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under her buttoned-down,
look-but-don’t-touch facade. Damned attractive, even though she clearly didn’t
have a high opinion of him or his reputation—personal or professional.
    Of course, he could have done more
to change her opinion, but what was the point? She’d obviously made up her mind
about him a long time ago, and he’d have to reveal other people’s secrets to
make her change it now.
    He smiled and took advantage of the
current situation, putting his arm around her and pulling her close. Breathing
deeply, he inhaled her enticing scent, lightly sweet and baby fresh. Nothing
overtly sexual, cloying or artificial for Annabel, of course, just the pull of
something refreshingly honest and temptingly off-limits.
    She snuggled into him, her upper
body nestled against his, oblivious of her actions. The long skirt with the
high-rise slit twisted beneath her, revealing one pleasing limb from ankle to
hip. The three buttons she’d undone on her jacket gaped open, exposing the
swell of a breast and the hint of red lace.
    Well, well, well . Who would
have expected Annabel Morgan to sport red lace undies?
    He shifted in his seat, heating up.
Annabel squirmed, too, bringing her arm across his chest and curling her hand
around his neck. Her soft breath teased his ear, in-out, in-out, in soundless
counterpoint to the orchestra.
    The volume, the tone, and the
urgency of the notes swelled and increased around him, heavy with promise,
building to a crescendo, and begging for a conclusion. His body responded to
Annabel and the music with equal escalation.
    A fanfare, a flourish, an abrupt
silence preceded thunderous applause. The appreciative audience leapt to its
feet with shouts of “Bravo” and “More, more.”
    As if on cue, Annabel’s hand
dropped to his crotch.
    Max remained glued to his seat.
    Suddenly, her eyelids fluttered
open. She jerked her head from his shoulder, and they stared at one another,
nose to nose. The confusion cleared from her eyes while shock drained her
cheeks of color. Straightening her spine, she snatched her hand away as if
scorched.
    He let his smile spread as she
settled her rigid dignity around her like a full-metal jacket. She stood up,
pulled her jacket into place with an efficient snap, straightened her skirt,
and applauded with the others.
    Max rearranged his junk and climbed
gingerly to his feet.
    After they waited through what
seemed like a curtain call for every frigging individual member of the
orchestra, the lights went up and the crowd crept out sedately. Max held onto
Annabel’s elbow to prevent her from slipping away.
    “Roger didn’t want us to leave in
the first crush,” he reminded her.
    “Oh, right.” She opened the
ridiculously small black purse she clutched like a lifeline. “I probably need
to make some repairs before facing the camera again.” After retrieving a
mirror, she reached up to smooth the sides of her hair, but he clasped her
wrist.
    “Don’t,” he said as her pulse beat
double-time beneath his fingertips. Interesting. He twined a wisp of hair
around his finger and let it spring back into place. “You look sexy like this.
Approachable. Touchable.”
    She pulled her hand away and hid it
behind her back. “ Wh - Wh -Where—“
She cleared her throat. “Where did Roger say to meet him?”
    “He said to wait here.”
    She nodded again, looking at the
stage, then the ceiling, and finally, the doors. At everything but him. “How
did you like the performance?”
    “Very stimulating.” He winked. “Was
it good for you, too?”

    Annabel leaned against the Jeep’s
headrest as Max pulled into her driveway. Through the open moon roof, thousands
of stars sparkled against the dark velvety sky. She pretended to study them
while she scrambled to locate the shreds of her composure.
    A flash of light in the rearview
mirror announced Roger’s arrival behind them.
    Max shifted the car into park and
shut off the motor. She sensed more than saw him turn toward