Authors: Theresa Ragan
He almost looked convinced.
Stop while you’re behind her brain shouted, but her mouth was quicker and not nearly as smart. “And for the record, Mr. Dutton, if you had slept with me, you’d remember it as the best damn night of your life.”
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Max couldn’t help but smile at her sassiness. The woman was a great big ball of fire, and although she tried to hide it, she was fuming now, cleaning out his fridge with renewed vengeance, tossing everything and anything she came across into the garbage. He was about to tell her she was probably right, that a man would have to be half dead not to remember a woman like her, when a knock sounded at the front door.
Max left the ball of fire and headed for the entrance. No sooner had he opened the door then his sister’s chicken-hearted fiancé, Joey Johnston, shot past him before Max could beat some sense into him, or at least tell him that his sister was upstairs.
Max found Joey in the kitchen, looking around and pacing like a caged animal.
“Where is she?” Joey asked, hands flailing, baggy pants dropping another inch, making it hard for Max to take him too seriously. “I need to talk to her.”
Before Max could respond, Joey spotted the cute little rear-end sticking out of the refrigerator and started yelling at it. “Get out of there right now,” Joey said. “We need to talk.”
More than a little amused, Max watched the rear-end wriggle slightly before disappearing into what seemed like an endless black hole instead of an appliance for storing food.
Max followed Joey’s gaze over a pair of shapely calves connected to smooth thighs that disappeared beneath a skirt hiked up because of her awkward position.
Less than a minute passed before the shapely buttocks sticking out of the bottom of his fridge wriggled and twisted as she stopped whatever she’d been doing and backed up. Kari Murphy’s head popped out next. He and Joey watched her blow hair out of her eyes before she looked their way, surprised to see them staring down at her.
She looked from Max to Joey, her mossy-green eyes round and curious. For a fleeting moment Max felt an unfamiliar twinge in his gut, an odd sensation, a prickling at his neck, something telling him he had indeed met this woman before.
But where?
“Are you talking to me?” she asked Joey.
Heat rushed from Joey’s neck to his hairline as he took a step back. “Sorry. I thought you were Breanne. Do you know where she is?”
Max stood behind Joey and shook his head, telling her to say no.
“No,” she said. “I’m afraid she’s not here.”
“Max!” they all heard Breanne call out from upstairs. “If that’s Joey, tell him I’m not here. Tell him to go away and that I never want to speak to him again!”
Joey shook an incriminating finger at Kari before rushing from the room.
“Thanks a lot,” Kari admonished Max, “now he thinks I’m a liar.”
Max lifted an eyebrow. “If I told you to jump off a bridge, would you do it?”
Her eyes narrowed, and he was pretty sure he could see little daggers shooting right out of her pupils.
A loud crash sounded.
“Never a dull moment,” Max muttered.
Kari followed him into the foyer.
Pieces of pottery lay at the bottom of the stairs. His sister had thrown an expensive vase down into the front landing and now she was threatening to throw another one; a prized handmade Venetian vase.
“Don’t do it,” Max warned.
Joey came out from behind one of the marble pillars and put his hands up in frustration. “Come on, Breanne. I just want to talk to you.”
“Put the vase down,” Max ordered.
“Gladly,” Breanne said and she tossed it, make that hurled it, aiming for the top of Joey’s head. But Breanne was one of those girly-girl types, and she missed her target by more than a foot.
Max grasped Kari by the waist and pulled her out of harm’s way before the vase hit the ground. Tiny bits of pottery sprayed everywhere. When they appeared to be out of immediate danger, Max stepped back, but only slightly since he liked the way she felt in his arms. At first he thought Kari was crying until he peered downward and saw that she was laughing instead. Except no sound was coming out, not much anyway, just a cute little squeaky nasal whine.
Her eyes watered as she fought for control. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but did you see the look on your face when she threw that vase. Oh, my goodness...” She wiped at her eyes.
Max frowned. “I liked that vase.”
Her hand came to rest on her chest as she caught her breath.
Lucky hand.
“Okay,” she said. “I think I’m fine now. You can step away.”
Max hadn’t thought the woman was capable of smiling let alone laughing, but he also didn’t think she’d show up this morning, so what did he know? Here she was in his house, getting yelled at by a kid who could barely keep his pants on, dodging vases, and being tackled by a six-foot-two, two hundred and twenty pound linebacker, and she was laughing.
He stared at her for a moment longer, fascinated by her expressive green eyes and a smile so bright he found himself smiling back at her.
A door slammed upstairs, pulling him out of what he considered to be a weird sort of trance. They heard Joey pounding on the door upstairs, pleading for Breanne to let him into her room so he could talk to her. They both looked toward the balcony overlooking the foyer. Max realized he was still standing way too close to the woman who hated his guts, breathing in the sweet, soapy smell of her shiny clean hair, and enjoying it.
“Is that Joey’s baby she’s carrying?”
“You didn’t think it was mine, did—”
The guilty look on her face said it all. “You thought she was...we were...that I...” He snorted. “That’s my little sister, for God’s sake.”
“How was I supposed to know?”
Upstairs, Joey’s pounding became more intense.
“Are you going to help your sister?”
He pondered the question for a moment before he said, “I’ll give the kid fifteen minutes before I drag him out by the scruff of his neck.”
Appearing satisfied, Kari ducked under his arm and headed for the kitchen, tiptoeing around pieces of vase as she went.
Max followed her, his gaze falling to the steady sway of her backside as she walked.
“Why is Breanne so upset with him?” She looked over her shoulder in time to catch him staring at her backside. “Oh, puhleeze.”
“I thought women liked it when a guy appreciated a woman’s assets. No pun intended.”
“That’s ridiculous. Who told you that?”
He couldn’t remember. “If it bothers you so much, I won’t look again.”
“I would appreciate it if you didn’t.”
“Fine. To answer your question,” he went on, eager to change the subject, although hell would have to freeze over before he’d stop looking at her assets, “Breanne is upset because Joey told her he wasn’t ready for kids.” He shrugged. “If you ask me, if it’s not one thing, it’s another. Women are always mad at their men about something.”
Kari turned on him, her eyes looking all squinty again.
He had to go and open his big mouth.
“All the women I know,” she said, “usually have good reason to be angry with
their
men.
”
The tone of her voice told him he was batting zero.
“What about you?” he asked. “Do you have a good reason to be angry?”
Throwing up her hands as if he were a lost cause, she headed for the kitchen sink where she busied herself with washing her hands. “I’m not angry at anyone.”
He watched her scrub a little too hard between her fingers before she grabbed a towel to dry her hands. “Could have fooled me.”
“I told you,” she said, whipping about and staring him down, “that I made a mistake. It wasn’t you.”
He didn’t believe it for a minute, but he decided to play along. “Okay, it wasn’t me, but somebody sure got your goat. What did the idiot do to set you on fire like that?”
She dropped the towel on the counter. “Do you really want to know?”
Judging by the sudden shift in tone, he wasn’t sure anymore, but he still found himself nodding like a fool. Anything was better than listening to a lecture on saturated fats versus unsaturated fats.
She inhaled as she peered into his eyes, which only served to make him nervous.
“The idiot,” she began. “I mean the man I mistook you for...opened me up to a whole new world. He made me feel things I’d never felt in my entire life...like a butterfly cracking open its cocoon and discovering it has wings, beautiful wings that will take it places she never imagined, only to be snuffed out before take off...zapped like a moth who finally reaches the light after a long, windy flight in the dark.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah,” she said. “He was the biggest, dumbest jerk I’ve ever met, and I fell for him hook, line, and sinker.” She hooked her purse over her shoulder. “Come on. It’s time to show you how to shop for groceries.”
Wow. She was good, he thought, as he followed her out of the kitchen. The way she looked at him while she’d told her moth story had made shivers run up his spine.
Max shook his head finally convinced that the jerk wasn’t him. Any man who caused a woman that much heartache needed to be penalized for unsportsmanlike conduct.
CHAPTER 3
Max grabbed the keys to his car and asked Kari to wait while he took care of some unfinished business. Two minutes later, he ushered Joey down the stairs and told the young man that his fifteen minutes were up.
“She won’t talk to me,” Joey said when they reached the landing where Kari was waiting.
“Did you tell Breanne that you were wrong and that you are thrilled she’s going to have your baby?” Max wanted to know.
The blank look on Joey’s face told them he’d done nothing of the sort.
“I’m twenty-five years old,” Joey pointed out. “We’re too young to start a family. How would I support a kid when Breanne and I can hardly support ourselves?”
Max gritted his teeth. “Maybe you should have thought of that before you had unprotected sex with my sister.”
“I took all the necessary precautions.”
“Are you telling me Breanne planned this pregnancy without your consent?”
“I’m not sure what I’m telling you, except that maybe you should talk to your sister before you jump to conclusions.”
Broken pottery crunched beneath Joey’s feet as he walked across the foyer and headed out the door.
Max shoved all ten fingers through his hair. He looked at Kari. “Today has proven to be...interesting.”
“I hope Joey and your sister can work things out,” Kari said, hoping the awkward moment would quickly pass since she felt as if she were intruding on a very private family moment.
“Yeah, well, who knows?” Max asked. “Any man who would desert the mother of his child in her time of need is no man at all.”
She nodded her agreement. And boy, did she agree. In fact now might be a good time to tell him everything, just lay it all on the line and see what Max had to say for himself, but she didn’t know where to start. And what would telling him do to her relationship with her daughter? Besides, he’d had his chance. She’d gone to see him the very day she found out she was pregnant, but he wasn’t home, so she left a letter with his mother...a letter telling Max that she was pregnant. Two months later, she sent a letter in the mail. She also sent a letter along with a picture of his daughter to the Condors’ franchise. But Max never contacted her. He made it very clear that he didn’t want to be a part of his daughter’s life.
Max followed her outside, shut the front door and locked it, then headed down the steps just as Joey’s red truck disappeared through the gate at the bottom of the driveway.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.
She turned to face him. “Do what?”
“Shop for food?”
She arched an eyebrow. “We’re going to the grocery store. We’re not jumping out of a plane.”
He shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She laughed.
“In case you haven’t noticed,” he said, “I’m a celebrity of sorts.”
This time she snorted. “And?”
She headed toward her jeep but he gestured toward his car, which was just as well since the interior of her car was filled with appointment books, papers, and magazines.
He opened the passenger door to his red convertible Porsche and waited for her to climb in. After they were both buckled in he turned on the ignition. “I’m single,” he said in answer to her question.
She stared at him for a moment as she tried to decipher whether or not he was serious. “And you resemble a Greek God,” she said with a chuckle. “Is that what you’re going to tell me next?”
“No, but now that you mentioned it...”
She burst out laughing. The man was the E in egotistical.
“Glad you’re so easily amused by my misery.”
She lowered her voice in an attempt to imitate him. “I’m a rich man who happens to be a pro-athlete, a celebrity of sorts. I am also single and attractive, if I do say so myself.”
“You’re the one who said I resembled a Greek God. But that doesn’t matter.” He drove through the gate then merged onto the main road. “I was only trying to make a point. Any rich, single male celebrity who tries to go to the grocery store in Beverly Hills is asking for trouble.”
“I’m sure it must be very taxing for you, shooing away one lady after another. Don’t worry, Max, I’ll take care of everything.”
He smiled. “Fine, but I only mentioned it because I was worried about you. I usually have my groceries delivered.”
She smiled at the conceited man. He may be crazy gorgeous, but what sort of shallow, foolhardy woman would want a man so vain he couldn’t handle going to the grocery store?
Thirty minutes later, standing in the produce section of the grocery store, Kari took hold of a cucumber and held it out like a sword, ready to use it the next time a cute blonde or tall brunette, or anyone for that matter, came up to Max and interrupted her discussion on shopping smart.
Who did these people think they were anyhow? At this rate, they would never get out of the grocery store before dark.
“Half the battle of healthy eating,” she continued, ignoring the I-told-you-so expression on his face, “is having a variety of nutritious foods on hand so that when the mood to snack hits you, you’ve got the right foods to—”
“OH MY GOD! It’s Max Dutton! Shelby, you were right,” the woman shouted across the produce section. “It’s him. It’s Mad Max.”
The woman wasn’t the least bit shy. She walked right up to Max and stood so close her breasts brushed against him as her gaze roamed over his face. “You’re even better looking in person than on television,” she said. “CBS should give you your own show. I mean a few minutes of rambling on about some stupid defensive play you made just isn’t long enough.”
The woman took a step back, her gaze falling lower until she appeared to be looking at the tips of his lustrous brown Ferragamo shoes. The woman’s gaze slowly wandered upward again, locking in on his crotch. Then the woman shook her head, making her red hair swing. “I can’t believe I’m standing here talking to you.”
The redhead had more curves than Lombardi Street, and she was eating him alive with her eyes.
“I hate to ruin your fun,” Kari cut in, using the cucumber to emphasize her point, “but Mr. Dutton isn’t here to chat or give out autographs. He’s here to shop for food. Nobody seems to care if he dies an early death because he doesn’t know that artichokes provide potassium and folic acid, or that cabbage is a good source of vitamin C. If this man doesn’t learn to eat right, he’s never going to know that fats are not created equal, or that heart-smart eating requires a diet rich in lean proteins, fresh fruit and vegetables, which means he’ll lose his job, and the next time you watch the Los Angeles Condors play, he won’t be there because he’ll be dead.”
The redhead looked at her friend before she let out a huff and marched off.
“Impressive,” Max said.
“Thanks. I guess I owe you an apology.”
He pushed the cart toward the mounds of lettuce. “No worries.”
“No. I really am sorry. I had no idea.”
A little man with a camera strapped around his neck popped up in the aisle between the bananas and the cantaloupes and began taking pictures. Bulbs flashed, one after another, blinding her.
Kari held up a Fuji apple, ready to throw it at the man, but Max took the fruit from her hand and put it back with all the other apples. “Come on,” he said, leaving the cart behind and grabbing her arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
The cameraman stayed on their heels, following them through the produce section, up the cereal aisle, and outside into the parking lot.
Customers stopped to watch her and Max run for their lives, or at least for the car.
Max ignored the guy holding a camera in his face as he opened the passenger door and waited for Kari to climb in.
“That’s rude,” Kari told the photographer, prompting him to point the lens at her instead and click away. “Very rude,” she repeated, frowning at him.
Click. Click. Click.
Max shut her door, then walked calmly past the cameraman as if the photographer wasn’t even there. Not bothering with his door, Max jumped over the side and slid under the wheel. Within moments they were back on the road, the wind blowing her hair away from her face.
Twenty minutes later, Max pulled the Porsche into a reserved spot behind a building on Camden. He got out and came around to open the car door for her.
She looked around the parking lot and tried to figure out where they were. “What are we doing?”
“We need to eat. I don’t know about you, but I’m starved.” He gestured with his chin toward the back door of a restaurant. “My friend, Vincent, is the owner of La Taverna, the best Italian restaurant outside of Italy. He’ll set us up while you fascinate me with a captivating story about the benefits of eating legumes.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but his sarcasm made her chuckle. And besides, she was hungry.
“Come on,” he said taking advantage of her lightened mood. “They’ve got the best Shellfish Risotta in the world and a Chianti with a wild rustic edge to it that will have you begging for more.”
She raised a brow. “If I agree to have lunch here, you have to eat whatever I order for you.”
“It’s a deal.”
He took her hand.
She tried to ignore the tingles racing up her arms as he helped her out of the car. The pad of his thumb brushed over her knuckles. She wondered if he’d done that purposely. Obviously, it had been way too long since she’d been with a man. As soon as she had her balance, she pulled her hand away.
A frown creased his brow.
“I’d prefer we keep this professional.”
His hand cupped her elbow as they walked. “Are you married?”
She sighed. “No.”
He knocked on the back door to the restaurant. “Boyfriend?”
“Not at the moment.”
“But for some reason we can’t be friends?”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
The door opened. A man in his late fifties with dark silver-tipped hair and a white apron tied about his generous waist, looked from Kari to Max, and then grinned. “Buon vederli il mio amico. Dove siete stati? E chi è questa signora bella sul vostro lato?”
“Questo è Kari. Rifiuta di essere il mio amico. Forse potete cambiare idea con alcuno del vostro Risotto,” Max answered.
Kari watched the exchange, surprised to hear Max speaking Italian as if he’d been born and raised in Italy. It was hard to believe the cocky football player from her high school days, the boy everybody knew as Mad Max, the guy she’d spent the first half of her life pining for, was standing before her now, fully grown and still way too charming. His house, the Porsche, and the fact that he could speak Italian, told her he hadn’t spent all of his time partying after all. His successes should not have surprised her. For years she’d watched him from the sidelines. Truthfully, she had always known he would be great at whatever he set his mind to. He had always been active in the community. He still had the same killer smile...and damn it all, she still lusted after the man.
“Kari,” Vincent said, taking her hand and brushing her knuckles against his lips. “Welcome to La Taverna.”
“Thank you, Vincent. Max speaks highly of you and your restaurant. I’m glad to be here.”
He released her hand and led them through the center of the small restaurant to their table. The smell of savory Italian sausage and meatballs wafted through the air. Her stomach grumbled.
The tables, covered with red and white checkered table cloths, were set within a rustic, wood-laden surrounding complete with pillars and hanging vines. A couple of cozy couches and overstuffed chairs made up the waiting area near the front entrance. After seating them at a table for two near a window with a view of a vine-covered terrace, she watched Max while he exchanged pleasantries with Vincent. Mesmerized by his profile, his square jaw, straight nose, and full lips, she wondered how she came to be sitting here now across from Mad Max. The resemblance between him and her daughter Molly was extraordinary.
Only yesterday, she’d been horrified at the idea of working with him, and yet now, twenty-four hours later, with his collared shirt open and his sleeves rolled halfway up his muscled forearms, she found it hard to look away. He was gorgeous and self-assured, ambitious and magnetic.
He turned toward her then, his eyes lingering on hers long enough to make her wriggle in her seat.
“The usual?” Vincent asked.
“Afraid not,” Max answered without taking his eyes off of her. “Kari is my nutritionist and she’ll be doing the ordering, which means we’ll need a menu.”
“Oh,” Vincent cried, fixing his gaze on Kari as he held a hand to his chest. “You cannot come to La Taverna for the first time and not enjoy the shellfish Risotta and the pappardelle with asparagus and mushrooms.”
Kari laughed. “Fine. I give up. Give Max his usual and I’ll have whatever you bring me. But if I lose clients because they find me here feasting on Risotta instead of fruit and vegetables, you’re going to have to change your menu.”
“Alright, Il mio Kari bello. For you I even make a beautiful insalata.”
Kari watched Vincent walk away before she noticed Max still staring at her.
“What? Do I have dirt on my face?”