Summer Kisses (258 page)

“What happened with your folks?”

“My parents were professors at the University of Cincinnati. Mother was philosophy. Father, literature. They spent lots of time reading and thinking deep thoughts.” She mulled over how much or how little of her stifling home life to reveal. “My childhood memories include years of stiff propriety and polite indifference followed by lingering illness.”

“Any sisters and brothers?”

“One sister, Elaina. Older.”

“Is she as…um, conservative and responsible as you?”

“No, they were nearly forty when they adopted her, and she turned out to be a handful. A few years later, much to her surprise, Mother got pregnant with me. By then, Elaina’s liveliness had exhausted their limited supply of parental energy. I countered that by being as little trouble as possible. She left to study art in Europe after high school. I stayed home to care for our ailing mother. Not long before she died, Father fell ill, too.”

“Tough break.” The arm he’d removed a few minutes before crept back around her, pulling her close and warming her up again. “What would you have done instead, if you’d had the choice?”

“Film school in New York.” She didn’t hesitate with her response, but lately she wondered if she would’ve had the guts to take such a big risk. Would she have braved going out on her own in the big city?

He grunted in understanding. “Is that why there weren’t any boyfriends? You were too busy nursing your parents?”

“Yes, but even before that... they were very strict with me. I guess they thought they were too lenient with Elaina, so I wasn’t allowed to go out much. When I did, I never fit in with the other kids. Kind of like today.”

“You fit in.” He grinned. “Sort of.”

“You know I was out of step all day. Everybody but me knew what was going on. And I blew several unrelated, innocent incidents all out of proportion.”

“Maybe I should’ve clued you in sooner than I did.” At least he had the grace to admit that

“Yes, you should have, you rat.” She gave him a half-hearted punch in a very muscular arm. “You knew what I’d assume as soon as you said we were going somewhere with a motorcycle gang.”

“I said
club
, not gang.”

“How was I supposed to know the difference?” She pushed against his immovable shoulder, trying to put a little space between them.

She expected him to push her back. Instead, he pulled and brought her against his broad chest with a thump.

“So.” He laced his fingers together at the nape of her neck. “Did you like my idea of a good time?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I would never have picked it, but it was fun.”

“You want to try it again?”

The intensity of how much she wanted to try it again frightened her. He made her want to do things, feel things, take risks she’d never attempted before. For one day, it had been fine. But did she dare continue? With a sinking heart, she didn’t think so.

She opened her mouth to tell him so, but before the refusal escaped, his lips covered hers. Gentle, at first, then firmer and more demanding, the kiss managed to suck all thought from her head, all air from her lungs, all good intentions into the vapor. She leaned into him as he pulled her closer, spinning helplessly from the sexual chaos he created inside her.

His strong arms enveloped her. Hands moved everywhere. Hers along his ribs, and his under her T-shirt. Years of suppressed desire exploded within her. Textures that had never seemed so vivid before, so erotic, now provided sensations that took her to the edge. The soft denim of his shirt and the rasp of his jaw incited her with a need so great she forgot who she was, who he was, and where they were.

The heat that engulfed her didn’t abate as he lifted her shirt and the evening breeze caressed her breasts. His hands skimmed the lace cups of her bra and drew a groan of pleasure from her. As his head bent forward to tease her nipple with his tongue, cheering erupted from down the hill.

“Oh my God.” She tugged on the hem of her shirt. “Can they see us?”

“No.” He held her against him with his hands at her waist. “They’re probably announcing the winning poker hand.”

A tug of war developed over the position of her shirt. For every inch he tried to raise it, she pulled it down two. “We can’t do this here.”

“Fine.” He surrendered her shirt. The soft warmth of his breath nuzzled her neck and lulled her into momentary acquiescence. “We could go to my place.”

“Why?” She sounded like the world’s biggest dummy as the word emerged from her mouth and his meaning dawned on her. Full on heat washed through her as she pictured going to his apartment and opening herself up to the kind of pleasures she knew he could provide.

She wanted to, oh, how she wanted to, but she knew herself well enough to know she’d never be able to indulge in such a carnal encounter with someone as worldly as Max. Everything about the idea scared her to death. She would be overwhelmed by him, and he would find her lacking in so many ways. Setting aside her regrets, she gathered herself together and gave him the good manners her mother had taught her. “Oh, no. I couldn’t, but thank you for the offer.”

“Don’t go all Martha Stewart on me.” He looked at her with eyes that sharpened to clear focus from the blurry haze of passion. “Just tell me why not.”

“I’m flattered. Maybe.” Having never been propositioned by someone with his reputation, she couldn’t be sure how she did feel. Flattered that he wanted her. Intimidated that his desire included so many others. Insulted that she was just one more in a long line of easy women who succumbed to his charms. “But it won’t work. We’re nothing alike. We’re too different. We want different things.”

“You wanted the same thing I did a few seconds ago.” His fingertips stroked the base of her neck, urging her to reconsider.

With each passing second, she grew colder. “I changed my mind.”

“All I want is for you to go home with me for the night. I’m not asking for a lifetime commitment.”

“Well, that’s good.” She forced false cheerfulness into her tone. “Because I’m not interested in anything serious.”

“You think I am?” His voice rumbled with incredulity.

“No, no, I know I’d just be another bump in the road for you.” She paused for a denial, but forged on when he didn’t offer one. “But you’re a distraction I can’t afford right now. It’s time for me to concentrate on my career.” It sounded lame even to Annabel, and as the warmth of his hand dropped away from her neck, she almost recanted.

“That’s bull, but that’s fine.” He turned on his heel and started down the path toward the party. “You tell yourself whatever you want.”

“It’s nothing personal.” She raced to catch up with him.

“Sure, it is, Morgan. It’s very personal, but don’t worry. I could take it as a compliment. I didn’t realize you found me that fascinating. I’ve known women who wanted to use me as a stepping-stone in their careers, but no one’s ever considered me an obstacle before. In fact, if you’d played your cards right, I might have been able to help you out.” The accompanying shrug was as indifferent and as insulting as the insinuation.

As if she would ever sleep with someone to get ahead!

As if she needed to!

Other women in his life might be opportunistic and ambitious enough to climb into bed with him to advance their careers, but she had stronger principles than that. She had the talent and self-confidence to take her where she wanted to go. She didn’t need Max Williams and his mind-numbing kisses.

She didn’t need him at all.

She’d show him how much she didn’t need him.

He’d see when she won the Community First award right in front of his nose.

Her indignation carried her down the path and all the way home. Having acquired a feel for the bike on the long day’s journey, she held herself erect in a Max-free zone and slammed into him only when he braked in front of her house.

“Here you are,” he said as she scrambled to put a space between them big enough to hold a truckload of differences. “Safe and sound again at home.” His vanilla voiceover tones contained no sarcasm or emotion, but somehow she knew his impassivity hid a sneer. “Just the way you like it.”

“Thank you.” She snapped the helmet into place on the back of the seat, determined to remember her manners even though he remained planted on the Harley. “I had an interesting day.”

“Good.” Not very encouraging.

Honestly, she couldn’t say she hoped they’d do it again sometime. But now that she looked at life from the safe vantage point of her own sidewalk, the idea of driving around tamely in her Saab for the rest of her life did seem rather—flat.

“Well, then, thanks, again.” She made herself turn and head up the walk.

“Annabel,” he said, as she neared the porch.

She stopped but didn’t turn back. “What?”

“Do you ever do anything spontaneously? Just because you want to?”

“I went with you today, didn’t I?” She continued to face her front door and wasn’t sure if he heard her.

“That you did.” The Harley engine roared to life on the last word, then died out again as if he’d thought better of leaving. “But you would have stayed home if Carly and I hadn’t urged you on.”

She ignored the truth of his statement and swung around to confront him. “What about you? Do you ever take
anything
seriously?”

“Only my work when I have to. And my family.”

The bit about his family gave her pause, but only briefly. Knowing he cared about his family raised her opinion of him. Not enough to bridge the gap between them though. A close-knit family and winning personality didn’t make up for pregnant ex-girlfriends, one-night stands, strippers, and the downfall of innocent interns. “That’s why this is goodbye.”

He shook his head. “That’s not why. You’re saying goodbye because you’re tempted by everything about me and that terrifies you.”

“Hah! You’re as afraid of me as I am of you!”

“I’m not afraid.” He flung himself off the bike and strode forward, sweeping her into his arms. His kiss consumed her in a firestorm of challenge and passion.

Annabel struggled to keep up with it. Hot and hungry. Frustrated and angry. Eager and wary. All the confusing emotions of the day poured into one heart-stopping embrace. If they continued, she might invite him inside or pull him down on the ground. But he withdrew abruptly. He cradled her face in his hands and stared at her so hard, for so long, she wished she could read his mind.

“Think about how happy you are with your life the way it is,” he said at last, “and you give me a call when you’re brave enough to face the truth. If I’m still around, I’ll show you what you’ve been missing.” 

Tuesday afternoon, Annabel paced outside the closed doors of the Arts Commission meeting room. Her boss, Howard Lasting, sat on a wooden bench. He crossed and uncrossed his lanky legs while he stared out the window and contemplated the flow of the Ohio River.

“Annabel, have a seat.” Even while bored to tears, his command assumed obedience. “You’re making
me
nervous, and I have nerves of steel.” He yawned and closed his eyes.

Probably not a good time to broach her biker brainstorm. But she so rarely had him as a captive audience, it seemed a shame not to make the most of the opportunity. She perched on a seat across from him.

“I have an idea about a documentary on motorcycle clubs.” The statement contained none of the polish she’d practiced on the way to work that morning.

“A motorcycle club?” Howard opened his eyes and looked at her with disdain. One of his bristly, caterpillar eyebrows arched upward. “Like the Hells Angels? 
Easy Rider
?
The Wild Bunch
? Black leather jackets aside, all of that sounds so sixties.”

“That’s what I thought at first, too,” she said. “But respectable motorcycle clubs consist of weekend warriors who ride for fun, not to rebel or make some anti-establishment social statement. You should see a pack of them roaring along the highway with gleaming helmets and chrome.”

“Unh,” he groaned. “I have seen one. A couple of weeks ago, a whole parade of those bozos moved through an intersection like a psychotic funeral procession, trapping me in place for ten minutes. Damned aging hippies.”

“It’s not like that.” Not entirely. “People from all walks of life belong to them, from judges to mechanics. They get together for rallies, rides, fundraisers, and meetings. They have their own newsletters and Facebook pages, like the 4-H or the Shriners.”

He rubbed a finger up and down his prominent nose, indicative of his thinking mode. “Who could we sell it to?”

Getting a paying sponsor was always the second step toward approval—right after the initial idea. When Howard turned to the bottom line, she knew she’d caught his interest. “The Motorcycle Organization of America.” She jumped up to pace again as she bounced the idea toward him. “They might want to use it to spruce up their image.”

“Maybe.”

“Or motorcycle safety awareness to promote wearing helmets.” She made a viewfinder with her hands and framed the mental image. “Sunlight gleaming off all those shiny acrylic heads would make a stunning visual.”

Howard chuckled. She might have hooked him. “Hmmm.” He rubbed his nose again.

“Or shoot it with a philanthropic angle.” She continued to pace. “Did you know that some bike clubs use their rides to raise money for charity?”

“I did not know that,” he said then nodded.

Thank God.
She let out the breath she’d been holding. A nod usually meant he deemed the project worthy of consideration.

“I see the possibilities,” he admitted. “Maybe Terry can do something with it.”

“Terry? No way!” Annabel objected, loudly, to the possibility of handing off her project to another producer. Howard snapped a glare her way, and she modified her tone. “I mean, it was my idea. I want to do it.”

“Let’s see how this goes.” He jerked his head toward the meeting room. “Winning on Saturday would improve your chances of overseeing future projects.” Bored again, he resumed his study of the river. “Sit down. Try to contain yourself.”

“Sorry.” Deflated by his lack of confidence in her, she dropped onto the bench next to him. “I guess I’m on edge. This is all new to me.”