Authors: Deborah Smith
He stopped a shrimp halfway to his mouth. “What?”
“Give me a semi-serious kiss on the lips.”
“Are we trying to make someone jealous?”
“No, we’re just trying to make me come back to reality.”
“Betty Belle, this isn’t a pep rally,” he teased gently, “and you’re not the plump ninth grader who wanted to show everyone that you were
sexy
enough to get a date, even it was with another plump ninth grader.”
“But you’re going to oblige me now, as you did then. Because you’re my pal.”
“Okay. Open your mouth.”
“We’re not trying for that much reality, Jay.”
“I’m going to feed you my shrimp, darling.”
“Oh. Good move.”
Smiling, he slid his shrimp between her lips, then took her face between his hands and kissed her before she finished chewing. He sat back and looked satisfied. “
Now
will you introduce me to the redhead?”
“No. But thanks for the shrimp.”
She sighed wearily and glanced toward Max. He wasn’t at his table anymore. He was headed toward hers. He gracefully threaded through the tables in between, apparently guided by an athlete’s sixth sense, because he never took a misstep despite the fact that his eyes remained on her the whole way.
She couldn’t tell if their expression was angry, amused, or merely intense. She only knew that her body was rigid with dread and excitement.
He reached the table and clamped his hand on the back of her chair with a force that sent a small shiver through the chair and her. “How are you this evening, Betty?”
“Fine. And you?”
“Terrific.”
She stared up at him a second, inhaling the light scent of his cologne, wondering if the air was crackling between them or if her nerves had been strained too far. A lifetime of formal training in etiquette made her swivel toward Jay. “Jay, I’d like to introduce you to Max Templeton, judge of the magistrate court in this county.” She swiveled toward Max. “Max, I’d like to introduce you to Jay Steinberg, an old and very dear friend of mine from Atlanta.”
“Pleased, I’m sure,” Jay said, and rose to shake hands.
“Quite pleased,” Max countered, sounding suspiciously prim.
They shook. Max looked down at her. “I have some business to discuss with you. Would you mind walking outside with me for just a moment?”
Trouble
, her good sense warned.
Go
, everything else urged. “Of course. Please excuse us for a moment, Jay.”
“Certainly. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Templeton.”
Max smiled at him. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Steinberg. I’ll bring Betty back in a moment.”
He took her arm as she stood, and propelled her out a side door so quickly that the flowing silk skirt of her russet-and-black gown threatened to become trapped between her legs.
They entered a deserted hallway and stopped under the softly filtered light of a stained-glass wall fixture. He faced her, and the intensity in his eyes was a secret no longer.
“A moment,” she whispered with a note of warning. She felt as if she was swaying toward him, the magnets pulling at her whole body. “What did you want to discuss?”
“Just this—if you want to be kissed in public, come to me.” He put his arms around her waist and pulled her upward so that she stood on her toes, teetering against him and grasping his shoulders for support.
“Max. Max …” she said desperately, shaking her head.
“I love your voice. Say my name again.”
“
Maximilian
, don’t—”
“Damned good.” He kissed her, backing her against a soft quilt hanging on the wall. Betty struggled with her emotions for the length of time his hot, deliciously insistent mouth took to turn her into a conspirator. About two seconds.
She forgave herself for surrendering. He had a way of curling the tip of his tongue along the edge of her upper lip that no woman could resist. She quivered from the inside out, and a sweet, heavy feeling settled in her belly.
He brought a raw power to her that she’d never felt before; he didn’t treat her roughly in the least, but she wanted to struggle within his arms and provoke the same struggle from him. She slid her hands down his torso and he shifted to let her grip the sides of his waist.
There was great gentleness in him, in the careful, responsive movements of his mouth and tongue, in the knowing way his hands slid up and down her back, lingering at the top each time to rub her shoulders above the gown’s scooped neck. He had trapped her, but he wasn’t forcing her.
Dazed, Betty rubbed circles with her palms at the sides of his waist and vaguely realized that she was pulling his hips closer. He was a big, solid man; his thighs felt like pillars of stone as they pressed closer, molding his lower body to hers in the most tantalizing way.
She drew her head back and looked at him groggily. He moved against her with a slow, grinding rhythm that made her bite her lower lip to keep from moaning.
“We’ll go back inside and sit down with our respective dates as if nothing unusual has happened,” he
commanded mildly, his voice very low and coaxing. He continued to caress her with slight flexing movements of his body. “We’ll share a dance or two after the auction. We’ll very politely leave with our dates at the end of the evening.”
He paused, one honey-brown eyebrow arching wickedly. “Then we’ll tell each of them some very polite reason why they have to go home, and we’ll rendezvous at your place.”
He stroked his hands up her back and brought them to rest at the base of her head, his thumbs caressing the tender skin beneath her topaz earrings as he pulled her closer. “And then we’ll finish what we’ve started here. We’ll finish it repeatedly, all night. In every way that pleases you. Until all you have the energy to do is put your head on my shoulder and
fall
asleep.”
The breath shuddered out of her in a long sigh. The images he had just painted made her legs weak, and she wondered how she’d stand without his strength and passion.
The thought had unsettling implications. She had to stand alone, especially where Max was concerned. She’d known when she’d returned his kiss that it would only be a temporary indulgence, a sample of a glorious meal—but only a sample—for a starving woman.
“Your … date,” she said slowly, her lips heavy from sensation. “She would have been in your bed tonight; she
will be
in your bed tonight if you’re not with me.”
“No.” His gaze held hers with almost fierce defense. “There hasn’t been anyone else since I met you. There wouldn’t have been anyone tonight.”
“Max, don’t—”
“You sounded disappointed at the idea that I might take someone else to bed, but you don’t want to hear that I’m
not
taking anyone to bed because of you. Can’t you believe that I’m capable of being faithful, that I’m not promiscuous? I’m not interested in sleeping around. I want you, only you.”
“For now, you mean. For tonight, and if we were happy after that, then for as long as we enjoyed each other’s company, on your terms.”
“Can’t we just start with
tonight
, babe? Do you really want to stand here in the hall and plan the rest of our lives?”
She forced her hands up to his shoulders and made them rest there lightly. “No, I don’t want to plan the rest of our lives,” she said with strained control, “but I don’t want to lie to myself.” She searched his eyes, and let him see all the sorrow and vulnerability in hers. “I already know that I could … love you. And I already know what I’d be hoping for if I did. And I know that it wouldn’t be what you’d want. And I have a feeling that I’d eventually be hurt in a way that would make the other time seem pleasant.”
“With the musician,” he said flatly.
“Yes.”
“But you won’t—”
“No. I won’t.”
“I predict that you will. You
will
change your mind. Because we need to be together, and everything else is going to take care of itself.”
She raised her chin and eyed him bitterly. “Oh? How will everything take care of itself? Will you and Hugh Hefner trade brain cells? Even
he
got married.”
Max stepped back from her but lifted his hands to her ruffled hair and stroked it into place. He smiled thinly. “Thank you for taking a moment to discuss business with me, Betty. I won’t keep you from your dinner any longer. I might suggest that before you return to Mr. Steinberg, you venture to the ladies’ lounge and check your lipstick.”
“I don’t have to. You’re wearing it.”
“Indeed. You’re an animal.” He reached inside his jacket and retrieved a handkerchief. Wiping his mouth slowly, he nodded to her. “I look forward to discussing business with you again, soon.”
When she returned to her chair, Jay asked slyly, “Are you in trouble with the law?”
“Nothing I can’t settle out of court.” Betty tracked Max’s course through the crowded room as he returned to his table. “I think it’ll be safe for you to chase the redhead of your dreams tonight. I’ll make sure that Max introduces you to her.”
“Oh? And what brought about this change of heart?”
“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
He whinnied softly and pawed the table with one fist.
After dinner the auction began, with the stout, pink-faced Ernie Larson as auctioneer. Before each bid the contributing merchant was asked to come up and describe what she or he had donated.
There was a varied offering of finely made crafts, paintings, books, furniture, clothes, jewelry, and food. Eventually Ernie introduced the redhead as co-owner of the Taste of Honey Bakery. Her name was Ann. She came to the microphone in the front of the room and smiled broadly, then in a voice as sweet as pecan pie said that her donation was a fifty-dollar gift certificate for baked goods.
“What am I bid?” Ernie boomed.
Betty saw Max start to raise his hand. She supposed that a gentleman ought to bid on his date’s donation, but it made her less happy. Despite his gallant words in the hall, he was the kind of man who could have a different woman on his arm every week if he wanted. And he probably wanted. She wasn’t going to forget that.
Jay leapt to his feet. “Two hundred dollars!”
Everyone swiveled to stare at him. Betty saw Max lower his hand, give Jay a thoughtful look, then smile. He caught her eye and lifted a brow in droll challenge.
That takes care of my date’s attention
.
It certainly did, because now Ann looked at Jay in utter delight, her hands clasped over her heart. After a shocked Ernie determined that no one wanted to bid
more than two hundred dollars for a fifty-dollar gift certificate, he whacked his gavel on the auction podium. “Sold!”
Ann ogled Jay all the way back to her table. He blew her a kiss and, smiling grandly, sat down. “Slick. I’m slick.”
“I was going to ask you to bid on me, you rake.”
“Oops. I just spent most of my mad money, but I’ll make a valiant effort. Why?”
“Because I suspect that Max Templeton—”
“And next,” Ernie called, “is the newest member of our chamber of commerce, the owner of a restaurant that’ll be opening soon on Spencer Street. Betty Quint, come on up.”
Betty pushed her chair back and sighed. Across the room Max rose a little, turned his chair to face the microphone squarely, then sat down on the edge with all the confident anticipation of an art dealer about to spend millions on a Picasso.
“It’s hopeless,” she muttered. “I’m about to be sold to a man who wants a barbecue-catering love slave.”
At the microphone she put on a happy smile and avoided looking at him. He sat only about a dozen feet away. “Good evening,” she said to the audience pleasantly. “My restaurant will be opening in about two weeks. Because I’m better at cooking than at making up names, it will simply be called ‘Betty’s Restaurant.’ ”
She paused, clasping her hands in front of her. Her palms were sweaty. “My specialty is barbecue. I’ve been a barbecue caterer for six years, and now I’m going to expand into the restaurant business. Tonight I’m donating a catered barbecue dinner for twenty people. All the winning bidder has to do is tell me where and when, and I’ll provide everything. Thank you.”
“All right,” Ernie boomed, waving his gavel. “What am I bid—”
“One hundred dollars!” Jay called from the back.
“One hundred and ten!” another man yelled. Betty
darted a look at the man and cringed inside. Claymore Perkins lolled back in his chair and smirked at her over the cigarette in his lips. Claymore owned the local pawn and salvage shop, where he displayed his collection of Elvis portraits on velvet. Claymore had already asked her for a date several times, and he’d gotten sarcastic after the most recent of her diplomatic refusals. She had nothing against his work, but his attitude was sleazy.
“One hundred and twenty!” Jay countered, but he didn’t sound as enthusiastic this time.
“One hundred and thirty,” Claymore said immediately, his cigarette bobbing. “I got a taste for some of your sauce.”
“One hundred and thirty … five,” Jay grumbled.
“One-fifty,” Claymore retorted.
Jay shook his head and gave Betty an apologetic look. Her dread increased, as well as her absurd disappointment toward Max. His lack of interest hurt her feelings even as she kicked herself for caring.
“Anymore?” Ernie asked, glancing around the room.
Betty refused to look at Max, but realized that she was grinding her teeth. She rebuked herself for being so certain that he’d make a grand gesture just to pursue her.
You aren’t exactly a femme fatale, my dear. And didn’t you want him to leave you alone?
“Going once,” Ernie said, raising his gavel. “Going twice.”
She bit the inside of her cheek. She’d never speak to Maximilian Templeton again.
“Going—what? What’s that, Max?”
Her mouth dry, Betty jerked her gaze to Max. He was holding up his hand, palm forward, fingers and thumb spread. A knowing, wicked smile curved his mouth, and he studied her through narrowed eyes. “Five hundred,” he called softly, his voice so rich and full that it carried through the room regardless.
Everyone gasped. Betty looked at him shrewdly. His smile grew smug. He had not only bought her time and
attention, but he’d let her squirm first, just to show that he had the upper hand.