A Marked Man. Stella Cameron

the first time a man had sized her up, but it was the first time Annie had been as aware of each spot where his attention landed.

      Max didn’t behave like this. Or he hadn’t before. Annie was used to his intense eyes and quiet way of considering what he wanted to say—and his open smile. They had kissed and hugged on parting, nothing more. They had never shared a sexually loaded moment like this and he had never tried for more intimacy.

      He was too sensitive to push for sex when he had to suspect she was upset.

      But it was on his mind. She could feel that, see that.

      Rather than the heat Annie expected, she turned cold, so cold she couldn’t feel her fingers, and the prickling that flooded into sensitive places was almost a wash of delicate pain.

      Almost a climax. Standing there, watching him watching her, Annie’s legs ached. The cold, dumbfounding stimulation pulsed and she longed to kneel. She wanted to tear off her clothes and pose before him until he dragged her down to him, stripping as he did so.

      “You work too hard.” His voice caught and he cleared his throat. When he looked at her face, his eyes were shadowy yet vulnerable. Guilty?

      Annie drew in a great breath, the one she’d forgotten to take, and Max’s gaze moved rapidly downward—and back. She saw him swallow hard.

      “I’ve never had my own place before,” said Annie. “In Pointe Judah I lived with my cousin, Eileen, and her son.”

      “But you lived in St. Martinville before that?”

      She struggled to calm down. If she opened a window there would be more air in the room, and she’d break this invisible field they had formed between them. Max wouldn’t be feeling what she did, Annie reminded herself. Or would he? Something was making his body react.

      “I didn’t tell you I lived there, did I?” she said.

      “Maybe you did.” He narrowed his eyes. “But it could be I got the impression you had when we were there today. When we drove in. It doesn’t matter.”

      But it did matter. “I grew up in St. Martinville.”

      “You don’t like it now?”

      “You’re only guessin’.” She had to avoid talking about details from the past. “You’re right though, I hate it now.” Not a word would she say about Bobby Colbert. She shuddered just thinking his name.

      “Are you okay?” Max asked.

      Annie nodded. Opening the window would be impossible. She couldn’t make her legs move, didn’t want to. And she didn’t want the desire that made her breasts heavy, her erogenous places ache, to slip away.

      Another shudder, this one convulsive, embarrassed her. She closed her eyes and imagined his light touch passing over her skin, and slipping inside her where he flitted over raw nerves. Again, a climax came so close that she put a hand over her mouth to stifle a moan and hardly dared to look at him again. He was involved with his own thoughts.

      Max ran the fingers of his right hand through his black hair and it sprang up in spikes. “If I have wine, will you join me?”

      That was the moment when the reluctant heat broke free and rushed to her face. She touched her cheeks and laughed. “Cold, white wine?” she said.

      “I’ll get it,” he told her and went into the kitchen. White maple, black granite and stainless steel confronted him. It seemed almost as unused as the living room.

      Steadying himself with one hand on the refrigerator door and the other on a counter nearby, he stiffened that elbow and stole a moment to recover. The animal every man hid, some larger, more dangerous animals than others, had just put in a real inconvenient appearance. He opened the refrigerator and stared inside. Max had confronted his animal on numerous previous occasions but during the sexual hiatus while he worked to make a new life, the beast had apparently been on steroids.

      He found a good bottle of Pinot Grigio, took it out and tried to decide where he’d be if he were a corkscrew.

      Max shook his head.

      “The bottle opener’s in this drawer,” Annie said, coming up behind him and reaching around to display a drawer where the only utensil was the corkscrew. She opened a cupboard empty but for a few glasses, some of them wine. Max took out two and uncorked the wine. He poured a little, stuck his nose in the glass and grinned. “Smooth, opinionated—brash even. A hint of white baking chocolate and squash casserole. Memorable.”

      Her giggle and the poke in the ribs she gave him didn’t cool the tension any more than his silly assessment of the wine had. “Here you go.” The first glass he poured he gave to Annie, then he took his own.

      She walked out of the kitchen. “I’ll show you the rest of the place, if you like. But maybe we should drink some of this first.”

      Following her, Max paused to look toward the square. “Are they going to have the holiday lights on for the rest of the year now?” he said.

      “I don’t know. This is my first year here.” She came to his side. “It’s silly, but I love those lights. They’ve just forgotten to reset the timer after the fair, or whatever it was.”

      “I’ve always enjoyed lights, the more the better,” Max said. “Every Christmas my parents’ home looks like Aladdin’s cave. I always look forward to seeing it. Roche likes all the glitter, too, but Kelly’s the tasteful one. He’d bring in a designer if Mom would put up with it.”

      They were making conversation again. Tipping up his glass, Max took a long, cold swallow of wine. Could be that alcohol was a bad idea while he wasn’t exactly in control of all systems.

      Annie took hold of his forearm and turned him toward her. “You’re a lot taller than me.”

      “I do like my women to be observant.” She isn’t my woman. Dumb remark.

      “Be nice. And kneel down. You should be able to rest your arms on the windowsill and have a place for your glass, too.”

      “Why would I do that?”

      “Because I’m going to and I’m inviting you to join me—because you like holiday bling.”

      Barefoot and fleet, she went around the room switching off lights. With the last one, she paused. “You aren’t afraid of the dark?”

      Not until now. “I can handle it.”

      She plunged the room into darkness and returned to him. In the glow from outside, her blouse turned brilliant, translucent white. When she knelt beside him only her face and neck cleared the sill.

      Silent, they stared into the skeins of tiny colored lights swaying and bobbing in the trees. Annie sighed and he glanced at her. “Makes me nostalgic,” she said. “Not that we ever did much decorating, but I think I’m nostalgic for the feelings I got in the holidays. All we need now is snow.”

      He laughed. “Dream on. But I know what you mean about nostalgia.”

      She didn’t reply, but she took several sips of wine.

      “Are you all right like that?” he asked. “Or is your back killing you?”

      “I’m okay.”

      Cautiously, he put an arm around her waist. “I’ll hold you up,” he said. “And don’t argue.”

      Had anyone ever held her that way? With a warm, strong arm that made her feel…different?

      For a long time they didn’t speak. A wind picked up and the lights danced. And she was dancing, Annie thought—with danger. Bobby’s angry face kept shoving itself into her mind. They’d met once since she left St. Martinville and that had been earlier today. Now he’d decided he was driven to force a new friendship. Funny to think about now, but they had been close friends once.

      Max’s fingers spread