Free Falling for Max by Shannon Stacey Page B

in front of the full-length mirror that hung on the inside of her closet door. There weren’t many opportunities to dress up in Whitford, so she might have gone a little overboard for the occasion. The dress was her favorite, a solid plum that was cut so well it didn’t need any further adornment. But in deference to the season, she’d topped it with a black cashmere cardigan and tall black boots that hid her warm tights. With her hair blown out and framing her face, she thought she looked pretty damn good.
    A glance at the clock told her she was almost out of time, so she kicked the closet door closed and grabbed the black leather wristlet she’d tossed on the bed earlier. She suspected Max would arrive at exactly four-thirty, which didn’t leave her much time to finish getting ready.
    At 4:32, she realized she hadn’t told Max how to get in.
    The buzzer doesn’t work , she texted. You have to text me you’re here and I’ll come down.
    I’m here.
    Trying not to picture him standing outside her door for two minutes, wondering if he’d been stood up or was doing something wrong, she grabbed her bag and hit the lights on her way out.
    When she opened the door at the bottom of the stairs, she almost laughed out loud. He was in a crisp black suit, with a blinding white shirt and black tie. “Did you come straight here from a funeral?”
    He looked down at himself. “This suit is a classic. Maybe I should have worn a different tie.”
    “I’m not sure a different tie would help. It’s a nice suit, by the way. Just a little severe. Is this how you always dress for a date?”
    He fiddled with the cuff of his coat, lining it up perfectly with the cuff of the white shirt, all the way around his wrist. She recognized that he was feeling off-guard, but she resisted the urge to smooth it over by talking.
    “You’re wearing a dress,” he pointed out a few seconds later.
    “Yes, but it’s a sundress, not a cocktail dress.”
    “It seems impossible to dress to complement you if I don’t know what you’ll be wearing. And, since I haven’t lived under a rock my entire life, I know asking a woman what she’ll wear when she agrees to a date isn’t the way to go.”
    “You don’t dress for me. You dress for the date. For example, if the restaurant you’re going to is nice, but doesn’t require reservations, maybe not the full dress suit.”
    “Should I go home and change?”
    She laughed, shaking her head. “Of course not. That suit looks
very
good on you and I won’t mind being seen on your arm at all.”
    When he turned his body and held out his arm, elbow bent, she bit back the urge to point out it was an expression and she hadn’t meant it literally. But she looped her arm through his and rested her hand on his forearm. There was something to be said for a guy with nice manners.
    When he tucked her arm against his body, pulling her slightly closer as they walked to his car, she tried not to think about how warm and solid his body was. Her arm was pressed just below his ribs and there wasn’t a lot of softness around his middle. They didn’t have a gym in Whitford and she didn’t remember seeing any equipment in his basement, but he obviously found a way to stay fit.
    When they reached his car, he freed her arm so he could open his door for her, and then he put his hand on the small of her back to guide her as she stepped off the curb.
    The contact, slight as it was, almost made her stumble. Between the affection dream, as she thought of it, and the way his hand on her back sent a warm flood of yearning through her, she must be starving for physical contact more than she thought.
    This was Max. Yes, he was incredibly attractive, but he was a sweet, geeky guy she’d felt sympathy for when he bombed trying to talk to Jeanette and she was helping him find a date. No—she was really helping him find a
wife.
    There was no way she was having any sexual feelings toward Max, no matter how good it felt when he