Читать книгу Made-To-Order Wife - Judith McWilliams - Страница 11

Jessie tensed, automatically checking the kitchen clock when she heard the entrance buzzer sound. Exactly six o’clock. It had to be Max. Anticipation poured through her, jerking her to her feet.

Hastily she shoved her feet into her black slingbacks, wincing slightly as the fashionable shoes pinched her toes. Someday she was going to have enough money to retire somewhere peaceful and rural where she’d never wear anything but comfortable walking shoes again.

As she grabbed her purse off the counter, the pale-pink letter lying there caught her eye. Why had her mother written? Was she hoping to con Jessie into paying for her liquor? A surge of anger coursed through her as she remembered how her mother used to steal her babysitting money to buy alcohol. She’d been there and done that and she wasn’t going back. Not ever again.

All she had to do was to stand firm, she told herself as she got into the elevator and punched the button for the lobby. Once her mother realized that she wouldn’t allow herself to be used, she’d go away. At least, Jessie sure hoped she would.

The elevator came to its usual jerky stop on the ground floor, and Jessie stepped out. Her breath caught in her lungs as she caught sight of Max standing on the street outside. Even through the thick plate glass of the door she could see the impatient glitter in his blue eyes. As if he had worlds to conquer, and she was delaying him.

Max watched Jessie cross the small lobby toward him. Her face was composed and remote as if her mind was far away, occupied with more important things that having dinner with him. For some reason her preoccupation annoyed him. He wanted to swing her up in his arms, find the nearest bed and make love to her until she lost that infuriating aura of self-control that she radiated.

And the fact that he knew he couldn’t act on his sexual attraction for her only made it worse. Maybe what they said about forbidden fruit really was true, he thought wryly. Maybe it really did taste sweeter.

Hopefully his reaction to Jessie Martinelli would fade as quickly as it had appeared. It was much too intense not to burn itself out relatively quickly. All he had to do was to keep his mind firmly focused on what she could do to help him achieve his goals.

Praying the excitement she felt wasn’t visible in her face, Jessie pushed open the street door and stepped out into the warm summer evening.

“Hi,” she said, trying her best to sound impersonally pleasant.

Max gave her a brisk nod and said, “I’ve got reservations for six-fifteen at a restaurant not too far from here. I brought the car since taxi service can be chancy at this time of night.”

Jessie glanced at the shiny black Mercedes parked at the curb. Its dark, impenetrable windows added to its air of aloofness. The car fit him perfectly. Both were elegant, solidly built and expensive, with an underlying power that could squash the unwary.

“You get points for being on time.” She hoped that focusing on the reason why they were together would dampen the excessive pleasure she felt in his company.

“Don’t tell me. Promptness really is a virtue?”

“It’s also becoming very rare,” she said.

“I refuse to waste my time waiting for people to show up, so I extend the same courtesy to others.”

“A commendable attitude,” she murmured, surprised at his words. Most of the high-powered businessmen she worked with saw nothing wrong with keeping small-business people like herself waiting indefinitely to see them.

“I’m glad you approve,” he said dryly.

Taking her arm, he headed toward the car and opened the rear door. Hurriedly she climbed into the car and scooted across the leather seat to make room for Max.

“Jessie, this is Fred. Fred, Ms. Martinelli,” Max said, introducing his driver.

“Evening, Ms. Martinelli.” Fred pulled into traffic with a deft turn of the powerful car’s steering wheel.

“Good evening, Fred,” Jessie said, wondering how long Fred had worked for Max and how well he knew him. This job had one interesting side benefit. She had the perfect excuse to ask all kinds of questions that normally would be considered none of her business.

Unfortunately, the most burning question she had was one Max couldn’t answer, and that was why she reacted to him like he was the embodiment of her every masculine fantasy when her mind knew perfectly well he wasn’t. Her fantasies had always been about lean, debonair, sophisticated men. Maybe it was a result of her passion for vintage black-and-white movies, but from the time she’d been old enough to understand what sexual attraction was all about, her physical ideal had been men like Cary Grant or Sir Laurence Olivier. Sometimes she had the feeling that she’d been born out of time. She would have been much happier back in the twenties.

“I have reservations at a restaurant called Saretts. Have you been there before?” Max asked, curious about where her dates normally took her. If this were a real date, he’d take her to a five-star restaurant for dinner. Followed by a Broadway show and afterward he’d…

“No, I’ve never heard of it,” Jessie said. “Which is hardly surprising. Sometimes I think New York is wall-to-wall restaurants.”

Did that mean that she ate at a lot of them? Max wondered. And if she did, did she go with someone? A male someone?

“I intend to monopolize your time over the next six weeks or so. I hope no one will be upset.”

“No.” To his annoyance Jessie deflected his question without telling him anything. No could mean anything. It could mean that she was involved with someone who was willing to put up with her heavy workload. Or it could mean that she wasn’t involved with anyone on a personal level at the moment. Max felt an intense surge of frustration engulf him at his lack of any real personal information about her. Sam had rhapsodized for twenty minutes about her competence, her trustworthiness, her ethics and her solid record for results, but at no time in the conversation had he said anything about her personal life other than the fact that she had never done anything that would leave her open to blackmail.

“Here we are, sir,” Fred announced as he pulled up in front of the restaurant.

He could slip in a few personal questions over dinner, Max decided. He’d never found it particularly hard to get a woman talking. In fact, usually he couldn’t get them to shut up.

“I’ll page you when I want to be picked up, Fred,” Max said as the driver opened his door. Outside, he waited while Jessie got out, then took her arm and began walking.

“Is Fred the modern-day equivalent of an old family retainer?” Jessie asked.

“No. There is nothing old-fashioned about Fred. He comes from a security firm that specializes in drivers who know how to kill in unarmed combat.”

Jessie stopped dead on the sidewalk and stared at him in shock. “He what?”

“There are a lot of dangerous people out there, and a wise man takes precautions.”

Jessie shivered at the reminder of just how perilous the world had become, and at Max’s casual attitude toward it. “I never thought of it before, but there are distinct advantages in not having much money. Have you been threatened?”

“No, but I started taking precautions after an Italian friend of mine was kidnapped last year. Kidnapping seems to be a way of life in Italy these days, and I do a lot of business over there.”

“What happened?” Jessie asked.

“His son and I rescued him. We couldn’t take the risk they’d let him go after the ransom was paid.”

Opening the door, he ushered her into the restaurant. Despite it being early, the place was almost full.

“I have reservations for two under the name of Sheridan.”

“Of course, Mr. Sheridan.” The hostess gave him a bright, professional smile. “If you’ll just follow me.”

The woman led them to a booth set along the wall opposite the front window, and Jessie slipped into the plush velvet seat.

“Your waitperson will be with you shortly.” The hostess handed them each a menu and then left.

Jessie opened the menu and then asked, “Do you normally open doors for women?”

Max looked at her in surprise. “Why? Is there something wrong with that?” he asked.

“Manners aren’t a question of right and wrong,” Jessie said. “Think of them as the grease that lubricates the friction of living in close proximity with other people. As far as I’m concerned, having a man open doors for me is a plus. However, some women feel that a man doing something for them that they can do for themselves is patronizing. It will turn them off. If you want to marry a woman who thinks like that, then you need to practice letting women open their own doors.”

Max stared off in the middle distance for a long moment and said, “Opening doors for women is just habit. I grew up in the South, and manners there tend to be a bit more traditional. But I have no real opinion either way.”

“Good,” Jessie said. “Once you focus in on a woman you intend to court, you can simply follow her lead.”

“Yes,” Max said as he tried to imagine what his final choice would look like. But the only image that formed in his mind was of Jessie. Proximity, he told himself.

“What would you like to eat?” Max asked.

“I’m still thinking about it,” she said.

“Well, think faster. The waitress will be here in a minute.”

“Waitperson. Political correctness is very important with the social crowd you’ll be moving in. Or, at least, lip service to it is.”

Max eyed the waitress serving the couple at a table about ten feet from them. “My imagination isn’t equal to the task of thinking of someone like her in sexless terms,” he said.

Jessie turned to follow his gaze and found herself staring at a tall blonde wearing slim black pants that highlighted her long, slender legs and a white blouse that fitted snuggly over her well-developed breasts.

As Jessie watched, the woman turned slightly and aimed a dazzling white smile at the man at the next table. Not only was the woman built like a Playboy centerfold, but she was gorgeous, too.

“I see the problem.” Jessie tried to get a handle on her own feeling of inferiority in the face of such blatant feminine perfection.

“Is that what you envision your future wife looking like?” Jessie asked.

Max took a second look at the waitress, his eyes lingering on the sexy pout of her collagen-enhanced lips. He tried to imagine her holding a wiggling toddler in her arms and failed utterly. She’d probably be too afraid the kid would mess up her hair. Even worse, she’d undoubtedly object to spoiling her figure by having a baby in the first place.

“Not particularly,” he said. “Besides, beautiful women tend to be very high maintenance. Over the long haul that would get real old real fast. And marriage is for the long haul.”

“You wouldn’t know it to look at the divorce statistics these days. Half of all marriages fail.”

Max studied the somber shadows in her eyes, wondering what had put them there. Could she have been married herself and gone through a messy divorce?

“Look at the bright side. That means that half of all marriages are a success,” he said.

Jessie grinned at him, and Max had the oddest feeling that he’d just stepped out of the shadows into brilliant sunlight.

“Let me guess,” she said. “You’re one of those people who see the glass half full instead of half empty?”

“No, I’m one of those people who immediately starts negotiating for water rights so I don’t have to worry.”

Jessie’s grin dissolved into a chuckle. “Practicality is so much more appealing.”

“Not to everyone,” he muttered, remembering his last girlfriend’s numerous complaints about his lack of romantic gestures. “Some women infinitely prefer the romantic approach.”

“But what’s romantic varies depending on whom you’re talking to. Personally, I think a man who can provide the necessities of life is very romantic, but then, I’m willing to admit that I have a practical bent of mind. You just need to find a woman who thinks like you do.”

“You don’t believe in opposites attracting?” Max asked.

Pain speared through her as she remembered her mother’s many lovers. “Take it from one who has been there, it’s much too risky. Offbeat habits that seem endearing at the beginning can become major stumbling blocks later on.”

“I’ll have the Dijon chicken with a tossed salad, house dressing on the side, and a glass of white wine,” Jessie said, changing the subject as the waitress approached their table.

Surreptitiously Jessie studied the waitress’s perfect features, searching for a flaw. She couldn’t find one. If anything the woman looked better up close than she did from a distance.

Jessie tensed as the woman addressed Max by name.

“I’m so honored to meet you, Mr. Sheridan.” The woman gave him an adoring look that made Jessie want to gag. “I’ve seen your picture in the paper many times, but I never thought I’d get to meet you in person.” She gave a throaty laugh that Jessie would have been willing to bet she practiced three times a day in front of a mirror.

Jessie ignored such blatant behavior in favor of watching how Max responded to the woman. To her surprise he didn’t react. At least, not outwardly. He simply nodded as if to acknowledge her words, and proceeded to order.

Undaunted by his reserved manner, the waitress continued to flirt with him. Almost as if she couldn’t believe that he wasn’t captivated by her looks.

When she finally left, Jessie said, “Well done.”

He shot her a sharp glance and said, “What do you mean?”

“I mean how you resisted the impulse to respond to her blatant come-on while with another woman, even if that woman is simply a business colleague.”

Max’s smile held a cynical edge that chilled Jessie. “It wasn’t hard. She wasn’t flirting with me. She was flirting with my money.”

Jessie frowned. “What makes you say that?”

“She knew my name,” he said flatly. “In my position you learn to recognize the obvious hangers-on. It saves a lot of trouble in the long run.”

“I guess. So how do you tell if someone likes you for yourself?”

“I don’t. That’s why I need you to listen in on my prospective wife’s conversations for me. Hopefully, your input will give me a better idea of what a woman really thinks about me.”

The bleak expression that suddenly darkened his eyes to navy tore at her heart. For a second he had looked so alone. So terribly alone. As if he didn’t have a friend in the world. Which was ridiculous, she told herself. Max was a fascinating man. He probably had lots of friends, and despite what he obviously believed, she didn’t have the slightest doubt that he’d attract women in droves even if he didn’t have a dime to his name. He’d simply attract a different type of woman. Women who, in her opinion, were probably worth a whole lot more than the fortune hunters after him now.

She leaned back in the seat as the young man who’d been tending bar brought them their drinks, gave them a harried smile and hurried back to the bar.

Jessie sipped the excellent white wine and then asked, “What about religion?”

Max eyed her narrowly. “You can’t be a religious fanatic, because you’re drinking alcohol.”

“My religious beliefs are irrelevant. Yours aren’t. Do you have any religious requirements in a wife?”

Max thought about it for a moment and then said, “No specific requirements, but children need the stability of going to church on Sunday.”

“No, children need the stability to being taken to church on Sunday,” Jessie corrected him. “What’s more, if you’re going to join a church, you’d better be prepared to live up to the teaching of whatever denomination you choose, because nothing will mess kids up quicker than being exposed to hypocrisy.”

Max blinked at her acerbic tone. “That caveat sounds very personal. What happened? Did your parents let you down?”

“No,” Jessie said, telling herself that it wasn’t exactly a lie. Her mother’s behavior had been absolutely predictable. She’d make promise after promise. Big promises such as she’d quit drinking, and little promises such as she’d come to Jessie’s school’s open house. And her mother had broken every one of them. Without fail.

To Jessie’s relief the waitress arrived with their salads, distracting Max. She was going to have to be careful to keep a tight rein on her responses, she realized. Max was a very astute man. She didn’t want him curious about her background. If he were to find out just how bad it was, he might decide she wasn’t the right person for the job of steering him through the tricky shoals of his courtship. A feeling of panic swelled in her at the thought of Max firing her. But only because she really wanted the bonus he’d promised, she assured herself. To say nothing of the fact that she was looking forward to making some very useful business contacts. The social circles Max was going to take her into should be teeming with potential clients.

As Jessie ate, she surreptitiously watched Max. To her relief, he had perfect table manners. She wouldn’t have to teach him the basics like she tended to have to do with a lot of the new college hires in her workshops.

“What’s the verdict?” Max asked as he set his napkin down.

“Verdict?” Jessie repeated.

“You’ve been watching me like a hawk through the entire meal. Did I pass muster?”

“Yes.” Jessie saw no reason to lie about what she’d been doing. “Have you attended many formal dinners?”

“No. I avoid them like the plague.”

“Then you probably haven’t been exposed to things like fish forks and the like. We’ll go over fancy place settings and exotic silverware to make sure you have them down pat before you get in too deep with the country-club set.”

“We,” he corrected. “Don’t forget, you’re coming along as my on-scene consultant.”

Jessie felt an odd mixture of anticipation and foreboding swirl through her. “I haven’t forgotten,” she said.

“Do you want dessert?” he asked.

“No, thanks. We don’t have time. Since one of the things I stress to the kids is the absolute necessity of being on time for a job, it would hardly look good if I were to show up late.”

“All right.” Max pulled his pager out of his pocket, pushed the button and then gestured toward the waitress, who was keeping them under surveillance.

The woman arrived at their table so fast it was a wonder she didn’t leave skid marks on the floor, Jessie thought acidly.

“May I have the check?” Max asked her.

“Certainly, Mr. Sheridan.” With a sultry smile the woman handed him a small leather folder containing the bill and left.

Max opened it, looked it over and then dropped several bills on it.

Jessie’s eyes narrowed as she noticed the white piece of paper on the side opposite the bill. It appeared to have a name and phone number written on it. The waitress’s? A flash of rage sizzled through Jessie. How dare that blasted woman try to pick up Max while he was with another woman?

“Coming?” Max said as he got to his feet, trying not to let his annoyance show at the way Jessie kept retreating into her thoughts.

Jessie hurriedly got to her feet and followed him out of the restaurant, inordinately glad that he had left the paper with the waitress’s name and number on the table.

Fred and the Mercedes were double-parked at the curb, and Jessie quickly climbed into the backseat.

“Evening, Fred,” she greeted the taciturn driver.

“Evening, Ms.,” he said absently as his eyes continuously swept the area around the car.

“I feel like someone should yell lights, camera, action,” she muttered.

“Fred takes security very seriously,” Max said.

“Damn right I do,” Fred said flatly as he pulled out into traffic. “Where to?”

“Jessie?”

Jessie gave him the address of the youth club.

“Not the best neighborhood,” Fred said in obvious disapproval.

“Not the worst, either,” Jessie said.

“We’ll be fine, Fred,” Max said. “Don’t worry.”

Jessie shot a quick look at Max out of the corner of her eye, her gaze lingering on the firm line of his lips, and longing welled through her.

Max might be fine, but she was beginning to have serious doubts about herself.