Fools Rush In (16 page)

Max began to pull his gaze away from the tempting sight, but as it drifted downward over the impossibly long legs he released a shuddering sigh.

Good manners demanded that he look away. Plain common sense urged him to at least cover her up, for the sake of his sanity as much as her modesty. Max, to his chagrin, discovered that where Erin was concerned, he possessed neither manners nor the slightest wit of sense.

Slowly his arms lowered, and the damp towel dropped to the floor with a soft plop. Like a man in a trance, his gaze fixed on her supine form, he moved steadily, silently across the flattened shag carpet and sat down on the bed beside Erin.

Up close her skin had the soft luster of silk. As he gazed down at the graceful symmetry of her bare back, it occurred to him that he had never before fully appreciated the erotic appeal of that particular portion of the female anatomy.

Leisurely, his eyes tracked over the narrow back, with its fragile shoulder blades thrusting up beneath the soft flesh, the long, graceful inward curve of the delicate rib cage that led the eye to that tiny waist and, below it, the delicious flare of womanly hips and tight buttocks.

Unable to help himself, Max reached out with an unsteady hand and trailed his forefinger along the shallow trench that marked her spine, from a point almost at her shoulders, down below her waist to the top of the bikini pajama bottoms.

Erin made a small incoherent sound and wriggled sinuously.

The innocent movement sent a hot surge of desire through Max, and he caught his breath. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again his lips tilted in a reckless smile.

Cupping his hands over her hips, with his thumbs he drew light circles around the enticing indentations on either side of her spine, just above the lilac panties.

"Erin," he murmured in a voice husky with masculine desire and just a hint of amusement.

When she didn't respond, his thumbs probed the little hollows. He braced his forearms on either side of her and leaned forward to string a line of slow, wet kisses up her spine. She smelled delicious, a mixture of floral talc and sweet, clean woman, and when he reached her nape he buried his face in the curve of her neck and inhaled deeply. Playfully, he traced an intricate pattern with his tongue, then blew on her wet flesh.

Erin stirred.

He smiled and mouthed the velvety rim of her ear. "Erin, sweetheart, do you have any idea what the sight of you lying here in this little bit of nothing is doing to me?" he murmured as, with a slow, flexing movement, he rubbed his chest across her bare back. "It's nothing short of torture."

Sensations. Erin became aware of them gradually—so gradually, at first, that she thought she was dreaming. A feathery touch... warmth... whispers. Pleasure. Sweet, delicious pleasure.

Against the sheet her nipples puckered into tight aching nubs. A hot, insistent throbbing started deep within her.

The veils of sleep lifted one by one, and the sensations grew sharper.

"Erin."

She heard Max call her name, his voice soft and sensuous, and she smiled into the pillow. Dream and reality overlapped, merged. For a blissful moment Erin lingered there, wavering languorously between the two.

"Good morning, sweetheart."

"Mmm. Mornin'," she mumbled.

Erin frowned and blinked—once, twice—and slowly the world slid into focus. "Max?"

A throaty chuckle sounded in her ear. "Yes. Who were you expecting?" he answered, playfully batting her earlobe with his tongue.

Erin's eyes widened as she came fully awake and her senses sprang to attention. In a rush, she became aware of his scent and heat surrounding her, and the feathery brush of his chest hair against her bare back. Her heart pounded, and for an instant she didn't move, torn between pleasure and panic.

"Max. Oh, Max, that's not fair..." she complained when he began to nibble her shoulder. But her voice was husky and weak and trembled breathlessly.

"You want to talk fair?" he murmured against her skin. "It's not fair for you to lie here in that little scrap of a nightgown—" he nuzzled her neck, his breath skating warm and moist over her flesh "—looking like a gorgeous, rumpled siren. It's not fair—" the tip of his tongue trailed down her spine to the small of her back, and Erin moaned and shivered "—that you smell so heavenly, or—" with gently savagery, he nipped the side of her waist, then soothed the tiny pain with a soft kiss "—that your skin feels like silk."

"Max... Max..." His name was a breathy sigh on her lips.

Gently but firmly, he turned her onto her back. He gazed down at her, his face flushed and rigid with desire, his eyes glittering. When he spoke his voice was a low rasp that caressed her skin like warm velvet, making her nerve endings twang and tingle, her pulses pound. "Nor is it fair to deny what you feel. What we both feel."

Her brief nightgown was twisted and bunched up under her arms, the ecru lace ruffle at the bottom draped wantonly across her breasts, exposing their full lower curves. Through the fragile material her nipples showed an enticing rosy pink.

Max's eyes lowered, and she felt her breasts swell and tighten under his avid gaze. His eyes sought hers once again with searing hunger, and he cupped his palm around the soft flesh.

"Can you tell me you don't like it when I touch you?" His fingers flexed, and he rotated his palm slowly against the engorged bud. Erin gasped and jerked as she felt her body quicken.

Bracing on one arm, Max leaned forward, his gaze fixed on her mouth. "Don't you feel the fire? It's raging." His parted lips brushed over hers and moved from side to side in an excruciating gossamer touch. Erin felt its sensual impact all the way to her toes. "I burn."

It was a raspy, drawn-out whisper, spoken into her mouth. Evocative. Hot. Heavy with need.

Erin reacted to it as to a physical touch. The words, his exquisitely sensual tone, the passion blazing in his slumberous gaze, all fanned the smoldering fires within her. They flared into a raging inferno that made her body throb and burn with a consuming desire that matched his.

Longing was a wild, sharp pain in her chest. It pulled at her relentlessly. She gazed at Max, feeling a need greater than anything she had ever known. He was a beautiful man, handsome and utterly male, but it was more than physical attraction, and her heart knew it. Mind, body and soul— everything in her called out to him. Everything that was Max appealed to her as no man ever had—and, she was very much afraid, as no other man ever would.

Erin knew that she should call a halt, say something, do something to break the sensual spell before things got out of hand, but she couldn't. She just couldn't.

Think of Elise, she commanded herself. Her feelings for this man. You know you can't let this happen.

But even as her conscience nagged her, Erin's hands were sliding up Max's arms. Against her palms she felt the tickle of crisp hairs, then the smooth, warm hardness of bulging biceps and broad shoulders.

Max continued his tender, tormenting assault on her mouth. From beneath half-closed lids, they watched each other in silence, their eyes darkened and glazed with passion. Then her hands met behind his neck, and she buried her fingers in his hair. With a sigh, she pulled him closer, and her eyes drifted shut as his mouth settled firmly over hers.

It was a powerful kiss, filled with need and hard demand. They sought assuagement, but the yearning ache grew stronger, bigger. Hunger fed hunger as mouths rocked together and nimble tongues danced and stroked and caressed.

With a groan, Max stretched out on the bed, one leg hooking over hers, his broad chest pressing against her breasts, pushing her deep into the mattress. Erin clutched him, her mindless cry swallowed by his devouring mouth as she felt their bare flesh meet and meld.

He was so warm, his weight a delicious burden. Her restless hands played over his back, flexing against the broad muscles, probing his spine, her fingers slipping beneath the low waistband to press into his firm buttocks. Their legs tangled together, and against her bareness the abrasive rub of his new denim jeans was both frustrating and oddly erotic.

"Oh, Lord, Erin. I want you so." Max kissed her neck, her collarbone, then nuzzled aside the thin strap and gave the same attention to her shoulder. "We belong together. Can't you feel it?"

Still holding her close, he rolled onto his side. He gazed into her eyes, his own smoldering, and slid his hand up over the long curve of her hip, waist and midriff, finally cupping his palm around the firm fullness of her breast. "I want to love you. Right here. Right now." He brushed his thumb across her nipple and kissed her again, hard. "It's what you want, too, isn't it?"

Erin stared at him, dazed, achingly aware of his arousal pressed against her belly, the hollow throbbing in her lower body... and most of all, the yearning ache in her heart.

"Isn't it?" he urged in a rough whisper.

Erin felt her puny resistance melting, felt herself being drawn into the deep blue pools of his eyes, felt herself giving in to the wildness and want that raged in them both.

Watching her, Max sensed her weakening, and his eyes flared with triumph, but as he bent his head to kiss her again the travel clock on the bedside table started a strident beeping.

Erin stiffened within his embrace.

"Dammit!"

Max muttered the curse in a vicious undertone as he watched the glaze of passion clear from her eyes, and guilt and regret take its place. Nevertheless, when she pulled from his arms he let her go and flopped over onto his back, his face hard and set with bitter frustration.

Erin sat up on the side of the bed, hastily adjusting her nightgown as she picked up the clock and switched off the alarm. She folded it shut and turned the tiny case over and over in her hands, staring at it, her head bent. The skin between her shoulder blades prickled, and she knew Max was watching her, waiting.

"It's getting—" Her voice broke, and she stopped to clear her throat. "It's...getting late. We'd better be on our way."

She waited for a reply, keeping her back to Max and her gaze fixed on her hands. Silence filled the room, thick and heavy with emotions and words left unsaid. Erin's nerves vibrated and hummed. Unable to bear it a moment longer, she jerked to her feet and started for the bathroom.

Halfway there she came to a halt. She hesitated, standing rigid, her mouth a straight line. Finally, with her back still to Max, she said in a soft, sad voice, "I'm sorry, Max. But it... it can't be. Not for us. I... I'm sorry."

Not waiting for a reply, she hurried on toward the bathroom, but Max sprang off the bed and was there before her, stretching a taut, muscled arm across the doorway, barring her way. Erin started and jumped back a step, but he caught her with his other hand and hauled her close. Vitally aware of his bare chest just inches from her nose, she stared at the mat of silky hair covering it, her senses assaulted by his clean male scent, his heat. He leaned close, his face hard and determined, eyes glittering.

"I won't accept that," he growled. "We have something special going for us, and I think you know it. Erin, I like and admire your sister, but I'll be damned if I'll let this chance for happiness slip away just because she's developed some kind of schoolgirl crush."

She looked at him pleadingly, her face full of anguish. "Max, please listen to—"

"No, you listen. We are going to be together, Erin. Now I don't know whether this idea you have that Elise is in love with me is actual fact or just something you've read into her letters. And, frankly, at the moment I don't give a damn. But this much you can count on: no way in hell am I giving you up."

His words sent a rush of joy and hope through her, but despair quickly followed. She looked at him sadly and shook her head. "Oh, Max."

His face hardened more at her forlorn exclamation. "I mean it, Erin. I'll back off—for now—but I'm not going to let you shut me out."

He shoved himself away from the door and stomped over to the open suitcase. "Now I suggest you do whatever you need to, and let's get out of here." He snatched up a clean shirt and shrugged into it, his movements stiff and jerky.

She hesitated, staring after him, her chest a painful knot of turmoil. She felt that she should say something more, something to ease the tension and make him understand, but the rigid set of his shoulders discouraged further discussion. Swallowing against the ache in her throat, she stepped into the bathroom and closed the door.

Twenty minutes later Erin emerged to find Max dressed and pacing the floor, raring to go. The emotional intensity had lessened, but there was still constraint between them. They treated each other with wary politeness, saying little, keeping their voices and words neutral.

"All set?" Max asked when Erin had returned her belongings to the suitcase and snapped it shut.

"Just give me a minute to call David, and I will be."

"Sure. I'll meet you in the car."

To her disgust, the call produced no better results than the previous ones, and after leaving a terse message and a caustic, sisterly comment about people who forced you to talk to a machine, then didn't have the common decency to check it, she slammed the receiver down and stalked out.

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