That one kiss didn’t mean anything

Not to him, not to her, either, Max rationalized. Sarah wasn’t the type for a flirtation or a brief affair. She didn’t date, and if she did, she would take it seriously. Max knew that.

But just a glance in her direction, seeing her hair tossed by the breeze, dark wisps on her cheek, watching her bite into a ripe strawberry, her lips stained red, he was not ready to say goodbye to her for good.

Max drank from the wine bottle and tasted her lips there. It wasn’t enough. He wanted more than a taste. He needed more. Maybe it was the sun. Maybe it was the warm air. Maybe it was her. He leaned across the blanket and framed her face in his hands. Sarah’s eyes widened. Such huge blue eyes.

What was so wrong with a kiss—or two—between friends?

Dear Reader,

As the days get shorter and the approaching holidays bring a buzz to the crisp air, nothing quite equals the joy of reuniting with family and catching up on the year’s events. This month’s selections all deal with family matters, be it making one’s own family, dealing with family members or doing one’s family duty.

Desperate to save his family ranch, the hero in Elizabeth Harbison’s Taming of the Two (#1790) enters into a bargain that could turn a pretend relationship into the real deal. This is the second title in the SHAKESPEARE IN LOVE trilogy. A die-hard bachelor gets a taste of what being a family man is like when he rescues a beautiful stranger and her adorable infant from a deadly blizzard, in Susan Meier’s Snowbound Baby (#1791)—part of the author’s BRYANT BABY BONANZA continuity. Carol Grace continues her FAIRY TALE BRIDES miniseries with His Sleeping Beauty (#1792) in which a woman sheltered by her overprotective parents gains the confidence to strike out on her own after her handsome—but cynical—neighbor catches her sleepwalking in his garden! Finally, in The Marine and Me (#1793), the next installment in Cathie Linz’s MEN OF HONOR series, a soldier determined to outwit his matchmaking grandmother and avoid the marriage landmine gets bushwhacked by his supposedly dowdy neighbor.

Be sure to come back next month when Karen Rose Smith and Shirley Jump put their own spins on Shakespeare and the Dating Game, respectively!

Happy reading.

Ann Leslie Tuttle

Associate Senior Editor

His Sleeping Beauty
Carol Grace

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Books by Carol Grace

Silhouette Romance

Make Room for Nanny #690

A Taste of Heaven #751

Home Is Where the Heart Is #882

Mail-Order Male #955

The Lady Wore Spurs #1010

*Lonely Millionaire #1057

*Almost a Husband #1105

*Almost Married #1142

The Rancher and the Lost Bride #1153

†Granted: Big Sky Groom #1277

†Granted: Wild West Bride #1303

†Granted: A Family for Baby #1345

Married to the Sheik #1391

The Librarian’s Secret Wish #1473

Fit for a Sheik #1500

Taming the Sheik #1554

A Princess in Waiting #1588

Falling for the Sheik #1607

Pregnant by the Boss! #1666

**Beauty and the Big Bad Wolf #1767

**Cinderellie! #1775

**His Sleeping Beauty #1792

Silhouette Desire

Wife for a Night #1118

The Heiress Inherits a Cowboy #1145

Expecting… #1205

The Magnificent M.D. #1284

CAROL GRACE

has always been interested in travel and living abroad. She spent her junior year of college in France and toured the world working on the hospital ship HOPE. She and her husband spent the first year and a half of their marriage in Iran, where they both taught English. She has studied Arabic and Persian languages. Then, with their toddler daughter, they lived in Algeria for two years.

Carol says that writing is another way of making her life exciting. Her office is her mountaintop home, which overlooks the Pacific Ocean and which she shares with her inventor husband, their daughter, who just graduated college, and their teenage son.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Prologue

Standing on his flagstone patio some time after midnight, Max Monroe almost missed seeing the mysterious figure dressed in white at his back fence. He stubbed out his cigar and took a few steps forward. There she was under the trees. Then she was gone. He shook his head. Real, or an illusion? He’d had wine with dinner, but not enough to bring on hallucinations. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he felt a cool breeze on his arms. Who was it? What was it?

It certainly wasn’t his neighbor Mary, a petite, silver-haired, lively older lady who lived next door was away on a Caribbean cruise. He’d been told that her niece was going to be house-sitting and by the way, if he wouldn’t mind looking in on her once or twice, Mary would be very grateful.

He owed it to Mary. She’d been more than helpful when he was moving in, letting the phone men into his house to set up his Internet connection, recommending gardeners and a cleaning crew.

According to Mary, her niece, Sarah, was too quiet, too shy and too studious. She was liable to stay indoors too much and keep to herself. Sarah needed a nudge to get out and smell the roses, which by the way, grew in abundance behind Mary’s house. Not the type of woman he’d be interested in getting to know, but still, what could he say?

Eager to make friends in the neighborhood and to repay his neighbor for her generosity, Max promised to look in on Sarah, though he doubted he could lure her out of her shell, if she was really as shy as her aunt said. When he’d seen a strange VW Bug in the driveway this afternoon, he’d phoned the house and knocked on her door, but no one answered. She had to be there so why didn’t she come to the door? Nobody’s that shy. But, what the hell, he’d tried, and he’d done his job.

Max took a sip of coffee from his mug while he watched and waited for the vision to appear again. If it really was a person. If he’d really seen anything at all. In the meantime, he surveyed his landscaped yard illuminated by the silvery moonlight, and his rock-rimmed lighted pool with pride of ownership. His new home was more than a house. It was a symbol that he’d arrived. The poverty of his childhood, the apartments he’d lived in, one after another, were finally all in the past. This place was his, all his. The next day he was having his first party there.

Aha, there it was again, the flutter of white shimmering in the moonlight. This time he was going to get to the bottom of this mystery and find out who it was. He set his coffee cup down and strode across the damp lawn until he stopped suddenly and stared.

There under the fragrant eucalyptus trees was a woman in a white gown only ten feet away from him. Her dark hair was tousled by the breeze, her sheer gown billowed, giving her an ethereal look. Under the gown he could make out the outline of her breasts and hips. His body reacted as if he’d been given a shot of adrenaline and he felt a sharp quickening of his senses. Not that he was gawking, but he was human, wasn’t he?

She was slender, this vision, but had curves in all the right places. He tilted his head and watched as she moved a little closer. Who was this ghostly creature? As he stood there, she bent over and picked up a handful of eucalyptus nuts.

“Hello?” he said.

She murmured something and looked past him as if he wasn’t there. It couldn’t be Mary’s niece, the woman who had to be coaxed outside, could it? Maybe she was sleepwalking and didn’t know she was outside. Thank God he’d put a fence around the pool.

He’d seen a picture of her and this woman looked nothing like Mary’s neice. In the photograph a serious bespectacled woman in cap and gown posed with fellow graduates on a college campus. This lovely creature was the complete opposite—so mysterious and romantic that he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her.

He took her arm. She frowned and shook it off. He wasn’t discouraged. He put his arm firmly around her shoulder and gently turned her toward her house. She continued to clutch the nuts in her hand, but she didn’t resist. He murmured what he hoped were soothing words, but she didn’t appear to be listening.

So he guided her into the house and up the stairs, clumsily bumping against the polished railing on one side and her hip on the other. The first bedroom door was open and a bed was so rumpled, it looked as if it had been slept in by someone who’d been tossing and turning.

“Is this it?” he said more to himself than to her. She didn’t answer. He didn’t expect her to, but she headed straight for the bed, as if on autopilot, put the eucalyptus nuts on the bedside table, then lay down, put her head on the pillow and closed her eyes.

He stood there for a long moment wondering what to do. Did sleepwalkers walk more than once a night? If so, should he lock her in or post himself at the door downstairs? He stared down at her pale, heart-shaped face, at the dark hair that was spread out on the pillow and felt totally bewildered. It didn’t make sense. How could the shy, introverted woman he’d heard about have turned into an enchantress? He should really leave. Go out and lock the door behind him and check on her tomorrow.

Instead he just stood there, wondering if, like Sleeping Beauty, it would take a kiss to wake her. If it did, and she was startled, she might jump up and whack him over the head with that vase of flowers on the dresser. What did he have to lose? A lump on the head. An embarrassing explanation. He’d always been a risk-taker. So he leaned over and brushed his lips against hers. Soft, full lips. Tempting lips.

Instead of claiming another kiss, which was what he wanted to do, he decided not to press his luck and reluctantly drew back. She didn’t wake up. She didn’t leap up and smack him. She smiled. That was it. Just a smile. But what a sleepy, sexy smile it was.

Was she dreaming? Or was he? Did she know what had happened? Would she remember this tomorrow? Should he inform her? Was he crazy? He pulled a blanket up to her shoulders and ran his fingers over her bare shoulder where her nightgown had slipped down.

Tomorrow he’d have to alert Sleeping Beauty that, in case she didn’t know it, she had a problem. Or rather, if she kept coming to his place in the middle of the night, they had a problem.

He had no intention of getting involved with a woman, any woman, no matter how beautiful or romantic. Especially if she really was Mary’s niece. He could foresee acres of complications around the corner. But there could be nothing wrong with making a neighborly call on her. In fact, that’s what he’d intended to do all along. It’s what Mary had asked him to do.

But as he walked quietly down the carpeted stairs, he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone. There was something about the woman that intrigued him. That made him want to find out what made her tick. Or to be more precise, what made her walk into his yard at night and collect eucalyptus nuts while sound asleep. It could be just her looks that attracted him, but he’d met dozens of beautiful women and had carefully kept them at arm’s length—at least emotionally—which was where they belonged. He usually didn’t pursue women, figuring they weren’t worth the time and effort. And when they pursued him, he’d eventually ended things. Which was exactly what he’d probably do with this one, if…if it came to that. Which it wouldn’t, because in the morning the mystery would be over. Tonight she’d stepped out of a dream and into his backyard. But tomorrow, he’d find out she was an ordinary woman and that would be the end of it. Wouldn’t it?

Chapter One

At eight o’clock the next morning a loud roaring sound woke Sarah with a start. She sat bolt upright in bed and blinked. She’d been dreaming. She was wandering through a forest in the moonlight, dressed in a long white gown, lost and alone until she saw a dark, mysterious man through the trees. He took her arm and they strolled farther into the trees until…he kissed her. A most amazing kiss that made her tingle all over. That made her want to kiss him back. But before she could, he was gone and it was too late. He’d disappeared, leaving behind only the memory of his shadowy face and the way he tasted, of wine and cigar smoke and coffee.

She was surprised she was able to taste and smell in a dream. That was a first. Also a first to wake up and find her heart pounding and shivers running up and down her spine. Not only that, she’d awakened with her lips still tingling, but with a feeling of disappointment, disorientation and unfulfillment. Where was she? Who was he? What was wrong with her?

One good thing. She hadn’t had an asthma attack in the middle of the night. She hadn’t had one for a long time, but the memories of gasping for breath, staggering into a steam-filled bathroom and the ever-present inhaler she kept at hand even now, just in case, would always be there.

The sun was shining on unfamiliar, faux-finished, pale yellow walls. The air coming through the open window was perfumed with roses—instead of the traffic fumes she was used to. Considering her black thumb, the roses couldn’t possibly be hers. The antique armoire in the corner was smoothly finished in an aged patina and not hers, either.

Then it all came back to her. Instead of sleeping in her own bed in her tiny apartment in crowded, foggy San Francisco, she was house-sitting at Aunt Mary’s sprawling home some thirty miles south in Portola Valley, a suburb of the City by the Bay. And that buzzing sound? That was the man next door cutting down Aunt Mary’s three-hundred-year-old oak tree! She’d been warned he might take advantage of her aunt’s absence and attack the tree just because it was shading his swimming pool. Not on her watch he wouldn’t. That was her primary job while she was there, to protect and preserve one defenseless tree.

She bounded out of bed, tore off her white cotton nightgown and tugged on a pair of drawstring pants, a comfortable faded T-shirt, and her large glasses, and ran on the filed floor through the house and out the back door.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” she shouted across the fence. She was wasting her breath. He didn’t see her. He didn’t hear her. But she saw him, all six-foot-something of muscular man, naked to the waist of his low-slung jeans.

She blinked. And stared. It was him. The man in her dreams. Then she shook her head. No, it couldn’t be, because the man in her dreams lived in a forest, loved trees and would never hurt one. He didn’t hear her, this tree killer, but she heard him, the whole neighborhood heard him.

Finally he turned off the chain saw, wiped the sweat from his forehead and looked over the fence.

“Hello,” he said with a dazzling smile on his tanned face that she supposed charmed every woman he encountered. And made them forget he was doing something he shouldn’t. But not her aunt. Not her, either, unless he put that chain saw down and swore never to use it again. “Did I wake you?”

“Me and the rest of Portola Valley. Yes, you did.”

He didn’t seem to get the message. Instead he merely set the saw on the ground and let his gaze roam over her baggy clothes. “Sleep well?” he asked as if this was an important question. He was anxious to hear her answer.

What did he care if she’d slept well, unless this was a chain-saw related question. Still, it was an odd question to ask a stranger. What did that have to do with anything? She decided he was just trying to change the subject. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. As if she didn’t know.

“Just trimming the tree,” he said, bracing his arms on the fence between the two properties. “Before it trims me. It’s got some dead limbs I wouldn’t want to fall on my house or yours for that matter. I’m new here.” He reached over the fence to shake her hand. “I don’t think we’ve met. Or have we?” He was staring at her intently as if he wasn’t sure. But she was. They had not met anywhere, any time. Except maybe in her dream. If it had been in real life, she would have remembered. She didn’t meet that many good-looking men. And when she did, she was tongue-tied and shy. Not today. Today she had something to say.

“No, I’m sure we haven’t.”

“Max Monroe,” he said.

Gingerly she extended her hand and shook his, her small hand immediately engulfed in his, while trying not to stare at the rivulets of sweat that dripped across the well-defined muscles on his chest. What did the man do to keep in such good shape? Was he a professional athlete? Or did he go to a gym and work out with a personal trainer? Things she might have done if she weren’t afraid of having an attack triggered by exercise. Never mind. She did what she could to keep in shape by walking to work in the city.

She couldn’t remember what Aunt Mary had told her about him. She really hadn’t been listening. Now she wished she had so she could pigeonhole him, and put him in a category the way she, as a social scientist, would do with a piece of historical information.

“You must be Mary’s niece. She told me about you,” he said. There she was at a disadvantage. He knew all about her, she knew nothing about him. Sarah wondered what her aunt had told him. That she was a nerd? That she didn’t date and had no social life to speak of? That she worked too hard and needed a break along with some new clothes and a new attitude? Was that why he was looking at her as if he was trying to figure her out, as if she might be a creature from another world.

“Did she also tell you that’s her tree you’re hacking at?” Sarah asked.

“It’s our tree,” he said pleasantly, slapping the bark with one hand. “And I offered to keep it trimmed so it doesn’t endanger either of our houses.”

“That’s good of you, but my aunt is more worried about the tree than her house. You can replace a house, but a tree like that…” She looked up into the branches that towered above her, and felt a little dizzy. That’s what came from sleeping in a strange bed and being awakened so rudely and so suddenly. She’d been working long hours, too, trying to finish a project. Because of her past medical problems, she always tried to avoid the stress of deadlines by getting her work done ahead of time. Her aunt had said she looked pale and hoped she’d get some rest while she was house-sitting. Not with this Paul Bunyon next door, she wouldn’t.

Sarah had been bogged down researching a paper about the gold rush for the next meeting of the Northern California Historical Society. She loved the subject, but with the hint of spring in the air and the promise of warm weather just around the corner, she’d been distracted.

Maybe she’d be able to concentrate better away from the office. She hoped so, because she’d informed the staff she’d be working from her aunt Mary’s this week. Her boss wasn’t too happy about it. In fact, Trudy had been in a bad mood for the past six months, uncharacteristically taciturn and closed off from the easy camaraderie they’d shared in the past. Still she agreed to Sarah’s working from home for a week. After all, Sarah hadn’t taken a vacation in three years.

She didn’t need time off, no matter what other people thought. She might be a little dizzy right now, but it was only because she’d changed her environment. She’d gone from city to suburb, from concrete to grass and from tall buildings to tall trees. Speaking of trees, she really had to be firm with this man.

Sarah put her hand on the fence to steady herself and her arm brushed against his. She felt a zing of electricity run up her arm, but from the look on his handsome face, Max didn’t feel anything at all. She really had to get a grip on her reactions. She jerked her arm away and took a deep breath.

“Just to give you some background, the tree is older than any building standing around here,” she said, gathering her thoughts at last. “The tree was standing when the Ohlone Indians lived here. Why, they might have danced around it to celebrate the beginning of spring. They’d have their skin painted, and their long hair bound and dyed.” She stared off into space, easily imagining the scene, almost hearing the beat of the drums. Her enthusiasm made her one of the foremost experts in her field; she lived and breathed the history of early California. If that made her a nerd, so be it.

“Really?” he said, raising an eyebrow, a half smile on his lips. “Funny you should mention it, because that’s just what’s going to happen here this afternoon.”

“A Native American ceremony, here?” she asked, wide-eyed. Now that would be something to see.

“I don’t know about the Indians, but there will be dancing, and you might see some dyed hair and some painted skin. You’ll come by, won’t you?”

“Come by?” she repeated. What on earth was he talking about? Why would she want to come by unless it was for real?

“To the pool party I’m throwing this afternoon. This house happens to be a great place for parties. Part of my job is entertaining clients and courting new ones. I’ve been afraid the noise of a party would disturb your aunt, so knowing she was going on vacation, I planned it for today. Now that you’re here, I don’t need to worry. See you at four.”

“Uh…I’m not sure. I usually work on the weekends,” she explained. No way was she going to a party to hang around a pool with a bunch of half-naked strangers. She hadn’t come to the quiet of the suburbs to be forced into awkward and stressful social situations. She learned long ago to avoid anxiety-producing situations whenever possible. Let people think she was antisocial. Her life was just the way she wanted it. Besides, she had much too much work to do.

“Work, on a day like this?” he asked, with a glance at the blue sky above. “Three hundred years ago you wouldn’t catch the Ohlone Indians working if they had a chance to play, would you?”

“Probably not,” she admitted. “They took every opportunity to dance and sing and feast, but I’m not a Native American.”

“But you know a lot about them,” he said, scratching his chin thoughtfully.

“I should. It’s my job to know about California’s history.” It’s my life also, she thought. She never understood why anyone, Aunt Mary included, thought it wasn’t enough of a life. Living in the past, some people said about her, shaking their heads. So what was wrong with that? The past was full of exotic characters, ranchers and explorers, swindlers and miners, spellbinders and promoters. In Sarah’s experience, people today weren’t all that exciting.

“So I heard,” he said, leaning over the fence and studying her with narrowed gray eyes. She couldn’t help thinking how unusual that was. She’d never known anyone with gray eyes. Gray eyes, a firm jaw and broad bronzed shoulders. What a combination. She suddenly felt breathless again. She inhaled deeply. She was fine. No wheezing, no reduced air flow. Just a case of jitters. Pretty silly for a twenty-five-year-old historical scholar. She’d better pull herself together and remember why she was there.

“About the tree,” she said, shifting from one foot to the other. After all, that’s what this was all about—the tree.

“Beautiful tree. Don’t worry, I’d never do anything to endanger it. Especially now that I know what it’s been through in the past three hundred years. You’ll have to see it from this side.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary, the view from here is enough. I appreciate it just fine so don’t count on me, I mean…”

“Come on over anytime,” he said, as if she hadn’t explained she wasn’t coming at all. “The band will be tuning up around four.”

“A pool party would be wasted on me,” she said. “I don’t swim.”

“Don’t or can’t?” he asked, drawing his eyebrows together in a puzzled look.

“Both. Either.” There. That ought to get him off her case. She didn’t have to explain why she didn’t swim, run, jog or ride a bike. All she wanted to do was to stop him from cutting down the tree. She didn’t want to socialize or go to any parties. She had piles of paperwork to do. Besides the research, she was also editing a pamphlet on the Missions of the Bay Area.

“No problem. Swimming is not required. In fact, most of the women I know don’t want to get their hair wet. But schmoozing is required. You do schmooze, don’t you?” He was leaning so far over the fence, she could see the laugh lines around his eyes and the stubble of beard on his chin.

“I’m not sure,” she said, taking a step backward. “In any case, I won’t be schmoozing today. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I have work to do.”

“It’s Saturday,” he said. “Don’t tell me you have to work all day.”

“Wait a minute. Don’t sound so shocked. You said entertaining was part of your work. So you’re working on Saturday, too.”

He held up his hand. “Touché,” he said.

“I love my work,” she said, and turned to go. Besides, she didn’t know how much longer she could be exposed to his bare chest without staring as if she’d never seen a half-naked man before. He was having an unsettling effect on her. It must be that she hadn’t had her coffee yet.

“That’s what your aunt said about you,” he said.

I’ll bet she did, Sarah thought. I bet she told you all about me. Aunt Mary might have even told him she needed to go to a party with a bunch of people she didn’t know so she could expand her horizons. Funny how people always seemed to think they knew what was best for you. Her parents sure did. They had hovered over her for years, giving advice and checking up on her daily even after she’d left home and had a life of her own.

Sarah loved her aunt dearly, but why couldn’t she see that she was doing just fine the way she was? She turned back to face him. “Did she also tell you I’m here to keep an eye on you?”

“Can’t keep an eye on me from over there at your house. You’d better come to the party or I’ll have to come and get you.” He grinned at her which annoyed her.

“I’ll think about it,” she said firmly, and this time she made it back to the house without a backward look. But even then, she couldn’t shake the view she’d had of his tanned torso, quizzical gaze and granite jaw.

Yes, he was some hunk of man. If her aunt had mentioned that, she hadn’t heard it. And if she had, she wouldn’t have done anything differently. She hadn’t drooled over him, she’d merely confronted him about mutilating the tree. Hopefully she could last the week without another run-in. One thing was for sure, she had no intention of going to his party. She looked forward to a long, peaceful afternoon immersed in another century.

Max stood at the fence, absently scratching his jaw, watching Sarah walk across the lawn, shoulders back, hips swaying gently under those baggy pants. It was her. Sleeping Beauty. Only not such a beauty behind those awful glasses and that oversize T-shirt. He was torn between immediately blurting out what had happened last night and keeping his mouth shut for the moment. Sooner or later he’d have to tell her. It looked like it was going to be later.

She was certainly an unusual type, even without the sleepwalking. Ms. Plain by day, a beauty by night. Definitely not his type. But then who was, these days? He hadn’t had a girlfriend for almost two years, and he wasn’t looking for one.

He had firsthand knowledge of how a seemingly perfect marriage could go sour and ruin the lives of not only the couple, but everyone else around, including children, friends and extended family. His parents’ marriage had shown him that, and he wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

Anybody with his job would naturally be discouraged from getting serious about anyone. Sure there were divorce lawyers who were married. Most of them married more than once. Who needed that kind of complication in their life? Alimony payments, recriminations. Unfair settlements. Child custody battles. Not for him. He saw enough of it. He wanted no part of it in his personal life.

Which was why he avoided serious relationships. Casual affairs, good times…sure. As long as both sides were consenting and had no unrealistic expectations, why not? But after the train wrecks he’d seen in divorce court, the fights, the broken homes and broken hearts, marriage was definitely not for him.

The way it was, his time was his own. His choices were his own. No compromises. No tears. No tantrums. No sleepless nights. He was a lucky man.

Chapter Two

Max knew full well what it was like to work on Saturday and Sunday, too. He’d teased Sarah, but she’d nailed him when she accused him of working today, too. He found his job challenging and he didn’t mind working on weekends at all. He hadn’t gotten where he was by slacking off. If he wanted to stay where he was, which was on top of the game, he had to work twice as hard as the others.

He got plenty of repeat business, which was a sad commentary on marriage, but when his clients turned to him to help out with the next settlement, he was there for them. Today he’d invited everyone he’d represented in the past few years. Some were good friends, some just clients. Some were remarried, some single, and some soon to be single.

Now that he thought about it, he didn’t even know why he’d bothered to invite Sarah to his party. She wouldn’t fit in and she probably wouldn’t have a good time. So it was a good thing that she wasn’t likely to show up. It was only that her aunt had not so subtly suggested she needed to get out more. And after last night, he felt he should keep an eye on her. Also he felt bad about waking her up this morning. After a night of sleepwalking, she needed her rest.

Max wondered if Sarah could remember what happened. The walking, the gathering of nuts, or the kiss? No, of course not. She would have said something. Or given some kind of sign. A look, a frown or a smile. He couldn’t get over how different she looked. And yet there was a hint of that beautiful creature of the night in the way she held her head, the look in her eyes. It was maddening how elusive it was, there for a brief moment, and then gone again.

He hadn’t realized until this morning how the tree was shading his pool, and he wanted to get out and do something before the party. Anything but worry about the few unhappy clients who felt they deserved more than they’d gotten in their settlements, and were blaming not only their ex, but him, too. It was a gut-wrenching business, dealing with people who’d failed while participating in one of life’s most important unions, and it was sometimes depressing, but somebody had to do it and the proceeds had enabled him to enjoy the kind of lifestyle he’d once only dreamed of.

But there was pressure to keep it up. Today was the day to thank his clients with his yearly party, show off his new house, and do some general PR for himself. He really didn’t need an extra woman there. One who’d stand out from all the others. He could hear the comments now.

“Who’s the lady in the glasses? The one standing over there by herself.”

“Doesn’t look like one of Max’s clients.”

“Or one of his girlfriends.”

“Where’d she come from?”

They hadn’t seen her in the middle of the night. They had no idea how she looked in a sheer nightgown. He felt his pulse kick up a notch just thinking about it. He was sorry he’d invited her, because he definitely didn’t want her at his party. Oh, well, she probably wouldn’t come. So why worry?

His cell phone rang and he took it out of his back pocket. It was the caterer. They’d be setting up at three and were checking on the facilities at his house. Large oven, microwave, freezer space? Yes, yes and yes.

But when they came that afternoon in their white van with Countryside Catering painted on the side, they said they’d understood he had a double oven. He looked around the spotless, unused kitchen and wondered if he’d told them he had. Since he’d moved in a month ago, he really hadn’t used the kitchen and he probably never would. He usually ate out or ordered in, so the kitchen was terra incognito.

While some of the crew set up tables on the spacious patio and started a barbecue going behind the house, others took over the kitchen, mixing salads, arranging appetizer puffs on baking sheets. Max wandered outside and looked across the fence. No sign of his neighbor. She was probably inside buried under a pile of history books. It was better that way. She wouldn’t fit in with the group. He knew it and she probably knew it, too.

When he first saw her this morning he realized she was exactly what he’d expected from her aunt’s description. And the complete opposite of the exotic creature of last night. Then the longer he stood there the more he was aware of her dual personality and changeable looks. He couldn’t help wondering if she’d walk every night. Did he hope she’d wander in a see-through nightgown every night? Of course not. Now that he knew who she was. But what if she went somewhere else in her sheer nightgown? Down the street? Out into the street? That was a scary thought. He’d have to go after her. And he had to tell her. Or did she already know?

He also wondered if he was exactly what she’d expected from him. Or hadn’t her aunt bothered to say anything about him except to warn her about the tree? It didn’t matter. If he laid off the chain saw he wouldn’t see her again, unless she walked at night or…No, he was convinced she wouldn’t come to the party. Why should she? She didn’t know anyone. She didn’t even know him. Not as well as he knew her.

One of the caterers came out to the backyard, wiping her hands on her white apron.

“Mr. Monroe, it’s almost four and we have to have another oven.”

“Sorry about that, but that’s all I’ve got.”

She glanced across the fence. “What about using your neighbor, Mrs. Jenkins’ oven? We catered a party there a little while back. Nice lady. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

“No, she wouldn’t, but she’s not home.” Too bad he’d gotten off on the wrong foot with Ms. History Buff by waking her up this morning and trying to reconcile her nocturnal self with her daytime persona, and he sure didn’t make up for it by inviting her to his party. She’d made that clear. It was probably the last place she’d want to be this afternoon. But why not? Would it hurt her to put in an appearance? Lots of people went to parties where they didn’t know anyone. That was the point. You went to meet new people. Why did he care? He didn’t. Well, maybe just a little. Okay, he wanted to see her again. He wanted to see how she’d look dressed for a party. Somewhere between her sleepwalker nightgown and her baggy shorts, he imagined.

Why shouldn’t she drop in, say hello, look around, and slip away if she was bored? It was a great day, there’d be fabulous food—if he could borrow her oven—and some attractive people there, though given her scholarly interests, she might find some of them on the shallow side.

“She’s got someone house-sitting,” he said. “I’ll go ask her.” She could always say no.

In answer to his knocking, she came to the back door, this time wearing a pair of elastic-waist shorts and the same T-shirt. Clearly she was not in a party mood. She was carrying a large book in one hand, no big surprise, and looking owlish behind those glasses.

“Yes?” she said disdainfully, as if he was a door-to-door salesman or someone handing out religious pamphlets.

“Hi. Remember me, your next-door neighbor?” he said cheerfully. He didn’t wait for an answer. “I hate to bother you, but it’s about my party, I think I mentioned I was having a party? Well, the caterers need an extra oven. It wouldn’t take long, but they’re baking these…I’m not sure what they are, but they’d sure appreciate it if they could use your oven for a little while. Unless you’re using it,” he added.

“No, I’m not. I guess it would be all right,” she said doubtfully.

“That’s great. I’ll send them over. Thanks.” He reached out and shook her hand, the one that wasn’t clutching the book to her chest. “Your hands are cold,” he said. “You should come outside in the sun.”

“I can’t, I’m…”

“Working, I know, but you can’t stay inside on a day like this. It’s a crime against nature. I still expect you to drop in at the party. You can spare a few minutes, half hour at least, can’t you?”

“Maybe,” she said. In this case, that “maybe” sure sounded like a no.

He shrugged and told himself to forget it. Forget her. Hadn’t she made it perfectly clear she did not want any part of his party?

An hour later, the hot appetizers were sizzling, thanks to Sarah’s oven. The three-piece band was playing mariachi music and the bartender was making margaritas. His guests were tanned and reeking of ambition and money. Many were desperately seeking someone new to share their lives with, despite their past failures, but they all seemed to be having a good time. Sometimes Max worried about that desperation he saw on their faces.

He almost wanted to say, Slow down, take it easy. Give it a rest. There are worse things than being alone. Being single has its advantages. And if you do get married again, don’t rush into anything.

But would they listen to him, their divorce lawyer? What did he know about wedded bliss? He knew plenty about the pain of divorce. Their divorces. Was he such a sterling example of single happiness? He thought so. They probably didn’t.

He worked his way through the crowd, keeping his counsel to himself, making small talk and occasionally casting a glance across the fence. Wondering if the music penetrated the walls of her house or if she’d tuned everything out to concentrate.

He told himself to forget about her. Sure, she looked like something out of a fairy tale in the middle of the night. But by day, she was prickly and studious. She wasn’t his type and she wasn’t his responsibility. She wasn’t even his neighbor. He would have had better luck inviting her outgoing and sociable aunt. He didn’t mind escorting the niece back to bed if she came onto his property in the middle of the night, but a daytime party was a different matter.

He knew she really didn’t want to come, and he also knew if she did, she’d feel out of place. He’d done his duty last night and today he’d invited her over. Her aunt hinted she needed a social life, but he couldn’t force it on her. What did her aunt expect, that he’d drag her niece out of her house, force her to drink some tequila and do a Mexican hat dance? If she were here, her aunt would say, as any normal person would, “Good job, Max. The ball is in her court now. You’ve done everything you could and more. Don’t worry about her.”

He wasn’t worried about her. He’d almost forgotten about her. But when Sarah finally appeared, he almost dropped his drink, he was so surprised. He set his glass down, waved and beckoned to her, afraid she’d change her mind when she saw the kind of people who were there. He shook his head slightly at the sight of her in a buttoned-up-to the neck, simple blue dress and low-heeled shoes. She always surprised him.

She couldn’t be any more different from the rest of the crowd. She looked like she was on her way to the office. Or to an afternoon tea. She should have just kept on her shorts and T-shirt. She would have fit in better. As it was, she stood out like the proverbial sore thumb. The other women were wearing strapless stretch tops with bare midriffs showing above short shorts or cropped pants and tiny T-shirts whether they had the figure for it or not.

She looked so apprehensive she might have been facing the lion’s den. And when she saw that he’d seen her, she had a trapped look in her eyes that said she knew she couldn’t escape. He couldn’t remember when he’d had that effect on a woman before. Why had she taken an instant dislike to him?

Did she wake up last night and realize what had happened? If she did, and she knew what had happened, she wasn’t letting on, and she was a good actress. Or was it just the tree trimming that had turned her off? Had her aunt said something about him to discourage her? He’d like to know what it was.

He opened the gate in the fence between their houses and called to her. She forced a smile.

“I have to thank you for the use of your oven. I don’t know what we would have done without it.”

“You’re welcome,” she said.

“Come on in,” he said. “They won’t bite.”

“These are your friends?” she asked, stepping onto his patio. He caught a whiff of some floral fragrance. So she cared enough to put some perfume on. And she’d brushed her brown hair so that it hung straight and shiny to her shoulders. She wasn’t even wearing her glasses. She resembled the mysterious Sleeping Beauty a little more than she had this morning. He didn’t know her at all, but he sensed that coming to a party with a lot of strangers was a big effort for her. Her aunt would be pleased. Too bad she couldn’t have a good time while she was at it.

“Mostly business acquaintances.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a divorce lawyer.”

“How sad. So everyone here is divorced?”

“Some have remarried since I represented them.”

She looked around the patio. “It must be depressing, dealing in human misery.”

He bristled at the remark because there was a grain of truth in it. But he was proud of his success. “I don’t think of it that way,” he said evenly. He personally didn’t wreck anyone’s home or break up anyone’s marriage. He deliberately stayed away from any commitment. He did his best for his clients and he didn’t like her thinking he took advantage of other people’s misery. “The way I look at it, I’m the one who gets them out of their misery. Have you every been married?”

She shook her head. “Have you?”

“No.”

“I can see why.”

“Because of my thinning hair, my bloodshot eyes, my bowed legs?” he teased.

She blushed and let her gaze slide from his face then down to his Top-Siders, as if she was trying to decide what really had prevented him for getting married. “No, I mean you must get discouraged dealing with divorces all day. No wonder you haven’t taken the plunge yourself. All those bitter people out there. If I were you, I’d avoid marriage also.”

“Why have you?” he asked.

“I…I…I haven’t met the right person,” she said, shifting her gaze to the guests.

“Tell me,” he said, “do these people look bitter to you?” They might be bitter, but he thought they put up a pretty good front.

People were laughing, men were tossing a beach ball back and forth across the pool, a few women were dangling their legs in the shallow end of the pool, while others were tossing down exotic drinks, and some couples were even nuzzling on colorful chaise lounges.

“I guess not. They actually look pretty happy. I’m sure that’s thanks to you. You got them out of a bad situation into something better.”

“That’s how I look at it, otherwise…”

She looked at him as if waiting expectantly for him to finish his sentence. As if she really wanted to know. Otherwise, what would he do? He was a divorce lawyer, one of the best. He was in demand. And he would be as long as he did his job and got his clients large settlements. What would he do if he didn’t think he’d improved his clients’ situation? He met her gaze, looked into her clear blue eyes and answered her as firmly as he could. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night,” he said.

She looked away and a tiny frown line appeared between her fine eyebrows. When he mentioned sleep, did it trigger some memory of last night? Did she wonder if she’d had an episode? Did she remember anything?

“Well,” she said, brushing her hands together as if to dismiss any worries, either his or hers. “Don’t let me keep you from your schmoozing.”

When she said that, he realized he’d been talking to her exclusively for a long time and hadn’t noticed what was going on behind him at the party. Not that anyone else had missed him. Just a glance told him that his guests were milling and mixing and generally amusing themselves. They didn’t even miss him.

“I’d better get back to the guests. Come on, let me introduce you…”

“I can introduce myself.”

He shot her a quick look. “Okay.” But he thought it wasn’t likely she’d go up to strangers. More likely she’d stand around and sneak back to her house when he wasn’t looking.

Before he could make the rounds, his cell phone rang and he went inside to give directions to someone who couldn’t find the house. He stood by the open French doors looking out at the party scene, his eyes glued to Sarah. She was standing at the edge of the pool, talking to an old college buddy of his whose divorce had been finalized last month.

He had to say, in her dress and pale skin, she stood out like an English rose in the middle of a tropical garden. Of all the women there, she was refreshingly different. Frisbees sailed through the air, couples danced on the patio to the live music and a beach ball bounced off the diving board and into the deep end.

Suddenly there was a scream and a splash and he went running out to the pool. There was Sarah flailing about in the deep end, her head sinking under the water, her hair trailing behind her.

“Call 911,” he yelled. Then Max jumped into the water to save her.

Chapter Three

They say your whole life passes in front of you when you think you’re going to die, but all Sarah could think of as the water closed over her head and she began sinking to the bottom of the pool, was that she should have worn nicer underwear, instead of those white cotton granny underpants and sports bra. Which was stupid, because the coroner wasn’t going to notice, but the man next door might.

And then she thought of her parents, who’d say, What were you doing even close to a swimming pool! You know what could happen.

Then everything went black.

The next thing she knew she was lifted out of the water and propped up on cool blue tiles. She gasped for breath, coughing and spitting out water. She reached for her inhalator, but it wasn’t there. She’d left it at home. Max was leaning towards her, his face blurred, his eyebrows drawn together.

People were shouting.

“What happened?”

“Who is she?”

“Where are the paramedics?”

“Is she alive?”

“Does anyone know CPR?”

“Give her mouth-to-mouth.”

Her heart pounded. Until she realized it wasn’t an asthma attack. Even though she was choking and scared, she had enough presence of mind to know she didn’t need an inhalator and resuscitation wasn’t necessary. All she needed was a few minutes to expel the water out of her lungs and she’d be fine. She was proud of herself. She didn’t panic.

Someone patted her on the back and she coughed water into Max’s face. He didn’t flinch. Blurry-eyed, she looked around at a dozen faces staring down at her, who were all looking scared, and some downright terrified. She wished she could reassure them, but she couldn’t speak. Even more she wanted to sink down into oblivion. She wished she’d never come to this party. She hated being the center of attention. Memories of schoolmates staring at her during an asthma attack, of being sent to the school nurse came flooding back. She was conscious of her dress plastered to her body, her hair hanging in wet strands. The humiliation was almost worse than drowning.

“What happened?” she gasped.

“You got knocked into the pool,” a man’s voice came from somewhere behind her. “Sorry about that. I didn’t see you standing there when I jumped in. How are you?”

She nodded. “I’m fine. I think I’ll just…” Just nothing. She tried to get up, but couldn’t, so she put her head between her knees and her eyes filled with tears. Tears of relief, and of mortification. She couldn’t move or speak. She wished everyone would go away and let her recover on her own.

It was Max who pulled her up by her arms and lifted her to her wobbly feet. “I’ll take her home. She lives next door. Send the paramedics over there.”

“I really don’t need…” She really didn’t need anything, no paramedics, no mouth-to-mouth, just a few minutes to pull herself together. God, she hated it when people made a fuss over her. She wanted to seem cool, calm and collected but a long series of racking coughs spoiled the effect.

Max carried her home, her face pressed against his chest, her legs dangling over his arm. She wanted to tell him she could walk, but she couldn’t seem to get the words out. She tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but she didn’t have the strength, so she just let herself go limp. He felt so big and so strong and she felt so small and ridiculously safe in his arms. For a person who prided herself on her hard-won independence, it was a troubling moment laced with conflicting emotions.

Being taken care of was better than she cared to admit. On the other hand, she hated having to depend on anyone. To her surprise, without her instructions, he walked into the kitchen and up the stairs of her aunt’s house, as if he knew exactly where the bedroom was. Just inside the door, he tried to unbutton her wet dress while still holding her.

“I can do it,” she mumbled, but her own fingers were clumsy and even shakier than his and she gave up. “It’s okay,” she said. “Leave it.”

“Can’t leave you in a wet dress,” he muttered. So he didn’t. He set her on the edge of the bed and yanked at the buttons until they popped off, and pulled her wet dress over her head. Wearing only her wet underwear, she quickly slid under the covers to hide her too thin body and her too sensible underwear before he could see any more than he already had.

It was all too awful. She closed her eyes hoping Max would go away. Of course he didn’t. He stood at the door with his arms crossed over his chest, dripping water on the carpet. Was he the one who’d pulled her out of the pool? Her mind was a blank.

Before she could ask, a pair of burly emergency technicians stomped up the stairs, barged into the room and flipped back the quilt to check her out. She wanted to curl up and play dead. She didn’t know where Max was at that moment. Had he stepped out of the room out of consideration for her modesty? What did it matter? He’d already seen her in next to nothing.

The men took her pulse, her blood pressure, looked in her mouth and listened to her lungs and her heart, while she assured them in no uncertain terms that she was fine. If they’d taken her temperature, they might have thought she had a fever, but in reality her body only burned with red-hot embarrassment.

They asked her a lot of questions, and she answered them in a voice that was not really hers. The answers must have been satisfactory because they turned and spoke in low tones to someone else, probably Max, who apparently was still in the room.

She hated to be treated like she was sick. It reminded her of her childhood, of the asthma attacks, the trips to the emergency room, being carried into the steam-filled bathroom in the middle of the night and her ever-present inhaler tucked into her backpack at school, just in case. She thought she was over that. As long as she didn’t overexert, she could lead a normal life. As long as she stuck to studying California’s history and didn’t venture into other people’s parties. She led a very satisfying life. Until now.

Even worse than being treated like an invalid, she discovered, was being treated like she wasn’t there. The paramedic team in the room discussed her situation, debated whether to prescribe anything and in general carried on like she was in a coma. “Excuse me. I’m not unconscious,” she said. “I’m alive and well. I should tell you I have asthma, but it’s under control.”

They turned to look at her as surprised as if a statue had spoken. They took notes, wrote on a chart and after an eternity, the paramedics left and she was propped up against her aunt’s small embroidered pillow shams. She’d quietly shed her underwear and hidden them under the sheets, and now she wore nothing but a comforter pulled up to her chin. She glared at the man who was standing at the foot of her bed. Why was he still there? She was fine. She’d been poked and prodded and lectured to and she was exhausted. But fine.

“How are you feeling?” Max asked, his eyebrows drawn together in concern.

“Fine, thank you.” Now go.

“I don’t know what happened, but…”

“I got knocked in the water, that’s all. At least that’s what the man said. My fault. I wasn’t watching and I was standing too close to the edge. No big deal. I didn’t drown. Thanks to you. I don’t know how to thank you enough. You saved my life.”

“It was nothing. But you’ll have to learn to swim.”

“Or stay away from pools.”

“I can teach you.”

“That’s very nice, but…”

“Tomorrow.”

Max was still reeling from the close brush she’d had with disaster. His hands were shaking and his heart was pounding, but that could have something to do with seeing Sarah in her underwear. He got the message when she closed her eyes indicating as clearly as possible that she’d had enough of him and being fussed over, and then pointed to the door. He backed out of the room before he had a chance to ask if she wanted him to find her nightgown, that same gauzy white nightgown he’d seen her in last night. He wouldn’t mind seeing her again in or out of it. But he knew when he wasn’t wanted.

Maybe if she wore the nightgown again, she might remember what had happened last night. Maybe then they’d get it out in the open and he could ask her if she had a problem, or if she knew she had a problem.

He also wanted to know why a California girl didn’t know how to swim. Was it just because she had asthma? Lots of athletes had it. Sure, it was a problem, but not an insurmountable one. He wondered how she could think of an excuse for not learning to swim now that she lived next door to a pool, and most particularly he wanted to know why he shouldn’t teach her. One thing for sure. After today, he couldn’t have her living so close by when she couldn’t swim. Especially if she made any more unexpected visits to his house in the middle of the night. Despite the fence-enclosed pool with the locked gate, it was too dangerous and it was his responsibility to teach her, whether she wanted to learn or not.

When he got back to the party, the atmosphere had changed. There was a pall hanging over the gathering. The music continued, but no one was dancing. The guests were no longer playing games around the pool. It was as if they’d been frozen in place until he returned and assured everyone that his neighbor was fine, that no one was to blame.

Personally he thought it was possible the guests had been imbibing too much, playing ball and jumping around the pool in a careless way. They were his clients, not his friends, if that was any consolation to him. They weren’t all people he’d hang out with if he hadn’t handled their divorces. On the other hand, why didn’t she know how to swim? He was going to rectify that starting tomorrow.

The party went on for just a short time. The margaritas were still available, the food was still plentiful, but a few people had left and others were saying goodbye, as if they’d been waiting for his report before taking off, and were now blowing air kisses all around.

He was just as glad. He’d had enough of schmoozing, enough of empty chatter and pretending everything was fine. He couldn’t get Sarah out of his mind. She’d looked so vulnerable, felt so fragile in his arms, but back in her room she’d bounced back, and had been well enough to order him out. She had guts. Imagine being pushed into a pool when you couldn’t swim and recovering so fast. At least he thought she’d recovered. At soon as everyone left, he’d go back and make sure she was okay.

But when he knocked on her back door an hour later, there was no answer. He let himself in, walked up the stairs and stood in the doorway. She was lying on her side, and breathing evenly. He heaved a sigh of relief.

It was dusk, but from the pale beams of the night-light, he could see her face was flushed, her eyelashes shadowing her cheek. He stood there for a long moment, the faint smell of eucalyptus in the air. Oh, yes, the nuts from the tree on her bedside table. He picked them up and inhaled the fragrance. Hadn’t she noticed? Hadn’t she wondered how they’d gotten there?

He was jarred by the ringing of her phone.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.