Summer Kisses (251 page)

“I knew that.” Carly waved the comment away. “That’s why I picked him. I figured once you went out with a handful like Max, anyone that came along later would be a piece of cake.”

“Why, you little stinker.” Sometimes the girl showed more insight than the
Psychic Friends Network
. “And I was worried you’d be disappointed when you found out your attempt at matchmaking had missed its mark.”

“Oh, well, I didn’t expect you to fall madly in love and get married or anything, but going on
Let’s Talk
announced to the single men in Cincinnati that you’re available for a social life. Since you admitted the other night that you were ready to cut loose a little, I hoped I got it right, and that Max would be the perfect candidate. And you have another date coming up. Who knows? You might enjoy it.”

Annabel stood up and began putting away the folded laundry. A hot mix of dread and excitement washed over her as she anticipated the possibility of another date with Max, but cold reality overshadowed both emotions. “Don’t count on it, sweetie. I doubt that he’ll pick up the second-date option.”

While Max drank his first mug of coffee and caught up on the overnight news on CNN the next morning, he did his best to talk himself out of calling Annabel.

Confusing but tantalizing thoughts about her had kept him awake most of the night. The way the candlelight picked up about twenty different shades of blonde in her hair. The way her reserve disappeared with the first glass of champagne. The way her eyes glowed when she talked about her work. With each passing hour, he became more determined to peel away every one of her protective layers until he unleashed the passionate woman he’d glimpsed lurking beneath the touch-me-not exterior.

Bright morning light, however, revealed some serious drawbacks in the Get-To-Know-Annabel-Better Plan. Their rocky history, for one. Her snooty attitude, for another. The disdain she felt for his work, and her automatic assumption that anyone who liked to have a good time must be morally bankrupt, to name a few more.

To be fair, he remembered the times he’d goaded her with his worst behavior just to get a reaction from her.

Maybe it was crazy, but now that he thought about it, he wondered if she did the same thing with him in reverse.

Going back on his word and springing this bike trip on her as their second date seemed like asking for trouble. Especially if Mercer tried to make contact with him today as he’d promised.

But Max figured he’d take that chance.

The little weasel had failed to deliver the goods twice already. And the odds were high the informant would pull another no-show today. Max already had Roger standing-by to video the transaction if the deal actually went down. Recording the date with Annabel offered a good excuse for having him on hand.

Ready to make the call, he moved out onto his balcony’s condo. The stunning view across the river usually helped clear his thoughts. With a freighter moving by beneath him, he flashed through the remaining negative arguments on his list.

She’d probably be a pain in the ass the whole day, and complain about the wind and the noise and the vibration.

Besides, they were in competition for a major award they both wanted and needed to win. She was bound to have hard feelings when she lost to him. Why spend more time with her than he had to?

Annabel embodied every attribute he avoided in a woman. She made him think of home and hearth, needlepoint pillows and family barbecues on Sunday afternoons. And none of those things had anything to do with him.

He had his career and the freedom to do what he wanted. He had his family in Nashville, a few good friends, lots of fun-loving buddies, and plenty of fast, decorative women. He didn’t need more than that.

The other kind of woman—Annabel’s kind—took too much time, patience, and maintenance. In the end, the man’s heart was smashed to pieces and his dreams lay in a pile of dust at his feet.

No good.
That may have been his father’s path, but it wasn’t the route Max planned to take.

Instead of calling her, he went inside to plug his phone into the charger, then snatched up the television clicker to switch channels. Good, the top of the hour. Time for the next
SportsCenter
. He settled back to watch. But instead of following yesterday’s baseball scores, his thoughts returned to Annabel.

He didn’t like her. She didn’t like him. They had nothing in common. Simple, right? Except for a couple of hours the night before, they had never done anything but rub each other the wrong way. But the memory of those few hours when the rubbing had been in all the right directions spurred his imagination.

His dick twitched at the thought of what she could do with that attention to detail of hers if she turned it on something besides work, duty, and strict adherence to the rules.

What the hell?
He’d be doing the world a favor if he could get Miss Prim and Proper to loosen up a bit.

The feel of her head on his shoulder, the warmth of her breath on his neck, and the weight of her breast pressing against his arm at Music Hall had been hotter than the average lap dance. And when her hand had brushed his groin in the dark, he’d responded with as much enthusiasm as a kid sneaking a peek at his first centerfold. He’d been hornier than a toad ever since.

Max shook his head. Damn, this whole idea had disaster written all over it. He never put this much forethought into anything besides his work. But in the end, lust won out over common sense.

With his hand on his cell, ready to call her, his phone blew up with his father’s ringtone, the first few bars of a George Strait song from the late eighties. It had been a family favorite ever since his dad had picked up a gig playing guitar on the recording when the regular Ace in the Hole picker needed an emergency appendectomy. Since Max’s mom had left them earlier that same year, it provided his dad with a nice distraction. And the money from the studio session had helped, too.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, Max,” he said in the rich twang that could switch from rockabilly to a country ballad in a single chord. “Got somebody who wants to talk to you.”

“Male or female?” Max headed into the kitchen for another cup of coffee, needing possible fortification for the conversation ahead.

“We got ourselves a baseball situation here.”

Male, then. Good. Baseball situations were easier for Max to deal with then a ballet or tea party drama from one of his nieces.

“Hey, Nath, what’s up?” he asked after his dad passed off the phone to his oldest nephew. “Got a game today?”

“Yeah, Uncle Max.” Six-year-old Nathan got right to the point. “My first real-pitch game. That’s a lot harder than T-ball.”

“It is harder, but more fun too. Just wait ‘til the first time you nail the ball and that sucker goes sailing. There’s nothing like it.” Max smiled. Some of his best days had been spent on a ball field.

“But what if I strike out?”

Max knew not to laugh. His nephew took his baseball seriously. “Happens to the best of ‘em.”

“Did it happen to you?”

“More than half the time.”

“Will the other kids laugh?”

“Not unless they’re dumbasses.” Damn, Ginger kept warning him not to cuss in front of the kids. They always ended up ratting him out, too, when she asked them where they picked up a particular term. “Don’t tell your mother I said that. Tell her I called them, uh, buttheads.”

“I’ll tell her you said buttheads, but some of them
are
dumbasses.”

Dumbasses abound, no matter what your age, he wanted to tell the boy, but settled on more acceptable advice. “Well, just watch the ball. If it’s over your head, don’t swing. If it’s below your knees, don’t swing. When it’s right for you, between belt- and shoulder-high, swing like the devil. You’ll make contact. Trust me. And good luck. You and Grandpa should call me after the game to let me know how it went.”

“Will you come see me play?”

“Can’t today, Slugger, but I’ll get the schedule from your mom and plan a date soon, okay? We’ll work on your swing then.”

“Okay.”

“Let me talk to Grandpa again.”

“He’s here.”

“Good job, Max,” his dad said when he took the phone back. “He’s been worried all week.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Max said, realizing he didn’t say those words often enough. “Thanks for everything.” Thanks for everything you did for me and the girls. Thanks for everything you do for your grandchildren.

“Well, hey, whoa. That’s unexpected, but gotta tell you, raising you and your sisters, and now enjoying my grandchildren, has brought me more pleasure than anything else in the world.”

“More than music?”

“It wasn’t like it was a choice. Children grow up. Music will always be there. Music brings me joy and peace. It’s part of my soul, part of who I am. But you, Ginger, and Courtney are my heart.”

“What about our mother?”

A moment of silence separated them, then he heard his dad sigh. “Son, I have to get this young’un to the ballpark. We can have a philosophical discussion about life and love and women if you want to, but do you want to have it right now? Is there somethin’ you’re lookin’ for exactly?”

Max scratched his head. He talked easily with his dad about most things, but there were lines they usually didn’t cross. Still he dived into this one. “I wonder if you have regrets about giving up your music career to take a sensible nine-to-five job and help with homework instead.”

“Best decision I ever made. When your mother left us, it ‘bout broke my heart. Without the three of you, it’d still be broke. You gave me three good reasons to get up every day and to keep puttin’ one foot in front of the other. And that’s the plain truth.” His dad pulled the phone away from his mouth to issue Nathan instructions about uniform, equipment, and water bottle. “Now, what’s this about? Has a woman finally managed to tangle you up?”

“Nothing like that,” Max said too quickly. “Just trying to make some career choices, wondering if you ever had regrets about yours.”

“None you need worry about. Talk to you later.” His dad chuckled. “And Max? Give the woman a chance, whoever she is.”

If there were two things Max trusted, they were his dad and his gut. And both of them were telling him to give Annabel a call.

This time he didn’t hesitate. He selected her number and waited as the phone rang. And rang.

On the verge of hanging up before Annabel’s voicemail kicked in, a chirpy voice on the other end said, “Max?”

He recognized the teenybopper’s youthful enthusiasm. “That’s right, kiddo. Is Annabel around?”

“I knew it! I knew you’d call,” Carly crowed. “Annabel didn’t think you would, but when her phone rang, your name flashed on the screen. I had to answer it even though she hasn’t been downstairs yet. I think she’s still sleeping.” She dropped her voice on the last word, as if sleeping late in their house was a secret. Or a crime. “Hang on. I’ll take her the phone.”

While he waited, he pictured Annabel draped across her bed, blond hair tousled, sheets in disarray. Remembering the red lace bra, he tried to imagine what unexpected thing she slept in. Probably something silky. Maybe something slinky. Definitely something sheer.

Or better yet, nothing at all.

He stifled a groan. For God’s sake, he’d need another shower if she didn’t hurry and pick up the damn phone.

“Max?” Her voice came over the line, sleep-warmed and husky. Wary...  Sexy... Well worth the wait.

He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “I thought you’d be up already.”

A noisy yawn answered him, followed by the rustle of covers being arranged and pillows being plumped. “Why?”

He liked keeping her off-balance. “Because I’ll be over in about an hour.”

“An hour?” she squeaked. “Why? What time is it now?”

“I have a proposition for you. Do you want to hear about it now or later?”

“Now, I guess.”

“Remember last night when I said turnabout’s fair play?”

“No.”

“Sure you do,” he prompted. “It was right before I kissed you. The first time. Not the second time, when we really got into it with tongues and hips and—”

“All right, already! I remember.”

“Since I admitted I enjoyed myself on the boring date of your choice, I think we should go someplace of my choice today.”

“Well, that’s flattering,” she said drily. “Why should I agree?”

“To prove to the television audience that you’re as broad-minded and open to new experiences as I am.”

“I don’t have to prove anything.”

“Of course you don’t.” He switched tactics. “But I also thought it would be a good comparison for us to make for Tess’s show. You know, to see if we really are compatible.”

“You know we’re not.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun together while we broaden our horizons, does it? Come on,” he cajoled. “Just this one time. Let the real Annabel come out and play.”

Feeling her wavering, he forged ahead. “We’re wastin’ daylight, darlin’. Grab a bite to eat, drink plenty of liquids to get rid of whatever champagne hangover you’ve got and put on some clothes, if you feel obliged to. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Wait!” she said, and he did, expecting another argument. “What should I wear?”

Gotcha.
“Black leather if you have any.”

“Black leather?” She gulped. He actually heard her gulp. “As in whips and chains?”

A grin spread across his face at the note of panic in her voice. Sometimes having a bad reputation worked to his advantage. People expected the worst, and anything less made him look like an angel.

“Are you into that kinky stuff? I can change our plans if you want.”

“No!” she croaked. “I mean, no.” More throat clearing followed. “You’re kidding, right?  Of course, you’re kidding. I’m sure whatever you have planned is fine. Um, Max?”

“Hmmm?”

“What exactly do you have planned?”

“Like last night, only one of us will know until we walk out your door. Deal?”

Silent seconds ticked by.

“Just one more question.”

“Nope, this isn’t
Jeopardy
. I’m all out of answers. You either want to go or you don’t. Try to decide before I get there.”