it up and then pushed his glasses onto his
nose. For a long moment he simply sat staring at it. Cinderella had left her
calling card, but he didn't need to be told that she didn't view him as a
prince.
Such a slender little waist, he thought, fingering the belt. And such
beautiful, flaring thighs below that tiny waist. Darn it, his body was
hardening just at the memory!
Max stood up with a muttered groan. He had about as much chance of
getting Sophy Bennet back in his bed as he did of flying to the moon. Less.
Then his hand tightened on the belt. Hadn't he been just as pessimistic
about his chances with Sophy before that cowboy had been so obligingly
dumb?
And she had responded to him last night, Max reminded himself
resolutely as he headed toward the bathroom. Responded, hell. That was
putting it mildly. She had been like molten gold in his arms. Would she try
to deny it if he confronted her with that fact tins morning? Probably.
Reminding her of how she had surrendered in his arms would not be a
gentlemanly thing to do. But he had to convince her that there was
something between them, and he could think of no other way.
On the opposite side of town, Sophy dressed for work with equally grim
intent. In her mind she planned wildly different strategies for dealing with
Max Travers. No sense pretending she could avoid him. The company
wasn't that large and he would probably seek her out, anyway. Would he
gloat about her surrender?
A part of her wanted to rail at him like a wronged woman, but another
part wanted to maintain some sense of dignity. After all, she was
twenty-eight years old. Dignity was crucial. It was about all she had left.
Half an hour early, she made her way into the office wearing a
pinstriped dress trimmed with white collar and cuffs. It was the most
severely styled dress in her wardrobe, designed primarily for weddings and
funerals. It gave her a sense of aloof arrogance, however, and she badly
needed that this morning. There was no one else around, so she occupied
herself with brewing coffee. She was watching it drip into the pot when
the door opened and Max walked into the room.
For an instant Sophy just stared at him, terribly unprepared for the
confrontation. It was too soon. She needed more time, she thought
nervously. Max was back in his familiar clothing but it didn't help. Sophy
knew she would never forget the man underneath those unthreatening
garments. All the camouflage in the world wouldn't serve to hide Max
Travers from her eyes now.
"Good morning, Max. Come for a cup of coffee?" Sophy forced a breezy
little smile from out of nowhere. Damn it, she would not let herself be
intimidated. She had stopped being intimidated by wizards years ago, and
Sophy told herself she had no intention of going back to those feelings of
intimidation now.
He walked steadily across the room until he was standing beside her.
His smoky eyes watched her intently behind the shield of his glasses. "I
could use a cup, yes, thank you."
"Here you go," she said briskly, pouring out two cups and handing him
one. "All set to discuss your preliminary report with management?"
He blinked warily. "What report?"
"Oh, you remember, Max," she said very sweetly. "The one you kept me
working on until nearly ten last night."
A slow stain of red spread across his cheeks. "Uh, yes. I'm ready."
"Good. I wouldn't want to think the entire evening had been a waste.
Heaven knows a good chunk of it certainly was. Nice to know something
was salvaged." Darn it! She would not allow him to revel in her reactions
to him last night. She would make him think it meant nothing. Absolutely
nothing.
"Sophy…"
"Yes, Max?"
"Sophy, about last night," he began decisively.
"Max, you're supposed to be a very bright man. I should think you'd
have enough intelligence not to discuss last night." Her tone was one of
mild amusement, and Sophy was proud of it. But her blue-green eyes were
swirling with
nose. For a long moment he simply sat staring at it. Cinderella had left her
calling card, but he didn't need to be told that she didn't view him as a
prince.
Such a slender little waist, he thought, fingering the belt. And such
beautiful, flaring thighs below that tiny waist. Darn it, his body was
hardening just at the memory!
Max stood up with a muttered groan. He had about as much chance of
getting Sophy Bennet back in his bed as he did of flying to the moon. Less.
Then his hand tightened on the belt. Hadn't he been just as pessimistic
about his chances with Sophy before that cowboy had been so obligingly
dumb?
And she had responded to him last night, Max reminded himself
resolutely as he headed toward the bathroom. Responded, hell. That was
putting it mildly. She had been like molten gold in his arms. Would she try
to deny it if he confronted her with that fact tins morning? Probably.
Reminding her of how she had surrendered in his arms would not be a
gentlemanly thing to do. But he had to convince her that there was
something between them, and he could think of no other way.
On the opposite side of town, Sophy dressed for work with equally grim
intent. In her mind she planned wildly different strategies for dealing with
Max Travers. No sense pretending she could avoid him. The company
wasn't that large and he would probably seek her out, anyway. Would he
gloat about her surrender?
A part of her wanted to rail at him like a wronged woman, but another
part wanted to maintain some sense of dignity. After all, she was
twenty-eight years old. Dignity was crucial. It was about all she had left.
Half an hour early, she made her way into the office wearing a
pinstriped dress trimmed with white collar and cuffs. It was the most
severely styled dress in her wardrobe, designed primarily for weddings and
funerals. It gave her a sense of aloof arrogance, however, and she badly
needed that this morning. There was no one else around, so she occupied
herself with brewing coffee. She was watching it drip into the pot when
the door opened and Max walked into the room.
For an instant Sophy just stared at him, terribly unprepared for the
confrontation. It was too soon. She needed more time, she thought
nervously. Max was back in his familiar clothing but it didn't help. Sophy
knew she would never forget the man underneath those unthreatening
garments. All the camouflage in the world wouldn't serve to hide Max
Travers from her eyes now.
"Good morning, Max. Come for a cup of coffee?" Sophy forced a breezy
little smile from out of nowhere. Damn it, she would not let herself be
intimidated. She had stopped being intimidated by wizards years ago, and
Sophy told herself she had no intention of going back to those feelings of
intimidation now.
He walked steadily across the room until he was standing beside her.
His smoky eyes watched her intently behind the shield of his glasses. "I
could use a cup, yes, thank you."
"Here you go," she said briskly, pouring out two cups and handing him
one. "All set to discuss your preliminary report with management?"
He blinked warily. "What report?"
"Oh, you remember, Max," she said very sweetly. "The one you kept me
working on until nearly ten last night."
A slow stain of red spread across his cheeks. "Uh, yes. I'm ready."
"Good. I wouldn't want to think the entire evening had been a waste.
Heaven knows a good chunk of it certainly was. Nice to know something
was salvaged." Darn it! She would not allow him to revel in her reactions
to him last night. She would make him think it meant nothing. Absolutely
nothing.
"Sophy…"
"Yes, Max?"
"Sophy, about last night," he began decisively.
"Max, you're supposed to be a very bright man. I should think you'd
have enough intelligence not to discuss last night." Her tone was one of
mild amusement, and Sophy was proud of it. But her blue-green eyes were
swirling with