Postcards From…Verses Brides Babies And Billionaires. Rebecca Winters

even though she was slick with need.

      “I can’t think of a better place for it. Think of it as performance art.”

      She bit her lip as he pulled down her fly and slid his hand inside her panties. She felt him brush through her hair, then he was gliding into her heat.

      “So wet, Maddy,” he murmured, kissing her neck.

      “I wonder whose fault that is?”

      His clever middle finger found her and began to stroke her firmly. She clenched her thighs around his hips and gripped his shoulders. At the far end of the walkway she could see a tour group turning onto the gravel path.

      “Someone’s coming,” she said, trying to pull his hand away.

      “I know,” he said.

      She couldn’t help but laugh.

      “Not me. Real people. Tourists,” she said.

      She bit her lip again as he upped the pace.

      “We’d better be quick then, yes?” he said.

      Useless to pretend that the danger, the illicit nature of what they were doing wasn’t a turn-on. Desire built inside her and she gasped as her climax hit her. Max kissed her, swallowing her small cry.

      By the time the tourists arrived at the fountain, he’d buttoned her jeans again and she had her flushed face pressed against his neck.

      “Don’t think there won’t be payback,” she said when the tourists had gone. “Sleep with one eye open, because you are going down, mister.”

      “And that is supposed to be a punishment, Maddy?” he said, sounding very French as he laughed at her.

      She tapped him on the nose with her finger.

      “Mark my words—you’ll get yours.”

      “Oooh,” he said.

      They stood and slowly walked back to the museum.

      Max slid his arm around her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. A warm glow spread through her—and it had nothing to do with the orgasm he’d just given her. She loved that she could make him laugh, and that he’d talked to her about his art and that even after three weeks, he still seemed to desire her. She loved his tender touch and his endless patience and kindness and optimism.

      As they walked past a window, Maddy caught sight of their reflection, saw the small, private smiles on their faces, the way they were twined around each other as though they couldn’t bear to not be touching.

      They looked like a couple. Lovers, in the full meaning of the word.

      Don’t turn this into something it isn’t, she warned herself. Don’t mix great sex with your grief and gratitude and his kindness and come up with something that doesn’t exist.

      She forced herself to release Max on the pretext of adjusting her scarf. Then she forced herself to shove her hands into her pockets to resist the lure of putting her arm around him again.

      It seemed like an awfully long walk home.

      A WEEK LATER, Max lay in bed, his arms behind his head. He could hear Maddy puttering around in the kitchen below, and he smiled to himself.

      “How are you doing?” he called out.

      “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