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  But now, the handmade blanket looked ridiculous.

  She reluctantly turned to her mysterious Frenchman, embarrassed with the state of disarray. In the darkness of the cab, there had been an air of possibility between them. Now that he saw her in the light—saw all of her—she anticipated how this would follow through, and blushed for the shame of assuming anything else.

  One Knight Stand. She hated that nail color now.

  He motioned to the table covered in makeup.

  “I’m an esthetician,” she explained, trying to anticipate his question. “I love to work with the colors. I guess it’s my thing.” She paused and then added, “I work at a spa. I do makeup and skin care for people.”

  “Where do you eat?” he asked, still staring at the table.

  In bed, she almost said. Instead, Maxine read his ball cap again. “And you’re a mechanic?” A mechanic who could also model, she thought.

  “Hmm?” he frowned at her. She pointed to his cap. He pulled it off and read the logo. “Oui, yes. I’m, um…mechanic. And towing. I do that, too, oui.”

  Maxine smiled at his accent. “That’s my biggest fear. I hate the thought of getting stuck at a busy intersection with everyone staring at you, upset because you’ve caused a traffic jam.”

  “I missed that horror movie,” he said, running a hand through his thick black hair, pushing it off his face. The waves in the back almost reached his shoulders.

  “The weird thing is, I don’t even own a car.”

  He walked around, the ball cap still in one hand. “Do you like sports?”

  “You mean like running and exercise?” Maxine wrinkled her nose at his question. It seemed genuine, but anyone with a pair of eyes could tell she wasn’t exactly miss sporty natural. Still, she was enchanted by his curiosity.

  “Like watching on TV,” he said, looking around the living room, searching for a television that wasn’t there anymore. Johnny got the television.

  “No,” she answered. “I like 80’s television shows.” Then she laughed nervously—again.

  He finished his inspection of the small living room and focused on her. Maxine hadn’t realized how dark his eyes were before. She was once again struck by the hugeness of him. His broad shoulders seemed to take up the whole space. He stayed still, but his expression was unwavering, almost daring her.

  This is it; this is my Alexis Colby moment. I brought this large hunk of a man into my apartment—but now what?

  She dropped her gaze and stared at his hands. God, they are big hands. Big hands, big… “Do you want a coffee?” she blurted out.

  “A coffee? Non.”

  “Or maybe you need the washroom?” She pointed down the short hallway that lead to her bedroom.

  He looked down the hallway, then back to Maxine. “You want me to use washroom?” he asked seriously.

  “No.” She backed up a few steps until she reached the kitchen counter. The heat under her dress was now slick and uncomfortable. She glanced down and saw a mint leaf sticking out of her cleavage. Classy lady.

  The romance cover model ran a hand through his hair again, making his biceps strain under the t-shirt sleeve. Maxine suspected he’d practiced that move in the mirror a few times. “Then what do you want?” he asked.

  A burst of nervous laughter escaped, but then her smile faded. “No one has asked me that in a very long time,” she said. Slipping off his jacket, she laid it on the counter, letting her finger trace the stitching along the zipper, trying to build up her courage. “Why did you follow me into the cab?”

  “Because no one has ever run away from me before.”

  Rolling her eyes, Maxine looked up and saw that he was smirking. “Rejection is a new thing for you, I’m guessing.”

  “Is that what you call inviting me here?” He tossed the ball cap and it landed perfectly on the dining table. The floorboard creaked as he took a step closer to her. There was a spark of anticipation in his eyes.

  “Hold on, cowboy,” she said, putting a hand on his chest. My God! His muscles are rock hard under his shirt. Who the hell is this guy? She cleared her throat. “What makes you think you can kiss me again?”

  He was still as stone under her touch, but Maxine could feel herself falling into his stare. “You kissed me,” he said, his voice ridiculously smooth. “There is a difference, I promise.”

  It wasn’t only the French accent, but the confidence in his voice that made her knees almost unhinge. Her hand was flat on his chest; his racing heart was keeping time with hers. “That sounds like a proposition,” she said.

  “It can only be decided one way.” Then he repeated his earlier question. “What do you want?”

  He was so close she could see the faint brown and black colors of his stubble. There was a cleft in his chin. What do you want? An image of the long white box hidden in the closet was ignored; all Maxine wanted at that moment was to mold herself into his arms and forget about the last four years. “Kiss me,” she said.

  His fingers grazed her cheek, tucking a wave of hair behind her ear. “Un moment,” he said. “A man should be prepared.” He peeled the last mint leaf off her chest then placed it in his mouth.

  Maxine giggled through a surprised expression, which faded into a sigh.

  Then, with deliberate care, he brought his lips down to hers, perfectly fitting their mouths together. He gently moved his chin starting a slow pace, controlled but with a sense of held back urgency.

  This was nothing like the hastily stolen kiss at the club.

  The cautious seduction was almost too much for Maxine. She wanted to taste him fully, kiss him back hard—tackle this moment like Alexis Colby.

  She raised up on her toes, deepening the kiss. It took hold, growing more certain. The sensation of his tongue sliding over hers sent waves of heat down her whole body. But when his hands moved down her side and along her hips, Maxine flinched, knowing he could feel the bulges the girdle was hiding.

  He seemed to hesitate, then he moved his hands to her hair. Maxine relaxed in his arms and concentrated on the kiss. His body moved with hers, turning the embrace into a swaying dance. The kiss went on and on, neither one relenting. Her hands roamed over his back, feeling his muscles flex under her touch. She had to keep reminding herself this was real. And so much better than watching Dynasty.

  Maxine felt like she was on a roller coaster that had lost its brakes and the next turn could send her careening off the track. Flattening her hands against his rock-hard chest, she leaned back. “I feel dizzy,” she said. “Like I’m drunk, too.”

  He kept her in the embrace then leaned forward touching his forehead to hers.

  Maxine wondered if he was about to realize that a super macho sexy guy like him didn’t belong in her cluttered apartment, feeling her body through this extra-large vintage dress.

  “I like it,” he finally said. “And I like you.” Maxine could feel his hardness unyielding and certain. He wanted her. And Maxine wanted him. No, wait—she deserved him. This was her rebound lover.

  This was her Alexis Colby moment. “Me too,” she whispered. Her fingers traced his lips. He opened his mouth to her touch and, at once, she was kissing him again.

  With a quick turn, he moved them toward the couch so swiftly and agile it made her heart flutter. The patchwork quilt wrinkled under their weight. Maxine leaned back, her head supported by the armrest. The long deep kisses lingered, his hands were in her hair, and soon the throbbing inside Maxine couldn’t be ignored. She pressed against his hardness, her hands pushing up the fabric of his top, finding the warm skin on his back. She watched him under heavy lids as he reached behind and pulled off his t-shirt.

  Maxine couldn’t hide the awe in her voice. “Are you real or a dream?” she asked, running her fingers up his insanely chiseled chest.

  His eyes twinkled back at her. “Oui, Ms. Dior. Don’t wake up yet, the best part is coming.”

  Chapter Six

  Antony unclasped his gold wristwatch and placed
it on the trunk beside the collection of nail polish. It settled with a heavy clank. The small side lamp caught its reflection and magnified a spot on the ceiling.

  He adjusted his weight, leaning on one elbow and started to kiss her again. Her lips were insanely sexy. Antony was completely lost in the feeling of his tongue exploring her mouth. A complicated choreography ensued as their bodies became a tangle of arms and legs.

  It was stupid of him to break his code like this, months of going without sex to sharpen his game might be blown on this one night. He could have said no to her invitation and stayed in the cab, but the promise of kissing her again made him accept the offer. Just one more kiss, he’d thought. What harm can come from that?

  But the kissing led them to the couch.

  And now, as she guided his hand to the side zipper of the dress, he’d completely given up on the code—she was his belle rousse after all.

  The zipper made a slick noise as he pulled it down.

  Against her neck, he murmured a string of prayers in French, practically comparing her body to a miracle. His hand traced the low cut neckline of the dress; the lace edge of her bra grazed his fingertips. He wanted to crush his lips to her bare flesh and drown in between those two perfect breasts.

  She moved under him, reaching for the lamp. There was a click, then they were in the shadows.

  His hand froze. “Qu’est-ce qui ne va pas?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she replied. But Antony could sense the sadness in her voice. Her lips left small kisses on his face, searching for his mouth.

  He pulled away, his hand groping for the lamp. He found the switch and turned it on, studying her face for a clue.

  “I’m more comfortable in the dark,” she said, averting her gaze.

  What she was hiding? She was staring at his six-pack. He had a thin line of dark hair that started at his navel and went down, disappearing under the top of his jeans. He wondered if she found that sexy or would rather if he was totally hairless. There were chicks who were adamant about that kind of thing.

  Antony turned off the light as she requested, regretting losing the image of her. After a few awkward tugs, they maneuvered the dress off her shoulders. He pulled it down further, letting it pool at her waist.

  Her breathing sped up as his fingertips traced the shoulder straps of her bra. She was content to let his hands roam—as long as they were in the dark. His finger hooked the top of the satin cup and pulled down. She sighed, arching her back, pressing her breast into his mouth. Antony’s erection was tight and throbbing.

  In the shadows, he tasted the other breast, imagining the creamy skin, the hard pink tips.

  He loved the mass of her body, how solid she seemed. Most girls he slept with seemed fragile compared to his massive frame, almost breakable. He was always holding back, just a bit. But not her. He knew she could handle him.

  Still, he took it slow, wanting this to last. He slipped his fingers under the hem of her dress and traced the inside of her thigh. There was a smooth material, flush against her skin. When he touched the place between her legs, he could feel the heat on the other side of the fabric. He kept his hand there, unmoving, but deliberately increasing pressure.

  “Ici?” he asked her, his voice full with want. Then he repeated, “Here? Can I kiss you here?”

  It was a question, but he was full of confidence. He wasn’t asking permission—he wanted her to say it out loud.

  “Oh God, y—”

  “Yes?” his prompted. “Oui?”

  “No.” There was a pause. “Damn, I hate this. I’m…I’m wearing Spanx.” she said the last part quiet, like a secret.

  He was not expecting that. After a few beats of silence, he said, “You want me to spank you?”

  “No.”

  The despondency of that one small word held a weight he wasn’t sure he understood. She sounded regretful. Did she want him to stop? He wished he knew what she was talking about. There was another pause of dead silence. He moved his hand to her knee.

  “My, uh…girdle thingy.”

  “A girdle thingy?”

  “It keeps my stomach flat so I can fit into dresses old ladies have donated to charity.” She groaned, then said, “I added the last part out loud by mistake. Sorry.”

  Antony let another pause of silence lapse then leaned closer. The leather couch made a crinkling sound under them. “I’m not interested in your girdle thingy,” he said. “I’m interested in what’s under it.” Then he started another session of long, deep kisses.

  He felt her melt under his weight, lining up her body with his. Antony’s hand slipped between her legs again. He caressed her there, against the slippery fabric of the Spanx. Almost at once, her hips began to move, matching the rhythm of his touch. He rubbed harder. She tensed against him and his groin pulsated, sending a charge all the way to where his mouth was pressed against hers.

  An urgency sped up the kiss, trying to soothe an unyielding ache inside Antony.

  She tilted back her chin. “Yes,” she cried out.

  Antony’s wrist worked faster, rubbing the sensitive spot, her wetness only separated from his touch by the thin layer of fabric. He was completely turned on that she was about to come for him. “Oui,” he urged her.

  She arched her back and rocked her pelvis, almost throwing him off balance. Her breath came in faster gasps. Antony grunted with effort, never lessening the pressure of his hand. He fought the waves of pleasure building up, making his erection throb.

  “Yes, Ace!” Her voice hit a high note and then quivered to nothing.

  Antony felt her go flaccid under him as she let out one last sigh, sounding completely exhausted. Mint filled the air between them.

  “May I see you now?” he asked, smiling in the dark.

  “Yes.” She moved under him, tugging at her bra, pulling her dress back up.

  When she was done, Antony turned on the lamp. Her eyelids flickered, adjusting to the change. He brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. “I should tell you,” he said. “My name is not Ace.”

  She traced the cleft in his chin. “And my name isn’t Ms. Dior.”

  Antony sensed her confident vibe and wanted to test the waters. “Next time,” he said. “We try it without girdle thingy. Oui?”

  A quick rap of knuckles on the door made them both freeze on the couch.

  “Are you home?” A woman’s voice was urgent and full of panic behind the door. There was a murmur of voices then the sound of a key being fit into the lock.

  Chapter Seven

  Maxine twisted around, watching in horror as the dead bolt turned. Fortunately, her companion had better reflexes and was already standing by the couch, reaching for his shirt. She felt a bit overwhelmed at how damn sexy he was.

  “…call the police?” Stuart’s voice on the other side of the door zapped her into action like she’d been shocked.

  Without uttering a single word, she hustled her unnamed lover down the hallway, pushing him toward her bedroom door. He managed to get his t-shirt over his head.

  He whispered something quickly in French.

  “Whatever you suggested, there’s no time.” Maxine shoved him into her room. “Don’t come out,” she said as her front door banged open.

  “Maxie?” Crosby’s panicked voice called out. She walked in followed by Stuart. “Are you—oh!”

  Maxine hastily pulled at her dress. “Um…hey.”

  “Thank God.” Crosby said. She had Maxine’s winter coat over one arm. “We were terrified you were kidnapped.”

  “Sorry to worry you, sis.” Maxine crossed her arms in front of her chest, trying to keep her unzipped dress from falling down. “But seriously, do you have any idea how many guys it would take to lug my body of out the club and into the back of their van? An operation like that would not go unnoticed.”

  Stuart kept his scarf in place, but began to unbutton his leather jacket. His breaths were rushed. “I want you to move to a place wit
h an elevator,” he said, fanning out the panels. He looked Maxine up and down and frowned.

  “What are you guys doing here?” She leaned on the kitchen counter, partially blocking the hallway to her bedroom.

  Crosby reached into her knock-off Marc Jacobs purse. She pulled out her phone and started texting. “After you disappeared from the club I started phoning you. You weren’t answering and then the phone was turned off. And then I find your coat still with mine in the coat check. What else was I supposed to do?”

  “Certainly not order two more rounds of drinks before we left,” Stuart added. He studied Maxine again.

  She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I was just in the bathroom.” She winced for effect. “That’s why I left the club so quickly.”

  “You only had one mojito,” Stuart said. “I don’t remember you being such a cheap drunk.”

  “I think the mint was moldy or something.”

  He leaned closer. “You don’t look sick,” he continued. “You look…iridescent.”

  She faked a cough. “It’s probably the fever.”

  “Fever?” Crosby looked up from her phone, her expression serious. “Maybe you should go to emergency?”

  Stuart rolled his eyes. “You need to stop watching those trauma reality shows,” he said. “It’s skewing your judgment, which is already ridiculously nonsensical.”

  “You’re the one who said she was all glowy like a light bulb,” Crosby shot back.

  Stuart walked over to the couch. The quilt was a scrunched up mess. “Jesus, Max,” he said, trying to straighten the fabric. “You need a maid.” He looked critically at the bowl of nail polish and used cotton balls. There was a piece of paper tucked under the bowl. He lifted it and started to read. “Midnight Stroll. Sand Between My Toes. Oil My Back…what the hell is this?”

  Crosby gave a tiny squeal. “Maxie and I are going to start a new business on the side naming nail polishes.”

  He flipped the paper back on the trunk’s surface. “That’s a sure fire retirement plan,” he said. Then he gave Maxine a curious look. “Is this for the cosmetic boutique you talked about all last year? Because I thought that might actually be successful.”