Amorous Liaisons

She was still beautiful, with her long, rich brown hair and deep brown eyes. And being in the same room with her was still an experience in itself—her body vibrated with so much emotion and intensity, she was utterly compelling. It was one of the reasons she was such a joy to watch on stage—she had presence, star quality. She’d always drawn people to her.

He heard the shower come on and began collecting glasses and plates.

Her perfume hung in the air, something flowery and light. The same perfume she’d always worn.

Jesus. I still remember her perfume. How sappy is that?

A part of him was flattered that she’d thought of him in her hour of need. But he also wasn’t sure how he felt about her barreling back into his life.

Once, she’d been the center of his world. He’d devoted half his twenties to loving her.

The wine bottles clinked together loudly as they hit the bottom of the recycle bin. Max wiped his hands on the thighs of his jeans.

His gut tightened as he thought of her news. Her career was over. Tough enough for someone like him to walk away from dancing. He’d only been in the early stages of his career. But Maddy had given her whole life to dance. She’d flown high—and the resulting fall was going to be long and painful.

He thought of her wounded look as she’d told him the doctor’s verdict. Despite his ambivalence about seeing her again, he wished he could take away her pain. The old feelings still had that much of a hold on him. He didn’t want to see her hurting.

He bounded up the stairs to the sleeping platform suspended above the kitchen zone. If she was staying in his bed, he needed to change the linen.

He was spreading a clean sheet across the mattress when she spoke from behind him.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Bachelor lifestyle.” He turned, and something primitive thumped deep in the pit of his belly.

She wore one of his T-shirts. The hem hit her at midthigh and her hair was loose around her shoulders. He could see the soft outline of her nipples through the well-worn fabric. She’d always been small in the breast department, like most dancers, but she was nicely rounded and very perky. His gaze dropped to her bare, finely muscled thighs. Was she wearing any underwear?

Damn.

“I borrowed a T-shirt. Hope that was okay?”

He shifted his attention back to the sheet and concentrated on making the crispest hospital corners in the history of mankind.

“Sure.”

“I’ve always wanted a loft,” she said, wandering to the rail to look down over the rest of the apartment.

If he looked up, he knew he’d have a great view of her ass and the backs of her slim thighs. He kept his gaze fixed where it was.

Eight years had passed. How could he still want her so badly?

He glanced toward the stairs. It was one thing to want to comfort her, but it was another thing entirely to desire her. He’d been down that road before and he knew it went nowhere.

He unfolded the top sheet and flicked it hard to send it ballooning out over the bed.

You don’t love her anymore. You stopped loving her years ago.

The thought sounded clear as a bell in his mind. Some of the tension left his shoulders. He was getting wound up about nothing. It was true—he’d gotten over Maddy long ago. Stopped thinking about her, fantasizing, wondering. It had literally been years since he’d been a slave to his feelings for her.

Which was reassuring, but didn’t quite explain the hard-on crowding his jeans.

She’s a woman. A gorgeous, almost-naked woman. And you spent the better part of three years fantasizing about her. That kind of sexual attraction doesn’t just die. But it doesn’t mean anything except that you’re horny, and she’s hot.

He looked at Maddy.

She was a beautiful, sexy woman. That was undeniable. Probably any guy would feel something down south at the sight of her in his big T-shirt and precious little else.

Okay. Good. He’d rationalized his hard-on to death. Now he had to deal with the minor problem of their sleeping arrangements. The last thing he wanted was for Maddy to realize he was hot for her. She’d come to him seeking solace, not sex.

“You know, I think you’d be much more comfortable if I slept on the couch,” he suggested casually. “I tend to toss and turn a lot. And you need to get over your jet lag.”

She turned from studying his apartment, a frown on her face.

“I don’t want to kick you out of your bed, Max. If you’re worried about it, I’ll sleep on the couch,” she said.

“I’m not worried. I was just thinking of you.”

A little too much, as it turns out.

“Well, if I get to choose, I’d rather sleep with you. I don’t really want to be alone right now, you know?”

The lost look in her eyes sealed it for him.

“Fine. I’ll just go brush my teeth,” he said.

And try to find something to sleep in. Preferably something armor-plated.

By the time he’d brushed his teeth, discovered he had a choice of workout pants or boxer-briefs and opted—reluctantly—for the boxer-briefs since he could only imagine Maddy’s reaction if he rolled into bed wearing full sweats, ten minutes had passed. When he climbed to the sleeping platform, Maddy was curled up on one side of the bed, her eyes closed and her head pillowed on one hand.

She stirred as the mattress dipped under his weight.

“I thought you were never coming to bed.”

“Had to put the dog out and check on the kids,” he said.

She smiled faintly, her big eyes drowsy. Up close, he could see how fine and clear her skin was, as well as note the few endearing freckles that peppered her nose. She’d always hated them, calling them her bane and covering them every chance she got.

He smiled.

“What?” she asked.

“I’d forgotten about your bane.”

She pulled a face.

“Trust you to notice them.”

“They’re cute.”

“On a ten-year-old. Not on a prima ballerina. I bet Anna Pavlova didn’t have freckles.”

He saw the exact moment that she remembered, again, that she was no longer a prima ballerina. The light in her eyes dimmed and her full lips pressed together as though she was trying to contain something.

“Come here.”

He held out an arm and she shifted across the mattress until she was lying against his side, his arm around her shoulders, her head on his chest.

If he kept concentrating on the lost, bewildered look in her eyes, he figured he had a fair to middling chance of pulling this off without embarrassing either of them. She needed him. That was enough to push all other thoughts into the background.

“It’s going to be all right, Maddy,” he said. “You’ll see.”

“I should have been ready for this. All ballet dancers have to retire, I know that.” Her words were a whisper. “Is it so wrong and greedy to want a little more? Another year? Two?”

Max tightened his embrace. He could feel how tense she was, could feel the grief and confusion in her.

“It’ll be all right,” he repeated, smoothing a circle on her back with the palm of his hand.

He felt the tension leave her body after a few minutes as the wine and jet lag and emotion caught up with her. He lay staring at the ceiling, listening to her breathing.

Knowing Maddy, she would probably be off home again tomorrow, her mad, impulsive trip having served the purpose of helping her express her grief and confusion. She had friends in Australia, a home. A life. She’d want to go back to the familiar as she tried to work out what happened next in the Maddy Green story.

She shifted in her sleep. As her perfume washed over him, a memory hit him. When they’d lived together, she’d left a scarf in his car after they’d gone to the movies one night. Rather than give it back to her, he’d hung on to it because it smelled of her perfume. A secret memento of Maddy.

Talk about besotted. He’d been so far gone it was a wonder the words hadn’t appeared over his head and followed him around: I am in love with Maddy Green.

Another memory: the night he’d decided to tell Maddy how he felt. It had taken months to screw up his courage enough to risk their friendship. He’d arranged candles and red roses and bought a bottle of French champagne. The kitchen of their crappy rental had looked like a bordello by the time he’d finished decking it out—a kid’s idea of a romantic scene, he recognized now. Then Maddy had come home, jumping out of her skin because she’d just been invited to join the Royal Ballet in London. He’d watched her unalloyed joy, untouched by regret for what she would be leaving behind. When she’d ducked off to call her mom, he’d quietly snuffed the candles and hidden the champagne in the back of the fridge and left his declaration unmade.

Thinking about it now, he could only thank God she’d been so preoccupied with her own news that she’d never thought to ask why she’d walked into the best little whorehouse in Sydney. She’d saved them both a painful and awkward conversation.

Maddy murmured in her sleep, her head moving on his shoulder restlessly. She rolled away from him, sprawling across half the bed.

He rolled the other way and resolutely closed his eyes. He had his first session with the life model he’d hired tomorrow. He needed to sleep, despite his circling thoughts and how aware he was of Maddy lying just a few feet away. He wasn’t a kid, held to ransom by his body and his emotions. If the past eight years had taught him anything, it was to grab sleep when he could find it.

HE WOKE TO FIND HIMSELF curled into Maddy’s back, her butt nestled into the cradle formed by his hips and thighs. One of his arms was wrapped around her torso.

He was painfully hard, his erection pressed against the roundness of her backside. So much for the protection of his boxer-briefs. His hand had somehow crept beneath her T-shirt to rest beneath the lower curve of her breasts. He could feel her ribs expand and contract as she breathed in and out.

She felt good. Small and sleek and feminine.

He knew he should back off, roll away before she woke and realized where she was and who he was and what was happening in his underwear.

He didn’t move. He wanted to flex his hips and press himself against her so badly it hurt. His whole body tensed as he imagined sliding his hand a few vital inches and cupping her breast. He could almost feel the softness of it in his palm.

Thanks to the notorious lack of privacy in dancers’ changing rooms, he’d seen Maddy in various states of undress over the years. She had small, pink nipples, and when she was cold they puckered into tight little raspberries.

He imagined plucking them, rolling them between his fingers. Pulling them into his mouth and tasting his fill of her.

His hard-on throbbed.

Man, oh man.

He closed his eyes. He had to back off. Now.

Maddy stirred, her body flexing in his embrace, her backside snuggling into his hips.

He’d never been so close to losing control in his life. His hand lifted from her torso. But instead of sliding it up and over her bare breasts, he twisted away from her warmth.

He slid to the side of the bed and sat up, scrubbing his face with his hands.

Talk about close. Too close.

His underwear bulging, he made his way downstairs. The cold water of the shower hit him like an electric shock, but it took care of business below stairs very effectively.

He eyed himself in the mirror as he shaved. He wasn’t going to give himself a hard time for waking with an erection. It was pretty much an everyday occurrence, with or without a hot woman in his bed. He wasn’t even going to give himself grief for horning onto Maddy while she slept. He was only human, after all.

But those few moments of temptation…

They were a whole other ball game. His jaw tensed as he imagined Maddy’s reaction if she’d discovered him feeling her up. She’d come to him seeking comfort and understanding and he’d almost jumped her when she was at her most vulnerable.

Just as well she’d probably be going home tomorrow. He clearly couldn’t be trusted where she was concerned.

Dressed in faded jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, he headed into the kitchen to make coffee. He worked as quietly as possible to fill the stovetop espresso maker. While he was waiting for it to brew, he cleared away some of the debris on the kitchen table. Which was when he saw the envelope icon flashing on his cell phone, indicating he had messages.

He clicked it open with his thumb, frowning when he saw it was a message from Gabriella, his life model.

pls call ASAP.

He dialed her number, a bad feeling in his gut. The message was time-stamped early this morning, and Gabriella was due in an hour. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to realize something was up. As her phone rang and rang, he hoped the news wasn’t terrible.

It had taken him over a month to find the body type he’d wanted to act as model for his latest project. The works he planned had been inspired by his years in dance, and he’d been excited when a mutual friend had put Gabriella in contact with him. She was a dancer—nowhere near Maddy’s level, but she had the refined, defined muscles and flexibility he required.

He tried to anticipate the reason for the last-minute contact. She might be sick. Her car might have broken down. Or—disaster—she might have broken a leg or something else equally debilitating.

The phone clicked as someone answered.

“Max. I’m so glad you got my message,” Gabriella said. “I was worried you wouldn’t see it in time.”

“Hi, Gabriella. What’s up?”

“I’m so sorry, Max, but I won’t be able to make it today. I got a job.”

“Right. Congratulations.” He tried to sound genuine. He knew that Gabriella had been looking for dancing work for some time now without much luck.

“I know this ruins your plans, but I had to take it,” she said apologetically. “I hope you understand.”

“Of course. We’ll just reschedule. What’s your timetable like? Is it weekend work?”

“Oh, I didn’t explain very well, did I? The job’s not here in Paris. It’s a touring show, a kids thing. I’ll be on the road for the next three months.”

Shit. Might as well have broken a leg.

He leaned against the kitchen table and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Right,” he said.

“I can still sit for you when I get back, if you’re happy to wait,” she offered tentatively.

“Sure. Give me a call when you’re back in town.”

He’d need to find someone before that, of course, but there was no need for Gabriella to feel needlessly bad. She had to make a living, and what he could pay her as a life model wouldn’t come even close to what she’d earn as a full-time dancer.

“Okay. I’m really sorry for the short notice, Max.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll work something out.”

After wishing her best of luck with her new job, he ended the call.

He fought the urge to kick something. It had been a long time since he’d wanted something wholly for himself. Was it too much to ask that even the simplest of his desires—that his chosen model be available to sit for him at a convenient time—be answered?

“What’s up?”

He turned to find Maddy halfway down the stairs. She was rumpled and sleep-creased and warm-looking. He made an effort to keep his eyes above the hemline of the T-shirt.

“Nothing. Just a work thing,” he said.

“Of course. You’re back in the workforce now. What are you doing?”

He stared at her. There were a handful of people who knew about his artistic ambitions. None of them were close friends or family. Still, he had to start owning his desires sooner or later.

“A bit of stonework. Mostly working with bronze. Mostly figure-based stuff,” he said.

God, he felt like a pretentious wanker saying the words out loud.

She frowned. She had no idea what he was talking about, of course.

I’m trying to be an artist.

That’s what he should have said.

Her baffled gaze slid over his shoulder to where his earlier works marched along the wall beside his workbench.

“Oh! Those are yours?” she asked, incredulous.

As well she might be.

Her eyes were wide as she walked over to inspect them.

“God, Max, I thought you’d brought them over from your dad’s place or something and didn’t know where to put them in your new loft,” she said.

He stayed where he was, his whole body tense as she circled his most recent piece, a full-size bronze figure of a woman balanced on one leg, her other leg bent at the knee and held at a right angle from her body, her pointed foot hitting her supporting leg above the knee. Her arms were lifted high, joining in a graceful arch over her head.

He’d been happy with the emotion he’d been able to capture in the piece, but it still needed work.

“This is great! Wow. Max, this is amazing. I can’t believe someone I know made something this beautiful.”

Something—relief?—expanded in his chest and he let himself move closer.

Maddy ran a hand over the curve of the woman’s waist and hip, her face lit with admiration.

“I can almost feel her moving. How did you do that?” she said. Then she snatched her hand away. “I’m so sorry! Is it okay if I touch it?”

Her expression was so contrite he had to laugh.

“It’s bronze. It could probably survive a nuclear holocaust,” he said.

She looked at him, shaking her head.

“I can’t believe you didn’t mention this last night, or in any of your e-mails, for that matter. I remember you used to sketch, but this is…I don’t have the words. What a dark horse. How long have you been doing this?”

He shrugged. “I’ve just been dabbling, really. But I’m about to get started on a new series I’ve been planning.”

“Was that what the call was about?”

“Yeah. Gabriella, my life model, pulled out at the last minute. I’m going to have to find someone else.”

He sounded pissed. Probably because he was.

She’d moved on to inspect his smaller, earlier works. He shuffled from foot to foot, then shoved his hands into his back pockets. They weren’t as good as they could be. He’d been learning his craft when he made them, honing his skills. He should have destroyed them. Or put them in storage somewhere.

Maddy’s eyes were warm when she looked at him again.

“Max. I don’t know what to say. These are really, really good.”

He was embarrassed by how much her praise meant to him.

“Thanks.”

She stroked the bronze figure again. “Losing this life model is a pretty big deal, yeah?”

“It’s a setback. It took me a while to find her. The series is dance-based, and ordinary models aren’t up to it.”

“Dance-based.” She looked at the bronze woman again. “Like this?”

“More dynamic. I want to capture that moment when dance becomes more than just movement,” he said. Then he stopped. Could he sound like any more of a tosser, crapping on about his work like some beret-wearing poseur?

She looked at him. There was a new light in her eye, as though she’d made an important decision.

“Use me,” she said.

“Sorry?” He actually shook his head, convinced he hadn’t heard right.

“You need a new life model, right? Someone to portray a dancer. Why not me?”

Chapter Three

HE WAS GOING TO SAY NO. Maddy could tell by the way his eyes darkened and his jaw tensed.

She had no idea if she was the right model for what he wanted to do. But as soon as the idea popped into her head it had felt right. Especially given the realization she’d woken to this morning.

“Before you say no, hear me out,” she said. “I decided something this morning. I’m not going to take this forced retirement lying down. I’m going to get a second opinion—hell, a fifth and sixth if I need it. I’m going to keep doing my rehab work and I’m going to find a way to dance.” She said it like a challenge, daring him to disagree with her.

She’d given up too easily; the thought had been waiting for her, fully formed, when she opened her eyes and blinked at Max’s ceiling half an hour ago. Dr. Hanson was one doctor, and she’d allowed his opinion to count for more than it should. She wasn’t prepared to give up. Not yet. Not until she’d explored every avenue. Her future happiness depended on her efforts.

Only when Max nodded slowly did she release the breath she’d been holding. If he’d looked disbelieving—God, if he’d laughed—she wasn’t sure what she would have done.

“I think that’s a good idea,” he said.

She smiled.

“Thank you. I needed to hear you say that. The thing is, most of the top dance medicine gurus are here in Paris. I couldn’t be in a better place, even if I only came here because you were here. I’m going to call around today, try to get an appointment.”

“That might take a while. Months, even.”

“I know. I’m going to lean on some old colleagues to put in a word for me, see if I can’t jump the waiting list.”

“Stay here,” he said. “It’s no palace, but it’s a roof.”

She felt a rush of gratitude. The idea of staying with Max was infinitely preferable to twiddling her thumbs in a faceless hotel room for weeks while she gnawed her nails to the bone waiting for another specialist’s pronouncement. But she couldn’t mooch off him.

She said as much, and he made a rude noise.

“We’re friends, Maddy. It’s not mooching.”

“Look, it’s one thing to show up on your doorstep, drink your wine, eat your bread and crash in your bed for a night. But I can’t foist myself on you for weeks at a time. Not unless you let me help you in return. That’s why I offered to model for you. It would be a sort of barter—my body for your accommodation.”

“You don’t need to offer me a deal to stay here. You’re welcome anytime.”

“Thank you. But I can’t live here and not offer anything in return. I know you well enough to know you won’t accept money,” she said. His instant frown was more than enough to prove her point on that score. “And, let’s face it, my cooking skills aren’t exactly great. Please let me do something for you in return for your helping me out.”

“It’s a sweet offer, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. If you really want to help out, I’m sure we can think of something else you can do.”

She studied him, trying to understand his objection. He sounded so adamant, so immovable. Surely it would solve his problem as well as her own?

Or maybe he was just being polite. Maybe she was the last person he wanted to sketch.

“Is it because I don’t have the right body type? It sounded like you were looking for a dancer’s shape,” she asked.

“It’s not that.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, the picture of discomfort. “I don’t think it’ll work out, that’s all.”

He was over the conversation, she could tell, but she wanted to get to the bottom of this. She wanted to stay with him, but her pride wouldn’t let her accept his hospitality without some kind of quid pro quo in place.

“Do you think I’ll get fidgety, is that it? I promise I can stand still when I have to.”

“It’s not that.”

She fiddled with the hem of the T-shirt, disappointed. “Okay. If that’s the way you feel, I’ll find a hotel this afternoon.”

He looked annoyed. “Maddy. I said you could stay here, no strings. Don’t be stubborn.”

“I won’t leech off you. I want to help. You’re helping me, why can’t I return the favor?”