That Special Smile/Whittenburg (9 page)

“Juliette’s young and inexperienced, Max. She needs my help in getting the shop set up, and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t try to influence her.”

“I’ve never tried to influence Julie. I’m not sure I could if I wanted to. She’s never quiet that long.”

“Oh, you could, Max. And you did. She saw you turn away two customers from your store this afternoon.”

Max straightened, pulling away from the concrete support. “Now, wait just a minute, Sylvie Anne. I keep store hours to suit my own schedule. And I’m not going to apologize for it either.”

“I was merely pointing out how you influence Juliette.”

“Frankly, I don’t see how anyone
could
have any influence on her when you’re around to protect her from such gross business errors as closing a half hour early.”

“You have to admit it isn’t a good practice.”

“I’ll admit nothing of the kind. I run my shop the way I please. And you ought to give Juliette the same option.”

“But there’s a right way and a wrong way to do things.”

“So let Juliette discover that for herself. If it’s her responsibility, then let her make some mistakes and take the consequences. How else is she going to learn? I’d be willing to bet you’ve never allowed anyone to protect you.”

“I don’t need protecting. I learned a long time ago to accept the consequences for my own actions.” Her shoulder brushed against his as she straightened, and awareness zinged along her nerve endings. She hadn’t realized they were sitting so close.

Taking care to move slowly and deliberately, she got to her feet and smiled down at him in polite conclusion.

He smiled back and then rose easily. Standing, he moved closer to her, and the air felt heavy as she drew a long breath.

“No one would accuse you of lacking conviction, would they, Sylvie?”

She had the oddest impulse to deny it, to admit she wasn’t sure about anything at the moment. But it was, she felt sure, nothing more than a passing thought. “No one has ever accused me of not knowing my own mind. I hope you’re not about to become the first.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

His finger sketched a lazy path along his jaw, and Sylvie watched, knowing she ought to step away, unwilling to acknowledge the huskiness in his voice as a warning of his intention.

“It’s refreshing to meet a woman who understands the consequences…” His finger touched her chin and skimmed along the curve of her mouth. “…of standing in the moonlight.”

She had time to turn away from the slow descent of his lips.

She even had time to wonder why she didn’t.

His hands cupped her shoulders, but he didn’t make any attempt to draw her into his arms, and in some distant corner of her thoughts Sylvie was glad. She would have felt obligated to protest, and she didn’t want to do that.

It was just a kiss, she told herself.

There was no point in letting him think she felt strongly about it one way or another.

But with the first gentle pressure of his mouth against hers, a subtle curiosity held her, a definite warmth enclosed her. Her heart hammered in her breast with all the anticipated excitement she had felt on the occasion of her very first kiss. The boy – she couldn’t even remember his name – had been nervous and inexperienced. She had been left wondering what all the fuss was about.

Not so with Max.

He wasn’t nervous.

He certainly wasn’t inexperienced, either.

If she’d had any doubt about that, the tantalizing movement of his tongue along the outline of her lips dispelled it. And she...well, she thought she might wonder for some time to come about the sensations dancing like a newborn butterfly along her spine.

Sylvie had no intention of relaxing, but she did.

Enough to appreciate the feel of his muscular chest beneath her palms.

Wait. When had she done that?

She had no memory of placing her hands there, on his chest, but there they were. And since they were already there, she reasoned that she might as well enjoy the benefits.

After all, most of the men she knew from this perspective were not as tall, as broad, or as skilled as Max. She hated to admit that a man with whom she had nothing in common, a man who was not at all her type, could make a simple kiss seem special, could make her feel so delightfully feminine with just a touch.

His lips nudged hers, softly, with compelling persuasion, and she allowed the kiss to deepen ever so slightly.

Allowed?

She hadn’t had a prayer of stopping her own quickening response. She really ought to stop this, she thought, but her resistance was dizzy.

Or dazed.

Or defective.

Whatever… it certainly wasn’t putting up much of a fight.

Eventually, out of the sheer necessity of trying to catch her breath, she pulled back. More to prove that she could than because she really wanted the kiss to end.

Max released her immediately, his hands lingering on her shoulders for only a moment before returning to his sides.

In the dusky quiet her eyes met and held his, denying that she had felt anything out of the ordinary.

“Lovely.” His voice was a throaty whisper, and as if it controlled her heartstrings, an uneven rhythm began pulsing through her veins. “Don’t you agree, Sylvie Anne?”

On what, the kiss, the night? Her participation? Well, whatever he was asking her to confirm, she didn’t think she ought to encourage him.

“
Lovely
seems a bit strong,” she said, and then paused to clear an inexplicable huskiness from her own voice. “Pleasant…um,
mildly
pleasant would be a more apt description.”

His brows arched with amusement. “No, Sylvie. It’s been a
lovely
evening. From beginning to end. Let’s do it again soon.” Max stepped up onto the porch and into the shadow of the house. “Oh, and thanks for seeing me safely to my door.”

Laughter coated his words, and her earlier annoyance with him tried to wedged aside the rather
lovely
feeling still dawdling inside her. “Think nothing of it, Max. I certainly don’t.” She stepped down onto the sidewalk. “And as for staging a repeat, we wouldn’t want to push our luck.”

Max chuckled. “Good night, Sylvie Anne. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Oh, no, he wouldn’t.

She was avoiding him tomorrow. She’d already mentally typed in,
Avoid Max,
on her schedule.  One kiss, no matter how lovely the feeling that lingered after it, did not justify upending her entire plan.

No man was worth that much trouble.

Really.

The thought accompanied her as she walked toward Juliette’s house and the lighted kitchen window.

Sylvie sighed. Just what she needed. A sister who was lying in wait for her with instant cocoa, a legal entanglement, and a dozen questions about how she had handled Max.

Not a good way to end the evening. Not a good way at all.

* * * *

The offices of Forsythe, Prestridge and Solomon were located in the heart of Fayetteville, or so Juliette said. Sylvie paid little attention to the landmarks her sister pointed out as Max drove through the town. She had paid little attention to anything on the trip from Eureka Springs other than the occupants of the car.

Or more specifically, one occupant: Max.

It unsettled her to think that while she’d been all set to avoid him, he’d outmaneuvered her plans and avoided
her
.

For four whole days, she had scorned, ignored, and analyzed her reaction to him, all to no avail. There was no logical explanation for her inability to get him out of her thoughts. Since the midnight kiss she’d seen him twice, and both occasions had been brief and at a distance. He’d called her name, waved, and gone about his business. He’d told Juliette he was busy when she’d phoned to invite him to dinner the next day. He’d been tied up with lengthy conference calls the day after that.

That Max would resort to worn-out excuses after only one kiss struck Sylvie as funny. Humbling, too, but she tried not to think about that.

It wasn’t as if she cared. By avoiding her he had simply saved her the trouble of having to avoid him.  That, and declaring outright that she wasn’t interested.

And it had saved her the frustration of trying to  convince Juliette there was no future in playing matchmaker.

Still, Sylvie didn’t like this avoidance therapy. After a vigorous flirtation and one rather spectacular kiss, he should have tapered the game to a dignified end, not dropped it like a hot potato.

But she hadn’t complained.

At least not until she’d discovered earlier that morning that Max was driving her and Juliette to Fayetteville. He’d knocked at the kitchen door, announced that it was time to leave, and escorted them to his car. Her initial irritation had soon blended with another when she realized that neither Juliette nor Max was going to offer any explanation for his presence on this trip.

A trip that was supposed to be strictly business. And Juliette’s business at that. Sylvie had broached the subject to her sister before getting into the car and been told that Max had business in town too. There wasn’t much she could say after that, but she couldn’t help wondering.

From beneath suspiciously narrowed lashes she looked at Max now.

Taking a seat in one of the chairs in the reception area of the Forsythe, Prestridge and Solomon office, he appeared quite comfortable. He was dressed in a denim shirt, blue jeans, and deck shoes.

Too casual for her taste.

Especially for
business
.

But it wasn’t an unattractive combination. He did look rather appealingly handsome. Just not suitably dressed for the office.

Any office.

She dropped her gaze to the magazine in her lap and turned a page with listless interest. Juliette should have been back by now. She shouldn’t have left, after they’d parked in front of the law office, to run an errand in the first place. But, in typical Juliette fashion, she’d turned a deaf ear to Sylvie’s caution and promised it would take only a minute; then she’d departed, leaving Sylvie and Max to wait for the scheduled appointment.

Sylvie turned another page and glanced at her watch.

“You don’t really expect her to be back here anytime soon, do you?” Max laid aside the magazine he’d been leafing through.

With great forbearance she refrained from frowning at him. “Of course I expect her back. Don’t you?”

“Not until you’ve had time to take care of this little detail for her.” He held up his hand to prevent an interruption. “Don’t get me wrong. Juliette intended to be here in plenty of time for the appointment and she’ll have a perfectly logical explanation for the delay. At least, it will be perfectly logical to her. But you know as well as I do that she’ll be late.”

Sylvie did know ... but it annoyed her that Max should point it out. “Don’t feel obligated to wait on my account, Max. If you have something else to do, please don’t worry about me.”

He smiled in that easygoing manner that both charmed and irritated her. “There’s nothing I’d rather do than wait here with you, Sylvie Anne.”

Oh, please,
she thought, but she held back the rising sigh of frustration. “I’m sure that’s true, but since you do have business in town, you should feel free to attend to it.”

“Juliette took my car, and I’m in no hurry. And if I left, who would hold your hand?”

“The list is endless, but if I run out of possibilities, I’ll let you know.”

His smile tilted upward, undaunted. “I think that list needs to be updated. Would you like me to take care of it for you?”

She laughed because it suddenly seemed the easiest response. “It would serve you right, Max, if I took you up on that.”

“Yes, I have a feeling it would.” He looked unconcerned by the prospect, even a bit hopeful of being put to the test, and Sylvie felt a thread of anticipated pleasure curl tightly inside her. She pulled her gaze from his and settled her glasses more securely in place.

When the door to an inner office opened, she looked up.

“Ms. Smith?”

Benton Prestridge belonged on the cover of a magazine.
Time
, maybe. Or
GQ.
Or
Harvard Law Review.
  He looked young, but somehow, established, as if Fayetteville was the only place for an up and coming lawyer to be.  He was probably late twenties, early thirties. He was tall, but not too tall, and a tad on the lean side, but his appearance was as close to perfect as Sylvie could imagine. From the top of his perfect, sandy-blond haircut to the neatly turned hem of his pinstripe suit, he looked exactly as a businessman
should
look. Why, he could have come straight from Boston, without having to pass through Security.

Sylvie smiled, stood, and crossed the reception area. “I’m Sylvie Smith.”

“Benton Prestridge.” He shook her hand, acknowledging the introduction with a firm, professional warmth. “Won’t you come into my office?”

“My sister, Juliette, made the appointment, Mr. Prestridge, but she’s been delayed.  I can talk with you, if that’s acceptable.”

“Oh, of course.” He held open the opaque glass door in invitation and allowed Sylvie to enter the office. “That will be fine. I don’t, actually, have a lot of extra time this morning. I’m due in court….”

The door closed on the rest of the sentence and Max frowned his general opinion of Fayetteville attorneys. He caught the inquisitive gaze of the woman at the front desk and smiled somewhat self-consciously.

“Would you like some coffee?” the secretary asked.

“No, thank you.” He picked up the discarded magazine and shuffled the pages, searching for his place.

“They won’t be long. Mr. Prestridge is very conscientious about court appearances.” The secretary turned her attention to the folder in her hand, and Max wondered whether she’d been trying to reassure him as to Sylvie’s safe return or the attorney’s adherence to punctuality.

Max didn’t care one way or the other whether Benton Prestridge was late for a court appearance. And Sylvie Anne was more than capable of handling a mere lawyer.

The lawyer was all proper, pinstriped suit. Just Sylvie’s type.