Heartfire (18 page)

He shook his can.  "But mine's almost empty.  And look at you."

She didn't fall for the bait but launched another attack until he sprayed her again and most of it stuck to her sweater.  "No fair," she protested.  "Your arms are longer."

He chuckled.  "I guess you'll have to be inventive to compensate."

Wrinkling her nose at him, she jumped up on the sofa for a better aim.  Max couldn't let her get the upper hand.  Scooping her up in his arms, he plopped her on the sofa before she realized his intention.

She clambered to her knees, sputtering, "You...you...caveman!"  She squirted the confetti.

Max sprayed her back, both of them attacking non-stop until they were laughing and out of breath.  Lodging one knee  on the sofa, he leaned toward her for one last winning spurt.  Suddenly he didn't care about winning the game.  Tessa's face glowed.  Her lips were pink from pursing them in concentration.  Her cheeks were rosy from their game and the warmth of the fire.  She looked absolutely silly wreathed in orange confetti, but, oh, so lovely.

His laughter was a rumble in his chest when she stopped giggling.  They seemed locked in place for an eternal moment, then inexorably drawn together.  He gathered her in his arms and pulled her toward him.  She was warmth and loveliness, softness and adventure, fun and passion.  Friendship could never describe the desire roaring through his blood with only one destination.  Lifting her onto his lap, he kissed her with the fervor he'd denied, the wanting he'd tried to ignore, the need that had built up for too long.

He didn't wait for her to open her lips, but pushed inside.  Her small moan told him he'd done the right thing.  And as she welcomed his probing tongue, he knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her.  He was familiar with needing and wanting.  He just wasn't used to having the sensations satisfied.  Tessa gave as much as he did, took as much as he did.

Still, he wanted more.  Tasting her wasn't enough.  He wanted to touch her, too.  The hem of her sweater stretched easily, giving him access.  The skin of her midriff was hot, satiny, inviting.  As he ran his fingers across it slowly, she moved against his hand as if she wanted more, too.  His fingertips slid along the edge of her bra.  It was silky and wispy and not at all what he'd expected.  Tessa was so self-reliant, so strong.  But so feminine, too.  He shouldn't be surprised.  That's what he loved about Tessa—she constantly surprised him.

Loved?  No, it couldn't be.  He loved Leslie.  Didn't he?  This passion for Tessa was just that, wasn't it?  Passion mixed with caring.

Tessa felt Max's hand on her breast.  The silky material was thin, but not thin enough.  She wanted to feel the ridge of his fingers, the warmth of his palm.  He was kissing her as if he never wanted to stop.  And she didn't want him to stop.  He'd lit a fire in her heart, her soul, her body.  She loved his arms around her, she loved his lips on hers, she loved his scent, his texture, his consummate maleness.  She loved
him
.

The shock of the realization made her go still.  Loved Max?  Everything inside her cried,
No! That can't happen
.  But it had.  She knew the truth when she saw it...heard it...felt it.  Had she loved him all these years and denied it?  Had the fire in her heart that had begun when they'd dated been burning since then?  If he and Leslie hadn't become involved, would she have come back and stayed?  No, she hadn't been ready then.  Was she ready now?

He must have sensed the change in her, the reversal from passion to panic.  Her stomach felt queasy.  Her heart pounded in her ears.

His hand left her skin and he pulled away.

She was afraid to look at him for fear he'd see the truth in her eyes, on her face.  Wishing the corner of the sofa was in her flat in London and she could be there with a blink of her eyes, she slid from his lap as gracefully as she could.  She couldn't face him now.  She simply couldn't.

Max was silent, and the silence was worse than denials and excuses.  He thought their passion was wrong.  He didn't have to say it.  She knew.

The orange string confetti sticking all over her sweater reminded Tessa of her foolishness.

"We have a mess to clean up," Max said in a low tone, his voice husky.

He shifted on the sofa, and Tessa realized how uncomfortable he must be.  "Max, you don't have to say anything.  I know you haven't dated since Leslie died and the pressure builds up—"

"I'm not a balloon ready to pop!"

She curled up tighter, swinging her legs underneath her.  "Max, think about it.  This close proximity, the old feelings we shared..."

"I don't have to think about it," he snapped.  "I have to deal with it."

"And you think I don't?"

He rubbed the back of his neck.  "I suppose the situation is hard for you, too.  Neither of us expected—"  He inhaled a deep breath.  "We only have a few more weeks.  Do you know when you're leaving?"

"November seventeenth."

He went silent again.

There didn't seem to be anything else to say.  Even if there had been, Tessa couldn't sit still another minute.  Too much was going on inside her, and she wanted to escape it all.

Hopping up, she plucked a long string of confetti from the sofa arm.  Moving quickly, she cleaned off the back while Max watched.

Finally he pushed himself up.  His face was still and set, the nerve on his jaw working.  "This could wait until tomorrow."

She had to get them back on comfortable footing or she'd never get through the next few weeks.  "Never put off till tomorrow what you can do today."

He didn't even grimace at the old proverb.  Rather, he picked up the cups that had landed on the hearth when they'd begun their confetti battle.  With an "I'll load the dishwasher," he strode into the kitchen.

Tessa sighed with relief.  She needed time to be alone.  She needed time to think.  Maybe she could think her feelings into a semblance of order.  She fervently hoped so.

Chapter Eleven

Tessa sat on the bed in her room Monday evening, typing notes on the practicality of Americans buying property overseas into her computer.  Her fingers didn't fly over the keys as they usually did.  Nor did she organize in her head as she went along.  Tonight organization seemed impossible.  She typed words, statistics, phrases, but the information wasn't jelling.

Since Saturday night, Tessa had thought about loving Max, she'd feared loving Max, she'd resented the panic that overtook her each time the feelings welled up.  She'd tried not to act differently around him.  But knowing she loved him changed everything!  Except her life.  She was a foreign correspondent with a good record and interviewer with high ratings, a reliable reputation and a bright future.  But most of all, she had no indication Max felt anything but desire, desire he obviously didn't want to feel.

On Sunday, they'd taken Ryan roller skating again.  And they'd avoided each other.  Tonight, Max had driven Ryan to his Cub Scout meeting and had said he'd run errands before picking up Ryan to come home.  It was obvious he didn't want to be alone with her.  Did she want to be alone with him, knowing what could happen?

Thinking about it made her body tingle.

She heard the back door open and before she could even think about shutting down her computer, Ryan pounded up the stairs and burst into her room.

Max's voice boomed from the stairway.  "Knock first, Ryan."

It was already too late for that.

"Sorry," Ryan mumbled.

She smiled and waved him toward the bed.  "That's okay.  How was your meeting?"

"Fine."  He shifted back and forth on his feet and played with the yellow tie of his uniform.

"What did you do?"

"Made a Halloween mask.  It's downstairs."

Max stood in the doorway, one hand high on the door jamb.  His jeans were snug and showed wear at the knees.  He wore no belt and the waistband rode low on his hips.  His red and black flannel shirt clothed his upper torso with rugged, lumberjack appeal.

His gaze as it found and held hers was as neutral as his expression.  He'd make a terrific poker player.

Ryan came closer to the bed.

Max said softly, "Go ahead and ask her."

Ryan looked terribly uncertain.  Tessa set her computer on the bed and slid to the edge, dropping her legs over the side.  She patted the spread beside her.  "Come here and tell me what's going on."

Ryan glanced at Max, then crawled up beside her.  "We're havin' somethin' special at school."

"It's a pageant," Max explained.  "Ryan didn't tell me until tonight that he has a special part."

"I'm gonna be a Pilgrim!" he declared proudly.  "It's about the first Thanksgiving.  Dad always comes to watch.  Can you come, too?"

Tessa thought about going into the school again, seeing all the families together, the hordes of kids, the noise and chatter that had always resoundingly reminded her that she didn't fit in, that she didn't have a family to care whether or not she took a part in a play, or a concert, or a pageant.  She shivered as old memories haunted her.  A half-hour meeting with Mrs. Bartlett was one thing.  A few hours smack dab in the middle of all the commotion was another.

There was something else to think about, too.  She and Max and Ryan
weren't
a family.  She was becoming more and more attached to Ryan.  How did he feel about her?  The more she did things with him and for him, the harder it would be for him when she left.

Max was watching her closely.

"Ryan, I don't know.  With leaving for New York this weekend, I'm going to be pretty busy."

"But you're not leavin' till Friday!  You marked it on the calendar."  His lip quivered.  "And the pageant's Thursday night."

She felt awful.  She wanted to give him everything she could.  But the truth was—she
would
be leaving.  She'd been entirely available to Ryan and Max since she'd arrived in Jenkins.  Maybe that had been a huge mistake—for all of them.

"Honey, I need to think about it, okay?"

His face fell with disappointment and he looked to his father for encouragement.

Max straightened and filled the doorway.  "Let Tessa think about it, slugger.  You go get your pajamas on.  We'll talk about it again tomorrow."

Ryan's tone was somber.  "Okay."  He turned back to Tessa.  "I really want you to come."

Tessa's breath caught in her chest.  What was the right thing to do?  Right for Max and her and Ryan.

Ryan slipped by his father and went to his room.

Tessa expected Max to leave, too.  But he didn't.  Instead, he stepped closer to the bed, his forehead creased, his scowl manifesting his frustration.  "
How
could you do that to him?"

Tessa felt guilty enough.  "I'm not doing anything to him, Max."

Max advanced on her, his eyes a deepening brown.  "He wants you to be there."

Squaring her shoulders and tilting her chin, a response gathered force and exploded.  "And I wanted my mother to be there, too!"