The Sexy Devil. Kate Hoffmann
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flirt with me.” He shook his head. “Sometimes I just wish people could forget all that celebrity stuff and be normal.”
“Well, if you’re looking for normal, then I’m definitely it,” Angela said. “Nothing very special here.”
“You were president of the Latin Club,” he said, grinning. “I think that’s kind of special.”
“You’re very strange,” Angela said. As he pulled out of the parking spot, she took the opportunity to observe him, his profile outlined by the light from the street lamps.
He was even more beautiful than she remembered, his features so perfectly. His hair was darker and his body more mature, but there was still a bit of the handsome boy left inside him—especially in the smile and in the teasing tone of his voice.
“Tell me something completely random about yourself. Let’s start there.”
Angela knew she’d have to come up with something intriguing and humorous. Something to show him that an evening with her could be fun. “I can list all the states in the Union.”
“Impressive,” Max said.
“In alphabetical order, in reverse alpha order, in order of entrance into the union, and in order of geographical size. Plus I know all of the capitals by heart.” She drew a deep breath. “What can I say, I was a geek and my parents thought it was an interesting party trick.”
“You are a very interesting woman, Angela.” He turned on some music, flipping through the CDs in his player until he found something soothing.
She was going to make a complete mess of things. In another hour, he’d be dropping her off at the parking ramp and heading back to the bar, looking for someone more intriguing. It was time to start asking questions. “So you’re famous,” she ventured. “What’s that like?”
“It’s about what you’d expect,” he said with a shrug. “Sometimes bad, sometimes good.”
“Tell me the bad,” Angela said.
“I hate the press. I hate that they can make up stories about my life without any thought of how it affects the people I love. I hate that people wonder who I date or where I eat dinner or where I sleep at night. I hate that I don’t have much of a life outside of baseball.”
“Tell me the good,” she said.
“If I wasn’t famous, you might not have given me a second look at the bar,” he said. “I’m glad you did.”
“Oh, you think I’m impressed by your fame?” Angela asked. “I’ve spent time with much more famous people than you—Churchill, Gandhi, Hemingway. You don’t impress me.”
“Obviously not,” Max said with a devilish grin. “Since you seem intent on poking holes in my ego.” He opened all the windows in the BMW, letting the warm summer wind blow through the car. “I love Chicago in the summer. The smell, the sounds. I never get to enjoy my summers anymore. It’s always about work, the next game, the next at bat. This is the first summer in my memory that I haven’t played baseball.”
“Isn’t it fun?” she asked, anxious to keep him talking about himself.
“It’s a job. It can be fun. It certainly looks like fun. But it’s not … normal. I’d like to lead a normal life.”
“Normal is boring,” Angela said. “Take it from me.”
“Normal might be nice for a change.” He glanced over at her. “What would you be doing on a normal Tuesday night?”
“Laundry,” she said.
“You made the right decision,” he teased. “I’m much more interesting than laundry.”
The conversation was going well. Maybe it was time to get a bit more personal. “Can I ask you a question?” Angela began.
“Anything,” he said.
“Why did you choose me? That bar was full of women more beautiful. More interested in a guy like you. Why me?”
“I don’t know,” Max said. “I just got this feeling. When I saw you and our eyes met, there was this … moment.”
Angela’s breath froze in her throat. Oh, God. He’d had a moment, too? What did that mean? No, there was no need to get excited. Maybe a guy like him had multiple moments. Maybe it didn’t mean anything at all. Of course, they’d been attracted to each other. But a “moment” was more than just sexual attraction, wasn’t it?
They chatted about a variety of subjects for the rest of the ride—the latest festivals on the lakefront, the best ethnic restaurants in town, the traffic, the weather. But Angela couldn’t get her mind off the “moment.”
The conversation turned to his injury and his rehab efforts, but she found herself transfixed by a careful study of his mouth. He asked her about her work and she told him she was in communications, before changing the subject to the music he liked.
By the time they reached the lake, the conversation had become surprisingly relaxed, at least to the casual observer. But Angela was in the midst of an internal crisis. She found herself completely charmed by Max Morgan. He was sweet and funny and smart. And when he smiled at her, she felt as if she might just melt into a big puddle of goo on his leather seat.
No, Angela thought to herself. Max Morgan was supposed to be the enemy. And all this charm was expected from a smooth operator. Of course, he would try to weaken her defenses, to turn himself into the perfect guy. He knew exactly how to read the signs. And if she weren’t careful, she’d fall for it, hook, line and sinker.
Max found a place to park, then helped her out of the car. It was dark on the beach, but the city was alive with light behind them. He held onto her arm as she kicked off her shoes and stepped into the sand. Then he laced his fingers through hers and they walked toward the water.
“I never come to the beach,” she said. “I just drive by.” She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. “It doesn’t smell like the city.”
“I have a place on the water in Florida,” he said. “And a place on a small lake in Wisconsin. And my apartment here in Chicago overlooks the lake. I’m a water guy, I guess. Where do you live?”
“I have a flat in Wicker Park.” This guy was seriously out of her league, Angela thought to herself. He had at least three homes, maybe even more. She lived in a tiny, one-bedroom flat with leaky pipes and a noisy radiator.
When they reached the water’s edge, Max slipped out of his shoes and socks and rolled up his pant legs, then waded in. “Cold,” he said, wincing. “I can’t believe I used to swim in this.”
“It’s always cold,” Angela said, backing away from his invitation to join him. He ran out and grabbed her, pulling her along until her toes touched the water too.
“No!” she cried, trying to twist out of his grasp. But he pulled her closer until she was caught in his embrace. He stared down into her eyes, then bent closer and kissed her.
Angela tried to remain calm, hoping to remember every little detail of the kiss. It was sweet and simple and filled with a delicious anticipation. She parted her lips and he took the invitation to tease at her tongue. He’d obviously had a lot of experience kissing women and it had paid off. When he finally drew away, she felt as if her legs were about to buckle beneath her.
“I’ve been thinking about doing that ever since we left the bar,” he murmured, smoothing his hand through her hair. His gaze scanned her features and he smiled. “I don’t know what it is. I feel like we know each other. Is that strange?”
“Yes,” Angela said. The one word was all she could manage for the moment. Oh, it was wonderful kissing him. And though she’d tried to maintain her defenses, it was all it took to make her realize that she was totally and utterly at his mercy.
He