The Sexy Devil
Kate Hoffmann

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Copyright

About the Author

KATE HOFFMANN began writing for Temptation in 1993. Since then she’s published sixty books, primarily in the Temptation and Blaze® lines. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys music, theater and musical theater. She is active working with school students in the performing arts. She lives in southeastern Wisconsin with her two cats, Chloe and Tally.

Dear Reader,

This book marks the end of another trilogy. I’m not sure why these sexy men always seem to find me in groups of three, but they do. I’m sure there’s another trio waiting right around the corner to hop onto the pages of my next three books.

Readers often ask where I get my ideas. Thankfully, there’s never a shortage of inspiration. The world is full of bad boys—Charmers and Drifters and Sexy Devils—all just waiting for their own story, and their own heroine to introduce them to the power of love.

I hope you’ve enjoyed reading the Smooth Operators trilogy as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it.

Happy reading,

Kate Hoffmann

1

“ALEXANDER NIKOLAS STAMOS of Chicago and Tenley Jacinda Marshall of Sawyer Bay, Wisconsin, were married on Saturday in a traditional ceremony at St. Andrew’s Greek Orthodox Church. Stamos, president and CEO of Stamos Publishing, and his bride will reside in Lincoln Park after a honeymoon in Tahiti.” Celia Peralto leaned back in her chair and sighed. “So they’re going to live happily ever after.”

Angela Weatherby glanced over her shoulder. “Alex Stamos was the exception to the rule,” she said softly. “He’s an aberration, part of the margin of error.”

“And what about Charlie Templeton?” Ceci asked. “He’s getting married, too.”

“He’s engaged. He’s not married yet,” Angela said stubbornly. She spun to face Ceci, her hands clutching the arms of her desk chair. “Listen, this isn’t doing me any good. Every time this happens, I start to doubt the thesis of my book. Please, can you just keep these stories to yourself until I finish?”

This book was turning into a nightmare. Every time Angela thought she had her thesis nailed, something came along to screw it all up. She just needed to be right about this. These men—these smooth operators—weren’t supposed to change. They weren’t supposed to fall in love and get married and live happily ever after.

She hadn’t set out to write a book about bad boys and the women who loved them. With her career as a freelance writer stalled, Angela had begun writing a blog, ruminating on the state of the male-female dynamic in contemporary dating. After hundreds of women had begun relating their own dating disaster stories, the blog had turned into a Web site, filled with profiles of thousands of men and a catalog of their dating atrocities. And now, Angela was about to put all of her theories and research into a book, Smooth Operators: A Woman’s Guide to Avoiding Dating Disasters.

“Ever since you’ve started this book, you’ve been really tense,” Ceci said.

“I should be tense. It was due at the publisher three months ago and I can’t seem to finish.”

“Maybe you should put it down for a while and reconsider your reasons for writing it.”

“I know what you think,” Angela said. “And I’m not doing this because I want to prove something to my parents.”

“Oh, really?” Ceci asked. “Both your parents are psychologists who’ve written numerous books. They both teach at prestigious universities here in Chicago. Your older sister is a neurosurgeon and your younger sister is a physicist. This is your chance to step up to the Weatherby plate and hit a home run.”

“A baseball metaphor?” Angela asked. Her thoughts shifted, an image of a handsome man flashing in her mind. Max Morgan. Professional baseball player. Classic smooth operator. And the subject of Chapter Five—the Sexy Devil.

“Sorry,” Ceci said. “It’s all Will can talk about. Baseball, baseball, baseball. He’s in this ridiculous fantasy league and they get together every Monday night at some bar over in DePaul. I have no idea what they do, but he can’t stop talking about it.”

Angela turned back to her computer. Max Morgan. For such a long time, she’d barely thought of him. And then, one day, she’d been looking at profiles on the site and there he was. Twenty-six women had commented on him, and the comments were far from flattering. Since then, she couldn’t keep from wondering what had turned her teenage Prince Charming into one of her bad-boy archetypes.

Throughout her childhood, Angela tried her best to please her parents, cultivating a rational and practical facade. But inside, Angela knew she wasn’t like her sisters. They dreamed of academic glory while she secretly dreamed of romance and adventure, of being rescued from her dull existence by a white knight with a heart of gold.

As a young girl, she’d waited, secretly smuggling romantic novels into her backpack at the library—Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice, Gone with the Wind. As she devoured each one, she became the heroine, strong and feisty, the kind of girl every man wanted for his own.

And on the day she began high school, she’d met the man of her dreams, her prince, her white knight—Max Morgan. They’d bumped into each other in the registration line and from that moment on, Angela knew they were meant to be together. He’d been tall and beautiful, with chocolate-brown eyes and a mop of unruly, sun-streaked hair.

He’d said one word to her—“sorry”—and she’d fallen deeply and madly in love, or at least as deeply as a fifteen-year-old could. He’d never noticed her again. Forget about Mr. Rochester, Mr. Darcy and Rhett Butler. Max Morgan became the stuff of all her secret fantasies.

She’d followed him around high school, secretly watching everything he did. She attended his football games and baseball games, describing every moment in her diary in great detail so that she could relive it all over again when she was alone.

When it came time for college, she made a last minute decision to go to Northwestern in her hometown of Evanston, rather than an Ivy League school as her parents had wanted. Her self-respect denied that the only reason for the change was because Max had decided on Northwestern, securing both a football and baseball scholarship his freshman year.

“Hope springs eternal,” Ceci said in a cheery voice. “It does give you hope, doesn’t it? That maybe the men you’ve written off as … unsalvageable might just need the right woman?”

“No!” Angela said. “Our Web site proves my point every day. Smooth Operators has thousands of profiles of men who can’t commit.”

She couldn’t be wrong. This was her one chance to prove to her parents that she wasn’t wasting her time with this “silly Web site” as they called it. She saw it as a giant petri dish, a source of ever-evolving information about how men and women related in the world of dating. Her undergrad degree in psychology and her graduate degree in journalism made her the perfect person to write this book.

Ceci sighed. “I bet they both had a moment. Now, that would make good material for a book.”

“Who? What are you talking about?”

Ceci rolled her chair over to Angela’s desk. “Charlie Templeton and Alex Stamos. They had a moment and they were magically transformed into decent guys.”

Angela rolled her eyes and shook her head. “There’s nothing magical about this. They probably just decided they were tired of playing the field. The instinct to procreate kicked in. Once they’ve done that, they’ll dump the wife and hit the bars again.”

“I don’t think so. Look at how fast it happened for them. They had a moment. You know, that instant when your eyes meet and you realize your life is about to change forever and there’s nothing you can do about it. Maybe that deserves a chapter in your book. Chapter Fourteen. The Moment.”

Though she didn’t want to admit it, Angela knew exactly what Ceci was talking about. She’d experienced a moment … once, about four years ago. But it hadn’t changed her life. “Have you ever had a moment?” Angela asked, keeping her gaze fixed on her work.

“No,” Ceci admitted.

“Not even with Will?”

“Nope. It might happen, though. It doesn’t have to be the moment you meet. That’s love at first sight. For some people, it happens a little later. And sometimes it happens at different times for men and women. My brother-in-law said he fell in love with my sister when she burned a pot roast for his birthday dinner. She sat on the kitchen floor and cried for a half hour. And that was the moment he knew they’d be together forever.”

Unfortunately, it had taken Angela six years to realize that she and Max would never have a moment. She’d even wrangled an interview with him for the college paper, but she’d been so nervous, she could barely remember the questions she’d planned to ask. After that, they’d passed each other on campus on numerous occasions, and even shared a sociology class. But he’d never once given her a second glance.

The summer after her sophomore year, Angela set out to transform herself into the kind of girl Max would notice. She studied the fashion magazines and bought a whole new wardrobe. She dyed her mousy brown hair a pretty shade of honey-blonde. She got herself a pair of contacts and lost ten pounds. She silently observed the girls that Max found attractive and she turned herself into one, then waited for her moment, determined to turn it into something special.

But it wasn’t to be. At the end of his sophomore baseball season, Max left college for the minor leagues, signing with the Tampa Bay Devil Rays. He packed his bags and headed south for their farm system.

She knew her last chance at romance was gone, so she’d done exactly what the rational middle daughter of the Doctors Weatherby should do—she moved on. She started dating other guys and within a year, Max Morgan had become a distant memory from an all-too-foolish adolescence.

Until that night, four years ago. A night that could have changed the course of her life—except it hadn’t. “There was a moment,” Angela murmured. “With this one guy.”

Ceci leaned forward. “Really? With who?”

“With whom,” Angela corrected.

“With whom! “ Ceci said.

“I was out with a coworker at a sports bar in Evanston. I came there to meet her cousin, a stockbroker. It was a blind date. Our eyes met across the bar and it was like I’d been struck by lightning. It took my breath away. We stared at each other for what seemed like forever. It was … frightening and exhilarating. And I felt like I was under some kind of … I don’t know. Spell.”

“See! You know exactly what I’m talking about! What happened?”

“Nothing. I got nervous and looked away. When I looked back, some other woman had captured his attention.”

“But this guy was your blind date,” Ceci said. “God, what a creep. He went off with another girl?”

“No!” Angela said. “My blind date was sitting next to me, rattling on about bond rates and investment strategies. This was a different guy.”

It was the only real regret she had in her life. She’d let her one last chance at Max Morgan slip away. As his career in the majors blossomed that season, he became the stuff of tabloid legend, slowly transforming himself into her archetypical smooth operator—dating a long string of models and actresses and party girls, then tossing them aside when something more interesting came along.

Angela had gone home that night and wrote her first blog, talking about what she called “White Knight Syndrome,” and her silly dream of finding the perfect man to rescue her from the horrors of single life.

Ceci reached out and took Angela’s hand. “That’s so tragic.”

Angela shook her head, lost in thoughts of Max. “No, it isn’t,” she said stubbornly. “It wasn’t meant to be. If he’d been interested, he would have walked across that bar and introduced himself.”

“And you’d be married to him today,” Ceci said.

“No!” Angela protested. “We might have gone out, had a nice time, maybe slept together, but then he would have turned out to be like all the others.”

“You don’t know that,” Ceci said.

“I do.” Angela paused, not sure of how much she wanted to reveal to Ceci. “He has a huge profile on our site. Nearly fifty women have commented. I would have been just another in a long line of broken hearts.”

“You found him on the site?”

“Actually, he’s the reason I started the blog,” Angela admitted. “We went to high school and college together and I had this massive crush on him. He never noticed me. We had that moment in the bar and I realized what a ridiculous fool I was, still carrying a torch for him after all those years. That night, I went home and wrote my first blog.”

“What’s his name?” Ceci asked, turning back to her computer. “I want to look him up.” She clicked on the search engine, then waited.

Why not tell Ceci? It’s not like she had feelings for him anymore. “He’s the Sexy Devil,” she murmured. “Chapter Five. Max Morgan.”

Ceci’s hands froze on her keyboard and she slowly turned to face Angela. “You know Max Morgan? The baseball player?” She sighed in frustration. “How many times have we talked about him? About his chapter in the book. And you never told me you knew him.”

“I don’t, exactly.” Angela shrugged. “I’ve spoken to him … once. No, twice if you count the one word he said to me when we first met. I know almost everything there is to know about him. But we don’t know each other. He’s not even aware I exist.”

“But you had a moment!” Ceci cried. “Maybe you were destined for each other.”

“Love is not about magic moments and fairy-tale endings,” Angela said. “It’s about two people willing to work hard to make a relationship succeed. Two people sharing common interests and goals. And there are few truly decent men around willing to invest the time and effort to make a relationship work.”

“You sound just like your mother,” Ceci said. “So what are you going to do? Are you going to interview him?” She frowned. “Wait a second. Is that why you didn’t go to that big charity event? The one he was hosting last month?”

“It wouldn’t have been a good place to conduct an interview. I have to get him alone and talking, without any distractions.” She swallowed hard. “And I’m not sure I want to catch him. I have several other candidates for that chapter.”

In truth, Angela had thought an interview would be the perfect opportunity to prove to herself that her feelings for Max Morgan were gone for good. She was adult now and she’d put all her teenage fantasies about love behind her. He wasn’t her Prince Charming. Max Morgan was just another serial seducer, bent on bolstering his ego with an endless supply of willing women. It wouldn’t take more than a few minutes in his presence to recognize that he was not the man of her dreams.

“I think the reason you made him the subject of Chapter Five is because you want to see him again,” Ceci said. “You had a moment and you can’t forget it. And don’t bother lying to me. I’m your best friend. Whenever you lie, your face turns red.”

Angela clapped her hands over her cheeks and shook her head. “I’ll interview him. But my luck with interviews has been pretty bad lately. I can’t help it if no one wants to talk to me.”

“What if I could set you up with Max Morgan?” Ceci said.

“How would you do that?”

“Will hangs out at the Tenth Inning every Monday night with his fantasy league buddies. Max Morgan owns the Tenth Inning. And Will says that Max has been in occasionally these last few weeks. He’s back in Chicago for the summer, recuperating after some sort of surgery he had during the off-season.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Occasionally, I do listen to Will’s rambling. He even met Max last week. Got a photo of him on his phone. I’m sure if you went in there, you could talk to him.”

Angela felt her stomach flutter and she drew a sharp breath, pushing the surge of excitement aside. Ceci was right. She shouldn’t be afraid to interview Max. She could certainly maintain a professional demeanor, even taking into account her former feelings about him.

“If I’m going to interview him, we have to develop a better strategy. He can’t know he’s being interviewed. I have to find a way to meet him and then get whatever I need from casual conversation.” Angela stood. “He can’t know that this is for a book.”

“Conversation,” Ceci said. “That’s exactly what people do in a bar.”

“I know. But I’ve never been very good at that. I don’t flirt, I have a tendency to babble when I’m nervous, and I absolutely cannot hold my liquor.”

“That’s the least of your problems,” Ceci said. “First, we have to go shopping and buy you the sexiest outfit on the planet. You’re going to have to attract him first. From what I see on his profile, he doesn’t have any shortage of women wanting to sleep with him. What do you think—legs, belly or cleavage? Pick one.”

“For what?”

“It’s my mother’s rule. She always used to tell me that if your outfit only showed one of the three, it was sexy. Two of the three makes the outfit sleazy. And showing all three makes it slutty. The rule of three has served me well. So, legs, belly or boobs?”

“What do you think?” Angela asked, staring down at her rather unremarkable body.

“Legs,” Ceci said. “You have great legs. Let him fantasize about the boobs and the belly.” Ceci grabbed her purse, then pulled Angela along toward the door. “What color?”

“Does your mom have a rule for that as well?”

“No. I do. Black is boring, red is desperate. An unusual color, like chartreuse or tangerine, says you’re a strong, independent woman who doesn’t care what other people say about her weird color choices. And men think that women who wear weird colors are kinky in bed.”

“You have proof of this?” Angela asked.

“Yes.” She pointed to her own mustard-colored top. “I was wearing pumpkin-orange when I met Will. He said he knew exactly what I was like in the bedroom.”

“I’m not going to sleep with Max Morgan,” Angela said.

“Of course not. But in order to get close to him, you’re going to have to make him believe you just might.”

They stepped out of the office onto the noisy bustle of Ashland Avenue. It was barely noon and the heat was already stifling. “There’s this really nice boutique that just opened on North,” Ceci said. “Let’s start there. You’ll need a nice pair of Do-me shoes, too. The dress will be demure but the shoes will say ‘take my body now'.”

“You are not my fairy godmother and I’m not Cinderella.”

Ceci slipped her arm through Angela’s. “Honey, we all want to be Cinderella. Every single girl I know is waiting for that guy to come calling with a glass slipper.”

THE BAR WAS CROWDED for a Tuesday night. Max Morgan leaned over and motioned to Dave, his manager and big brother. “Is this a typical Tuesday night? This is the busiest I’ve seen it in ages. What’s going on?”

“It’s Ladies’ Night. Women drink for half-price on Tuesdays. And when you’re here, a lot of women show up, hoping they’ll get lucky,” Dave said, grinning. “Hey, you’re better than a promotional giveaway. The women want to date you, the men want to talk baseball with you. Just sit yourself down at the end of the bar and be your usual charming self. Or better yet, hang out by the door and take a few pictures.”

Max glanced over his shoulder. This wasn’t exactly how he wanted to be viewed, as some kind of marketing tool. God, since his baseball career had taken off, he’d become a giant marketing machine—selling athletic shoes and luxury cars and expensive watches. He couldn’t buy a pair of socks without having to think about the impact it would have on his endorsements. And every move he made in his personal life affected his ability to make money.

He hadn’t really minded the notoriety that much … until the press showed it could also be nasty. Suddenly his day-to-day life had turned into fodder for media commentators. At first, he didn’t care what was said about him because most of it had just been made up anyway. But when he’d learned his nieces and nephews were hearing about it at school, Max had decided to take a break from the spotlight.

A shoulder surgery he’d been putting off became the perfect chance to get out of the limelight, to give the media an opportunity to focus on someone else. And though he still had a few photographers waiting to catch him at a bad moment, his time in Chicago had given him a chance to really contemplate his future—after baseball.

Here, he could leave the temptations of New York and L.A. behind, the women, the partying, a nonstop glare of the camera flash. And the constant need to be selling something. “I’m just going to make a few calls,” Max said. “I’ll be in the office.”

Max had purchased the bar in the DePaul neighborhood nearly a year ago, turning it over to his brother to renovate and run. Dave seemed to have a golden touch when it came to business. Whenever Max had money to invest, he turned it over to Dave, who managed to make them both rich.

At least Max didn’t have to worry about how he was going to live after his baseball career ended. With seven years in the majors, he’d done pretty well for himself. Max smiled and shook hands as he walked back to the office, posing for a few photos along the way. When he finally closed the door behind him, he drew a deep breath and leaned back against it.

One day, he would be completely anonymous again. Max couldn’t believe he’d ever been fearful of the moment when no one recognized him. Now, all he longed for was a normal life again. Since he’d been home, Max had quietly observed his three older siblings, all happily married with kids of their own, and wondered how they’d managed to find the key to the happiness.

They weren’t famous, Max mused. Most of his old high school and college buddies envied him. He had everything they’d ever dreamed of having. Hell, he played a game for a living, traveling all over the country. He had more money than he’d ever need. And he was single. The women … well, the supply of beautiful women never seemed to wane.

Max reached up and rubbed his shoulder. There were a few drawbacks. He was in a constant fight with his aging body. And though he was a little more than a year shy of thirty, his body was already beginning to feel a lot older.

One thing always made the aches and pains disappear. Sex. And there were probably five or six girls sitting at the bar right now he could charm into his bed. But the prospect of losing himself in the pleasures of a woman’s body didn’t seem all that exciting right now. Lately, his sexual conquests had always been followed by a juicy story in the tabloids. He couldn’t completely trust anyone anymore, outside of his own family.

And since he’d returned, there hadn’t been a single woman who’d caught his eye. Instead, he’d spent his time reviewing his business investments, rehabbing his shoulder and visiting with family. It’s the injury, he thought to himself. The team doctor warned him he might experience some mild depression, that he’d need to focus more intently on his rehab and his return in the second half of the season.

Max sat down at the desk and pulled out his cell phone, scrolling through the list of missed calls. Even though he was off the media radar, women were still interested. “Sophia,” he murmured. An Italian model he met last month at a charity event. “Christina.” A flight attendant who’d charmed him on his flight home from Tampa. “Helena.” An actress he’d dated in New York during the off-season. Though a night in bed with a beautiful woman would certainly make him feel better, it just wasn’t worth the hassle.

Max cursed softly and shut his phone, tossing it on the desk. What the hell was wrong with him? Making decisions about anything had become nearly impossible. He pushed to his feet and restlessly paced back and forth in the tiny office. “Do something,” he muttered to himself. “Pick a lane and hit the Gas.”

A soft knock sounded at the door and he looked up to see Dave peering inside. “Sorry to disturb, but Greg Wilbern, our liquor salesman is here and he’d really like to meet you. He brought his teenage son. This guy gives us great—”

Max held up his hand. “Say no more. I’ll tell him his son looks like a future major leaguer.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. His son showed me how to reprogram our cash registers. I suspect he has a better chance working for Microsoft than in the major leagues.”

Max followed Dave, closing the office door behind him. He glanced across the bar, scanning the crowd. Suddenly, his breath caught in his throat. She was sitting with a friend, sipping a drink, her warm blond hair softly falling around her face. She looked up and their gazes met and Max had an overwhelming feeling of déjà vu.

He stood, fixed in one spot, staring at her. They’d met before. Or maybe not. Yes, there had been a lot of women, but he remembered all of them—at least he thought he did. But, he’d never forgotten a woman he’d slept with.

“Are you coming?” Dave asked.

“Yeah, just give me a sec,” Max murmured. “I’ll be right over.”

Had he ever touched her … or kissed her? His fingers twitched as he tried to recall the feel of her skin, her hair. What was the scent of her perfume? He had an uncanny memory for smells, but he couldn’t recall hers.

Max smiled and she returned it, tilting her head slightly. Whoever this woman was, he had to meet her. Maybe he did know her. “Think,” he murmured. If he walked over and introduced himself and they’d already met, she’d be insulted. But if he acted as if he knew her, then she might be put off. “Best to be upfront.” He took a step in her direction, finally picking a lane and hitting the Gas.

“Max!”

Max blinked and looked at his brother motioning him toward the bar. He glanced back and the connection was broken. A strange sensation came over him. It was déjà vu. This had happened once before. When? Where had it been? He recalled the odd sense of loss he’d felt at the time.

Frustrated, Max approached the bar. Dave made the introductions, then handed Max a baseball from the stock they kept handy. “See that woman over there in the green dress? Send her a drink from me.”

“Champagne?”

“No,” Max said, as he scribbled his name the ball. “Never mind. That’s too cheesy.” He handed the boy the baseball, then shook the liquor salesman’s hand. “I’ll just go talk to her. Do I look all right? How’s my breath? Shit, I shouldn’t have had onions on that burger.”

“What is wrong with you? Since when do you worry about your appearance?” Dave looked over his shoulder. “That girl? She’s not your type.”

“What’s my type?” Max asked.

“There’s a ten sitting at the end of the bar. Fake hair, fake boobs, fake nails. She’s your type.”

“Shut up, Dave.”

Max walked away from his brother and circled the bar slowly. Keeping his gaze fixed on her. Since the connection between them had been broken, she’d gone back to chatting with her girlfriend, a petite dark-haired woman with trendy glasses perched on her nose.

When he finally reached them, Max slipped into a spot next to her at the bar. But the patrons standing around her thought he’d come to socialize with them, wanting to shake his hand and pose for pictures. When the celebrity posturing was finally finished, he turned back to her.

“Hi,” he said. Max waited for her to respond and began to think that she hadn’t heard him, but then she slowly turned and faced him. She was even more beautiful up close. She had the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. And her shoulder-length hair, the color of honey, smelled like peaches.

“Hello,” she said.

“Do I know you?”

She paused, then smiled quizzically. “I don’t know. Do you?”

Max frowned. “I’m not sure. I can’t believe I would have forgotten you if we’d met before.” He held out his hand. “I’m Max. And forget what I just said. It sounded really lame.”

“Angela,” she said, resting her hand in his. She had beautiful fingers, long and slender, tipped with pretty red polish. No, Max thought. He’d never had those hands on his body. Though they might have met, they’d never been intimate. “And this is my friend, Celia. Ceci.”

Max reached around to Ceci and shook her hand. “Hello, Ceci. It’s nice to meet you.” He turned back to Angela. “Can I buy you two a drink?”

Angela held up her margarita. “I have a drink. But thanks anyway.”

“And I have to go,” Ceci said. “I—I have to drive my mother—I mean, my brother to—shopping. I have to take my mother grocery shopping. She’s completely out of … bananas.” She forced a smile as she slid off her barstool. “Sorry, I forgot.”

“Stay,” Angela whispered, grabbing her hand. “How will you get home?”

“I’ll grab a cab,” Ceci said. “You just enjoy your drink.” She picked up her purse, then gave Max a clever grin. “It was nice meeting you, Max. She likes her margaritas unblended, no salt. And she can’t hold her liquor, so make the next one a virgin, all right?”

Max watched as Ceci hurried to the door. In any other instance, he would have been glad to have Angela all to himself. But he felt strangely nervous. What the hell was that all about? Max Morgan never got nervous around women.

2

ANGELA TOOK A QUICK SIP of her drink. This was not part of the plan. Ceci wasn’t supposed to leave the moment Max noticed her. They were supposed to stay together until Angela felt comfortable. They’d even worked out a series of signs and a plan to escape to the ladies’ room to regroup if things got too complicated.

And they were already way too complicated. Her heart was slamming against the inside of her chest and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. And as she tried to calm herself, she felt light-headed and unable to think. Oh, God, she was having a … moment.

No, this wasn’t supposed to happen! Angela knew exactly what Max Morgan was—a smooth operator. And yet she was allowing herself to be overwhelmed by his obvious magnetism. Get a grip, she scolded silently. You’re a grown woman with a job to do. This is no time for silly fantasies.

But if she couldn’t even think of something clever span>to say, how would she keep him interested long enough to get all her questions answered? What if he decided to move on to someone else after just a few short minutes? She’d be left sitting alone at the bar feeling like a fool, humiliated in public.

But then, maybe that would be for the best. If he dumped her for someone prettier, it would only prove her point—Max Morgan was a class-A jerk.

“So,” Max said. “Do you come here often?”

Angela swallowed hard. How many times had she heard that line? He was supposed to be an expert at seduction and that was the best he could come up with? “You really need to work on your pick-up lines.”

The words were out of her mouth before she had a chance to think. Oh, hell, she’d just insulted him. And given him an excuse to move on to the redhead at the end of the bar.

At first, he seemed a bit taken aback by her comment. But then Max laughed and slid onto the stool vacated by Ceci. He thought she was teasing him. She could use that to her advantage. Keep him off balance. He was obviously used to having women agree with everything he said. She’d do the opposite. Reverse psychology.

“I do,” Max said. “And that was really bad. Maybe I should move right on to astrological signs. Wait, here’s a good one. I think I need to call heaven because they’re missing one of their angels. How does that work for you? “

Angela had to admit, he’d gone from cheesy to charming in a heartbeat. Max had a way of looking at her with those dark and dangerous eyes that made her feel as though she was the most captivating female on the planet. But that was all part of the package that was Max Morgan, Sexy Devil. He could tempt even the most steadfast of women. “Sweet and not at all suggestive. A good effort. I’d give it a seven out of ten.”

“Oh, you want suggestive? You must be the reason for global warming because you’re hot.”

“No,” Angela said, shaking her head. “Not good to reference the looks. It makes you appear shallow and desperate. That one deserves a two.”

“I lost my number, can I have yours?”

“Clever. Not as trite as the previous attempt.”

“If I followed you home, would you keep me?”

Angela groaned. All right, he was impossibly charming. But she certainly wasn’t going to let that affect her in the least. “Do you have a database of these? Or is your memory really that good?”

He leaned closer. “I have more. Maybe if you’d tell me what would work, I could choose more wisely.”

He was obviously interested. But how far was he planning to take this, she wondered. Was he simply having a little fun or was he looking for something more. Angela gathered her nerve. “Sorry. Pick-up lines don’t work with me,” she said.

“What’s the worst you’ve ever heard?” he asked.

“If I had a garden, I’d put your tulips and my tulips together? Just how is that supposed to work?”

Max leaned forward and brushed his lips across hers, lingering there for a brief moment before stepping back. “I think it worked pretty well.”

Stunned, Angela stared at him. Yes, it was an innocent kiss, so quick it barely warranted mention. But she hadn’t had a chance to prepare herself. Max Morgan, the man of her teenage dreams, had just kissed her! That simple touch had a startling effect on her body. Her pulse began racing and a warm flush crept up her cheeks. She opened her mouth, then quickly snapped it shut. Any attempt to put together a clever comeback would result in a string of incoherent babble.

His expression shifted suddenly and she thought she saw a flash of regret cross his deeply tanned face. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean anything by that. Really.” He grabbed her hand. “Maybe we could start over? I’m Max Morgan. And the reason I came over here was to tell you that you look incredible in that dress. The color is … amazing.”

Angela cleared her throat, trying to regain her composure. Rewind. Begin again. Gather your composure and act as if the kiss meant nothing. It didn’t mean anything at all! “That was a pretty good line. Honesty. I like that.”

“I was an Eagle Scout. We’re big on honesty.”

“I know,” she said. She knew every arcane detail about Max. “I mean, Eagle Scouts are supposed to be trustworthy, right? You should have probably led with that instead of the angel line.”

He held out his hand. “Hello, I’m Max Morgan, former Eagle Scout.”

“Angela Weatherby,” she replied. “Former …” What could she say. Wallflower? Introvert? Stalker? “President of the Latin Club.”

“Really?” he asked. “So, you’re smart and beautiful.”

“And you’re cheeky and charming,” Angela replied.

Max pushed away from the bar. “Would you like to get out of here? It’s a nice night. Why don’t we take a walk?”

She felt a tremor run through her. This was the moment of truth. She could turn and run or she could hang in there and get her interview. Angela pointed to her shoes. “I’m not going far in these heels.”

“I know the perfect place, then,” he said.

She wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle Max on her own, without the distractions of the bar to fill the silences. But this was her chance, to figure out this guy who’d had such a hold on her. And to rationalize her crazy reaction to him. “Sure,” she said. “That sounds nice.” In truth, it sounded impossibly romantic.

“All right, here’s the plan. Where is your car parked?”

“In the ramp just down the block.”

“Why don’t you leave through the front door and start walking toward the ramp. I’ll go out the back and meet you outside. That way, nobody will see us leaving together.”

Angela frowned. “That was not a good line,” she said. “In fact, it was kind of insulting.”

“No!” he cried, taking her hand again. “No, no. That’s not what I meant. It’s just that if we leave together, there will be all kinds of speculation, maybe even some mention of it in the papers. I don’t want you to get pulled into that.” He paused. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

Angela decided not to lie. What would be the point? She just stared at him silently and shrugged. “You’re Max Morgan,” she replied. “You play baseball.”

He grabbed her hand. “Come on, we’ll both go out the back.” He laced his fingers between hers and pulled her along behind him, through the crowd to the kitchen and then out the rear door to the alley. “We’ll take my car.” He pointed to a black BMW sedan with tinted windows, parked against the building.

Max opened the passenger side door for her and helped her inside, then hopped in behind the wheel. Angela wasn’t sure what to say to him. She’d expected they might chat at the bar. She’d been prepared to ask him a few questions, to get a sense of the man he was. She’d even predicted it would take approximately thirty minutes for her to realize, once and for all, that he was not the man of her post-adolescent dreams. The night was definitely not going as planned. “Nice car,” she murmured.

He laughed as he reached for the ignition. “Now, I’m going to have to start calling you out on the cheesy lines.”

“Sorry,” Angela said, relaxing a bit. “I’m not the best flirt. And I’m sure that’s what you’re used to.”

Max turned to her. “Maybe I don’t like what I’m used to,” he said. “Maybe I don’t want you to flirt with me.” He shook his head. “Sometimes I just wish people could forget all that celebrity stuff and be normal.”

“Well, if you’re looking for normal, then I’m definitely it,” Angela said. “Nothing very special here.”

“You were president of the Latin Club,” he said, grinning. “I think that’s kind of special.”

“You’re very strange,” Angela said. As he pulled out of the parking spot, she took the opportunity to observe him, his profile outlined by the light from the street lamps.

He was even more beautiful than she remembered, his features so perfectly. His hair was darker and his body more mature, but there was still a bit of the handsome boy left inside him—especially in the smile and in the teasing tone of his voice.

“Tell me something completely random about yourself. Let’s start there.”

Angela knew she’d have to come up with something intriguing and humorous. Something to show him that an evening with her could be fun. “I can list all the states in the Union.”

“Impressive,” Max said.

“In alphabetical order, in reverse alpha order, in order of entrance into the union, and in order of geographical size. Plus I know all of the capitals by heart.” She drew a deep breath. “What can I say, I was a geek and my parents thought it was an interesting party trick.”

“You are a very interesting woman, Angela.” He turned on some music, flipping through the CDs in his player until he found something soothing.

She was going to make a complete mess of things. In another hour, he’d be dropping her off at the parking ramp and heading back to the bar, looking for someone more intriguing. It was time to start asking questions. “So you’re famous,” she ventured. “What’s that like?”

“It’s about what you’d expect,” he said with a shrug. “Sometimes bad, sometimes good.”

“Tell me the bad,” Angela said.

“I hate the press. I hate that they can make up stories about my life without any thought of how it affects the people I love. I hate that people wonder who I date or where I eat dinner or where I sleep at night. I hate that I don’t have much of a life outside of baseball.”

“Tell me the good,” she said.

“If I wasn’t famous, you might not have given me a second look at the bar,” he said. “I’m glad you did.”

“Oh, you think I’m impressed by your fame?” Angela asked. “I’ve spent time with much more famous people than you—Churchill, Gandhi, Hemingway. You don’t impress me.”

“Obviously not,” Max said with a devilish grin. “Since you seem intent on poking holes in my ego.” He opened all the windows in the BMW, letting the warm summer wind blow through the car. “I love Chicago in the summer. The smell, the sounds. I never get to enjoy my summers anymore. It’s always about work, the next game, the next at bat. This is the first summer in my memory that I haven’t played baseball.”

“Isn’t it fun?” she asked, anxious to keep him talking about himself.

“It’s a job. It can be fun. It certainly looks like fun. But it’s not … normal. I’d like to lead a normal life.”

“Normal is boring,” Angela said. “Take it from me.”

“Normal might be nice for a change.” He glanced over at her. “What would you be doing on a normal Tuesday night?”

“Laundry,” she said.

“You made the right decision,” he teased. “I’m much more interesting than laundry.”

The conversation was going well. Maybe it was time to get a bit more personal. “Can I ask you a question?” Angela began.

“Anything,” he said.

“Why did you choose me? That bar was full of women more beautiful. More interested in a guy like you. Why me?”

“I don’t know,” Max said. “I just got this feeling. When I saw you and our eyes met, there was this … moment.”

Angela’s breath froze in her throat. Oh, God. He’d had a moment, too? What did that mean? No, there was no need to get excited. Maybe a guy like him had multiple moments. Maybe it didn’t mean anything at all. Of course, they’d been attracted to each other. But a “moment” was more than just sexual attraction, wasn’t it?

They chatted about a variety of subjects for the rest of the ride—the latest festivals on the lakefront, the best ethnic restaurants in town, the traffic, the weather. But Angela couldn’t get her mind off the “moment.”

The conversation turned to his injury and his rehab efforts, but she found herself transfixed by a careful study of his mouth. He asked her about her work and she told him she was in communications, before changing the subject to the music he liked.

By the time they reached the lake, the conversation had become surprisingly relaxed, at least to the casual observer. But Angela was in the midst of an internal crisis. She found herself completely charmed by Max Morgan. He was sweet and funny and smart. And when he smiled at her, she felt as if she might just melt into a big puddle of goo on his leather seat.

No, Angela thought to herself. Max Morgan was supposed to be the enemy. And all this charm was expected from a smooth operator. Of course, he would try to weaken her defenses, to turn himself into the perfect guy. He knew exactly how to read the signs. And if she weren’t careful, she’d fall for it, hook, line and sinker.

Max found a place to park, then helped her out of the car. It was dark on the beach, but the city was alive with light behind them. He held onto her arm as she kicked off her shoes and stepped into the sand. Then he laced his fingers through hers and they walked toward the water.

“I never come to the beach,” she said. “I just drive by.” She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. “It doesn’t smell like the city.”

“I have a place on the water in Florida,” he said. “And a place on a small lake in Wisconsin. And my apartment here in Chicago overlooks the lake. I’m a water guy, I guess. Where do you live?”

“I have a flat in Wicker Park.” This guy was seriously out of her league, Angela thought to herself. He had at least three homes, maybe even more. She lived in a tiny, one-bedroom flat with leaky pipes and a noisy radiator.

When they reached the water’s edge, Max slipped out of his shoes and socks and rolled up his pant legs, then waded in. “Cold,” he said, wincing. “I can’t believe I used to swim in this.”

“It’s always cold,” Angela said, backing away from his invitation to join him. He ran out and grabbed her, pulling her along until her toes touched the water too.

“No!” she cried, trying to twist out of his grasp. But he pulled her closer until she was caught in his embrace. He stared down into her eyes, then bent closer and kissed her.

Angela tried to remain calm, hoping to remember every little detail of the kiss. It was sweet and simple and filled with a delicious anticipation. She parted her lips and he took the invitation to tease at her tongue. He’d obviously had a lot of experience kissing women and it had paid off. When he finally drew away, she felt as if her legs were about to buckle beneath her.

“I’ve been thinking about doing that ever since we left the bar,” he murmured, smoothing his hand through her hair. His gaze scanned her features and he smiled. “I don’t know what it is. I feel like we know each other. Is that strange?”

“Yes,” Angela said. The one word was all she could manage for the moment. Oh, it was wonderful kissing him. And though she’d tried to maintain her defenses, it was all it took to make her realize that she was totally and utterly at his mercy.

He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her again, this time more playfully. “So, what are we going to do for our next date? “

“What?”

“Where are we going to go? You probably have to work tomorrow, but I’m free tomorrow night. We can go to dinner or take in a concert. I haven’t been to the aquarium for years.”

Angela wasn’t sure what to say. This was so unexpected. Although, maybe he’d do the same thing all the other smooth operators did—promise to call her tomorrow to firm up their plans and then never call. “I—I don’t know. I’d have to check my—”

He placed a finger over her lips. “No. We’re going to plan it now. I’ll pick you up at six.”

Angela took a deep breath. She wasn’t sure she wanted to believe what he was saying. She’d have more than just this night to get to know Max. All the questions spinning around in her head didn’t have to be asked tonight. Tonight, she could just enjoy herself. “Six,” she said in a shaky voice. “Sounds good.”

THEY SAT ON THE SAND for two hours, talking, joking, laughing. Max couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so completely fascinated by a woman. What was it about Angela that he found so sexy? Had he passed her on the street or seen her at a party, he might have considered her ordinary.

But for the first time, he found himself looking a bit deeper. She was a study in contrasts. One moment she was confident and outspoken and the next, shy and nervous. She didn’t play games, but she did enjoy poking at his ego every so often. And though she wasn’t the kind of woman he usually found himself attracted to, he was beginning to think she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met.

“This is going to be a great summer,” Max said.

“Will you have the entire summer off?” Angie asked.

“If rehab goes well, I should be on my way back to the club by September. Maybe August. But I’m thinking I need time, not just to heal physically, but to figure out a few things.”

“Like what?” Angie asked, turning to face him.

He grabbed her legs and pulled them over his, drawing her close to kiss her. The impulse to seduce her was overwhelming. He wanted to explore her body, to learn what made her shudder with desire. There was something between them that he’d never experienced before. Yet, he didn’t want her to be just another notch on his bedpost.

“Like life,” he said. “I’ve been living in an alternate reality. I see my brothers and sisters and their families and they’re happy. Really happy, not just artificially happy.”

“How can you be artificially happy?” she asked.

“You know. When you buy a new car and you think you’re happy, and maybe you are for a day or so. But then you realize it’s just a car.”

Angela leaned against him, the warmth from her body seeping into his. “So what makes you really happy?”

“Kissing you does it for me,” he said.

“Then do it,” she said.

This time, he put aside the gentle, sweet kisses they’d shared. Max wanted her to know exactly how he felt about her. His lips found hers and he slowly lowered her into the sand, stretching out beside her.

His hand smoothed over her arms and then lower, to her hip. As she drew her leg up, her skirt fell away and he touched the silky length of her calf. It was so easy to get lost in the feel and taste of her. At first, he didn’t notice the wind picking up, swirling the sand around him.

And then, a moment later, the clouds opened and it began to rain. Max rolled to his side and looked up at the sky. Nature had decided to mess with his perfect date. But to his surprise, Angela didn’t seem to care. Instead, she sat up, turned her face to the sky and laughed.

The downpour had already drenched her hair and her dress, and droplet clung to her lashes. She opened her mouth to catch the rain with her tongue and Max could only watch her. Any other woman would be racing for cover, hoping to preserve her carefully tended appearance. But that obviously hadn’t occurred to Angela.

Thunder rumbled in the distance and when lightning flashed, Max leapt to his feet and grabbed her hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before we get zapped.”

As they ran to the car, pedestrians were rushing for cover. He unlocked the door and pulled it open, then helped her inside. When he finally slipped in behind the wheel, she was raking her fingers through her dripping hair. “I’m getting your car all wet,” she said. “And my dress is covered with sand.”

“Don’t worry.” He pulled out into traffic and headed north on Lakeshore Drive. “My condo is just on the other side of the zoo,” he said. “We’ll stop there, get dried off and then decide what we want to do with the rest of the night.” He glanced over at the clock in the dashboard and was surprised to see that it was past midnight. “Or, I could drop you back at your car,” he added. “You probably have to be up early for work tomorrow.”

“I really wouldn’t mind getting dry,” she said.

Good, Max thought to himself. He didn’t want the night to end, either. Not yet. Not until he was absolutely sure she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

Minutes later, he pulled into the underground garage of his Lincoln Park high rise. As they rode the elevator up, he pressed her back against the wall and kissed her again, his fingers tangling in her damp hair. “This has been the most amazing night,” he whispered.

She stared up at him, a strange look in her eyes. Didn’t she believe him? Hell, that was all he needed. The first time he found a woman he was truly interested in and she thought he was playing her. So how could he prove he wasn’t, Max wondered. He could forget about luring her into his bed. That would be a good start.

“Your lips taste like rain,” he murmured. When the elevator doors opened, he took her hand and walked with her to the door of his apartment. He pushed the key into the lock, then stepped aside to let her enter. The apartment was dark, rain glittering on the wide wall of windows overlooking the lake.

He wanted to draw her into his arms again, now that they were completely alone, and find out just how deep their attraction for each other went. Instead, he flipped on the lights. “The bathroom is just down that hall,” Max said. “There are towels in the cabinet and I’ll find you some dry clothes.”

He watched as she walked away from him, her wet dress clinging to her slender body. Somehow, he knew the night wasn’t over. It was just beginning.

Max hurried to his bedroom and rummaged through his clothes for something to give her. He found a team sweatshirt and some warm-up pants, then grabbed a pair of socks from the clean laundry.

When he knocked softly on the bathroom door, Angie opened it a crack and he held the clothes out. “It’s the best I can do,” he said. “They’re warm and they’re dry.”

“Is it all right if I take a quick shower?” she asked. “I’m covered with sand.”

“No problem,” he said. “I’m just going to make us something to eat. Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” she said with a winsome smile. “That would be great.” She took the clothes and shut the door. He glanced at his watch. He had about ten minutes tops to shower, get dressed and cook something. Max headed to the galley kitchen and to his relief, found a container of gourmet mac and cheese he’d bought at Whole Foods. He popped it into the oven and headed for the guest bathroom.

As he stepped beneath the hot water, his mind wandered down the hall, to the woman who was showering in his bathroom. With any other woman, he wouldn’t have thought twice about joining her there. And with any other woman, he knew he’d have been welcome. But he didn’t want to move too fast with Angela. He was having trouble reading her signals and a single mistake might win it all.

Max glanced down and groaned. Just the thought of the two of them naked together brought a physical reaction. He turned up the cold water and stood beneath it until the spray stung his skin. Then he stepped out, grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist.

He hurried back through the living room, dripping water on the hardwood floors. But he stopped suddenly when he saw Angela standing at the windows, peering down at the street. She turned and her eyes went wide when she noticed he was dressed only in a damp towel.

To his relief, the cold water had done the trick and there wasn’t an embarrassing bulge in the front of that damp towel. “Sorry,” Max muttered, clutching at the cotton where it was tucked around his waist. “I thought you’d take a little longer in the shower.”

“I didn’t want to take advantage,” she said. “It’s a nice shower. Big … enough for two.”

“I—I’m just going to go get dressed. I’ll be right back.”

When he returned from the bedroom, wearing basketball shorts and a T-shirt, Angela was still standing at the window. He stepped up behind her, then slipped his arms around her waist. “What do you see out there?”

“It’s a beautiful view. It’s so quiet up here.”

Max rested his chin on her shoulder. “The minute I saw this place, I knew I had to have it. And there was no way I’d stay at my parents’ place. My mother would drive me crazy and my father would expect me to help him with all of his household repair projects. I needed a place of my own here in Chicago.”

“So you dropped a few million on a condo? Why not rent?”

“It seemed like a good investment,” Max said. “And now that I’ve been here for a while, I like it. It feels like home.” He turned her around to face him. “What can I get you to drink? I have wine. And beer. Energy drinks and mineral water.”

“A glass of wine would be nice,” Angela said. “Red, if you have it.”

As Max walked to the kitchen, he smiled to himself. This was going well. She could have asked for a ride home. But instead, she’d stay at least long enough to finish a glass of wine and eat some mac and cheese. He found a bottle, struggled with the cork, then filled a wineglass nearly to the brim.

It would take her longer to drink a big glass of wine, giving him more time. But at the last minute he dumped half of it in the sink. She might think he was trying to get her drunk. He didn’t want to confirm all the worst things the press had to say about him.

“Take it slow,” he reminded himself. “And don’t make an ass of yourself.”

Angela pressed her hand to her chest. Ever since he’d walked into the room, dressed in a only a towel, she hadn’t been able to breathe. It had been a long time since she’d been in the presence of a naked man—or a nearly naked one. Almost a year. And she’d never been near a man with a body like Max’s. The fact that it was Max, the man of her teenage fantasies, made the entire incident surreal.

After he’d walked away, she’d thought about following him, about tugging the towel off the lower part of his body and exploring everything underneath. If she were only bolder, she could do something like that.

But Angela knew the dangers of allowing herself to surrender to a guy like Max. Though she wanted to believe that he genuinely liked her, she couldn’t help but wonder if this stop at his apartment was all part of a grand plan to seduce her. There was no ignoring the profiles on her Web site. Max did have an amazing capacity to separate a woman from her panties.

If he wasn’t interested in sex, then why had he brought her here? Angela suspected it had nothing to do with getting warm and dry. He’d probably waltzed through in a towel on purpose, just to tempt her. And she was tempted. It would be so easy to fall into his trap, to make the first move so he couldn’t be blamed for the seduction.

Angela had indulged in a few one-night stands over the years, only to regret her behavior the next day. But would she regret sleeping with Max? She’d finally have a chance to make her teenage fantasies come true. How many women would pass up a chance like that? If he were great, then she’d have a memory to keep for the rest of her life. And if he wasn’t, maybe she could finally consign her fantasies to the past.

If he offered, she’d accept, Angela decided. But what if he didn’t offer? What would that mean? Was she not woman enough to satisfy him? Though she hadn’t had the number of experiences that he’d had, Angela knew how to pleasure a man. She was good in bed. Not porn-star good, but she could get a little kinky when called for.

“Here. Red wine. Dinner should be ready in about ten minutes.”

Angela jumped at the sound of his voice. She turned and took the glass from his hand. “What are you cooking? It smells good.”

“Mac and cheese. I buy it in bulk from Whole Foods.”

“I love their mac and cheese,” she said. “And I am a little hungry. I haven’t stayed up this late for a long time.”

“You don’t go out much?”

Angela shook her head. “No. I don’t really like the bar scene.”

“What were you doing out tonight?”

“It was just a whim,” she lied. “Ceci convinced me to go. What about you? Do you do this often?”

“Drink wine?”

“Bring a girl home?” She might as well get a few more of her questions answered. “You’re very difficult to resist. Very … charming.”

“I’m having a nice time just talking to you, Angela. I’m not looking for anything else.”

“You aren’t?”

“No. I mean, I think it’s a little early to—not that I wouldn’t want to. You’re beautiful. Any man would want to … you know. But I think we should just let things happen ….”

Angela set her wineglass down on the windowsill. So how did he feel? Was he having second thoughts about seducing her? Didn’t he think she could handle it? Well, she was just as capable of enjoying it as any other woman. “Why don’t you kiss me again and we’ll see what happens?”

She’d be crazy not to take the chance when she had it, right? Forget the book, forget all the questions she wanted to ask. Her curiosity had completely overwhelmed her common sense and she wanted to enjoy what so many other women had.

It didn’t take him more than a heartbeat to change his mind. His fingers slipped through her hair and he pulled her mouth to his, steering her toward the sofa. This time, his kiss left no doubt in her mind as to where they were headed. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her lips and her tongue. Max was like a man, parched with thirst and desperately searching for a cool taste of water.

They tumbled onto the leather cushions and he pulled her down on top of him, his hands roaming freely over her body. There wasn’t much between them. Angela had left her underwear to dry in the bathroom and Max hadn’t bothered with his, either.

When he slipped his hand beneath the hem of the sweatshirt and skimmed it up her back, she moaned. It was the most delicious sensation in the world. Every nerve seemed to tingle as his touch drifted from one spot to the next.

In the past, Angela had always kept a small part of herself detached from the man sharing her bed, afraid to commit herself completely, afraid that she might be making a mistake. But with Max, she wanted to surrender, wanted to offer him every pleasure that he might find her in body. It was just one night, that’s all. Why not enjoy it completely?

She was breathless and giddy. Though Angela knew the risks, her body was on fire, the desire so hot that the only way to survive was to tear off all her clothes. Straddling his hips, she sat up and tugged the sweatshirt over her head. Her hair tumbled around her face as she tossed the sweatshirt aside. Angela watched as he slowly reached out to cup her breast in his palm. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, losing touch with reality.

Was this a dream? Would she wake up suddenly, alone in her bed, and realize that once again, her fantasies of him were just an illusion? No, Angela thought. She felt her skin tingle where he touched and she heard the pulse pounding through her veins. She smelled the scent of his cologne and heard the sound of his breathing.

If this wasn’t real, it was the most vivid dream she’d ever experienced. Angela stared into his eyes, daring the image to fade before her. But instead, he drew her down again, into another kiss, this one, more powerful than the last.

“What are we doing?” he whispered

“Touching,” she said. “Kissing.”

He groaned softly as she shifted above him, his hard shaft pressed against the spot between her legs. It wouldn’t take much to rid themselves of the rest of their clothes. Angela knew so much about him, yet all of it was purely superficial. She wanted to see him naked, to touch him intimately and to have those images burned into her memory. “Take your shirt off,” she whispered.

Max pushed up on his elbows and she pulled his shirt over his head, then dropped it on the floor. Angela ran her palms over his torso, from his belly to his chest, the muscle rippling beneath her fingers.

He was absolute perfection, his skin smooth and warm and burnished brown by the sun. Angela smiled, wondering at how this fantasy had suddenly become reality. Every time she thought it might end, it just got better and better. Perhaps this was the way it was meant to happen between them. This was the time when they’d both be at their best, the time when they could both walk away with out any regrets.

She ran her hands along his arms, then laced her fingers between his, drawing his arms up above his head. Nuzzling her face into the curve of his neck, she leaned closer, her breasts rubbing against his chest.

Max groaned, then grabbed her around the waist. Before she knew what was happening, he was standing beside the sofa, her legs wrapped around his hips. He carried her down the hall, toward his bedroom. Angela knew if she had any doubts, now was the time to call an end to this. But she wanted to go the rest of the way, to share the ultimate intimacy with him.

He stopped halfway down the hall and gently pushed her into the wall, his mouth coming down on hers for a deep, demanding kiss. She arched against him until they were nearly joined, their clothes providing the last barrier between anticipation and release.

Max groaned again, then suddenly went still. Angela waited, wondering what had happened. Then with a sinking feeling, she knew what it was. The excitement had been too much for him. “It’s all right,” she whispered, toying with a lock of his damp hair. “We can just wait a bit.”

He drew back and a gasp slipped from his throat. “What?”

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