. than a faint smile. After last night and this morning, it was hard not to smile.

“Hey! C.C., I’m having a crisis here and you’re off in la la land.” Roxie fidgeted with her bracelets, adjusting and readjusting the clasps. “Of course, you told your guy I’d go, so now if I don’t it will make me look like a scaredy cat, which you know I am certainly not. Oh, but that man! I suppose I’ll have to hear all about dear, darling Roberta and how wonderful she is, which we both know is a crock.” Roxie dug into her macramé bag and pulled out two sticks of bubble gum which she carefully unwrapped and popped in her mouth. “I should have just told him,” she muttered under her breath. “I would’ve loved to have seen that pompous face when I told him his heartthrob spent six weeks in St. George’s mental institution.”

That got C.C.’s attention. “Roxie, that was a long time ago. Leave it alone.”

The bubble popping started along with the cuticle picking which signaled the beginning of a Roxie craze. She took a deep breath through her nose and blew it out her mouth in a slow, even swoosh. “Deep breath, deep breath.” She squeezed her eyes shut. Three years of daily yoga and a therapist had helped Roxie center herself, but there were certain people who propelled her right back to the obsessive compulsive perfectionist she used to be.

Apparently, Rhyder Remmington was one of those people.

One more deep breath, another swoosh of air exchange and Roxie blinked her eyes open and announced with a burst, “There. All better.”

“Look, maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. Max and I thought it might be kind of fun, that’s all. Max said—”

“Halt.” Roxie held up a small, pale hand. “What’s with this Max said stuff? Crap. You slept with him, didn’t you?”

“Roxie!”

“That’s not an answer.” She smacked her forehead and whispered, “Crap!”

“It’s okay, really. I’m fine. Everything’s great.”

“That’s what you said two years ago and look how that turned out. It’s too quick, C.C. You don’t know enough about him. I know what I said before but what do I know? He could be as big a jerk as his partner; maybe he just hides it better.”

She was wrong, C.C. knew it in her gut. “Max is one of the good guys.”

Roxie shook her head and snapped her gum before saying, “Or a bad guy posing as a good guy. There’re plenty of those walking around, too.”

***

The night was heading toward disaster and it was all Roxie’s fault. Max had wanted C.C. to meet Rhyder and C.C. wanted Roxie to meet Max, but Roxie did not want to have anything to do with Rhyder which truly perplexed C.C. The man exuded a rich, natural charm with his Ivy League manners and cautious smiles. He was attentive but not overly solicitous, a quality C.C. appreciated, especially from Max’s best friend. There was an underlying sensuousness to the man—the almond-shaped eyes beneath his wire-framed glasses, the movement of his lean body as he spoke, even the way he chewed.

How could Roxie
not
be attracted to the man?

C.C. slid a glance at her friend who sat with one elbow on the table, glaring at the spinach salad in front of her. She dangled a fork in her other hand, perhaps so she could use it as a weapon against Rhyder.

“You know, Chopin is one of the most influential musicians of the Romantic Age,” Rhyder said, referring to the piece filtering through Cara Mia’s. “Great depth. Impressive nuance.”

Roxie lifted her fork and twirled it. “Whooppee.”

Rhyder chose to ignore her. “He’s responsible for creating such innovations as the ballad and the piano sonata and the waltz.”

“Wow.”

C.C. nudged Roxie under the table. Why was she doing this?

“That’s one thing about Rhyder,” Max said, lifting his wine glass, “there’s always a lesson behind everything he says.”

“I had no idea,” C.C. said, meaning it.

“But he didn’t mention Chopin’s mazurka or the polonaise, essential to his Slavic ancestry,” Roxie said.

They all turned to her, but Roxie merely shrugged at the scrutiny.

“You studied Chopin?” Rhyder asked.

“No.”

A smile slid across Rhyder’s face. “Ah, but I’ll bet your cousin Roberta did.”

Roxie curled her lip and scowled. “She did, as a matter of fact. Four hours a day. Perfect pitch.”

“I knew it.” Rhyder’s smile spread.

“Right before she flipped and headed to the loony bin. Yeah, she was a perfect pitch then, you should’ve heard her playing in the psych unit.”

Rhyder stared at her. “Are you lying to me again? Like you were when you gave me that story about your aunt looking for property to build a botanical garden?”

“Hey, she could be and when I see her in six months, I’m going to ask her. You may have a great lead on something.”

“Uh, thanks. Now what about your cousin?”

“Roberta went to the loony bin for six weeks.”

“That—that can’t be true. Roberta’s a brilliant woman with a brilliant future—”

“Weaving baskets and sorting toothpicks.”

“I’m,” he stumbled, clearly uncomfortable, “not sure what to say.”

Roxie laughed and poked him in the arm. “Just joking. Do you really think Miss Brilliant would waste her brain power on something as ridiculous as a nervous breakdown?”

“No.” He slid an uneasy glance at Max, who shrugged. “I guess it would be as improbable as if it happened to me.”

“See there?” Roxie forked a hunk of spinach. “My cousin is still around, and I’m still trying to ignore her.”

“Do you think—” Rhyder cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable with what he was going to say, “—you could introduce us?”

“What, like a matchmaker? Uh-uh, don’t think so.”

“But why? We have so much in common. Max, this is the woman I was telling you about, the one who wrote
Astrophysics: Then and Now
.”

“Sounds like just your type, Rhyder.”

“I think she’s the one.”

Roxie choked on a crouton. “For what? Sitting around discussing atoms and force fields?
Hello
, babies aren’t made that way.”

“Would you just think about it?” He took a deep breath and finished with a quiet, “Please?”

Roxie sniffed and plopped an olive in her mouth. “I’ll think about it.”

C.C. tensed. Uh-oh. Not good. Rhyder threw Roxie off balance and made her divulge secrets she’d buried years ago. Max reached for C.C.’s hand under the table and stroked her fingers, relaxing her. When she smiled, his hand dropped to her knee, and he eased the hem of her dress to the inside of her thigh. The subject had changed to real estate and land value and Max’s voice remained casual and detached as though he weren’t inching his way up her thigh and, oh God, stroking the silk of her panties.

“So, tell me,” Rhyder said in a gallant attempt to bring the conversation back to normal footing, “when exactly did you two connect?”

Max laughed, his hand cupping her panties. “We met on the plane to Alexandria but we didn’t know who the other was. It was a very pleasurable ride. Until she started plying me with those damn cookies.”

“Those cookies keep her calm,” Roxie said. “They’re her center.”

“Oh.” Rhyder slid a glance her way. “What’s yours?”

Roxie fished around her salad plate, jabbed something and shook her fork at him with a satisfied grin. “Jalapeno peppers.”