That Special Smile/Whittenburg (3 page)

Amusement pulled at his lips and he didn’t resist the laughter that welled up inside him. “Time will tell.”

Her lips curved at that, but just barely. She had no idea why he was flirting with her, but she decided it was the perfect time to bring her sister’s name back into the conversation.

“Juliette tells me you’ve lived here for a number of years.”

“That’s true.”

“And Juliette said you have a shop downtown.”

“On Spring Street.”

“What kind of shop?”

“You mean Juliette didn’t tell you?” His voice dropped to a soft bass and his eyes twinkled a seductive blue.

The curious warmth in her stomach curled tighter and Sylvie was finding it more difficult to ignore this time. What did Max hope to gain by flirting with her?

“Juliette said you own a toy store.”

“She’s right. I do.” His smile deepened. “Was she right when she told me there’s no special man in your life?”

“Why would she tell you something like that?”

“Because I asked. Is it true?”

“That, Max, is none of your business.”

“Yet.”

She held the saucer tighter and regarded him suspiciously. But he noticed the way she used her other hand to adjust her glasses and congratulated himself on his perception. Impulsive and foolhardy it would undoubtedly prove to be, but at least his strategy was getting a response.

“You and I couldn’t reach that point of familiarity in six
years,
much less six months,” she said coolly.

He shrugged. “You could be right, Sylvie. But as I mentioned, winters here can be long and boring.”

“Which only proves you’ve never spent a winter next door to Juliette,” she said, setting her coffee aside.

The crease made a fleeting reappearance in his cheek. “Or Juliette’s sister.”

Her restless fingers drummed in silent annoyance against the sofa arm. She was beginning to suspect the motivation for this all-out flirtation, and she didn’t like the possibility at all. Part of her wanted to tell him exactly what she thought of him, but another part simply wanted to laugh at the complete nonsense he was dishing out. She chose a more middle-of-the-road approach.

“You don’t seem to care what Juliette might think, Max.”

His forehead wrinkled with a frown. “Well, no, I can’t say I’ve given it a great deal of thought. Is that a requirement?”

“A requirement for what?”

“For getting to know you better.” He relaxed against the back of the chair, stretched his legs out, halfway across the carpet it seemed, and crossed one sockless ankle over the other. It was a very casual posture and she resented it. He could at least sit up straight while he flirted with her.

“You don’t know my sister very well.”

He looked surprised and a bit confused. “You could be right.”

“I am. So I’m going to do you a favor and give you fair warning that you’ll never make Juliette jealous by flirting with me. Or anyone else, for that matter. She’s not the jealous type.”

His bewildered expression was a masterpiece of its kind. And then he chuckled, a quiet sound, a throaty ripple of laughter that wrapped a warm contentment about her heart and made her wish, for a fleeting second, that she could laugh with him.

“And what would you say, Sylvie Anne, if I told you I have no ulterior motive in flirting with you?”

“I would say you’d be in a no-win situation.” She reached for the coffee cup that sat neglected on the table beside her.

Her challenge didn’t appear to faze him, except to alter his amusement to a full grin. “You’re absolutely right. Either way, it wouldn’t be very flattering to you, would it?”

She put the cup back without bringing it anywhere near her lips. Juliette was right. He made terrible coffee. “Nor you.”

“Then I may as well have ulterior motives.”

“Suit yourself,” she said with an offhand shrug. “And while you do that, I’ll go back to Juliette’s house and wait for her there.” Sylvie tucked her purse under the crook of her arm and rose.

Max got to his feet in easy acceptance of her decision. “You might as well stay,” he said, as if it didn’t matter much to him either way. “I’ll fix more coffee.”

“No, thank you.”

Max intentionally stepped close to Sylvie, closer than was necessary for a friendly good-bye. He half expected her to plant the spike of her heel somewhere in the middle of his foot, but instead she lifted her chin and, in one concise movement, adjusted those outlandish glasses against the bridge of her nose.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so intrigued with so little encouragement. Something about Sylvie appealed to his romantic instincts. Or maybe it was his sense of adventure that was leading him. Or could it be, he wondered, as simple as a purely physical attraction?

“If you don’t mind?”

Her words were pointed, and although Sylvie kept them dangerously soft, she didn’t let him see any sign of discomfiture—if there
was
any to see. But he sensed that she wasn’t as unaffected by his nearness as she’d like him to believe, or as she’d like to believe herself. But that, he reasoned with a wry smile, was what made her interesting.

“Not at all.” He led the way to the front door and made a point of keeping his distance as she opened the door and stepped outside. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait here, Sylvie Anne?”

“Absolutely sure.” She turned, hesitated as if weighing preference against etiquette, and then extended her hand for his handshake. “It’s been very nice to meet you, Max. The coffee was ... memorable.” Her gaze swept over him and her accompanying smile was genuinely amused. “Juliette, obviously, has no taste.”

He took her hand and cradled it in his palm. “Well, I’m glad
you
appreciate the finer things in life, Sylvie. Come share my caffeine anytime.”

“That’s very generous, Max. Maybe sometime before I leave, I’ll be able to have coffee with you again.” Her smile faded a bit as she flexed her hand and realized he wasn’t ready to let go.

“I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, Sylvie Anne.”

Not if she could do anything to prevent it, Sylvie decided. She had already seen all she wanted to see of Max McConnell. “Well, thanks again.”

His fingers closed over hers and his thumb sketched a lazy circle on the back of her hand. “It was my pleasure.”

For one brief second she enjoyed the caress and the fragile thread of an awakening perception that coursed through her. Then she took charge of the handshake and her hand was her own again. The blast of a car horn at that moment was the sweetest sound she’d heard in days.

“Juliette’s home,” she announced unnecessarily as she stepped back and away from him. “We couldn’t have timed that better, could we?”

Max was sure he could have timed it better with his wristwatch tied behind his back. But as he watched Sylvie walk toward the tiny foreign car that Juliette drove, he decided it wouldn’t hurt to spend a little time considering the consequences of the morning.

He should, but he probably wouldn’t.

Sylvie wasn’t like anyone he’d ever met — she wasn’t even like anyone he’d ever read about. But he had a feeling about her. 

Leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb, Max watched the sisters exchange greetings and welcoming hugs. There was a certain amount of family resemblance between the two, he supposed, although it wasn’t striking. Where Juliette’s hair was summer blond, Sylvie’s was autumn gold. Sylvie was taller than her sister, but not by much. And where Juliette was undeniably curvy, Sylvie was, well, more subdued, Max finally decided. There were other differences, of course, but he already knew that appearance was the least of them.

He could see grocery sacks through the passenger window of the sports car. How typical of Julie to plan for her sister’s visit weeks in advance and then wait until the morning of her arrival to buy groceries.

Max shook his head. Apparently, Sylvie was laboring under the mistaken assumption that he was enamored of her sister. He didn’t know how he’d managed to keep from groaning aloud when she’d accused him of flirting with her to make Juliette jealous. There was no way of knowing what Julie might have said to give Sylvie the wrong impression. After all, Julie said so very many things.

Sylvie, on the other hand, was more cautious.

She was worlds removed from Julie’s delightful, but exhausting zaniness. That in itself, he supposed, could be reason enough for this inexplicable attraction he was feeling. But Max didn’t really think his newly awakened interest was rooted in shallow challenges.

There was more to it than that.

He raised his hand in answer to Juliette’s wave; then his eyes sought Sylvie and watched her carry a sack of groceries toward the house.

Sylvie Anne.

Max turned all three syllables over in his mind. An interesting name, an intriguing woman.

Not such a bad way to begin the weekend, after all, he thought with a smile as he turned and went inside.

“Didn’t I tell you, Sylvie? Isn’t he absolutely...?” The sentence dwindled into an optional ending, as Juliette’s sentences so often did.

From a ladder-back chair beside the kitchen table Sylvie watched her sister put groceries into cupboards and refrigerator.

“I couldn’t
believe
it when I found out he lived next door.” With a shake of her short blond curls Juliette lifted the carton of milk and held it against her lavender T-shirt as she balanced eggs, cheese, bacon, and a can of ready-made biscuits in her arms. “Honestly, who would have thought
I
could be so lucky?”

“The thought certainly never entered
my
mind,” Sylvie said dryly. “But then I know what terrible luck you’ve always enjoyed when it comes to men.”

Juliette crinkled her nose and then giggled with her usual irrepressible delight. “And I always do enjoy it.”

It was no less than the truth, and Sylvie had to smile. She sometimes wondered if her sister had any idea that thousands of women went days, even weeks, at a time without meeting any interesting men.

“But this time….” Juliette paused for an instant while she carefully added a small container of taco dip to her cache. “Why the chances of moving next door to a man as good-looking as Max must be a million to one.” She turned and took two steps to the refrigerator door, which Sylvie rose to open for her. “My God, Sylvie, he’s even single!”

“Which should have been your first clue, Juliette.” Sylvie moved back to the table in the center of her sister’s small red-and-white kitchen. She surveyed the remaining groceries and the cabinets, trying to match one with the other. “No man reaches the age of thirty-five single, unattached, and self-supporting, without either intending to continue in that state or being unable to persuade some unsuspecting female into helping him change it.” She looked dubiously at a jar of ready-to-serve gravy before tucking it into the cabinet above the sink. Out of sight, out of mind. “And from my limited observation,” she continued. “I don’t think your neighbor could charm his way out of a rain barrel.”

Juliette straightened and stepped back to let the refrigerator door close. “Well, Max certainly made an impression on you, didn’t he? What on earth did he do?”

“He didn’t do anything. I just didn’t care for his casual attitude.”

Bracing a hand against the counter top, Juliette tilted her head to one side and her blue eyes became mildly appraising. “His attitude about what?”

Sylvie stood on tiptoe to push a package onto the top shell. “Oh, his clothing, for one.”

“I guess that means he wasn’t wearing a suit and tie,” Juliette replied with a touch of sarcasm. “Sylvie, you have to stop believing that real men always wear pinstripes!”

Sylvie’s frown came from years of experience in dealing with a sassy younger sister. “I happen to like the way a man looks in a suit, pinstripe or plain, as long as it’s a great fabric. It’s my personal preference and has nothing to do with your neighbor, who answered his door wearing terrycloth.”

Juliette’s mouth dropped open in surprise and she took a step toward the table. “You saw Max McConnell in a
robe?”

“No, he was wearing a towel.” The memory flashed unbidden through her mind and only served to renew her opinion. Restless beneath her sister’s assessing stare, Sylvie began putting away the remaining groceries. “You bought enough food, Juliette. Is this a normal restocking of shelves or are we preparing for winter?”

“I just realized this morning that the cupboards were getting bare and I didn’t know if you’d be hungry when you got here, so I ran to the store,” Juliette said in a soft, absentminded way.

Sylvie knew the subject of terrycloth was not forgotten, and she made a stab at redirecting the conversation. “You could have waited for me. I called you from Fayetteville as soon as the commuter plane landed and told you I was renting the first available car. It’s only an hour-and-a-half drive. Did you think I was going to get lost along the way?”

Juliette sat in the chair Sylvie had vacated and pursed her lips thoughtfully. “You’re awfully touchy.  But I suppose the sight of Max McConnell in a towel would upset my equilibrium too.” Her hesitation was just long enough to accommodate an exasperating grin. “Was it a very
big
towel, Sylvie?”

“Big enough. And I’m sure any touchiness on my part can be attributed to yesterday’s flight from Boston, an overnight stay in Little Rock, and this morning’s flight – and I use the term loosely – to Fayetteville.” Smoothing her hair with a fingertip, Sylvie anchored the strands behind her ear and adjusted her glasses. “I don’t think I’ve ever flown quite so close to the ground. Either the pilot was nearsighted or he’s moonlighting as a crop duster.”

“But you’re here.” Juliette kicked off a shoe and wiggled her toes. “And I am glad. Do you know how long it’s been since we had more than a few days at a time to spend together? Even last Christmas at Dad’s, we had less than a week to catch up on everything.”

Sylvie laughed. “And we had to repeat every other word. I don’t understand why Dad won’t wear his hearing aids.”