The Ring on Her Finger (36 page)

He didn’t keep all this evidence on himself, however. After using his tiny technology to shrink it onto an itty-bitty microchip, he hid it inside the most hideous engagement ring known to humankind. Then, because he didn’t trust anyone else with it, not even the cops, he stuck the ring—literally—on Lucy’s finger.

Without realizing it, she’d been wearing the evidence that would have proved her innocence all along. Or, at least, she’d been wearing it until the night she made love with Max.

Having her thoughts return to Max wasn’t exactly surprising, since she hadn’t been able to think about anything all week without her thoughts returning to Max. She would see him again—that was something she promised herself. She just wasn’t sure when that meeting would take place, or under what circumstances, or whether or not Max would listen to her when she tried again to explain, or whether he would accept her explanation once he heard it, or whether he would still care about her when she was through.

Not that any of that mattered at the moment—well, not to anyone but Lucy—because she had other things to worry about. For some reason, her mother had thought it would be a good idea to throw an impromptu cocktail party and invite everyone in town to attend—probably in an effort to make everyone forget about how Lucy had defamed, dishonored, and/or disgraced the Hollander name throughout Newport, Rhode Island. So Lucy did the only thing she could do. She dressed in a sleeveless, petal pink sheath that would have done Jackie Kennedy proud, accessorized it with her grandmother’s pearl necklace and earrings, then made her way to the sweeping staircase that led to the massive Hollander ballroom. And then...

Then she spun back around before anyone saw her and retreated to her bedroom, where she locked the door and hid in the big walk-in closet that, when she was a child, she used to pretend was a spaceship that was carrying her to the farthest reaches of the universe, away from her family, her house, her school, her teachers, her classmates, and all the other places she felt unwelcome. Unfortunately, even hiding in her closet didn’t bring her peace of mind tonight. There was only one place in the universe where she would ever feel safe and untroubled again—wherever Max Hogan happened to be. Since there was little chance he’d be turning up in Newport, there was little chance she would ever feel as if she belonged here again. Not that she’d ever felt as if she belonged here before. The only place she’d ever felt she belonged was...sigh...with Max.

No sooner did the thought materialize than she heard a strange sound coming from the other side of the closet door. A few seconds later, it sounded again, but she still couldn’t tell what it was. So she exited the closet, moved to the center of her room, and waited for the sound to happen again.

There. From the window. A quick, rasping rattle.

It was dark outside, but the stately lighting in the stately landscaping of the stately Hollander estate gave the impression of a stately aura of twilight. Lucy started to make her way to the window but halted when she remembered how the last two times she’d looked out of windows, her life had taken a sudden, jolting turn for the worst. Then again, maybe a sudden, jolting turn was what she needed. She certainly didn’t want to stay on this road any longer than she had to. Besides, her bedroom overlooked her mother’s prize rosebushes, not the front drive. So she probably wasn’t going to see any vehicles of the law enforcement or Future Beautician persuasion pulling up to threaten her lifestyle.

More was the pity.

Cautiously, she braved a look into the garden below. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, even with the stately lighting in the stately landscaping shining in a stately way up at her. She saw right away that there were no cars down there, thank goodness. But what could have made the rasping sound? The only thing she saw in the garden that was out of the ordinary was—

Oh. Max.

There he was, right in the middle of her mother’s American Beauties, which, of course, had faded for the season. Max, however, wasn’t faded at all. Somehow, he seemed even more stately than the lighting that bathed him. He had one hand rubbing his opposite elbow where, evidently, he had been jabbed by a thorn, and the other hand fisted around something she soon learned was handful of pebbles. She learned that because, before he saw her gazing down at him, he hurled them at her window.

Lucy started at the spray of stones hitting glass, then quickly threw open the window. In rushed the cool night breeze, the luscious scent of sage and the warmth of Max’s smile.

“Hiya,” he said in that sweet, seductive way he had of saying it.

“Hi,” she called down.

For a moment, neither of them said anything more, as if it were enough to simply be looking at each other again. For Lucy, it almost was enough, since he looked luscious in his faded blue jeans and black sweater. She had, of course, kept the Ferrari T-shirt of his she was wearing when she was arrested, and, like a lovesick fool—because she was a lovesick fool—had slept in it every night. It was soft and warm like Max, and it smelled like Max, and it was the closest thing to having Max with her. But now he was with her, or would be, as soon as she got him inside.

Suddenly, even though he was closer to her than he had been in days—though, truly, it felt like years had passed since she last saw him—he was much too far away.

“Don’t you want to come in?” she asked.

“I got stopped at the door by a small woman with white hair and a mean disposition. She told me I wasn’t dressed for the occasion, then closed the door in my face.”

Lucy smiled. “That’s Mrs. Bloom, our housekeeper. She’s pretty hard-core about dress codes.”

“Tell me about it.” Out of nowhere, he added, “You look pretty, Lucy.”

Heat crept into her cheeks at both the words and the way he spoke them. “Thanks,” she said. Then, “Hang on a sec,” she added.

She raced from her room to her parents’ bedroom, jerking open her father’s closet and pulling out the first suit and shirt she came to. She tugged a tie from the rack and grabbed a pair of shoes and went hurtling back down to her own room.

“Think fast,” she said as she tossed the garments out the window.

But Max didn’t think as fast as she thought he would, and the clothes scattered on the ground around him. She wasn’t sure, but he might have gotten beaned by a Gucci loafer in the process.

“Sorry about that,” she said.

“No problem,” he assured her, rubbing his forehead. Oops.

He changed his clothes right there in the garden, his gaze leaving Lucy’s only when he had to pull his sweater over his head. He didn’t even look down to button his shirt or knot his tie, which meant that, once he finished dressing, he looked... Well...like a man who had no idea how to wear a suit. Her father was two sizes larger than Max, and she hadn’t exactly matched up tie to shirt to jacket color. Nevertheless, she smiled at his appearance. And she hoped he never changed.

“You look wonderful,” she said. “Go around to the front door and try again. If Mrs. Bloom won’t let you in, I’ll fire her.”

Without awaiting a response, she hurried from her room again. This time, she ran to the stairs and down to the front door. She arrived just as Mrs. Bloom did, then had to wrestle the housekeeper for possession of the knob. Eventually, she won. She did, after all, have love on her side. Well, love and youth and a mean half-nelson she learned from Emory when they were kids. She tugged open the door to find Max looking even more rumpled and mismatched—and wonderful—up close, and immediately pulled him inside. Holding tightly to his hand, she led him through the house.

She’d planned to usher him up the stairs to her bedroom—well, where else would she take him?—but saw her sister Antoinetta coming down, so hastily sidetracked to the music room. Unfortunately, it was occupied by a trio of music lovers who had congregated around the baby grand to sing show tunes. So Lucy continued onward, still pulling Max behind her, through the conservatory—which had attracted a group from her mother’s African Violet Club. So she hastened forward again, to the library, which, she was delighted to discover, was empty.

It was a room Lucy had always avoided while growing up, as it had filled her with discomfort. The books had never been friendly to her, and she, in turn, had felt nothing but animosity toward them. With Max, though, the room didn’t feel quite so menacing. In fact, with Max, the room suddenly felt full of wonderful possibilities.

She closed the door behind them, leaning back against it as if that would keep out whatever marauding hordes were after them. Light spilled from a milk glass torchière in the far corner, an ethereal glow that softened the corners and crannies of the room. All around them, from floor to ceiling, were row upon row of books, a collection generations in the making. The furniture was fashioned of leather and studs and hulking mahogany, all of it sturdy and masculine and fine. Max fit right in.

“So,” Lucy began nervously. She was out of breath, but she figured that had less to do with their hurried hike through the house than it did Max’s presence. For the first time in days, they were alone together, but there was so much cluttering up things between them that she didn’t know where to begin. Although she’d rehearsed in her head a million times what she would say and do when she returned to Glenview, she had no idea what to say now that Max had come looking for her.

He, however, didn’t seem to have the same problem. The moment the door was shut, he closed what little distance lay between them, bracing his forearms against the door on each side of Lucy to lean in very close. Then, very softly, he said once again, “Hiya.”

Lucy flattened her palms against his chest, savoring the warmth and hardness of his body beneath the fabric of his shirt. More than anything, she wanted to relieve him of that shirt and everything else and have her way with him on the library sofa. Then again, the sofa was a good ten feet away from them. So maybe she would just have her way with him right here against the door.

For now, however, she only replied, as softly as he, “Hi.”

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, moving his body closer still, until it was flush with hers and her heart was pounding against his, pushing heat through her entire body. “You look real classy,” he murmured before dipping his head to hers for a much too quick, much too light, kiss.

The comment coupled with the chasteness of the kiss bothered Lucy, and she couldn’t quite keep the anxiety out of her voice when she replied, “Oh?”

He must have sensed her misgivings, because he hastened to clarify, “I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t mean you looked...you know...like you’re out of my league.”

“I’m not out of your league,” she said.

“I know that. It’s just...” He let his gaze wander over their surroundings. “I mean, look at this place, Lucy. Look at the house where you grew up. The apartments I lived in with my mom weren’t even as big as this room, and that couch over there alone probably cost more than she made in a year.”

Lucy couldn’t deny it. The couch was more than a hundred years old and its detail work had been carved by one of the finest craftsmen in Austria.

“You and I couldn’t have grown up in more different worlds,” he said, returning his attention to her. “On the outside, we probably don’t have a single thing in common.”

Oh, Lucy really didn’t like the route this conversation was taking.

“But,” he added, and a little flicker of hope sputtered to life inside her, “there’s something about you, Lucy, something on your inside, that makes me feel like we’re two of a kind. No, more than that,” he amended. He moved one hand to her hair, weaving his fingers through the chin-length tresses. “It’s like we’re two halves of one whole that got separated somewhere and then found ourselves again, against all odds.”

Her heart hammered hard to hear him say what she had felt since the day they met. On some level, she had connected with Max that first night in the kitchen when they bumped heads, though she didn’t think she’d ever be able to describe what it was that had passed between them. Not love at first sight, because she did believe you had to know something of a person before you could truly love them, but...connection at first sight. She couldn’t think of any other way to describe it. Something in her had connected to something in him, and a flow of some undefinable, irresistible force had been switched on in the process. Whatever it was, it was strong enough, and infinite enough, to light their entire world for the rest of their days.

“This is a beautiful house,” she agreed, skimming her fingertips over his rough jaw. “And it has everything most people would ever need or want to be happy. But I’ve never been comfortable in this house, Max. And I’ve never been happy. Not until this moment. And that’s only because you’re here. But if we left right now and went someplace else, I’d be just as content there. As long as you’re with me. You’re all I need to be happy. Just you.”

He studied her face for a long time in silence, then nodded. “Yeah, me, too. I guess it just took me longer to realize that than it did you. It’s been a long time since I let myself be happy. And even though I did my best not to let you get to me, you made me happy anyway. I figured you were my reward, you know? For living the way I had for so long.”

“You figured that?” she said, apprehension inching its way up her spine again. “Past tense?”

“No, present tense,” he quickly corrected himself. He smiled again. “And better yet, future tense. You made me happy all those weeks in Glenview, Lucy. You make me happy here in this moment. And I can’t see there ever being a time or place when you’re not still making me happy. As long as you’re always with me.”

“I’ll always be with you,” she vowed.

“I’m sorry about what happened Saturday,” he said soberly.

“Me, too. It’s no fun getting arrested. Especially for something you didn’t do.”

“No, I mean... I mean I’m sorry you got arrested, yes, but I’m mostly sorry for the way I acted. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions the way I did. I should have let you explain.”

“What made you change your mind?”

He grinned a little sheepishly. “A certain redhead of the Irish persuasion who’s named after a spice gave me a real talking-to.”