Postcards From…Verses Brides Babies And Billionaires. Rebecca Winters

      “No,” she said out loud, just to hear the certainty in her own voice.

      Barely twenty minutes had passed since she walked into the bathroom. Of course she was feeling antsy and uncomfortable still. The image of Max all hot and bothered was etched large in her memory. But it would fade. Soon, it would even be funny.

      She frowned.

      Okay, maybe not soon. But definitely what she had seen would be amusing one day, rather than disturbing and unsettling in ways that she simply wasn’t prepared to examine.

      She spent the rest of the day chasing up contact numbers for her dancing colleagues and making phone calls. Jean-Pierre and Anna both offered to contact their specialist, Dr. Rambeau. Apparently he was young but innovative and growing in reputation. She couldn’t get through to Nadine and left a message, crossing her fingers that she wasn’t out of town performing.

      By midafternoon, Max still wasn’t home. Maddy did some Pilates and worked her way through a series of stretches and strength-building exercises. Darkness came early, and at six she rummaged through the few groceries on Max’s shelves and wound up having more pâté spread on bread for dinner. She switched on the TV afterward, but her French wasn’t strong enough to make much sense of anything. By nine she was tucked in Max’s bed, one ear cocked for the front door as she waited for him to come home.

      She was wearing his T-shirt again, and his aftershave clung to the sheets. She shifted restlessly, feeling tense and edgy. No matter how hard she tried to distract herself, she kept thinking about what she’d seen.

      She punched her pillow then rolled onto her back and glared at the ceiling. Why was seeing Max in such a revealing way so confronting for her? Yes, she’d walked in on an intensely personal, private moment, and if Max had seen her, they both would have been embarrassed. But he hadn’t. So there was no reason for her to feel so…itchy and scratchy. No reason at all.

      She swore and rolled onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillow.

      The truth was, a long time ago she’d made a decision to ignore any attraction she felt for Max in order to keep him as a friend. He’d been startlingly attractive as a young man, and like a lot of the women in the Danceworks company, she’d taken one look at him and felt the tug of desire.

      But at nineteen years old, Maddy had already learned the hard way that men and ballet didn’t mix. No matter how much any man admired her skill, no matter how great the sex was, jealousy and resentment always drove a wedge between her and her lovers.

      She’d been burning from the latest breakup with the most recent of her boyfriends when Max joined Danceworks, and as much as she was attracted to him, she’d seen the writing on the wall without even squinting. A few months of hot sex, fun and laughs. Then the demands would start. The sulking. The fights. The cold silences. Finally, the angry betrayal with another woman. Or—worse—the angry ultimatum. She’d been there, done that, and a few conversations with Max were enough to make her not want to go to the same ugly, sad place with him. He’d been so funny and smart and generous. She’d felt instantly comfortable with him, and she’d made a conscious decision not to let sex become a thing between them. He’d become her first and best male friend.

      And now she’d caught a glimpse of the virile, sexual man behind her dear friend and she was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to forget it.

      Because the real, stark, unadorned truth was that seeing Max in such a blatantly sexual situation had been a huge turnon. The unrestrained need in him, the intensity of his expression, the hard strength of his body—even now she felt a rush of damp heat between her thighs.

      For the first time in over ten years of friendship, she was looking and thinking of Max as a potential lover and not as her friend.

      And that scared the hell out of her.

       Chapter Four

      IT WAS LATE when Max eased the front door open. He paused on the threshold, listening. The apartment was silent. Maddy had gone to bed.

      Good.

      He carried the foldaway camp bed his sister had loaned him inside and propped it against the wall. She’d raised an eyebrow when he’d asked if he could borrow it. His explanation that he had an old friend staying for a few days hadn’t gone far toward satisfying her curiosity. She’d already been suspicious of his continuing presence in her apartment.

      The crisis she’d called him over—a problem with the latest babysitter the agency had sent—had been resolved in the first hour. Charlotte had really only wanted a stand-in for her absent husband, a shoulder to cry on while she expressed her fury and disappointment that her little girl had once more been let down and misunderstood.

      Her gratitude had slowly turned to inquisitiveness as the hours wore on and he’d stayed to help bathe Marcel and Eloise then cook dinner. By the time he’d settled beside her on the couch after dessert she’d been looking at him out of the corners of her eyes, clearly wondering why he was still hanging around.

      He’d been avoiding going home, and they’d both known it. As soon as he mentioned the bed and the fact he had an old dancing friend staying over, he’d seen the cogs begin to turn in his sister’s mind. Which was why he’d made his escape and finally come home. He wasn’t up for twenty questions regarding his friendship with Maddy. Not that there was a lot to discuss; he just preferred not to have his sister jumping to conclusions.

      He eased off his shoes and crossed to the stairs. He could make out the pale oval of Maddy’s face on the pillow as he moved toward the chest where he kept his spare linen and blankets. He found a sheet by feel, then what he hoped was a pillowcase.

      “Is everything okay at your sister’s?”

      Light washed over the bed as Maddy flicked on the lamp and propped herself up on one elbow.

      “She was fine once she calmed down. Just a problem with an inexperienced babysitter. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

      “I wasn’t really asleep, anyway.” She frowned when she registered the linen in his arms. “Max, tell me you weren’t about to sneak down to sleep on the couch,” she said.

      “I borrowed a camp bed from Charlotte. If you’re going to stay for a while, I figured you might prefer a bit of privacy.”

      There was a moment of silence. He felt about as transparent as a teenager. It didn’t help that the mere sight of her in his bed springboarded him into about a million different sexual fantasies.

      She threw back the covers.

      “I told you, I’m not stealing your bed. If anyone is sleeping on the camp bed, it’s me,” she said.

      She stood and crossed the space between them, pulling the folded sheet from his hands.

      “Wait a minute,” he said, trying to grab it back.

      She stepped away and shook her head. “No. You’re already doing me the hugest favor, letting me crash here. Plus, I’m about half your size. There’s no way you’ll be more comfortable on a camp bed than me.”

      He started to protest again, but she held up a hand.

      “Have you got a spare quilt?”

      She turned and grabbed her pillow from his bed, tucking it under her arm. She looked immovable and determined. He yanked a thick duvet from the chest.

      “Maddy, this is crazy. I’ve slept on the camp bed a million times, it’s no big deal. We kept it for when Père was bad and needed constant care in his room.”

      “Not listening,” she said as she started down the stairs.

      He had no choice but to follow her. She was wearing his T-shirt again, and he was acutely aware of her bare legs beneath it and the way her pert backside swayed