Postcards From…Verses Brides Babies And Billionaires. Rebecca Winters

me what it is,” he said.

      Her teeth crunched through crisp meringue and into a creamy fondant center. She savored the flavors on her tongue for a few seconds before swallowing.

      “Easy. Vanilla and pistachio,” she said smugly.

      “Humph. What about this one?”

      They worked their way through the box and she only got one wrong. As a reward, Max ate the last macaroon off her belly then slid lower for dessert.

      As she fisted her hands in the sheets and arched beneath the teasing, enticing ministrations of his hands and mouth, she felt the last of the sadness and grief she’d experienced drift away. Not gone for good, she knew that, but gone for today. Thanks to Max. Beautiful, sexy, strong, kind, patient, funny Max.

      “I want you inside me,” she said as she felt her climax rising. “Now, Max, please.”

      She felt as though a new understanding was building inside her, keeping pace with her desire, and she welcomed him into her body with greedy need.

      The familiar weight of him, the rasp of his hairy, strong chest against her breasts, the slide of his body inside hers. She wrapped her legs around his waist and held on for dear life, held on to Max, as her orgasm hit her.

      He came at the same time and she bit her lip as the fierce thrust and shudder of his body in hers pushed her higher and higher.

      Afterward, he rolled onto his back, taking her with him so that she sprawled across his chest. His hands stroked her hair and her back and she listened to the thundering of his heart as it slowly returned to normal.

      A fierce, warm awareness spread through her, a sense of well-being and belonging. This man…she’d thought she’d known him, top to bottom, inside out when she lived with him years ago. But she had never really looked at him or understood him.

      He was…She didn’t have the words for it.

      No, that was a lie. She had the words. She simply didn’t know how to say them to him yet.

      She frowned, smoothing a hand over his arm, tracing the curve of his muscles. It wasn’t what she’d come to Paris to find. But it had happened anyway.

      She’d fallen in love with Max.

      It was both a terrifying and an exhilarating thought. All her life, she’d held off from intimacy with men because experience had taught her that intimacy always came hand in hand with demands, because she’d never found a man she’d been prepared to compromise her love of dancing for.

      But dancing was no longer part of her life. Briefly she wondered if being forced into retirement had allowed her to see Max differently, allowed her to make room in her heart for something other than ballet. Then she remembered the powerful need to see Max she’d felt the day she’d been given the news her career was over. Was it possible that deep down inside she’d always known that Max was the one?

      The phone rang and Max stirred beneath her.

      “I’d better get that,” he said.

      She murmured her protest and he smiled.

      “It might be important. I’m expecting a call.”

      She let him edge away from her then shifted onto her belly and inhaled his scent from the sheets, a foolish smile on her face.

      She was in love. Possibly for the first time in her life, if the feeling in her chest was anything to go by. It literally ached with fullness, with the need to wrap her arms around him and invite him into her body and protect him and adore him and love him. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, feeling as though she was riding a roller coaster of realization and emotion.

      Max. After all these years.

      She heard his feet on the stairs as he returned from taking the call. She wondered if her love was in her eyes, blazing there for him to see. She felt as though it was radiating from her body, a physical energy pouring from her like light from a lamp.

      She wanted to tell him, to declare herself. And yet she was scared, because he had never said anything to her about his feelings. He had been kind. He desired her. He loved her, she had no doubt, as a friend. But was he in love with her? Could she really be that lucky?

      She turned and propped herself up on her elbows as Max stopped at the end of the bed. He still had the phone in one hand, and she saw that he’d pulled on a pair of jeans.

      “Maddy, I have some great news for you,” he said.

      She frowned, because her mind was totally elsewhere.

      “Sorry?”

      “I called around, spoke to a few old dancing buddies. Remember how you told me Liza was with the Nederlands Dans Theatre?”

      Her frown deepened. “Yes.”

      She had a sudden horrible thought. Max hadn’t bought them tickets to a performance, had he? Because she wasn’t up to watching other people dance yet. Certainly not someone she had once shared a stage with. One day, she would enjoy being in the audience at a ballet again. But not yet.

      “She phoned to let me know that the company is forming a new offshoot, a sort of collaborative partnership, I guess, headed by some of their senior dancers. People like you, Maddy, who’ve been pushed into retirement before they’re ready. Liza wasn’t sure on the details, but she gave me a number and I called. They’re looking for experienced, skilled dancers, people other companies won’t consider because of their age or injuries. The plan is to choreograph to their strengths, to perform ballets that rely more on the advanced skill and technique of the dancers instead of athleticism and flexibility. I just spoke to Gregers Roby. They’d love to meet you and talk to you about dancing with them, Maddy.”

      She stared at him, his words ringing in her ears.

      “Dance? But I can’t, Max, my knee…” she said, shaking her head.

      “They would play to your strengths, Maddy. Shorter sequences, shared responsibility for leads. Whatever it takes to keep someone with your skill and talent onstage for as long as they can.”

      She dropped flat onto her back, staring blindly. She felt dizzy, overwhelmed. She could dance again?

      She could dance again?

      Hard on the heels of a burgeoning, tentative hope came the realization that Max had done this. He’d contacted his friends, asked around, found something for her. Found a way to give her what she most wanted.

      Found a way to send her back into her life, her old life. Her life without him.

      “Why?” she asked.

      She felt the bed dip as Max sat.

      “Because you’re an exquisite dancer. Because they’d kill to have you,” Max said.

      “No. Why did you call your friends? I don’t understand.”

      There was a short pause, as if he considered his response.

      “I knew you were unhappy. I thought if maybe there was a teaching role, choreography, even dance notation available, that maybe…I know you didn’t think you wanted to do any of those things, but I thought that at least you would still be a part of the dance world. You wouldn’t have to give it up entirely. But Liza had heard about this new company being formed, and she made some inquiries for me.”

      She closed her eyes. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling, whether she could dare to believe in this potential reprieve.

      “They know about my knee?” she asked, in case he hadn’t made it clear enough to them and they thought they’d be talking to a whole dancer. “They know about my injury?”

      “Yes, of course. And they still want to talk to you.”

      She pressed her hands to her face, overwhelmed.

      “Are you okay?” Max asked.

      “I