Ask Me Why (36 page)

She could offer to go with him. But after her successful evening, she didn't want to appear clingy. She was fine here, surrounded by his friends and colleagues. Actually, she was great.

She admired his broad shoulders cutting the crowd—a surfer paddling out to catch a wave—before she turned to watch the couples on the dance floor. The band launched into a cover of “Under the Boardwalk.”

When a hand settled, warm and familiar, on her hip, she smiled, swaying into his touch.
Max
.

Or . . .

Her skin prickled.

Not.

The hand curved inward, slid down onto her ass. A man's breath—not Max's—filled her ear. “I didn't know the aquarium hired cowgirls to cater these things.”

She jerked, almost spilling her wine. Turned.

“Dr. Rice,” she said faintly. Her boss.

*   *   *

SHE
wanted to dance, he would dance, Max thought as he made his way to the buffet table. He only hoped the band played something slow. His dancing skills hadn't progressed beyond the standard wedding clutch-and-shuffle.

But the thought of holding Cynthie in his arms, pretty and soft and smelling of spice, was appealing.

He scored a couple of the shrimp she'd asked for and added some puff pastry thing he thought she might like.

“Not so clueless, after all,” Greg Stokes said beside him.

“Pardon?”

“You. Your date.” Greg nodded toward the dance floor. “Very hot. Also sweet, which makes a nice change.”

Max followed his gaze to Cynthie, swaying softly by herself in her shiny dress and cowboy boots. Something swelled in his chest to the point of pain. She was more than sweet. She was . . .
More,
he thought again. She was everything. “She's good with people.”

“A natural. So, are you two . . .” Greg waggled his hand. “Serious?”

“I'm going to marry her,” Max heard himself say. “As soon as I can talk her into it.”

“Wow. Well, congrats.” Greg's good-natured face split in a grin. “Good luck with that.”

Max smiled. “Thanks.” He glanced again toward the dance floor.

Where some dickwad, some stranger, had his hand on her ass.

Max saw red.

“Excuse me,” he said to Greg and started across the room.

As he watched, Cynthie jumped and whirled, the animation draining from her face. She looked almost stricken.

Remember where you are, he told himself. Cynthie wouldn't appreciate it if he made a scene. But he wanted to rip the offending hand off and beat the guy over the head with it.

Cynthie met his eyes. Her face went from white to red, her expression a muddle of relief and consternation.

He tried to smile reassuringly. “Hi, sweetheart.”

He put a hand at her waist. Universal male body language for
Mine
. Sent the dickwad a death glare.
Back off
. “Who's this?”

Cynthie bit her lip. “Max Lewis, my boss, Rick Rice.”

Her boss.

Max nodded shortly in acknowledgment, trying not to embarrass her. Cynthie could handle herself. She could handle anything. He didn't need to indulge in primate displays of aggression to defend her. No matter how much he wanted to.

The other man—mid-forties, well-groomed, expensive cologne—bared perfect white caps in a smile. “You must be Cynthie's date.”

Max set the shrimp plate on a nearby table—he was pretty sure Cynthie wouldn't want to eat now anyway—and shook hands, frustrating Rice's attempt to turn his wrist up. Their eyes met.

Max smiled tightly.
Yeah, buddy, you go to the gym, but I haul crab pots out of the mud
. “That's right.”

“Dr. Rice is here with his wife,” Cynthie said.

Max followed her glance to a dissatisfied-looking blonde on needle-thin stilts. “Great. My dance,” he said to Cynthie.

The air thickened and pulsed between them.

With a little sigh, she relaxed and moved into his arms.

*   *   *

CYNTHIE
dropped her head against Max's chest, absorbing the steady beat of his heart, the undemanding clasp of his arms.

He wasn't a good dancer. He didn't attempt anything beyond the two-step shuffle your average twelve-year-old could do. But he held her safe, gradually restoring her sense of balance.

“Okay?” he murmured against her hair.

She nodded against his shirt. “Thanks.”

He smelled so good, like laundry soap and Max. Slowly other details seeped into her consciousness, the brush of his thighs, the fine wool texture of his suit, the hint of dark hair at his collar. Being with him didn't make all her problems suddenly go away. It just made her feel better. Stronger. More able to deal with things.

His chest expanded with his breath. “Your boss . . . He's an asshole. You know you don't have to put up with that.”

Had he ever in his life felt helpless? Powerless? But of course he had, she thought, remembering high school. It hadn't stopped him from standing up for her. She smiled at him. “I know.”

His brows were still knit. “If he's bothering you, you could report him to your instructor. Or the dean.”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

Not now. She wanted to close her eyes and be with him, simply be, to stay in this magic place, this moment out of time, where she danced at the bottom of the sea with the man that she . . .

Loved.

She loved Max.

“Not here,” he agreed. “When we get home.”

His house.
Home
. Yearning unfurled in her heart.

“Not tonight,” she said. “Tonight's about you. ”
About us.

His arms around her tensed. He wanted to argue, she knew. He kissed her forehead instead, his breath warm, his lips soft. “Whatever you need.”

“I need you.”

She felt him smile against her brow. “You got me, sweetheart.”

She flushed all over, loving him. Wanting him. “I mean, now.”

His feet stopped moving. “I'll get the car.”

Thirty minutes, she calculated, until they reached his place. “I have to use the ladies' room first.”

“I'll meet you out front.”

He left her with a kiss and a smile.
Tonight,
she thought, she would find the words to tell him. Not falling, but fallen, fathoms deep in love.

She was still smiling a few minutes later when she left the restroom.

And ran smack into Rick Rice, lurking in the hallway outside.

She swallowed a groan.
Be cool,
she thought.
Don't make a fuss. You have to work for this guy.

She gave him a brief, in-passing smile and started for the exit.

He shifted to intercept her. “I saw you lose the professor. Smart move.”

She tilted her chin, her heart beating faster. “Actually, he's waiting for me outside.”

“Let him wait.” He caught a strand of her hair between two fingers, close to her breast. She flinched back, and his hold tightened, stinging her scalp. He smiled into her eyes. “He won't miss you for a few more minutes.”

Cynthie's mouth dried. Creepy bastard. “What about your wife?”

“Marion?” He rubbed the strand between his fingers, making her skin crawl. “What about her?”

“Won't she notice you're gone?”

“She won't care. She gets what she wants from our relationship.”

Cynthie took a deep breath. She couldn't afford to piss him off. Calm, that was the thing. “I'm sure you're very happy together.”

“Oh, we are. She has my name and my money, which leaves me to pursue . . .” He raised his gaze from . . . her hair? Her breast? “Outside interests.”

“Yeah? Well, all I'm interested in is my job.”

“Of course. You're a student. You need references. Experience.” Rice straightened, looming over her. “But I think it's time we renegotiate exactly what kind of experience you should get while you're . . . under me.”

Her stomach sank.
Crap. Crappity crap
.

And then, somewhere deep under the dismay, outrage ignited.

Work hard,
she always told her girls.
Do your best. Believe in yourself. Stand up to bullies.

What kind of an example was she setting for Hannah and Madison if she let this creep ass talk to her this way? Who the hell did he think he was? Who did he think she was?

Cynthie stepped back, ripping her hair from his grasp. “That's not what you're paying me for.”

Rice's expression hardened. “Don't be stupid. Why do you think I hired you? Why would anyone hire a girl like you? Not for your brains.”

A girl like you
. The words struck her like a slap, whipping color to her face. She stared at him, stunned.

And then Max's words, Max's voice, played in her head.
You were never that girl,
Max had said.
You were always more
.

She pulled herself up, flushed with indignation and confidence. “Anybody would be lucky to hire me. I work hard. I'm in the top five percent of my class. I don't need you, I don't need your references, and I sure as hell don't need your shit. So you can take your job and your tiny little dick and shove them.”

She pushed past.

He grabbed her.
“Hey!”

She tugged her arm. “Let go.”

“You ungrateful bitch, I—”

“You heard her.” Max's voice, deadly calm. “Let her go.”

Rice released her elbow, his face dangerously suffused with blood.

Good.
She hoped he dropped dead.

Max took his arm. “Let me help you outside.”

“Take your hands off me.”

“Keep your voice down.” Max's gaze held Cynthie's. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. She felt . . . Okay, she was still really angry. But she felt good. Powerful. “Never better.”

“Right. Here's how this is going to go,” Max said to Rice. “Ms. Lodge will find your wife and tell her that you're not feeling well, and I'm going to take a walk with you outside, where security will call you a cab.”

Rice sneered. “You can't tell me what to do. I'm a donor. A major donor.”

Max's expression never flickered as he steered him toward the exit. “I guess for a good cause, the aquarium will take anyone's money.”

When Max returned a few minutes later, Cynthie's anger had faded. But the powerful good feelings remained.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” she told him as he took her in his arms.

He shook his head, his gray eyes rueful. “You rescued yourself. I told you you were amazing.”

“Yes.” She beamed, twining her arms around his neck. “But it took you to make me see it.”

She didn't need him to save her, she realized. She needed him to believe in her. To love her.

She held on to him with both hands, absorbing his strength, breathing him in. “I love you, Max.”

His quiet eyes kindled. “I love you, Cynthie.”

He kissed her then, deeply, sweetly, while her heart turned over in her chest.

“Me and Maxwell Lewis,” she said in wonder when at last he raised his head. “Who would have thought?”

His lips curved. “I guess we did.”

“Yeah.” She grinned at him, giddy with joy. “I always was a smart one.”

ON A SATURDAY
afternoon in February, the aquarium was full of young families, toddlers in the arms of their mothers, fathers pushing strollers. Their voices bounced off the high ceilings and echoed back like dolphin cries.

Watching a father grab the back of his daughter's overalls before she nosedived into the tidal touch pool, Cynthie melted a little inside. She was working for a family dentist two afternoons a week, but even regular contact with his pediatric patients didn't quell the surge of nostalgic longing. “I miss that stage.”

Max slanted a look down at her as they entered the ocean gallery. “I'll remind you of that when Madison starts driver's ed in two years.”

Cynthie narrowed her eyes at him.

He grinned.

Hannah danced over, her curly mane bobbing at every step. “Mom, Max, come on. We're going to be late for the dive show.”

Cynthie looked at Madison, simmering with some barely suppressed excitement, her camera slung around her neck. “Maddie, do you want to come with us or go watch the otters?”

“I'll come.” Madison glanced at Max. “I want to take pictures.”

Cynthie's heart brimmed as they entered the gallery together. Like a family.

The past four months had been a period of adjustment for all of them. Love really didn't solve all your problems, Cynthie reflected. Sometimes it created new ones. But nothing she and Max couldn't tackle together. Hannah had accepted Max from the start. Madison was slower to warm to the idea of another adult in her life telling her what to do. But Max had been wonderful, respecting the teen's boundaries and the occasional bumps in the road, telling Cynthie not to worry, letting Madison set the pace of their relationship. Gradually, they were all learning to fit their lives together. Well, they'd already survived car repairs and food poisoning, school projects and a job change. Cynthie smiled.
Life, in other words. For better or worse, in sickness and in health.

The aquarium guide stood in front of the living shipwreck to begin her spiel, her body outlined in eerie light. Cynthie stood back to allow the milling children a better view. The divers were already moving slowly through the giant tank, churning up tiny puffs of sand, releasing silver clouds of bubbles. One of them gestured her closer.

She turned around to look at Max. He shrugged.

“Go on, Mom,” Hannah said.

Cynthie let herself be prodded to the front of the crowd. The guide smiled, her body blocking Cynthie's view of the tank. “Are you Cynthie?”

“Ye-es.”

What was going on? Hannah was almost hopping in excitement. Madison stood a few feet away, her camera aimed at the vast sunken wreck behind her.

“Good. One of our divers has a message for you,” the guide said, and stepped away from the glass.

Cynthie blinked.

He was holding a sign. A large white sign with two blue kissing fish below the words C
YNTHIE,
W
ILL
Y
OU
M
A
RRY
M
E?
M
AX

Her stomach dropped. Her heart soared. Phones lit up the gallery like a rock concert.

She whirled to find Max and almost stumbled. He knelt at her feet, a ring box in his hand and love in his eyes.

He rose to his feet, his fingers sliding beneath her chin to tilt her face for his kiss. A slow smile curved his lips. “What do you say, sweetheart?”

This time the words came easily, flowing from her heart. “Yes. Oh, yes.”

Yes
to marriage, to building a family with this man and Madison and Hannah.

Yes
to life.

Yes
to love.