Amorous Liaisons

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t have to do that.”

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

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

Damn.

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

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

“Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looked at Maddy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A little too much, as it turns out.

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

The lost look in her eyes sealed it for him.

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

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

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

She stirred as the mattress dipped under his weight.

“I thought you were never coming to bed.”

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

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

He smiled.

“What?” she asked.

“I’d forgotten about your bane.”

She pulled a face.

“Trust you to notice them.”

“They’re cute.”

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

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

“Come here.”

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