The Ring on Her Finger (37 page)
“Actually, I think rosemary is an herb.”
“Not this Rosemary.”
Lucy chuckled at that.
He gazed at her as if he couldn’t believe she was real, but still didn’t seem to know what to say. As if wanting to stall even longer, he said softly, “She’s getting married, by the way.”
“Rosemary?” Lucy asked, surprised. “To that nice Mr. Finn?”
Max moved a hand to her face, stroking his thumb lightly along her jaw. “Yeah, that nice Mr. Finn who wasn’t so nice to her.”
Lucy closed her eyes, turning her face into his touch. Breathlessly, she asked, “What did he do?” Okay, so maybe Max wasn’t the only one stalling.
“I’m still not sure. Something about a horse. But it sounded pretty terrible. Appalling,” he quickly corrected himself. “Rosemary said it was appalling.”
“But she’s still going to many him?”
“She said he deserved a second chance. Seems Rosemary is big on second chances.” He turned his hand now, brushing the backs of his knuckles over her cheekbone, stirring a fire in the pit of her belly. “I’m hoping she isn’t the only one.”
“Oh, please,” Lucy said softly. “I’d love a second chance with you, Max.”
When he didn’t respond right away, she opened her eyes. He looked confused for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I meant would you give me a second chance? With you?”
She smiled. “Only on one condition.”
Now he looked worried. “What condition?”
“That you give yourself a second chance with you, too.”
His concern vanished at that, to be replaced by what looked very much like happiness. “Deal,” he said.
Thinking maybe they’d both stalled long enough now, Lucy asked, “So...do you want to meet my parents before or after you ravish me on that sofa over there that cost more than your mother made in probably ten years?”
His eyebrows shot up at that. But it wasn’t the value of the sofa that surprised him. “Am I going to ravish you on that sofa over there?”
“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about it since the minute you noticed it.”
“Hell, yes, I’ve been thinking about it. I just didn’t think you were.”
“Well, what else was I supposed to be thinking about?”
He leaned in closer, arcing one arm over her head, crowding her back against the door. The press of his body against hers sent another barrage of heat rushing through her. “You were supposed to be thinking about how much you love me,” he murmured. “The way I’ve been thinking about how much I love you.”
The barrage of heat went white hot at that. “Oh, I’ve been thinking about that, too.” She looped her arms around his neck and buried her fingers in the silky hair at his nape. “And not just since seeing the sofa over there, either.”
He brushed his lips lightly over her cheek, her jaw, and along her throat, making her hum with delight before he pulled back again. “Since seeing me outside your window, huh?”
“How did you know that was my window, by the way?”
He grinned. “Easy. It was the cleanest one on the whole house. You always did a bang-up job on the windows at Harborcourt. I’m sure Alexis hasn’t found anyone who could come close.”
“Meaning my job is still open?”
He looked surprised. “Do you still want it?”
She thought about that for a moment. “Well...maybe not that job exactly. Though I do have one or two things I intend to tell Alexis Cove when I go back.”
Max wasn’t the only person Lucy had thought about since returning to Newport. She’d also thought a lot about Abby. And Abby’s mother. And how she still wanted five minutes alone with Alexis. But instead of a blunt object this time—the last thing she needed was another murder charge against her—Lucy would use some blunt talk. About how it felt to grow up with a mother who was distant and petty. About how distance worked both ways. And about how if Alexis didn’t start mothering her daughter with love and understanding, there was little chance her daughter would be around later in Alexis’s life, when she would have the need for comfort herself.
“So you’re gonna take on ol’ Alexis, huh?” Max asked.
“Oh, yeah. Which is another reason I shouldn’t pin my hopes on getting my job back.”
“But you are coming back?” Somehow, in spite of everything they’d said, he still sounded fearful of her response.
“Of course I’m coming back.”
“Even without a job?”
“Who needs a job when I have you?”
Although that certainly seemed to please him, he replied a little nervously, “Ah. Well. Actually. The thing is, Lucy, I don’t, um...I don’t have any, uh... What I mean is...” He inhaled a deep breath and released it slowly. “I’m not exactly coming to you with a dowry,” he finally finished.
She chuckled. As if a dowry worth trillions would make him any more valuable than he already was. “That’s okay. I have a trust fund.”
He relaxed at that. “Of course you do.”
“Between the two of us, I’m sure we could find some use for the money.”
“You sound like you already have an idea.”
“Oh, I have lots of ideas.”
He looked vaguely concerned again. “So what do you plan to do exactly?”
“Exactly?”
He nodded.
She pulled his head down to hers, placed her mouth beside his ear and whispered all the things she intended to do—exactly—the vast majority of which were erotic in nature. By the time she finished, she could tell Max was thinking the sofa was looking pretty good. And also the desk. And the Oriental rug before the fireplace. And the coffee table. And the statue of The Thinker.
He dropped his hands to her hips and pulled her close, curving his fingers possessively over her fanny to press her more intimately against him. Heat raced through her when she felt him ripen against her belly, and she palmed the back of his head to kiss him for a good, long time.
Before she had the chance to begin, though, he said, “So you wouldn’t mind if I met your parents after I ravish you on the sofa?”
She shook her head.
“You don’t think your dad might be put off when he sees how I’m dressed? Once I get dressed again, I mean.”
“On the contrary, he’ll marvel at how your taste is identical to his own.” She just wouldn’t comment on the fact that her father never wore those clothes in that particular combination. Different strokes for different folks and all that.
“Well, then,” Max said, “I see no reason for us not to...you know...get on with it.”
Lucy grinned. “No, there’s no reason at all why we can’t get on with it.”
As she pushed herself up on tiptoe, he lowered his mouth to hers, meeting her halfway. Halfway at getting on with both the sofa...and the rest of their lives.
The only thing Lucy hated more than Mondays were cold Mondays. And January in Kentucky, she had learned many years ago, was often even colder than January in Rhode Island. The only thing that could make a cold Monday worse than it already was was when the minivan was making a funny clunking noise, and it was full of screaming kids who were already late to school.
Oh, yeah. She also hated Monday because it was her carpool day. And even if all the screaming kids currently in the minivan were her own, she still didn’t like it.
“Max,” she called as she pushed open the back door of the big Victorian they’d bought in Louisville’s Highlands seven years ago, right before the birth of Sylvie, their first. “The van is making a funny noise again.” Their twins, Tucker and Tanner, were making a funny noise, too, but she figured that was nothing to be alarmed about. Five-year-olds were always doing that kind of thing.
Max was draining the last of his coffee as she entered. He always went into work early, because he never wanted to stay late, family man that he was, and Hogan’s Import Service was busy from the crack of dawn, since it was the place for foreign car owners to bring their cars for maintenance. He was wearing the oil-stained coveralls he wore to work every day, but he reached for his winter coat near the door as he gave Lucy a kiss on the cheek.
“Look, Monday is your day off,” he said, “so why don’t you let me drive the kids to school, and you go back to bed.”
Lucy smiled whenever Max offered to take the kids anywhere. She wondered if he ever thought about how he once made his living driving a Ferrari at triple-digit speeds and now cruised around town in a minivan. Probably a day didn’t go by when he didn’t think about that. What was nice was that he enjoyed driving the minivan more than he ever had the Ferrari. Well, okay, he enjoyed the lifestyle represented by the minivan more than he had the lifestyle represented by the Ferrari. Besides, he still tooled around town in his Spyder on the weekends when he needed time to himself.
“You promise to keep it under a hundred?” she asked as she held out her keys.
“Yes, dear.”
“Okay, then.”
“When the kids are in the car,” he amended.
“Hah,” she said, unconcerned. “As if the minivan would go a hundred. Even if it wasn’t eighteen degrees outside. And even if it wasn’t making a clunking sound.”
He grinned. “I’ve been doing some tinkering under the hood.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Max...”
“Just a little engine rebuilding, that’s all.”
“What did you do?”
“I added a few more horsepower.”
“How many horses?”
He shrugged negligently, but only said, “It’ll calm down soon. It’s just acclimating.”
“Max!”
“I’m kidding. The clunking noise is just weather-related. It’s perfectly safe to drive. I’ll take care of it today, and it’ll be fine for when you go back to work tomorrow. I promise.”
That was good enough for Lucy. One thing about Max. He always kept his promises.
“What’s for dinner tonight?” he asked as he made his way to the back door.
“The usual,” she told him. “Good food. Good wine. Stuff to make us happy.”
“Good conversation,” he added, “good company.”
“That, too.” She smiled seductively and strode toward him, pulling him close because that little kiss on the cheek, although delightful, wasn’t nearly enough to send either of them off on their day. “And later,” she promised after laying a couple of really good ones on him, “we’ll have some good fun.”
“Good, clean fun?”
“Of course not.”
He smiled a little seductively himself. “Excellent.”
This in spite of the fact that keeping things clean was what Lucy still did for a living. She was, after all, the regional director of the southeastern division of Dust Bunnies, Inc. The tutor the Coves had hired for Abby had helped Lucy enormously, too. Although she still wasn’t a champion reader by any stretch of the imagination, she functioned very well with her job.
“Don’t forget,” she said, “this weekend, we’re keeping all the little Finns. Rosemary and Nathaniel and the Coves are driving to Nashville with Abby to check out Vanderbilt.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Max said. “But, man, I can’t believe she’s starting college next year. It doesn’t seem like any time since she was a little kid having trouble at school.”
“Luckily, she got help.”
“Just like you.”
“Yeah, I’m lucky, too,” Lucy agreed with much feeling. But not just because of the reading help.
Max tugged her close again, for a long, soulful kiss, pulling away only when the horn of a minivan began honking incessantly. Sylvie was just way too knowledgeable about—and interested in—automotive machinery for a seven-year-old. She was going to be hell on wheels someday, just like her old man. Lucy could already envision the headlines on Velocity magazine twenty years from now: Sylvie Hogan, First Female Winner of the European Grand Prix!
“Happy?” she asked Max.
“Very happy,” he told her.
“Yeah, me too.”
And that, Lucy knew, was the only thing that mattered.
Elizabeth Bevarly is the award-winning, New York Times bestselling author of more than sixty books. Her titles have been translated into more than two dozen languages and sold in more than three dozen countries. There are more than ten million copies of her books in print worldwide. Currently, she lives in Louisville, Kentucky with her husband and son. Visit her web site at www.elizabethbevarly.com or like her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/ElizabethBevarlyReaderPage.
