“Fine. Stay there,” she warned.
She’d promised him pancakes for breakfast when she’d rolled out of bed twenty minutes earlier.
“And not those thin, ungenerous French excuses for pancakes, either,” she’d said on her way down the stairs.
Charlotte had made a valiant attempt to interest Maddy in haute cuisine, but finally they had both agreed that simpler fare was more Maddy’s thing. So far, she had mastered scrambled eggs, pancakes and a chicken and vegetable soup.
He made a bet with himself over what would go wrong this time. Something always did. Maddy had a knack for creating drama in the kitchen.
He was about to head downstairs to ensure he had a ringside seat when the phone rang.
“I’ll get it,” he called, reaching across the bed to take the call.
“Bonjour,” he said into the phone.
There was a slight pause before someone spoke.
“Ah, bonjour. Ah, non parle français, pardon moi. My name is Perry Galbraith. I’m looking for Madeline Green.” Perry’s accent was broad and flat, as Australian as they came.
“Sure. I’ll get her,” Max said.
He frowned as he levered himself up off the bed.
Who the hell was Perry? And why was he calling Maddy in France?
“Maddy. It’s for you. Some guy from home called Perry Galbraith,” he said.
There was a surprised silence.
“Perry? I hope everything’s all right.”
She climbed the stairs to take the call. He resisted the urge to demand more information. Because he desperately wanted to eavesdrop on their conversation, he pulled on some clothes and forced himself to walk away and give her privacy.
He’d started work on his first sculpture five days ago and progress was slow but sure. He was opening a new slab of clay in preparation for the day’s work when Maddy joined him ten minutes later.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“I think so. Perry’s my neighbor. I e-mailed him and asked him to collect my mail for me. He was worried about a letter that he thought might be an overdue bill.”
“Was it?”
“Yeah. I’ll jump online later and take care of it. I told Perry to forward the rest of my mail onto me here. I hope that’s okay?”
The tension banding his shoulders relaxed.
She wasn’t going home. Not yet.
“Of course. My home is your home, Maddy, you know that,” he said.
“I should have thought about my bills. I’ve been so disorganized. Just letting the days drift away.”
Her face was very serious. He’d woken in the night to find her lying beside him more times than he could count, stiff with anxiety as she stared into the darkness. She was worried about what to do with the rest of her life—and he didn’t have any answers for her. He’d busted his ass over the past four weeks, doing his best to keep her busy and entertained and distracted. He hated seeing her sad, couldn’t bear the broken, deserted look she got in her eyes sometimes.
He wiped his hands on a rag and approached her.
“It’s only been four weeks,” he said, putting his arms around her. “You deserve some time to get used to your new reality. You’ve earned it.”
She pressed her cheek against his shirt.
Even as he spoke, he wondered how self-serving his advice was. How much of what he was saying was for Maddy, and how much was about keeping her close, extending their time together, building the connection between them so that she might begin to see him as more than a friend and a warm body to bump against?
Hope springs eternal.
Whoever had coined that phrase had known what he or she was talking about. Max had already had more of Maddy than he’d ever imagined he’d get. To crave more, to allow himself to imagine her as part of his life, a permanent fixture in his bed and his apartment…
It was asking for trouble, being greedy. Setting himself up for a mighty, mighty fall.
And yet he couldn’t stop himself from hoping. The past four weeks had been the best of his life. Sexually, emotionally, professionally—it was all coming together. If only there wasn’t the growing sense that the clock was ticking, that one day soon Maddy was going to make a decision about her future—and it wouldn’t include him.
He had no idea how she felt about him. He knew she desired him. Her body told him that every time he looked at her or touched her. One kiss, one stroke of his hand on her skin was enough to make her heavy-lidded and hungry for him.
He knew she enjoyed his company and appreciated his sense of humor. She liked his family, despite the rocky start with his sister. But she’d never said a word or done anything to give him reason to believe that what was happening between them was anything more than a new aspect to their already established relationship. They were friends—and now they were friends who slept with each other.
She pressed a kiss to his jaw and stepped away from him.
“I’m a coward,” she said, pushing her hair over her shoulder. “I know I should stop treading water, but I can’t quite make myself do it just yet.”
Treading water.
Right.
While he was building castles in the air, Maddy was keeping her head above water.
His jaw was tight as he reached for his clay cutter and began slicing thin, uniform slabs from the block.
“I’d better get back to those pancakes,” she said.
She turned away, then turned back again.
“I meant to mention—I saw in the paper that more tickets have been released for Madonna’s concert next month. I saw her a long time ago in Sydney. She was so fantastic. You should definitely go if you get the chance.”
He looked at her.
“Come with me,” he said, sick of all the uncertainty. He’d played it safe when his sister mentioned the August holidays but the concert was mere weeks away. If Maddy couldn’t commit to that, then he was kidding himself well and truly.
She looked arrested, then thoughtful. Then she frowned.
“It’s more than a month away, Max.”
“So?”
“That’s a long time for me to hang around your neck.”
He couldn’t tell if she was serious or joking.
