you might be naked under that robe, but now…”
Maggie turned to face him, her hands crossed defensively on her chest. She felt a flash fire of color race from her cheeks to the roots of her hair. Max reached out and stroked her skin where the cuff slid back from her wrist, setting her heart pounding erratically.
“Now I’m positive,” he said, trailing one finger—only one—against the shadowy blue veins where her pulse did bumps and grinds from this simplest of contacts.
“Maybe you should just go.”
“No. I’m not done here. But don’t worry. All I want for now is to talk. You go get some clothes on. We can sit over there with a sofa apiece and the table between us. What could be safer?”
By the time Maggie came back, Max wasn’t so sure he’d put the right handle on the situation. Dressed in the black miniskirt and high-necked sweater she’d worn earlier, she sat down opposite him, and Max decided she’d proved the less-is-more theory in reverse. Covered in black from the toes of her tights to the turtleneck collar under her chin, Maggie settled against the deep cushions of the sofa with her knees glued primly together and swung to one side so her toes just touched the floor. The contrast of dark wool with honey-gold skin, and her protective position, made her look fragile. Compared with him, she was. Probably only five-ten to his six-five.
Yeah, getting Maggie to put some clothes on had only added to his problem. Her sweater clung to every curve, but more than her curves affected him, though he couldn’t put a name to exactly what. Basically, in his eyes, Maggie Kovacs was sexy as hell.
The oversoft sofa cushions looked good as he sank down into them, but his overactive libido made getting comfortable a lost cause. He watched Maggie raise the glass of red wine to her lips, saw the dewy film it left behind, knowing if he kissed her she’d taste of wild blackberries and sunshine, and her lips would feel as soft, full and earthy as the wine they sipped.
Maggie took another mouthful then lifted her brows while she asked, “What was it you wanted to talk about?”
Max blinked and tried to bring his mind back to the present. Rescue came in the form of Maggie’s silk scarf. He dug into his pocket and pulled it out, letting the opaque leopard-skin print coil sinuously onto the glass table separating them. “This for starters. You dropped it on the floor at the pub.”
“You should have given it to Jo. She’d have taken care of it.”
“Yeah, so she said, but I wanted to do it myself.”
“So, what’s so important it dragged you up here at this time of night?”
“Can’t you guess?”
“I’m not a mind read—” Maggie stopped midsentence, and his eyes mocked her slip of the tongue. Her first guess had been correct. “Jo blabbed, didn’t she? Well, I’m sorry, Max, you’ve had a wasted journey. No matter what Jo told you, I have no intention of discussing it with you. I’ve learned my lesson!” Boy, had she learned it. Gorman had left her wrung out and hung up to dry.
“That’s not why I’m here. In fact, I refused to listen to Jo and I have no interest in any dreams you might have had, past, present or future. I don’t believe in that garbage.” The air between them parted like the Red Sea as he thrust his wineglass onto the table. Bottle in one hand, glass in the other, he filled it with wine, then remembered his manners. “Would you like a refill?”
Strike one! It looked like she’d been second-guessing, after all. Saying nothing, she held out her glass and let him top it up. Looking him straight in the eye, she said, “I get it—you’ve come to warn me off.”
“Wrong! You’ll get no warning.”
“Come off it, Max. You know, and now I know. You want me to keep away from Jo. Hell, it’s not catching. I won’t contaminate your lady friend.”
“My lady friend?”
“You and Jo.” Maggie held up her hand and crossed the first two fingers. “You’re a couple. A blind man could see it. She lit up as soon as you came in to the bar. But don’t worry, she wouldn’t help me. Actually, she tried to palm me off onto you, but I told her no way.” Maggie knew she shouldn’t tease him, but she’d had just enough wine on an empty stomach to make the attempt. He looked so serious, so grim with his jaw clenched tight. “I knew you wouldn’t want to hear about my dreams.” She leaned forward, concealing her true intent with a lazy droop of her eyelids, and tilted her head to one side. “Maybe I really am a mind reader. Would you care to cross my palm with silver?”
Hearing his thoughts from the pub echo back at him knocked Max for six. He stared at the strong lines dissecting the hand challenging him, and garnered his wits. Coincidences did happen. They happened every day. He had no problem with that. No one could look into your mind and extract a thought. His gaze shifted from hand to eye, and he knew without a doubt Maggie was enjoying herself at his expense.
“I don’t think I’ll waste my money, because if you can’t see there’s no more than a working relationship between Jo and me, you aren’t much good. I’m her superior at work, and I can’t help it if she likes me—a lot. But I don’t mix business and pleasure. Which is another reason for not listening to tales of your nightlife.” Max tilted half a glass of wine down in one swallow. Hell! He’d sounded like an egotistical jerk. “I think she’s mixing pity with attraction because of the way my marriage ended.”
“How long ago was that?”
“A bit over two years.”
“Then I think Jo’s gone way past feeling sorry for you.”
Max sighed out loud. “All right. She may care more for me than I do her. We’ve talked about it and hopefully sorted it out, because I don’t want to lose her as a friend or a colleague. As for your friendship with her, if it doesn’t impinge on police business, then it’s none of mine. I believe you two go back a long way.”
“It feels like a lifetime. Maybe we don’t see each other as much as we used to, but when we get back together it’s as if nothing’s changed. I would hate anything to hurt that.” Maggie watched him through narrowed eyes, but even that couldn’t diminish his size or his presence. Her friendship with Jo was precious to her. All the while they’d boarded at Saint Mary’s Convent School, Jo had been her rock—strong, stubborn, immovable and on Maggie’s team. And she had an uneasy feeling Max could be the catalyst that could blow their friendship apart. No way; it was unthinkable. Jo was all she had left.
“You can trust me, Maggie. I won’t let that happen.”
There was nothing Maggie would like better than to be able to trust Max. But she couldn’t. She’d long since decided cops were born with an instinct to catch people at their most vulnerable and use it against them. That’s what had happened on the day she’d watched the divers search for the remains of her father’s plane. A day when she’d been at her lowest ebb. Even now she couldn’t remember which hurt most, her father’s death and the fact that it could have been prevented or what came after. The memory of the way her father had scoffed at her warning made her shudder. Life had been good to Frank Kovacs, given him all he’d ever needed or wanted. Nothing could touch him. He’d thought himself invincible, and had died trying to prove it.
Max knew it was too much to expect Maggie to simply acquiesce, too much to expect her to trust a stranger—trust him. They were at the beginning of a journey that
