Authors: Ginna Gray
The flight attendant came by and took their cups, and when she'd gone Max reached up and clicked off the overhead lights. The resulting dimness added a touch of intimacy that seemed to separate them from the other passengers, enclosing them in a tiny, private world of their own.
"So what happened?" he said in the gentlest of voices.
Erin started to tell him that it was none of his business, but when she met his eyes and saw the tenderness there, the caring, she succumbed to his coaxing.
"I'm not sure, exactly." She looked down, fixing her gaze on her fingers, which were pleating and unpleating the lower edge of her jacket. "In the beginning we were very happy. We were young and in love. Andre was charming and gallant, perhaps as only a Frenchman can be. He made me feel so.. .so.. .special."
The words hit Max like a fist in the gut, but clenching his teeth, he strove to keep his expression impassive. Jealousy was an emotion he had never experienced before, and it was damned uncomfortable. He found he hated the thought of any other man touching Erin, of her being bound in any way to someone else. And though it was less than praiseworthy, Max admitted to himself that he was fiercely glad the marriage had ended. Yet, at the same time, seeing the hurt and regret she couldn't hide, he ached for her. Andre Meleaux was a fool, he decided, studying Erin's pensive expression.
"When he proposed I told him that I didn't think I was cut out for marriage, that I doubted I could ever be content in one place forever," Erin continued. "But he swore that was no problem, that I could work as much as I wanted, travel as much as I wanted. He claimed he found my restless spirit captivating. Certainly he was proud of my ability with languages. I know that."
Max looked at her, saying nothing, and after a moment she went on.
"After we were married I continued to free-lance, though I did cut back on the number of jobs I took. I translated industrial manuals and instructions for companies who exported products, acted as interpreter for visiting diplomats and occasionally took tour groups on short trips, but I was never gone for very long at a time."
Erin gave an ironic little laugh. "But apparently my husband wasn't as modern as he thought. Gradually his delight in my 'uniqueness' dimmed to a sort of grudging acceptance, and even that turned to outright resentment after a couple of years."
"Couldn't you compromise?"
"I tried that. I took fewer and fewer jobs, until I was hardly working at all. I knocked myself out, trying to be the kind of wife he seemed to want; I gave parties, redecorated our apartment, tried to get interested in domestic things." Eyes cloudy with bewilderment, Erin looked at Max and lifted her hands, palms up, then let them fall back into her lap. She shook her head slowly. "Nothing worked. Andre wasn't interested in compromise; he demanded complete capitulation. It became more and more obvious as time passed that what he really wanted was what his mother had wanted for him all along: a proper 'French' wife."
"Hmm. Do I detect mother-in-law trouble?" Max drawled.
This time when she glanced at him her brown eyes crinkled with a touch of self-derisive humor. "Actually, the whole thing was probably my own fault. If I had given it enough thought, I would have realized that having a Frenchman for a husband also meant having a French mother-in-law."
"I take it she didn't approve."
Placing her hand over her heart, Erin gave him a look of feigned shock, then lifted her nose haughtily and sniffed. "Pour I'amour de Dieu!" she exclaimed, giving an excellent imitation of her ex-mother-in-law's disdainful tone. "A liberated, footloose American woman for Andre Phillipe Jean Louis Meleaux?" She closed her eyes and shuddered.
Erin met Max's amused look and made a wry face. "Hardly. From the moment we met, Heloise made it quite clear that I was not at all suitable for her son. Although—" a faraway, wistful look came into Erin's eyes "—I'm sure if I'd been more like Elise, she would have accepted me. Everyone loves Elise, and she, other than not being French, is exactly what both Andre and his mother wanted."
Erin sighed and lifted her hand in a helpless gesture. "I tried to be like her. I tried very hard, but it wasn't enough."
Max's chest tightened as he watched her struggle with painful recollections, accept them, then square her shoulders and push the memories away. When she turned to him with a determined smile he felt a sharp stab of emotion in the vicinity of his heart, and it was all he could do not to yank her into his arms.
"But I learned something from it all," she said brightly. "I learned it's impossible to be something you're not, or to make yourself over to suit someone else. I wish I could have been what Andre needed and wanted, but I couldn't. Any more than I could be like my sister. I'm me, and people are going to have to take me as I am, warts, weaknesses and all."
Max leaned closer, took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned her face this way and that. "Funny, I don't see any warts," he said, peering at her through narrowed eyes. "All I see is a fascinating, beautiful, desirable woman. One I'm finding more and more irresistible."
Her eyes widened, and she swallowed hard, and Max smiled tenderly as he felt a tiny shiver ripple through her. He cupped her jaw and brushed his thumb over the hint of a cleft in her chin, then touched one corner of her mouth. Against his palm her skin was soft and silky smooth. Her scent drifted to him, tempting, intoxicating, a heady blend of lilacs and sweet warm woman.
Longing shimmered in her brown eyes—he was too experienced not to see that—but there was wariness, too, and because of it he put a tight rein on his own desire, ignoring the throbbing in his loins and the odd constriction in his chest. "This may come as a shock to you, Erin," he murmured, "but, though I think your sister is beautiful and sweet, I find you infinitely more appealing."
Beneath his fingers he felt her pulse leap, saw the excitement and pleasure that flared in her eyes for an instant before it was firmly doused.
"Max, don't. Please." It was half protest, half plea, her voice low and shaky. Max watched her as she pulled free of his touch and lowered her gaze to her interlaced fingers.
"What is it, Erin? What's wrong? Look, if you're still worried that I've been stringing your sister along, I promise you it's not true. There is nothing between us. I'm not interested in her in a romantic way, and I swear that I've never done anything to make her think otherwise. Hell, I've never even kissed her! You've got to believe that."
Erin believed it. From what she knew of Max, he was not the sort of man to lie about something like that. No, she could well imagine her sister weaving dreams around him, getting her hopes up over nothing more substantial than a few words of praise and a friendly smile. No doubt Elise was convinced that all she had to do was be patient and make herself indispensable to him as a secretary, and sooner or later he would begin to notice her as a woman.
She looked at Max and smiled sadly. "No, it's not that, Max. I believe you. But it still wouldn't work. I can't get involved with you."
"Why not? If you know there's nothing between Elise and me, then what's the problem?"
"Don't you see? Whether or not you feel anything for Elise is not the issue. The fact is, she's in love with you. Can't you imagine how she'd feel if you and I..." Erin waved away the rest of the statement and shook her head. "No. No, I couldn't hurt her that way."
"And what about us? What about you? You'd ignore your feelings? And don't you dare try to deny the attraction between us," he said quickly when she opened her mouth to speak. "I know what I'm feeling, and something this strong can't be one-sided." The corners of his mouth twitched in a hint of a smile, and his gaze grew warm and caressing. "Besides, you have very expressive eyes."
Frowning, she opened her mouth, hesitated, then snapped it shut. "All right. I admit it. I find you attractive."
Max cocked one brow.
Erin squirmed under the silent skepticism and shot him a sour look. "All right, very attractive," she corrected grudgingly. "But that's beside the point. I still can't get involved with you."
"So that's it? Just like that, you close the door on the what could be, without even giving us a chance? All because of your sister's romantic fantasies?"
Erin turned her head slowly and looked at him, her eyes pleading with him to understand. "Max, don't you see? Elise is like a part of me, my other half. If I hurt her, I hurt myself. Much, much worse."
Max simply stared at her. He couldn't remember ever feeling so helpless or frustrated.
How the devil did you argue with that?
You don't, you fool,
he berated himself, seeing the weariness and worry in her eyes. At least not yet. Not without coming off like a self-centered, insensitive clod. Besides, she's got too much on her mind right now to deal with this, so back off.
"All right," he said on a resigned sigh. "We'll let it ride for now." He reached out and captured a bright curl, his eyes flaring as he watched the silky strand coil about his finger as though it had a life of its own. Meeting her gaze, his mouth quirked in an ironic smile. "But I'm warning you, Erin. I'm not giving up."
She bit her bottom lip and gazed back at him uncertainly, and for the first time Max noticed the violet smudges beneath her eyes, the faint look of fatigue about her mouth. Against the halo of fiery curls that surrounded it, her face was a pale oval.
Hell, she's dead on her feet, you idiot
, he scolded himself.
"Come here, woman," he commanded in a tough yet tender growl. He flipped up the armrest between their seats, put his arm around her and hauled her close, pressing her head against his shoulder. "You look as if a puff of wind would blow you over. How long have you been up, anyway?"
"Since about twelve-thirty this morning," Erin murmured, snuggling her face against his shirt.
"Almost twenty-four hours. No wonder you're exhausted. Well, we've got about an hour before we land in Las Vegas, so why don't you get some sleep while you can?"
"Hmm" was Erin's drowsy reply, and even that faded as Max cradled the back of her head with his hand and tucked her more securely against him.
Her breathing began to slow and deepen. Max stroked her arm from wrist to elbow to shoulder and back again, carefully avoided the bandaged cut. Absently, he rubbed his chin against her crown, inhaling the sweet, clean fragrance of her hair, oblivious to the way the silky strands clung to his beard stubble. "Erin?" Max whispered.
She made an inarticulate sound, and he smiled and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "I meant it. I'm not going to let you turn your back on what we could have."
He waited for her reply, but none came. After a few seconds he leaned back and looked down at her and smiled tenderly when he saw that she was fast asleep.
God, she's beautiful!
he thought, feeling his chest swell with a sudden rush of sweetly painful emotion. Her face was soft in slumber, her lips slightly parted. He marveled at the smoothness of her skin, the fragility of her eyelids and the delicate tracery of blue veins just beneath their surface, the way her lashes lay against her cheeks like thick fans. Max stared at her, overwhelmed by the feelings that washed through him.
It amazed him that he had ever mistaken her for Elise, even for a moment. It was a mistake he'd never make again. Probably the only reason it had happened at all was because he hadn't been expecting the switch.
Physically, Erin and her sister were as alike as two people could be, but there were differences—subtle differences that weren't apparent at first glance. Erin's mouth was just a bit wider than Elise's, and the tilt of her eyes just a bit more marked. And if he wasn't mistaken, her hair seemed a shade redder.
Max grinned as he studied the freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose, only faintly visible beneath her makeup. Tiny flaws her sister didn't share, but he found them endearing.
Like gold dust on porcelain,
he thought fondly, then chuckled at the fanciful thought.
Lord, Delany! The next thing you know, you'll be spouting poetry.
But the truth was, there were a great many things about Erin Blaine that he found endearing. And exciting. Things that had nothing to do with her physical appearance: the way she had of looking a person right in the eye, her quick mind, the belligerent thrust of her jaw when she was angry. She possessed a sort of energy, a spark, that drew him as surely and as irresistibly as the moon pulls the tides. He loved her adventuresome spirit, her feistiness, her courage, the way she embraced life with open arms, her resilience when it dealt her a blow. Even her impulsive willfulness delighted him, Max realized a shade ruefully.
Such little things, he thought. Tiny, subtle differences, Erin and Elise were equally beautiful, each in her own special way, and yet it was those small dissimilarities that stirred him and created a chemistry that made him desire one sister while merely admiring the other.
Would Elise have stuck her neck out this way for Erin if their positions had been reversed? Max wondered. He stroked the silky hair at Erin's temple and tucked a curl behind her ear. Knowing what he did of the two, he didn't doubt that his secretary would have been just as concerned and would have enlisted whatever help she could to save Erin. But somehow he doubted that she would have knowingly rushed into a dangerous situation. She didn't have Erin's kind of spunk, her impulsive nature.