Lady With A Past

“And that’s good enough,” Connor murmured. He nearly snapped his neck following her exit. She had the most provocative sway to her hips, languid and sassy at the same time. He could just imagine her strutting the runway in a wispy dress that began late and ended early, her luscious hips rolling like thick honey, violet eyes half-closed, that swollen, edible mouth painted the sumptuous color of late-summer roses….

He grew conscious of a heated tightening in his groin. He tugged the blanket away from his body, sucking in a deep breath of air. For a man who’d just spent an hour in the deep freeze, he was suddenly and suffocatingly hot.

Three

While Maxie was in the kitchen, Connor took the opportunity to nose about the room. Other than a single photograph on the mantel above the fireplace, there were no items of a personal nature, certainly no mementoes from Maxie’s former life in the limelight. The lone photograph on the mantel was slightly yellowed; a picture of a young bride and groom posing in front of a tiny, white-spired country church. The groom looked highly uncomfortable. His mouth was pinched tight and the arm he had placed around his bride’s waist looked as if it was made out of cardboard. The bride, however, was smiling lovingly at her husband, her dark curls loose and dancing in the sunlight. Her beauty was staggering. Like Maxie, she possessed incredible cheekbones, a generous mouth and stunning, wide-set eyes. Like mother, like daughter.

“What are you doing?” Maxie demanded.

Connor turned on his heel, flushing slightly. His reluctant hostess was standing in the doorway bearing a tray of food and a ferocious scowl.

“Nothing,” he said, perhaps a shade too quickly.

“Nothing? You’re snooping.”

“Don’t be silly.” Connor avoided her accusing eyes, reclaiming his seat on the sofa. “Why did you put that picture on the mantel if you didn’t want anyone to look at it?”

Maxie slammed the tray down on the coffee table. “I put it there so I could look at it. No one else, just me.”

“That’s your mother and father,” Connor said, as if daring her to deny it. “Your mother was a beautiful woman.”

“My mother still is a beautiful woman. Not that it’s any concern of yours.”

“Is this the way you treat all your visitors? It’s not very hospitable, I’ll tell you that.”

“I’ve never had—” Too late, Maxie realized what she had been about to say. As did Connor, judging by the look of stunned incredulity on his face.

“No visitors?” he said. “Ever? That’s a little tough to believe. Glitter Baby didn’t exactly have a reputation as a loner. How long have you lived here?”

Maxie closed her eyes and counted to three. She was going to count to ten, but she lost her temper at three. “How long I’ve lived here is none of your damned business!” she snapped, stamping one booted foot on the floor. “I’m none of your business! My photographs are none of your business! Now eat your SpaghettiOs before I pop you one.”

“Before you pop me one?” Connor’s answering laughter died an abrupt death as he looked down at his dinner. “You weren’t kidding,” he said slowly. “You fixed me SpaghettiOs.”

“Let me guess,” Maxie said flatly. “You’ve never eaten SpaghettiOs.”

“Well, of course I…no, actually I think you’re right.” Connor thought back to his mother’s legendary Washington dinner parties. Never once did he recall seing SpaghettiOs on the menu. “This is a first for me. When I think of you out there in the kitchen, slaving over a hot pan of SpaghettiOs just for me…well, it does my heart good.”

“You have quite an imagination, do you know that?” Maxie sat down on the arm of the sofa, her arms crossed over her chest. “I guess that’s a prerequisite for your job.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t deal in facts. You deal in fabrication, anything to make a story more interesting.”

Connor shrugged, making a production out of stirring his SpaghettiOs. “If you say so. You’re quite defensive, do you know that? I think I understand why you never have visitors. Do you have any pepper to go with this?”

“Who on earth puts pepper on—” Maxie stood up, shaking her head. “Never mind. I’ll be right back.”

The instant Maxie left the room, Connor put his bowl of SpaghettiOs on the floor. Boo, who had been snoring beneath the coffee table, immediately sprang to life, gobbling down the major portion of Connor’s dinner.

“What a good boy,” Connor murmured. He took the bowl back just as Maxie walked into the room. “I decided it didn’t need pepper after all,” he apologized. “Thank you, that really hit the spot. Now that I know what I’ve been missing all these years, I will certainly add SpaghettiOs to my—”

“Oh, save it,” Maxie interrupted impatiently. “Boo has your dinner all over his face. I should have known you were a picky eater the moment I saw your jeans.”

Dumbfounded, Connor stared at her. “My jeans? What about my jeans?”

“They’re ironed,” she retorted. “You’re the first person I’ve ever met who irons a crease in their jeans.”

“I do not iron my jeans,” Connor said quite truthfully. His housekeeper did, albeit on his orders.

Maxie wrinkled her nose. “I’ll bet you starch your undershorts and wear little suspenders to keep your socks up.”

“Of course I don’t starch my undershorts. What do you take me for?” There was nothing Connor could say about the “little suspenders.” He owned several pairs for formal occasions. “Why am I the one being interrogated? I’m supposed to be asking you questions.”

“Ask away,” Maxie said. “Just don’t expect me to answer.”

They stared at one another while the silence lengthened. Her expression was defiant, his frustrated. Connor decided to go for his trump card.

“Two hundred fifty thousand dollars,” he said. “A quarter of a million just for letting me tape one little interview. I don’t know how much hay costs, but that’s got to cover your expenses for quite a while.”

There had been a time in her life when a quarter of a million dollars was practically chump change. Maxie had no trouble remaining unimpressed. “No thanks,” she said. “I can take care of my own money problems. I’d rather mortgage my land than sell my soul. Besides, why would you want to interview an obscure dairy farmer? You’d be a laughingstock.”

This time Connor was the one counting to ten. “I know who you are,” he said tightly. “You know I know who you are! Why keep playing this stupid game?”

“You’re right,” she said, twin spots of color burning high on her cheekbones. “It’s a stupid game and I don’t want to play any more. I’m going to get my jacket, then I’m driving you back to town. You can arrange to pick up your car tomorrow. Our discussion is over.”

Maxie left the room in an indignant huff. Connor’s thoughtful gaze followed her exit, then he stood up with a sigh and walked to the tiny coat closet and removed a metal hanger. He went outside and had the lock on his car open in less than two minutes. He walked back into the living room just as Maxie reappeared. She was wearing a denim jacket with sheepskin lining and had her cowboy hat planted firmly on her head once again.

“Where did you go?” she asked suspiciously.

“I thought I’d try opening the lock with a coat hanger,” he explained, holding the bent hanger up like a trophy. “It worked, can you believe it? The rain has stopped, too. I guess my luck is turning.”

“I’m happy for you,” Maxie said acidly. “Why didn’t you try to open the damn door before now?”

Connor grinned, his eyes lingering on her beautiful mouth. “Because I didn’t want to open the damn door until now.”

In the space of a few seconds, the atmosphere between them changed. What had been impersonal suddenly became quite personal. The air in the small living room seemed to change as well, becoming thicker and oxygen-sparse. Maxie was having trouble breathing. She stared at the boyish tangle of damp hair across his forehead and had the inexplicable urge to smooth it back. He looked like a mischievous child standing there with his dancing brown eyes and that stupid hanger in his hand. Her gaze dropped lower, to the snug jeans slung low on his narrow hips. A whisper of pure sensuality reared its dangerous head, sending a prickle of goose bumps over her skin.

“I want you to go now,” she said hoarsely.

Connor nodded thoughtfully. “You’re going to make this a struggle, aren’t you?”

“I’m going to make it impossible. No interview, not now, not ever.”

“I wasn’t talking about the interview, pretty girl.” He touched the tip of her nose with his finger. “You’re enchanting, Maxie Calhoon. Prickly…but enchanting.”

Maxie opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. Her brain was stalled in neutral.

“I’m staying at the motel in Oakley for a couple of days,” Connor said. “If you change your mind about the interview—”