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her at home in the form of a precious five-year-old souvenir from her one wonderful night of mind-blowing, grief-forgetting, electrifying sex.
    Understanding dawned in Felicity’s brown eyes as she gasped, “Is he Alex’s–?”
    “Yes.” Sophie’s lips thinned. “And I don’t want Max to ever find out.”
    * * *
     
    Four days later Sophie decided she must be a glutton for punishment. Why else would she keep showing up at the one place she’d made a fool of herself not once but twice ?
    “I’d like to speak with Mr. Rinaldi, please.” Sophie stood at the front desk in the hotel lobby. Her gaze swept to the oversized wall fountain situated behind the concierge. The tranquil sound of water trickling from a marble lion’s mouth should have been calming.
    It wasn’t.
    Every splash into the trench below the statue grated on her raw nerves. Then again, a mega-dose of valium wouldn’t have calmed her right now. Not while her mind somersaulted with anxiety about her meeting with Maximus Rinaldi.
    Sophie smoothed a wrinkle from her calf-length black skirt with one hand and held the folder containing the finalized menu for his party in her other. At least this time she wasn’t dressed like a trollop. No one could mistake her for a lady of the night in her long-sleeve gray silk blouse and sensible flats. A schoolmarm maybe, but definitely not a working girl.
    “Do you have an appointment?” the young man behind the desk asked.
    “No, but he’s expecting me.” 
    “Your name?”
    “Sophie Westbrook.”
    The young man punched a button on the switchboard and picked up the phone. “There’s a Ms. Westbrook here to see Mr. Rinaldi. She says she’s expected?” Apparently satisfied with the answer, the concierge nodded, then reached under the desk and pulled out a credit-card-sized room key. “You’ll need this to access the twelfth floor. Just slide it into the slot inside the elevator before you push the button for twelve. Mr. Rinaldi’s office is next to his personal suite – number 1201.”
    His personal suite? Sophie gulped. The same suite she’d spent one incredible night in?
    “Thank you.” Sophie took the card and walked to the triple elevators around the corner.
    Once inside her breath quickened. The last time she’d been inside this elevator she had been two long-island ice teas to the wind, consumed with grief and wrapped around Max like there was no tomorrow.
    Sophie slid the card into the appropriate slot and pressed twelve. The doors closed. She tried very hard to ignore the memories flooding her mind, but her body refused to let her forget. Goosebumps prickled her neck where Max’s lips had explored the hollow of her throat leaving a trail of nibbles all the way to her partially exposed breasts. Hands – hers and his – had touched, teased and tantalized as his hard body pressed her against the side of the elevator. His tongue…
    The elevator dinged, interrupting her thoughts. The doors slid open and Sophie stepped out of the elevator feeling flushed from head to toe and in need of a very cold shower. If Max saw her now, she was sure he would know where her thoughts had been.
    If he ever remembered who she was.
    Sophie collected herself, calmed her clamoring heart, kept her eyes averted – she would not look toward the door of his hotel suite – and marched into his office armed with her small handbag and her menus determined to cling to some shred of dignity and prove she could be a professional.
    A kind-looking woman greeted her with a smile and an appraising glance in the reception area. “Ms. Westbrook?” When Sophie nodded she continued. “Mr. Rinaldi is expecting you. Go on in.” She motioned to the closed door behind her desk.
    Sophie walked to the door and hesitated. Shouldn’t she knock first? She raised her hand to give it a light tap when it swung open.
    “Excellent, you’re here.” Max grinned stepping aside so she could enter. “Make yourself comfortable and I’ll