Back In Fortune's Bed

Max reminded himself that Sky was capable of holding her own in any company. She also had a father and three big brothers to watch out for her. Besides, he’d been left alone with Diana and that realization brought an edgy satisfaction that overrode everything else.

All evening she’d managed to evade his company. Not that he blamed her. He’d had just enough champagne to admit that he could have handled their last encounter with more finesse. He hoped he’d had enough champagne to manage an apology.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked with cool politeness, still avoiding eye contact.

“It’s been…interesting.”

“In what way?”

“Keeping up with all the crosscurrents has been an exercise,” he admitted. “I can understand Patricia’s headache.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Fortune parties are never dull.”

“This one hasn’t been,” he said softly. “And that smile of yours just made it even brighter.”

He heard the little hitch in her breath, saw the flutter of pulse in her throat, and finally her gaze swung up to connect with his. In that instant there was no pretense, no anger, just the intense familiarity of this woman, of that look in her eyes, of how she’d fit in his arms, in his bed, in his life.

All the years they’d spent apart fell away like a tumbling house of cards. Whether it was the moment, the setting, the champagne, it didn’t matter. He knew that he still wanted her and chance had delivered the perfect opportunity to have her in his arms again.

When he took her hand, the kick of contact resonated through his body and hummed in his blood. He felt the slight tremble in her fingertips a split second before she tried to pull away, but he fastened his grip and tugged her nearer.

Her eyes widened in surprise and she puffed out a gasp of indignation. “What do you think you are doing?”

“Resuming the dance Maya interrupted,” he said, pulling her resistive body into the traditional waltz hold. “Since your partner abandoned you, looks like you’re stuck with me.”

Three

Finding herself so unexpectedly alone with Max—with a Max who traded quips and flattering charm rather than backhanded swipes about her marriage—had thrown Diana for a loop before he took her hand and set her fingertips alive with sensation. It took two seconds of that skin-to-skin contact to admit that she’d never responded so instantly and intensely to any other man.

Not before Max, not since Max.

She was still off balance and struggling for composure when he attempted to lead her into the waltz steps that matched an old orchestral standard. His hand on her back seared through the filmy fabric to imprint the skin beneath. Hormones that had perked to life with the first glimpse of his smile now soared to their own melody. Yet her feet dragged, heavy with I-can’t-do-this-all-over-again fear and reluctance.

Around them other couples took evasive action, and her obvious resistance was drawing curious glances. To stand her ground and demand he let her go would only bring more attention to herself, something she’d loathed since childhood. With a stage diva mother and Broadway director father, she and her sisters had been expected to not only share their parents’ limelight but to revel in it.

Somehow Diana had missed out on those particular genes.

One of the reasons she’d fallen in love with photography was because it placed her on the other side of the spotlight; one of the talents she brought to her craft was her understanding of stage fright. She worked hard to devise settings that put her subjects at ease, and she helped them by using the same disassociation and relaxation techniques that had pulled her through an unhappy adolescence and even unhappier marriage.

Now seemed a perfect time to apply those skills.

Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the music, letting the rhythm flow through her limbs and into the dance steps. After several minutes and a complete circle of the spacious ballroom floor, she had almost blocked out her partner. And then he spoke.

“Not so hard, is it, once you relax and go with the flow.”

“I started lessons when I was three.” Following a strong male lead had never been an issue for her. Allowing herself to be pushed and pulled had been her strong—or weak—suit. “Dancing isn’t the problem.”

Max had always been sharp; she didn’t need to state out loud that he was the problem. His mouth kicked into a rueful half-smile. “I guess I deserved that.”

“For railroading me into dancing with you? Yes.”

“If I’d gone the formal route and asked you for the pleasure of this dance, would you have accepted?”

“No.”

“It’s only a dance,” he pointed out.

“Is it?”

He regarded her silently for a moment. “What do you think it is, Diana?”

Not Mrs. Young. In fact he was being altogether too affable. She didn’t trust him or the lingering traces of his smile any more than she trusted her body’s extravagant responses to his nearness. She didn’t need her breasts pointing out their acute craving; she didn’t want these touch-me flutters suffusing her skin. “I have no idea what this is,” she said archly. “Given your antagonism the last two occasions we’ve met, I can’t help but wonder what this civility is all about.”

“You think I have an agenda?”

“I think you have a nerve, expecting me to take pleasure in your company.”

“Would an apology help?”

“For the other morning? Oh, I think it would take a lot more than ‘sorry’ to make up for that outlandish allegation!”

Diana had set out for the late afternoon wedding determined on three fronts. To enjoy herself, no matter how many bad memories the ceremony evoked. To ignore Max, no matter how fine he looked in a formal suit. And if the second failed, to not get involved in another altercation.

So much for good intentions.

She’d been so focused on blocking out the impact of his touch, his scent, his sexy drawl—and that damn lopsided smile!—that she’d allowed herself to be sucked into this dialogue with less resistance than she’d given his request for a dance.

Now she waltzed on with her heart in her throat, dreading an offhand and meaningless apology as much as she feared further harsh words. But he didn’t reply for a long while, during which he turned her expertly to avoid another couple—Zack and Skylar, she noticed, absorbed in their own conversation—and in the process he managed to shift his grip and ease her closer into the protective shield of his body.

For a moment she forgot herself and her resistance in the smooth slide of his jacket beneath her fingers and the memory of his smooth, hot skin beneath. Then he spoke, so close to her ear that the deep timbre of his voice took on a life of its own in her blood. Battling her way back from those sensory depths, it took a little while for the ambiguity of his response to register.

I’ll keep that in mind.

That’s what he’d said. But what did he mean? That an apology wouldn’t be worth the effort…or that he’d need to put in more effort?

Diana wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer, yet not knowing left her feeling off-kilter and dissatisfied, like when a movie ended too suddenly without tying up all the threads. For a while she fostered that resentment of a story left unfinished. Would it have hurt him to explain himself and his changed attitude? Would it have been too much for him to attempt an apology?

Honestly? Yes. She knew him well enough to answer her own questions. Max Fortune had never been one for fake sentiments or for long-winded explanations. He made decisions, he acted, and those actions did the speaking for him.

Perhaps he didn’t have an agenda.

Perhaps, because of their errant partners, he’d simply found himself in a situation where he felt he should ask her to dance. Except asking would have resulted in a rebuff so he’d acted….

“It’s only a dance,” she murmured, repeating his earlier words to close the conversation in her own mind.

But he’d heard, apparently, because he leaned back a little, enough that he could look down into her face. “I’ve changed my mind about that,” he said. “It’s not only a dance. It’s our first dance.”

“Is it?” she asked, as if she hadn’t known, as if that hadn’t registered the instant he’d swung her into his arms.

“Yeah.” The same crooked smile as earlier touched his lips, but there was a dark gravity in his expression that caused her heartbeat to slow and deepen. “Seems we never got around to actual dates. Maybe that’s something else I need to apologize for.”

“That’s not necessary,” she told him.

Dating hadn’t been necessary, either, she thought with a bittersweet jab of memory. She’d fallen straight into his bed the night they’d met. Sure, they’d gone out for plenty of meals but those had always ended in a giddy rush home when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other any longer.

It was only after her return to New York, when she’d waited anxiously for a call that never came, that she’d taken an unblinkered look at her status in his life. No visits to meet his family. No double dates with his friends. Dancing with Zack earlier, she’d been stunned to learn that he and Max had been friends since university. As entrepreneurial partners they’d started up a range of ventures from the time they graduated, and yet she’d never met Zack and he knew nothing of her.

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