Tom’s eyes widened, impressed in spite of his pledge to keep the tall professor at arm’s length until he trusted him with his mother. “Your uncle played for the Lakers?”
Zach jumped in, eager to share part of the story. “Yeah, until he was in a car accident with our grandfather, oh, twelve years ago, Phil?”
Phillip nodded. “Yep. You’ve seen his cane. He was in a wheelchair for years. My dad told me Uncle Max came home from Harvard one time and threw a fit that the backboard was still there. Made Grandma Hunter take it down. I remember him and my dad having a big fight over it when I was about Petey’s age. They used to fight a lot.”
Tom’s stomach went queasy. “Alot?”
Phil did another air-dunk. “Oh, yeah. Once”—he paused, thinking—“I think it was four years ago because I was almost eleven—Uncle Max came home for Christmas and he and my dad really got into it. Screaming in each other’s faces and everything. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my dad so mad, even when Zach got caught with that girl behind the bleachers.” Phil grinned, narrowly dodging Zach’s revenge snowball.
“Shut up, you idiot.” Zach cocked his head, tossing another snowball from hand to hand. “Or Dad might accidentally find that magazine you’ve been hiding under your mattress.”
These were fighting words and before Tom knew it, Phil and Zach were wrestling on the driveway, inches from a slushy mud-hole.
Jason sidled up next to Tom. “I bet you a quarter Phil goes in the mud first.”
Tom frowned. “Stop it! Stop it, both of you!” Phil and Zach looked up, their fight paused mid-frame.
“What?” Phil asked.
“Why?” Zach asked.
Tom shook his head. “Stop fooling around and finish your story. I want to know about the fight your dad and uncle had. It’s important.”
Phil rolled off Zach and came to his feet, brushing off his jeans. “That was pretty much it. Dad and Uncle Max screamed”—he shrugged non-committally—“then Max slugged my dad and—”
Tom’s heart stopped. Oh my God. “What did you say?” “It was really more like a shove,” Zach said, shaking snow from inside his sleeves. “They didn’t give each other black eyes or anything.”
“Wonderful,” Tom muttered. He’d known something was wrong with Hunter right away. His mother was just so blind. She was normally pretty smart about most things— except men. The smartest thing she’d done in the last seven years was to keep them away. He clenched his fists at his sides. His mom might be naïve, but he wasn’t, by God. Let Hunter try to lay a hand on her. Just let him try.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Caroline observed, looking over her shoulder at Max sitting at her dinette table while she poured their coffee into two of her best mugs. “Best” meaning unchipped and void of any Carrington pep slogans, of course. Nothing she would ever be able to afford could compare to the exquisite china she’d seen in the cabinet at Max’s house. His mother used the china as casually as if it were Wal-Mart Correlle, telling Caroline that if you were afraid to use it why bother having it? There was some reapplicable wisdom there, Caroline knew. She’d ponder it later. For now, she was watching Max who had been uncharacteristically quiet all the way back to her apartment that night, surprising her. His welcome-home party had been an unqualified success. Watching Max with his family made her wistful for things she still didn’t dare wish for.
“I was just thinking,” Max responded. “Thanks.” He took the cup she offered and waited for her to join him. “I was thinking about you.” He grinned when she blushed. “And about us.”
She winced as her hastily gulped sip scalded her throat. “Us?”
“Us.” Sobering, Max reached for her free hand. “And the fact that you’re one of my students.”
“Oh?” She felt her contentment evaporate. This didn’t sound promising at all.
“How attached are you to my class, Caroline?”
She swallowed her sigh of relief that his next words didn’t include “best that we don’t see each other any more” or “we can still be friends.” “What do you mean?”
Max set his coffee cup on the table with precision. “I mean I want to see you. Anywhere you or I choose. If I want to take you to dinner or hold your hand, I don’t want anything keeping me from doing so.”
Caroline closed her eyes for a moment to get her galloping heart under control. She could feel her cheeks getting hotter by the second. “And my being your student would.”
“It could. Just yesterday Dr. Shaw confronted me on it.” Caroline opened her eyes to see his gorgeous mouth bending up in a rueful smile.
“She did?”
“Uh-huh.” Max sipped his coffee, not taking his eyes from her face. “She apparently figured out David is not my significant other and that you and I went out to dinner that night. And frankly, I’ll be damned before I let Shaw get her claws into you. Do you need my class to graduate?”
She squeezed his hand, her heart still pounding as the greater significance of his words overwhelmed her. He was protecting her in a way no one ever had before. It felt good. Really, really good. “I only wanted to be in Eli’s class one more time. You want me to drop the class?”
“Would you? If I’m out of line, I’ll back off and wait until the end of the quarter to …” He waggled his brows suggestively, sending the heat in her face spreading downward.
The sudden urge to draw a similar response from Max was far too strong to resist. So she didn’t. Propping her elbow on the table and leaning her chin on her fist, she lowered her eyelids. Then lifted her lashes and reveled in the way his eyes flashed and the muscle in his cheek twitched. She might have been inexperienced, but she was a fast learner. And Max Hunter was an exceptional teacher. “But I’ll miss hearing you teach,” she murmured, running her finger across the knuckles of his clenched fist. She was no longer afraid of that fist. Oh, no. Not since she’d figured out what made it clench. “Will you tell me how it all turns out for England in the end?”
Max shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable. “Um, John signs the Magna Carta and England goes on to produce the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, and Sting.”
Caroline laughed. “Good enough for me. I’ll drop the class first thing Monday morning.”
Max visibly relaxed and again Caroline was struck by the realization that her answer really mattered to him. “Good.” He pushed his cup to the middle of the table. “So where’s your bodyguard?”
Caroline frowned at his choice of words. “Tom? He’s in his room, doing his math homework. He has to get a B on his report card or he doesn’t get to go on a camping trip with his friends next weekend. Why do you call him that?”
“Because of the look on his face when he came in from playing football with my nephews. He doesn’t like me, I think.”
Caroline bit at her lower lip. “Oh, I don’t think that’s true.” Although it was. She too had seen the look on Tom’s face and it had been worrying at the back of her mind all evening. “He just doesn’t trust you yet. It’s just been the two of us for a long time and he’s … protective of me.”
Max looked unconvinced, but didn’t press it. “How long has it just been the two of you?”
Caroline glanced away, unable to meet his eyes. She’d known he would ask. She’d just hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. “Emotionally, all of Tom’s life.”
“And physically?”
Caroline pushed back from the table and rose. “Seven years. Would you like some pie?”
Max slowly stood and followed her into the kitchen. “No, but we can change the subject. I’m sorry if I got too personal.”
“No,” she murmured, wiping the clean counters free of non-existent crumbs. “You have a right to your questions.” Her spine straightened a hair. “At some point you’ll have the right to answers.”
“But not today.”
She turned then, and met his concerned eyes. “Not today. Please.”
He tipped her chin up and lightly covered her mouth with
his. “Not today.” He bent to nuzzle the curve of her neck through the collar of her sweater, sending a shiver down to her toes. “Ready to change the subject now?”
“Mmm.” She tossed the dishcloth into the sink and lifted her arms around his neck. “I’ve been ready since you walked down your stairs tonight all clean-shaven and ready to take me home.”
He chuckled, deep down, settling his hands lightly against her back. “So you noticed.”
She slid one hand from his neck to the hard line of his jaw, now smooth. “Mmm. I was sure your mother could hear my heart knocking.”
His eyes went dark and he hissed in a breath, setting her skin tingling in anticipation. She’d been waiting for him to kiss her all day, waiting for the feelings only this man had ever been able to arouse. A second later he took her mouth with the force of a breaking dam. Greedily, as if he’d never get enough. She knew she never would. She pressed closer, hoping he was as aroused as she, needing to feel the evidence of his arousal against the part of her body that throbbed every time he was close. His hands moved down her back, gripping her buttocks, lifting her to her toes. Not nearly high enough. The thought pierced the haze of her mind when she felt him pulsing against her stomach. Not nearly close enough. She struggled against him, whispering his name against lips that continued to plunder. Ready to beg for more, for anything he could give—when abruptly he released her and took a step back.
Caroline rocked back on her heels with a hard jerk. She pressed a trembling hand to her heart, hoping the feeble gesture would keep it contained within her breast. In her very limited experience, this had been the pinnacle. Her body was still tingling, her buttocks aching with the need to feel the warmth of his hands there again, her breasts tender with the need to press against him again. But there he stood, eyes closed and jaw taut, looking for all the world as if he intended to run. He’d pushed her away. Hurt pricked at her thumping heart.
“What’s wrong, Max?” she asked quietly.
With what looked like an effort, he steeled his spine and lifted his eyelids to stare and the hurt slid away as she felt the warmth return all over again.
“You wanted me to stop.” His husky tone was slightly accusatory.
“I did?” Caroline moved a step closer, trapping him against the counter. She could become quite attached to the art of flirtation with such a man as her partner. The heat in those smoky eyes of his should be melting the Formica by now. “Funny, I remember wanting a lot of things, but stopping wasn’t one of them.” She hooked a finger in the collar of his sweater and tugged him down a few inches. “I wasn’t trying to get away.”
She could see his pulse pounding in his throat. “You weren’t?”
Mercy. “Uh-uh. I was trying to get closer, but I think I need to drag out the stepstool.” Then she gasped in surprise as his hands slid under her arms, and he twisted, lifting her onto the countertop, settling himself between her knees.
“How’s this?” he murmured.
His face was now level with her own. “Much better.” Very conscious of his hands lingering, almost cupping the sides of her breasts she drew a breath and reached to smooth the hair behind his ear, wondering how far she’d let this go. Wondering now, as reality intruded, what she really would have begged him for.
He leaned in closer. “I don’t think you’ll need a stepstool tonight.” His thumb brushed against her breast and she caught her breath.
“How tall are you, anyway?” she asked, aware her body had stiffened, but unable to make it relax. Nerves had taken over, chilling the heat that had nearly overcome her just minutes before.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he watched her. Then he drew a deep breath and dropped his hands to gently rest on her hips. “Six-six,” he answered and the stiffness in her shoulders dissipated. “So how short are you?” he countered.
He’d backed away and she hadn’t even asked him to. He’d backed away simply because he’d sensed her discomfort. He hadn’t pushed. Hadn’t yelled. He didn’t even look angry. Her momentary fright had been just that. Momentary. Relief mixed with confidence. The combination was powerful and strange. “Five-four,” she responded, her voice taking on that breathy quality that still surprised her. “But I’m thinking of buying some very high heels.”
His fingers tightened their hold on her hips momentarily before they relaxed and slid between the countertop and her jeans to hold her bottom again. “It’s ridiculous how the sight of a woman in high heels can turn a man on,” he murmured and the heat began to build once again. It was insane how she responded, she thought, but then again insanity might not be all that bad. His hands ran down her legs, slowly, pausing under her knees to curve her legs around his waist before continuing to her ankles. The twin thuds of her shoes hitting the floor were the only sounds in her kitchen as he reached behind his back and gently rubbed a line down the sole of each foot through her socks, never taking his eyes from her face. Oh, God.
“It can?” she whispered.
He bent to press a kiss right below her ear. “What can?”
Caroline shivered at his tone and at the way his tongue was tracing the exterior of her ear, and at the feel of his hot breath against her skin. “High heels,” she managed. “Turn on a man.”
“Oh. Yeah. High heels make a woman’s legs very shapely.” He released her feet and moved back to her calves, gently kneading through her jeans. “I need to go soon.”
Her eyes flew open. “Why?”
His low laugh was rueful. “Because I want to do a whole lot more than rub your feet and you don’t seem to be ready for that yet. And I’m not sure how much longer I can take this.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her mouth tilting down.
“Don’t be. It’s been less than a week.” He gave her calves a friendly squeeze. “Besides, it’s been a full day for us both. Thanks for coming to my surprise party. You made it so much easier.”
“You didn’t need me; not really.”
“Yes, I did.” He paused and rested his forehead against hers. “Caroline, I’ve not been the most jovial of family members. My family had every right to be … apprehensive about me.”
“But they love you and you set all their apprehensive minds at ease.” She noted the flicker of surprise in the smoky depths of his eyes. “I can see what’s laid before me, Max. Your family started out nervous and curious, but hopeful. I could see it in every one of them when they ushered me down those stairs. They wanted to be one with you and in the end you didn’t disappoint them.” She shook her head, pivoting against his brow. “The looks on their faces when you came down the stairs with Peter and joined them—like you’d never left. Then by the end, they were just curious.”
“But not nervous and hopeful?”
“No, I don’t think so. Not that I’m any expert on family, mind you.”
“You never talk about yours.”
Caroline swallowed. “I never had much of one.” She heard the twang in her own voice and wasn’t able to stop the grimace.
“Why do you do that?” he asked sharply.
“Do what?”
“Try to hide your accent.”
“Because I hate it.” She watched his eyes flicker in surprise at the obvious venom in her voice.
“Why?”
She tried to pull back, but one of his hands had pressed to the back of her head, holding her in place against his brow. Her sigh was of resignation. “Because it reminds me of a time and place I’d rather forget. Max, your parents loved you, didn’t they?”
“Yes.” It was a simple statement, said with such confidence it made Caroline’s eyes burn.
“Then you can’t understand. My parents didn’t love each other and they didn’t love me. Your father worked two jobs to support you all. Mine never held onto one for long. I was … poor. But being poor isn’t the end of the world if you have a home you want to come home to every day.”
“And you didn’t?”
“No. I didn’t.”
“Do you have one now?”
“With Tom, yes.”
He paused as they each drew a bolstering breath. “Do you want more?”
The tip of her tongue stole out to moisten her lower lip. “Yes.”
His eyes flashed with something indefinable. “Then that makes everything so much easier, doesn’t it?” he murmured. “Because so do I.”
Greenville, North Carolina
Sunday, March 10
11:30 P.M
Winters crushed his cigarette in his empty McDonald’s coffee cup, put his car in gear and pulled out behind the white Ford Taurus as it left the hospital parking garage. Susan Crenshaw carefully checked her rearview mirror and made a minor, unnecessary adjustment. Her left blinker went on, the same as the day before. Same as the day before that. Tracking Crenshaw down had been fairly simple after all, a relief as he wanted to keep any inquiries to a minimum. Thatcher was asking way too many questions. If he didn’t find Mary Grace soon, Thatcher might actually manage to concoct something that could hurt him. Winters scowled at the very thought, his only comfort the knowledge that he did know where Thatcher lived.
Winters made himself concentrate on the immediate matter at hand. Crenshaw’s white Taurus was exiting at the road to her mother-in-law’s house, on her way to pick up her baby. Her husband worked nights and his mother watched their little tyke when Susan was on second shift. He followed her into an older neighborhood. Grandma’s next-door neighbor had an old sofa on the front porch and a car on blocks in the front yard. Grandma’s house itself was very well kept up with a pretty little garden in the front. He could admire a nice garden. That was one of the things Mary Grace had done well, come to think of it. They’d always had bright flowers. Until her accident. At that point she wasn’t able to do diddly-shit. A big zero on all counts.
The white Taurus pulled into Grandma’s driveway and Winters parked a few houses down. Red Riding Hood Crenshaw was completely clueless, unlike the careful Nurse Burns. Red could learn a thing or two about self-defense, specifically being aware of her surroundings. He’d been following her for two days and she never once noticed his existence. Red disappeared into the house, emerging a few minutes later with her son and all his baby crap. She tucked him in his car seat and rained kisses on his cheeks. The white Taurus was again on its way.