business suits or the sexy, mouthy, tank-top-and-jean-wearing woman who’d arrived at his house on Sunday?
He suddenly had a strong desire to find out.
The urge to kiss Max awake was almost too strong for Dana to resist. Too bad almost didn’t count.
“Max,” she called quietly.
He didn’t stir.
Two hours ago she’d come out of her bedroom and found him asleep. She couldn’t remember ever having seen him so relaxed before. He’d practically dissolved into the cushions of her couch. But she shouldn’t be surprised. She’d be shocked if he’d had more than two hours’ sleep last night. He was pushing himself too hard—exactly the way he had after he’d lost his wife.
Why did men always think drowning themselves in work would cure a problem? It didn’t. It only delayed dealing with the issue. And exhaustion made any problem much harder to handle.
While watching Max sleep, something inside her had melted, and she’d known she was in trouble. She’d wanted to cover him, tuck him in and kiss his smooth-for-the-first-time-in-forever forehead. Instead, she’d studied the shadows beneath his eyes that even his tan couldn’t hide and decided not to wake him. She’d known he’d be irritated at himself for falling asleep and even more irritated with her for not waking him, but too bad. He’d needed the rest. Everyone at the studio would benefit if he had a nap, and he’d be sharper for the upcoming meeting.
She told herself she had nothing to feel guilty about, and it wasn’t as if she’d been wasting time. While he’d slept she’d worked from her laptop at her kitchen table. But now his respite was over.
“Max,” she tried again, a little louder this time. He still didn’t stir. Dana dampened her lips and eased onto the cushion beside him. The warm proximity of his leg beside hers made her heart race. Touching him both appealed to her and repelled her. She flexed her fingers. She wanted to stroke his smoothly shaven jaw—ached to actually—but that would only make leaving him all that much harder. And she was going to leave. Eventually.
She debated her options. Shake his leg? She checked out the long, muscular thigh beside hers and discarded the idea. Tap his arm? No, she’d always hated being poked awake—her brother’s favorite method when they were schoolkids and had to catch the bus.
She cupped a hand over the shoulder closest to her and gently shook him. “Max, wake up.”
His eyelids slowly lifted and his unfocused gaze found hers. His mouth curled in an easy, delicious, breath-stealing smile. “Morning.”
The groggy, rough timber of his voice made her stomach muscles quiver. Wouldn’t she love to wake up to that every day?
“Good morning.” Had he forgotten they’d already played out this scene in his kitchen? She hadn’t. How could she forget his catching her looking like a shipwreck victim washed up on the beach? She’d been embarrassed to be caught in her pj’s, but she’d thought he was still sleeping when she’d staggered toward the coffeepot. He might survive on a couple of hours sleep, but she couldn’t—not without a few gallons of coffee to lubricate her mental wheels.
His hand painted a hot path up her spine. She gasped. Then his fingers cupped her nape and he pulled her forward. Too stunned to react, she let him move her like a rag doll. Warm lips covered hers. Her heart stopped and then lunged into a wild beat as his mouth opened over hers.
Shocked, but thrilled, she responded, meeting the slick, hot glide of his tongue as he stroked her bottom lip for just a second before reality smacked her upside the head.
Who does he think he’s kissing? One of his blondes? His dead wife? She jerked free.
Max stiffened and blinked, the fog vanished from his eyes instantly and clarity returned. His hand fell away and his lips compressed. “I apologize. That shouldn’t have happened.”
She fisted her fingers and fought the urge to press them to her tingling mouth. “It’s okay. You must have been dreaming.”
His jaw shifted. “Must’ve been.”
He lifted his arm, checked his watch and swore. “I’ve missed the conference call. You shouldn’t have let me sleep.”
Coming on the heels of her fantasy desire to kiss Max coming true, his accusatory tone rubbed her the wrong way.
“You needed the rest. I’ve called everyone involved and rescheduled the call until noon. It was no big deal, and no one was inconvenienced. If they had been I would have woken you. That’s why I’m waking you now. We need to go.”
She stood, removing herself from the temptation of kissing him again even if he did think she was someone else, and pressed her hands to her thighs to still their trembling. “I’ve left you a new toothbrush on the bathroom counter if you want to freshen up.”
Not that he needed to. He’d tasted delicious.
Stop it, Dana.
He rose, standing so close his scent filled her lungs and his body heat reached out to encircle her. She told herself to move away, but her legs refused to listen. Instead, she found her head tipping back and wished he’d kiss her again, this time fully awake and cognizant of what he was doing and who he held.
As if he’d read her mind, his gaze dropped to her lips. Her pulse rate skyrocketed and her mouth dried. His eyes returned to hers, but while his pupils dilated, his lips settled into an almost invisible line of rejection. “Again, I apologize. It won’t happen again.”
Disappointment settled like a fishing weight in her stomach. “I—it’s okay, Max. No harm done.”
His gaze bounced to her wall of photos. “Is that your brother?”
Another abrupt subject change. But then he did specialize in them. It had taken her a while after she first started working with him to keep up. “Yes.”
“What happened?”
“You mean what put him in the wheelchair?”
He nodded.
“James went swimming at a rock quarry with his college teammates. He dove in where he shouldn’t have. We’re lucky he’s alive. He’d planned to play pro football after he graduated and then coach. He had to abandon the first part of his dream, but he never gave up on the coaching part, and he didn’t let his disability stop him. He’s the defensive coordinator and has plans to keep moving up.”
“And the paintings? Who is Renée Fallon?”
He’d been busy while she’d been packing, and why did he have to ask personal questions now when her brain was still too stuck on that kiss to function? “My mother.”
“She’s very good.”
“Yes, she is. We’re all very proud of her.”
Without another word, he swept past her and down the hall.
Dana quit fighting and pressed her fingers to her mouth.
Forget that kiss happened.
He wasn’t kissing you. Not in his head, anyway.
But that kiss, accidental or not, wasn’t something she could ever erase from her memory.
In fact, she wanted another one.
And that blew her goal of escaping Max and getting a life of her own right out of the water.
Four
Hudson Pictures’ studios in Burbank reminded Dana of home.
The property had a forties vibe that was both nostalgic and quaint. She loved everything about the place from the large, well-maintained buildings housing the sets and equipment to the small bungalows that made up the offices. It was the architecture of those bungalows that reminded her of her grandparents’ waterfront community in Southport,