Midnight In The Garden Of Good And Evie (23 page)

He considered her words, wondering what it must feel like to forever question where you came from. “Why now, Evie, after all these years?”

She laid her head on his shoulder and let her body go slack against his. “I guess it’s time. I guess I’m ready to know.”

“Well, that being the case, having the test would be one solution.” He waited for her reaction.

“One
solution? There’s
another
?”

Max tipped her chin so their eyes met. No time like the present to throw somebody’s life into total chaos.

“Sure there is, Evie,” he said softly. “There always has been. You don’t really need a DNA test at all. The truth is right in front of you. If I can see it, I’m sure you can.”

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do. If you search your heart, I think you’ll realize that you’ve known the truth all along. You know it now, right this minute. Don’t you, Scout?”

Chapter 22

D
ear
D
iary:

Today I wore the moo
n
necklace that used to be my mother’s.
I
showed if to
E
dmunds and he said if wa
s
the prettiest thing he had e
ver seen. Then he said m
y red hair was just like Ma
gg
ie’s.
H
e
always calls her that.
H
e
said she was beautiful and that she was a free spirit. I think that means she had lots of boyfriends. Then he asked me if
I
wanted some hot chocolate with marshmallows.
I
don’t
want to make Thomas feel bad, so I've never told him how much I
love
E
dmunds. He is truly a wonderful and gracious man
.

E
vangeline—age 1
3

E
vie straightened and distanced herself from Max
a
s
much as his embrace would allow.

“What are you talking about?” she whispered,
her mouth gone completely dry. “If I knew the truth, why would I keep asking?”

“Evie,” he said quietly, “I don’t want to hurt you, hut I think you have to face the facts. Heyworth was not—”

“Yes he
was,”
she rushed. “I found proof, but he died before I could ask him about it.”

Max cocked his head, suspicious, apprehensive. “What kind of proof?”

She swallowed. “A couple of days before Thomas was killed, I was in his office going through the files. Mrs. Stanley had asked me to find the warrantee for the stove. Anyway, I found a piece of paper that had fallen between two hanging files. It was a copy of the second page of a letter Thomas had written.”

“Go on.”

“The letter asked for information about his
…
his daughter.”

“His daughter?” Releasing her, Max absently rubbed his
chin
with his knuckles. “Jesus.”

She nodded. “He’d had a brief affair with a maid on his staff, and he wanted to know if she had given birth to a child. If so, he wanted to bring her to Mayhem and acknowledge his heir.”

“How long ago was it written? Who was it addressed to?”

She lifted her shoulders. “That’s the problem. The first page was missing. No date, no addressee, only his signature on the second page.
I
looked through as many files as I could, but I never found it.”

“What did you do with the letter?”

“I didn’t think I should keep it. Thomas might
have thought I’d b
een snooping around in his per
sonal correspondence. So I put it in a folder and closed the cabinet, intending to broach the subject with him once and for all when he returned from his book tour. But the day he got back, he was murdered.”

“Did you tell anybody about the letter?”

“Yes,” she said. “I told the Port Henry police about it when they confiscated Thomas’s files, but when I asked them about it la
ter, they said it wasn’t there.
”

“Who had access to that cabinet?”

“Me, Lorna, Mrs. Stanley. Maybe others. This is an island, you know. We don’t get a lot of transients out here.”

“That would certainly provide motive for the attempts on your life,” Max murmured absently. He stared off into space for a moment, then said, “And you’re sure it was
you
he was referring to?”

Anger stabbed her belly. Why was he
not
getting this?

“My mother was a maid who left here and had a child,” she argued. “And Thomas sought me out and brought me to Mayhem to live with
him.
What more proof do you need, Max?”

“Positive proof,” he said calmly. “But I’m not the one who needs it. You do. Sure, he brought you here, but he never submitted to any paternity tests, and more importantly, he never admitted he was your father. It doesn’t add up.”

She toyed with the crescent moon dangling at her throat. “I thought maybe, once he’d seen me, he’d just known I was his. I don’t know why he never
told me. But my father was
not
some faceless, name
less sailor my mother couldn’t even remember! He
wasn’t
!”

S
till angry at Max for being so dense, Evie slipped into her nightgown and tried to turn her thoughts to the game.

It was Monday night. Time was getting short, and so, apparently, was her temper. She knew she shouldn’t have been so defensive with him earlier, and had reacted to his comments without thinking things through.

Closing the armoire, she rested her forehead against the wood and groaned at her own stupidity. She’d have t
o find a way to apologize…

Tapping. At her door. Her heart gave a little jump.

She and Max were alone in the house. Edmunds and Madame Grovda, Dabney and Lorna, had still not returned. The Stanleys must have left hours ago.

At the mere thought of Max standing outside her door, her heart rate
increased, her skin became sen
sitive, her breasts tightened. Her body knew what it wanted, craved, expected to get. She was utterly exhausted, but the thought of lying in Max’s arms tonight sent a wash of adrenaline through her system that made every nerve in her body come alive.

“Tired, Scout?” he said as she opened the door to him. His hair was disheveled in a very sexy way. He needed a shave, and his shirt collar was open, revealing his strong neck. She wanted to put her mouth there.

She nodded. “I could use some sleep
…
eventually.”

He let his gaze travel down her body. “You still mad at me?”

“Yes,” she lied.

“Good,” he said, grinning in that sly way he had that drove her nuts with desire. “Come with me, and bring your quilt.”

Evie went to the bed and gathered the patchwork quilt into her arms. When she turned to face him, she expected him to kiss her, so when his warm hand clasped hers, she was surprised.

“Follow me,” he said softly as he guided her out the bedroom door. He slipped his arm around her waist as they strolled toward the atrium, the quilt bundled in her arms.

“Where are we going?” Evie asked as they moved through the garden.

“To a romantic spot where I can make love to you tonight.”

“I’m still mad at you, remember?” she said in a flirty way.

“But you want to kiss-and-make-up, right?” he said as he ran his finger down her cleavage. “And makeup sex is the hottest sex there is.”

Evie’s blood simmered up another couple of degrees as he led her along one of the winding paths through the palm trees and orchids to the waterfall. He took the quilt from her arms and moved away from her.

She stilled for a moment, watching as moonlight bounced and glimmered off the ribbons of water splashing down the rough edges of the rocks. Trying to quiet her thundering heart, she focused on the rhythm of the water, watching as a fat drop plopped
onto a broad green leaf and shattered like bits of glass.

While she inhaled the mingled scents of roses and wild flowers, Max spread the quilt over the thick carpet of grass, stained silver by the floating moon. Straightening, he pulled off his shirt and kicked off his boots.

Moonlight loved him, caressed him as she wanted to do. His broad shoulders and muscled chest moved with each breath he took. His face seemed carved by light and shadow, the high cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, the sensual line of his upper lip.

He came to her, not saying a word. She felt his fingertips under her chin as he raised her face for his kiss. The tip of his tongue licked her lips, slid inside.

Her breathing came hard now, and so did his. She felt the pulse of his breath against her open mouth, until he lowered his head, closing the gap, sealing their mouths together in a heated blast of sensation.

In the back of her throat she felt a moan, a dull sound that vibrated through them both. He broke the kiss.

She felt his fingers on her waist, his hands under her gown, his palms on her breasts. In one swift movement he tugged her nightgown up and off.

“Evie,” he whispered as he looked at her in the moonlight. “Your body was made for lovemaking. For my hands on you, my mouth
…
”

He bent and kissed her collarbone, then ran his tongue across her skin and down one breast until he reached her peaked nipple. He suckled it until she wanted to scream.

She eased her hands over his hard chest and down until she reached the top
button on his jeans. Pop
ping it open, she let her hands move inside, shoving the fabric along as she went. Reaching around, she rubbed her hands over his butt, grasping the firm flesh, pulling his hips into hers. He groaned into her mouth.

In another moment he was naked. He went down on his knees, taking her with him onto the quilt. She parted her thighs, and he set himself between them as though they had done this a thousand times, as though he knew her body perfectly, as though she knew the moves he would make before he made them.

Arching over her, he bent his head and kissed her, making love to her mouth the way she knew he would make love to her body. Against her belly, she felt his erection, and it excited her to know she could make him respond to her so
…
enthusiastically.

Slipping her hands downward, she grasped him, curling her fingers around him. He choked her name, his hips rolling wildly as she stroked him.

“Have to slow down,” he panted. “You make me crazy.”

Pulling back, he fumbled for his jeans pocket. She heard him tear open the packet.

“Here,” she said, taking it from him. “Let me.”

She pushed him onto his back and moved lower until she hovered over him. With her tongue, she licked him, suckled him, nibbled along the length of him.

His hips rolled and he groaned, running his fingers through her hair, holding her head in place
while her mouth and tongue drove him higher and higher.

When she couldn’t wait any longer, she set the condom over him and gave a little lick under the rolled edge. Licking and rolling, she sheathed him until he gasped and begged for mercy.

Grabbing her shoulders, he gently lay her under him and thrust into her, moaning in satisfaction. His voice was rough, his movements jerky.

“I don’t know how long I can hold it,” he growled. “God, Evie. What you do to me.”

He thrust into her again and she closed around him. Sensation rippled through her body, across her skin, stealing every thought from her head except one.

She loved him. She loved Max Galloway, loved him so much she didn’t think she could form the words without weeping.

He moved inside her, and she wrapped her arms around his back, holding him close, absorbing the heat from his body, the energy expended pleasuring her. His heart beat against hers as though they were connected, made of the same ethereal stuff that had built the galaxy and all the stars and the heavens, too.

Behind her closed lids bursts of light filled the universe of her mind, the empty territory of her heart, the vast sea of her soul. She was in love and was altered forever. The joy
of it, the newness, the rapture…
she wanted to cry out of sheer delight.

So this was what it felt like to be whole, she thought. For the first time in her life, another person existed who completed her. She wanted to tell him what he’d given her, what a gift it was, what a joy.

Instead, she smiled to herself and held him tighter, letting him fill her arms and her body, and for now that would be enough.

Her pleasure mounted, the tower to heaven was built, then collapsed in a rush of release.

She sighed his name, and his mouth came down on hers to take it from her.

He stiffened, then lurched as his own climax took him over. He pounded into her, his fingers woven tightly with hers.

They lay together, bodies entangled, fingers entwined, while they floated back down to earth. Just when she was able to breathe normally again, Max suddenly wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tightly against him.

“Max?” she whispered. “What’s wrong?”

His lips brushed her neck, and when he spoke, she felt his words
against her skin. “Evie, I…
I’m not much on
après
sex conversation. At least, I never have been.”

“That’s okay,” she soothed, tangling her fingers in the silk of his hair. “You don’t have to—”

“But I want to. I need to.”

Evie stroked his hair and said nothing. “Sometimes,” he began, “well
, there are times I get lonely.
” He spoke as though he were a sinner in a confessional, as though loneliness were a misdeed for which he must repent. “Sometimes, I’m so damned lonely, I can barely stand it. My work fills up all my days and half my nights, and I keep it that way because
when I go home, nothing. I…
Single men aren’t supposed to get lonely.”

“Who told you that?”

He snorted. “Take a guess. Guys like me are supposed to have a string of babes on the hook to keep them company, and for a while I did that. Yeah, I did that.” The words came out bitterly, as though he were deeply ashamed. “But it got old. Fast. Maybe it was good enough for my old man, but it didn’t work for me. Since Melissa, there’s been nobody special. I think there needs to be somebody special.”

She nodded. “I think so, too.” Holding him in her arms, knowing he had come to trust her enough to share something so personal, she could almost feel her heart burst into blossoms.

“Whatever you were,” she said, “or think you were, doesn’t matter anymore.”

He pulled back and looked into her eyes. “I can be a real son of a bitch, Evie. You don’t know. I drove Melissa away, and my mother. I haven’t been able to get close to anyone. I’ve been afraid of pulling the same shit, of losing—”