The Ring on Her Finger (11 page)

“Hello,” she said nervously. That much she could do in Dino’s honor.

She really had done her best to avoid Max since their curious exchange in the Coves’ kitchen that first night. Oh, she’d seen him, but she’d made sure it was always from a distance—her apartment window, say, when he was working shirtless in the afternoon heat, his muscular torso streaked with perspiration and machine oil, his faded blue jeans hugging his nether regions with much fondness. Or else she’d seen him returning from the big house after dark carrying a plate of food, the moonlight silvering his dark hair and handsome profile and giving him the appearance of a brooding Heathcliff haunting the moors. Once she’d seen him late at night, when she was having trouble sleeping—she couldn’t imagine why—and was up watching
Guys and Dolls
on cable. Right at the point where Sky Masterson was accepting Nathan Detroit’s dastardly bet that he couldn’t take Sister Sara Brown to Havana, she heard a car drive up and went to the window to see Max returning from having apparently driven Mr. and Mrs. Cove to a formal event. On that occasion, he’d been dressed in full chauffeur livery, complete with dark gray, double-breasted jacket, jodhpurs, and shiny black boots.

Lucy had never been one of those quivering, giggly society debs who lusted after the servants, but seeing Max dressed in those boots and jodhpurs, all she’d been able to think about was what it would be like to unfasten each of the buttons on his jacket, thrust it open, and tumble him into the backseat of the Duesenberg for a quick game of handle-the-stick-shift. As she’d watched him through the window, he himself had begun to unfasten those very buttons, one by one, revealing nothing but his naked, brawny chest beneath. He must have sensed her watching him—all right, all right, ogling him—as he performed the action, because he’d glanced up at the window and caught her. Lucy, panicked, had quickly moved out of sight—she was, after all, avoiding him. But she hadn’t slept a wink that night, thanks to the tumble of erotic visions that had kept her awake.

It made no sense. She wasn’t the kind of woman who normally indulged in such whimsy. Especially such explicit whimsy. Although she’d had a handful of boyfriends over the years—a couple of whom she’d been intimately involved with—she’d never considered herself a sexual animal. Neither had any of the boyfriends. Not that they’d been particularly adventurous, either. Which, now that she thought about it, was maybe why she’d never considered herself a sexual animal.

But ever since her first glimpse of Max, Lucy had felt sexual—had felt animal—in the extreme. He was just the kind of man who immediately made clear, probably without even realizing it, that he knew things a woman wanted to learn. It was more than just how handsome he was. There was an air about him. An attitude of having gained more knowledge and enjoyed more experience and lived more life than anyone else ever could. Yet he worked as the car guy for the Coves of Kentucky. How could he give the impression of someone so worldly, so accomplished, so experienced?

Whenever she replayed in her mind that little scene in the Coves’ kitchen, she told herself she must have only imagined the way he touched her, that the brush of his fingers on her cheek couldn’t possibly have been as intimate or as affectionate as it had felt. And the look in his eyes, so peculiar and hungry and needful—she must have imagined that, too. And she really must have imagined her response to him, that quick, hot swelling in the pit of her stomach that made her want to touch him, just as intimately, just as affectionately.

But looking at him now, leaning so carelessly against the opposite wall, she realized she hadn’t imagined her response at all, because that hot, swollen feeling was back—with a vengeance. He was dressed in snug, faded Levi’s and a tight gray T-shirt emblazoned with the sole, red word “Ferrari”—she recognized it not because of the word itself, but because of the prancing horse logo at the end. Even in such a simple ensemble, Max exuded an allure, a fascination, a downright bewitchment. She supposed he did that simply by being alive.

“Hiya,” he said in response to her greeting, just as he had that first night when he’d come up to the kitchen for dinner.

“Hi,” she said again, mostly because she forgot she’d already said hello, so drawn into his enchantment, so drowning in it, was she by then. “What, ah...what are you doing here?”

“I came for you,” he said.

Even with so simple and harmless a statement, his voice was rich with sexuality and dark with innuendo, making the heat in Lucy’s belly surge.

“Why?” she asked.

“Dimitri’s class ended an hour early, but he didn’t want to leave you stranded. He knew I was out, so he called me and asked if I could swing by and pick you up.”

Lucy told herself to say something else, but the only thing that popped into her head was “Help! Help! There’s an overly sexy man offering to give me a ride home!” which would have been a pretty lame thing to say, since lots of women probably would have loved to have an overly sexy man offer to give them a ride home. So would Lucy, come to think of it. Under other circumstances. Circumstances like, oh...she didn’t know. Like maybe if she
wasn’t
living a lie and
didn’t
have the FBI breathing down her neck. Like maybe if the Russian Mafia
wasn’t
looking to make her food for the sturgeons. Like maybe if that moron Archie
hadn’t
stuck an ugly engagement ring on her finger.

Stuff like that.

Max nodded toward her outfit—at least the top half of it, the part with “Kiss Me, You Fool”—and asked, “Am I supposed to take you at your word on that? ’Cause if I did, I’d have to admit to being a fool. Not that there aren’t some things worth being a fool for.”

Lucy’s mouth went dry at that. He was doing it again. Saying things in a way that made her feel all hot and wobbly, looking totally innocent as he said them, as if she were the only one getting ideas she shouldn’t be having.

“Ah...” she began, stringing the single syllable over several time zones. “No,” she finally concluded. “It’s, um... The shirt, I mean... It’s...uh... A friend gave it to me,” she finally managed to get out, amazed at her ability to be honest. “A gag gift,” she added, so he wouldn’t get the wrong idea about her friend. Even though Phoebe wore this top with a straight face and any ideas he was getting about her were probably dead on target.

He nodded, but, thankfully, refrained from comment. “So. Need a lift home?”

“Uh-huh.” Lucy was immensely proud of herself for being able to actually utter a response in light of the fact that her gaze had lit again on the way his muscular torso filled out that tight T-shirt. She didn’t dare risk further jeopardizing her sanity by dropping her gaze any lower—as much as she wanted to. “I mean, if Dimitri’s left, I do,” she added. “I’m not really sure how the buses work yet.” Mostly because just the thought of looking at a bus schedule made her stomach pitch.

“Buses don’t run into Glenview proper, anyway,” Max told her, pushing himself away from the wall. “You’ll have a walk ahead of you if you take the bus home.”

“I don’t mind walking.”

He shrugged. “Okay. I’ll just head on back then.”

As he started to turn away, Lucy cried, “No, I didn’t mean that! Don’t go!”

When he turned back around, he was smiling. A teasing little smile that made her feel as if she’d just been swamped by a raging hot tidal wave that knocked her off her feet and filled her entire body with a languorous, sensuous heat. Wow. That was really...interesting.

He’d only been joking, she realized when she saw that smile. And now he knew how badly she wanted him to stay and give her a lift home.

“I mean, I don’t mind walking
next
time,” she said. “I’d really appreciate a ride home tonight. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Ms. French. I’ll be glad to give you a ride anytime you want.”

And although that statement could certainly have been taken as sexual innuendo, there was instead something in Max’s voice when he said it that sounded almost...wistful? Oh, surely not, Men like Max didn’t get wistful. They were too manly.

He took a few steps toward her, the simple movement filled with raw masculinity and pure carnality. Lucy didn’t think his flagrant sexuality was intentional, or even conscious; it was just the way he was. She figured he really couldn’t help himself. The problem was, she couldn’t help herself, either.

“Carry your books?” he asked as he came to a stop in front of her.

Someone exited the classroom behind her and bumped her, pushing her over the scant space that separated her from Max, but he caught her effortlessly and kept her at a safe distance when she would have slammed into him. When her purse went sliding down her arm, he caught that effortlessly, too, and in the same fluid movement, nudged it back up on her shoulder. His fingers skimmed over her bare flesh as he did, trailing frissons of heat behind them. He seemed not to notice himself, though, as he only collected her book from her and tucked it under his arm.

“Heavy,” he said in response to its weight. “Feels like a force to be reckoned with.”

“Yes, well, Professor Besser’s course is a force,” Lucy replied. “But the woman sitting next to me said that Mr. Lister’s class is a blast, and Dr. Proctor really rocked her last semester.”

Max eyed her warily. “Why do I feel like I just fell into a Danny Kaye movie? Is there going to be a chalice from the palace in this conversation?”

Lucy grinned, delighted to discover he was an old movie buff, too. “Maybe just a flagon with a dragon.”

He grinned back. “So you like old movies, huh?”

She nodded. “Yeah. A lot.”

“Me too.” He sounded reluctant to reveal that for some reason. “They pretty much helped me survive my childhood.”

The sentiment could just as well have come out of her own mouth. Old movies had been her salvation as a kid, too. She smiled at Max again as she replied, “Me, too.”

Neither seemed to know what to say after that, so they began walking toward the stairs. As they strode in silence, Lucy tried not to notice how much taller he was than she, or how much broader, or how much harder. She also tried not to notice how much cleaner he looked than he usually was, and how the normal dark stubble that shadowed his face and made him look so dangerous and overwhelming was gone. Tonight, he looked... Well. He still looked dangerous and overwhelming. But he wouldn’t abrade her skin while he was being dangerous and overwhelming with her. That, inescapably, made her think about him actually being dangerous and overwhelming with her. Which then made her glance away so he wouldn’t see her blushing.

As they exited the Humanities Building into the balmy summer night, she was suddenly very happy that she didn’t have to take the bus home.

“I parked in one of the faculty spaces,” Max said, as they made their way through the parking lot. “This time of night, I don’t think they worry too much about that.”

“You rule breaker,” she teased.

“Not really. Not anymore.”

Something in his tone kept her from saying anything more, as much as she wanted to. She walked alongside him in silence, then was surprised when he led her to a car she recognized as Justin Cove’s. Not one of the rarer, more expensive models her employer collected, but the ah, less rare, less expensive, Porsche Carrera—which was still a very nice and very costly bit of machinery. Max seemed to note her reaction, because as he thumbed the key fob and the car responded with an elegant chirp, he smiled again—though a bit more grimly than before.

“Justin doesn’t mind me driving one of his regular cars on occasion. He knows how much I appreciate exceptional craftsmanship.”

“You don’t have a car of your own?” Lucy asked.

Max shook his head. “It’s not allowed.”

Why would the Coves forbid him owning his own car? More to the point, why would he go along with such a rule? Lucy was about to ask him, but he was already opening the passenger-side door for her and tossing her textbook into the rear compartment. By the time she folded herself into the seat and he rounded the front to climb in himself, she got the impression he didn’t want to continue with that line of conversation. Actually, she got that impression when he immediately turned the key in the ignition, bringing the tiny black car to roaring life.

She got the impression even more strongly when, after he thrust the gearshift into reverse, he said, “Let’s talk about something else.”

The car bellowed even more loudly as he started backing it out, making Lucy think she should wait a bit before starting up a conversation about anything. Not that she could have said much anyway, because he extended his arm across the small confines of the car and braced it over the back of her seat—presumably to aid himself as he backed out of the parking space, because why else would he do it?—and brushed his forearm over the side of her neck. Although she was certain it was an accident, it didn’t prevent a little explosion of heat that detonated on her skin where he made contact.

“Sorry,” he said.

But there was nothing apologetic in his voice when he said it. Mostly his voice was strained and irascible. He immediately removed his arm when he turned his body forward again to shift and accelerate, making the car howl as loudly as ever as it leapt into drive.

They rode without speaking for some moments, then Max pressed his thumb over the buttons that lowered the car’s windows. “Do you mind?” he asked. “It’s a good night for it.”

“I don’t mind at all,” she said. “I love driving with the windows down.”

He smiled, his grimness suddenly vanishing. “Me too. Let’s take the scenic route home.”

She nodded. Like she would have known differently if they hadn’t?

She realized quickly, though, that she would indeed have known differently. Where Dimitri had driven to campus over suburban roads and an expressway, Max traveled from campus through an urban landscape filled with big, brick Victorian homes that were interspersed with Laundromats and liquor stores. Neon mixed with lamplight, and concrete sidewalks mingled with sprawling oaks. The night wind was muggy as it hurried through the windows, whipping Lucy’s hair wildly around her face. She wasn’t used to having it this short. Before, she’d always worn it bound in some way, so it couldn’t fly free. The feel of it now, caressing her skin, her cheeks, her mouth, was an oddly erotic sensation.