Amorous Liaisons. Sarah Mayberry
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“I know. It was one of the things I always admired about you. You were the most passionate dancer I knew.”
Her jaw clenched.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to use past tense,” he said.
God, he was so perceptive. Always had been.
“I can’t believe it’s over. It’s too big, too much,” she said.
A heavy silence fell. She could feel Max trying to find something to say, something that would make it all right. But there was nothing he or anyone could say or do. The decision had been made.
She shook her head and shoulders, deliberately shaking off the grim mood that had gripped her.
“Tell me about you. About your dad and…Charlotte, right? That’s your sister’s name, isn’t it?”
They talked their way through the first bottle of wine and then the second. Maddy ate more than half of the bread and pâté and by ten was bleary-eyed with fatigue and alcohol.
“I need to go find a hotel,” she said.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re staying here.”
As soon as he said it, something inside her relaxed. She’d been hoping he would offer. She could still remember how she used to crawl into bed with him when it was cold and the heating wasn’t up to the task of fending off the drafts from the many, many cracks and gaps in their house. The smell of Max all around her, the warmth of his body next to hers. He used to pull her close and she’d fall asleep with her head on his shoulder.
Just the thought of feeling that safe again made her chest ache.
“You can have my bed, I’ll sack out on the couch,” he said, standing to clear the dishes.
She stared up at him.
“I don’t mind sharing with you. We used to sleep together all the time. Remember?” She hoped she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt.
He hesitated a moment. “Sure. I’ll try not to hog the quilt. It’s been a while since I’ve shared with anyone.”
She smiled up at him, relieved. “You know, I’m glad I came. It was a bit weird at first, but that was only because we hadn’t seen each other for a while. And now it feels like the old days.”
He looked away, his focus distant.
“The old days. Yeah.”
“Do you mind if I have a shower first?” she asked.
“Of course not. I’ll get you a towel.”
He moved away, disappearing through a doorway to one side of the living area. Maddy began weaving her long hair into a braid to prevent it from getting wet.
She had no idea what tomorrow held. Even acknowledging that fact was a scary, scary thing for a dancer who had lived a life of strict self-discipline.
For a moment she got dizzy again and her heart began to pound. No rehearsal. No costume fittings. No classes. No gym or Pilates. What would she do with the time? God, what would she do with the rest of her life?
Max reappeared with a fluffy white towel and a fresh bar of soap.
“The bathroom’s pretty primitive, but it gets the job done,” he said.
The panic subsided as she looked into his clear gray eyes.
It would be all right. She was here with Max, and somehow she would find a way through this.
She stood and took the towel, then rested her hand on his forearm for a few seconds to feel the reassuring warmth of him.
Definitely she had done the right thing coming here, no matter how crazy it had seemed at first. Definitely.
MAX RAN A HAND ACROSS the bristle of his buzz cut as Maddy disappeared through the bathroom door.
Maddy Green. He couldn’t quite believe that she was in his apartment after all these years.
The shock of seeing her on his doorstep continued to resonate within him. It was almost as though thinking of her today at his father’s apartment had conjured her into his life.
She was still beautiful, with her long, rich brown hair and deep brown eyes. And being in the same room with her was still an experience in itself—her body vibrated with so much emotion and intensity, she was utterly compelling. It was one of the reasons she was such a joy to watch on stage—she had presence, star quality. She’d always drawn people to her.
He heard the shower come on and began collecting glasses and plates.
Her perfume hung in the air, something flowery and light. The same perfume she’d always worn.
Jesus. I still remember her perfume. How sappy is that?
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