That Special Smile/Whittenburg (2 page)

Sylvie scanned the long length of his muscled legs, covered now in faded denim. His feet were still bare, but she imagined he hadn’t had time to do more than pull on the jeans and the loose, unbuttoned flannel shirt he wore. Maybe he had realized somewhat belatedly that he was underdressed for the occasion.

To her way of thinking he still was.

“Thank you, Max. The coffee smells wonderful.” She took the cup he held out to her and brought it to her lips for a first, nearly scalding, sip. “Mmm, not bad. I’m glad you found a minute to put on some clothes.”

His cup clanked against the saucer. “Were you worried?”

“Only about your health. Juliette would never forgive me if you caught a cold because I kept you from getting dry.”

“I’m sure Juliette won’t hold you responsible for that.”

Sylvie took another sip of coffee and watched as he seated himself in a chair opposite the sofa.

He balanced the saucer on the wide stuffed arm of his chair, set the cup on top of it, and decided to try a simple, straightforward question. “How long will you be visiting?”

“I’ll be here all winter, until the middle of March.”

“March?” he repeated, obviously surprised.  “But that’s six months.”

“Yes,” Sylvie agreed with a polite smile. “Do you think I’ll need a visitor’s permit?”

“No, but you might want to take up a hobby. There isn’t much to do here during the winter. Shops close, people leave, and it gets quiet. Very quiet. We also get some dandy snowfalls. I guess you’re used to cold weather, though, since you live up north. Boston, isn’t it?”

“Boston it is.” Sylvie dropped her gaze to the steam rising from her coffee cup. Max didn’t appear thrilled at the prospect of her lengthy visit. He probably envisioned her in the role of unwanted chaperone to him and his Juliette. Ah, well, he’d get over that misconception soon enough, and for now it wouldn’t hurt for him to show her a measure of respect.

“Are you one of the residents who leave?” she asked. “Or do you like the cold, quiet Arkansas winters?”

“Sometimes,” he answered, leaving room for choice, and then, she was sure, he deliberately changed the subject. “Julie tells me you’re an insurance investigator. She says you have your own agency.”

“I am and I do. Smith-Kessler does claim investigations for many of the larger insurance companies.”

“And how does the Kessler half of the business feel about your extended visit to Arkansas?” Max kept his lips curved in a smile, although it required some effort.

“Phillip thought it was a wonderful idea. But then, he thinks everything is wonderful these days.”

As she set aside her cup, Max noticed her pause and the soft shadow of affection that touched her mouth. “Phillip Kessler is my business associate,” she explained. “He’s newly married to someone he met while working on an art forgery case last winter. Elleny is delightful and her son, A. J., has all the charm of Tom Sawyer and a goodly amount of mischief, too. I’ve never seen Phillip happier or more dedicated to sticking around the home office.”

“So you decided to take a leave of absence and give yourself some time to adjust to the idea that he’s married.” It was a casual comment, born, he supposed, of the bits of information Julie had given him from time to time and spoken aloud simply to avoid an awkward silence. But Max knew the moment her gaze pinned him that he’d surprised Sylvie. No, it was more than that. For one brief instant, he’d caught her unaware, glimpsing a touch of vulnerability beneath her composure, a flash of discomfort that he’d seen it. For reasons he didn’t quite understand, Max decided to press the issue and see what she’d say. “Is it your head…or your heart that has to make the biggest adjustment?”

She was not going to answer that question, and she didn’t much like that he’d asked it, either.  It was disconcerting to realize Max was more perceptive than she’d thought.

And she wasn’t really in love with Phillip; he’d always been just a wistful fancy, a harmless fantasy she’d entertained on occasion. She’d known from their first meeting that Phillip would never be seriously interested in her, but sometimes she’d imagined what it would be like if he were.

It was one thing, however, for
her
to imagine it and quite another for a total stranger to question her about it.

She raised her brows in cool warning, even as a throaty ripple of laughter parted her lips. “Ah, you’re a romantic. I never would have suspected it, Max, from the things Juliette’s told me about you.” Sylvie shrugged in delicate amusement. “You can believe I’m here to recover from a broken heart, if you like. But actually the reason is much more mundane. The business is doing quite well, and since Phillip is there to manage it, I decided this was as good a time as any to take a leave of absence and help Juliette get her dress shop started.”

Max nodded, silently applauding Sylvie’s performance. If not for that moment of hesitation he might have believed her. He didn’t care
what sort of relationship she had with her business partner, but he did find her dismissive denial interesting. It gave him the distinct impression that Sylvie placed herself above such a simple human failing as falling in love, and he couldn’t help thinking that someone needed to give her pedestal a good shake just to remind her she was mortal too. Smiling to himself, he enjoyed the fact that particular responsibility wasn’t his.

“Ah,” he said, returning his thoughts to the subject at hand. “Julie’s dress shop.”

Sylvie didn’t like the timbre of laughter in his voice, and she didn’t much care for the way he kept looking at her. “Has she talked to you about it?”

“Practically nonstop.”

“Her enthusiasm
is
a little overwhelming, isn’t it?” Sylvie smiled.

And the way that smile took hold in her eyes caught him off guard, surprised him again, claimed his whole attention. He had to pause for a long moment, just to gain his bearings. “I guess you must share her enthusiasm if you’re willing to spend the winter in Eureka Springs. After the tourist season the town really shuts down.”

He kept coming back to that, Sylvie thought. Was he hoping to scare her away with threats of boredom? “I never have trouble staying busy,” she replied. “And there will be dozens of details to take care of before the shop opens next spring.”

“Julie said you’re good with details.”

Sylvie saw no reason to deny it. “I am.”

Max saw no reason to pursue the conversation. Sylvie Anne was beginning to live up to his expectations: a paragon of talents and virtue. Perfectly groomed, perfectly polite, and perfectly unexciting —except for her smile. He wondered where Juliette might be and when she might return. And he wondered what he could do to get rid of his unexpected guest. Placing his cup on the table beside the chair, he glanced up and caught Sylvie watching him.

She didn’t look away. Neither did he.

Her eyes really were green, he thought. He’d noticed their color before, of course, but only in a cursory manner and not with the usual attention to detail that was so essential to his work. So few people actually had green eyes. Usually, the shade was more hazel or gray, not a true green.

Intrigued, he leaned forward, letting his gaze shift to her hair and its burnished contrast against her creamy skin. She was lovely, he silently admitted. Her outer sophistication didn’t quite match a certain winsome quality in her smile, and the shape of her glasses somehow lent a vulnerability to her appearance that he was sure she wasn’t aware of.

She lifted a hand to adjust the glasses and Max wondered if it was a nervous gesture. He thought it might be and felt curiously pleased at the idea that she was unsettled by his observant gaze. He smiled. So did she. And an odd sensation skimmed his nerve endings, warming them to active awareness. Of all things, he was beginning to find her a bit of a challenge.

“At the risk of interrupting your concentration,” she said, “would you mind if I had another cup of coffee?”

Max didn’t stir; neither did he alter his concentration by any appreciable degree. Some mischievous impulse urged him to test her sense of humor. “You have very unusual eyes, Sylvie Anne.”

“My ophthalmologist tells me the same thing. You should try to be a bit more original with your compliments, Max.” She lifted her shoulder in a perky shrug. “And if you truly want to win my support, you’ll stop using my middle name.”

Win her support?
He didn’t know what she meant, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask. Sylvie just might be more of a challenge than he was prepared to tackle. “Why don’t I just get you a refill?” He rose and came toward her.

“Thank you.” Sylvie extended her cup and allowed herself a moment to enjoy the crease that amusement etched in his left cheek. It wasn’t a dimple. He was too ruggedly masculine for that. It was just a slight indentation in an otherwise lean face, and Sylvie felt a ripple of interest in a secluded corner of her heart. Phillip had told her once that if she ever found a man who could talk to her for longer than ten minutes without getting a crazed look in his eyes, she should handcuff him and take him home to meet her family.

When Max took the mug and left the room, Sylvie couldn’t resist checking her watch. Seventeen minutes and still counting. That was, of course, if he didn’t duck out the back door.

Somehow, though, she knew he wasn’t the type to run away.

Besides, he hadn’t asked a single question yet about Juliette.

Funny, she’d have pegged him as a man who got right to the point instead of wasting time trying to gain her support for his romance with her sister. Did he really think she had any influence over Juliette’s heart? Even if she had, she wouldn’t interfere. Especially since Juliette had far more experience with such things than she herself did.

But Max didn’t know that. And she certainly wasn’t about to tell him.

When he returned, Sylvie took the cup and saucer from his outstretched hand, murmured a polite appreciation, and cast a surreptitious glance at his expression. His eyes were clear, his smile even. But for reasons she couldn’t begin to explain, she felt uneasy.

Tucking a strand of shoulder-length hair behind her ear, she grabbed the first random thought that crossed her mind.

“Let me guess,” she blurted out as he settled into the chair. “You played running back.”

His brows arched. “Football, you mean?” He shook his head and laughed deep in his throat. “No, mostly I played running scared. First time I stepped onto a football field in uniform, I promptly got tackled and broke my leg in two places.  Since then, I’ve never understood why anyone wants to risk bone, tendon, and brain dysfunction for a sport.”

“It has a lot to do with money, I’ve heard.”

“Only for a chosen few. At any rate, I knew there had to be a less painful way to earn a college scholarship.”

“And did you?”

“Earn a scholarship?” He gave her a lazy smile. “Yes. Academic. Does that impress you?”

“Yes,” she answered. “But then, I’m easily impressed by intelligence. And I also happen to know how difficult it is to get a scholarship. That’s the only way I was able to attend SMU.”

He nodded and shifted to a more comfortable, more casual position in the chair. “I know. Julie told me all about it, from orientation right through your magna cum laude graduation.”

“Juliette spends far too much time talking.”

After a few moments it became apparent that Max wasn’t going to argue the point, which Sylvie thought showed remarkable intelligence. “She’s certainly spent a lot of time lately talking about you, Max.”

There. His eyebrows rose at that information. “Really? What does she say about me?”

Sylvie had known he would get around to asking that question eventually, but she hadn’t expected to have to prod him into it. She prepared to answer him, but as she parted her lips, Max interrupted with a laughing smile.

“No, on second thought, don’t tell me. It would only embarrass both of us.”

Somehow Sylvie didn’t think so. “Juliette has said some very nice things about you.”

“Oh, I’m sure she has. She always has nice things to say about everyone.” Max allowed a subtle dare to insinuate itself into his voice. “But why don’t we talk about you, Sylvie Anne?”

“There are so many reasons, I couldn’t begin to name them. And speaking of names, I’ll remind you, again, that mine consists of only two syllables, not three.”

“I’ll try to remember that.” Max lifted the coffee cup to his lips and drank, wondering why she was so defensive about her name. Maybe she didn’t feel it meshed with her image. “I suppose I could think of a nickname.”

Her green eyes became openly skeptical, as if she recognized he was teasing but was disinclined to acknowledge it. “I hardly think that would be worth your while, Max. After all, we’re only going to be neighbors.”

“That’s an easily corrected detail.”

“I suppose so. But I’d hate for you to feel you had to move away for six months.”

He laughed then, a low, husky appreciation for her dry humor. There might be hope for her yet, he thought. “I meant, Sylvie, that we could become more than neighbors.”

“You think
that’s
an easily corrected
detail
?”

The cool doubt in her tone clenched his sudden determination. In that instant Max made up his mind to become more than just a neighbor to Sylvie. Something more than simply the man next door.

“I’m certain of it,” he replied smoothly. “Providing, of course, that one of us was inclined to correct it.” He leaned back, offered her a seductive smile, confident that, if nothing else, the winter was going to be entertaining.

A suspicious warmth began in the pit of her stomach, but Sylvie dismissed it as inappropriate. What was he doing, flirting with her like that?

“Providing, of course…,” she paraphrased him, right down to the playful arch of eyebrows. “…that one of us could be persuaded it was worth correcting.”

He paused for effect. “Point taken, Sylvie Anne. Sorry. Sylvie.” He gave the last syllable a throaty caress. “I can be very persuasive when I put my mind to it. But I’m hardly ever unreasonable.”

“Just unreasoned,” she murmured into her coffee cup.