Fortune's Perfect Match Page 7

  “He had a few comments on the high-schooler one. Thinks you’re probably right about the social media aspect. When you get back, if you’re still interested, we can kick that one around a little more. Start thinking about revamping the website with some of your suggestions.”

  “Excellent.” She hitched the strap of her briefcase higher on her shoulder. Her gaze went to the wall of windows that overlooked the tarmac were the planes were parked. “Can’t believe it’s still raining.”

  “Me, either. But we need the water.”

  “Can you fly in the rain?”

  He nodded. “Long as it’s not a bad storm. Good instrument practice.”

  “With Brandi?”

  He nodded again. “She’s got the most open schedule. Some folks don’t think a woman is the best instructor. Especially a young, attractive woman.”

  Her lips thinned, obviously peeved at the slight against a fellow member of her gender. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I’ve always thought so.” He lifted the briefcase strap off her shoulder, surprised by the weight of it. “Carrying rocks?”

  “Feels like it. Laptop and files, I’m afraid. The people at security went through it all with a fine-tooth comb. Twice.” She flicked her finger against the badge that hung from a lanyard around his neck. “Does this thing get you around all that?”

  He shook his head. “Every time I come back to the gate area, I have to go through the check just like the passengers do. Gets to be a pain, but some things are worth it.”

  “Safety is pretty important.”

  “I wasn’t talking about safety,” he said pointedly.

  Her lashes swept down. Color bloomed on her high cheekbones. “I think there’s a compliment in there somewhere.”

  “Just speaking the truth.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes behind her glasses looking as vivid and sparkling as the peridot ring his family had buried his mother with. “I don’t quite know what to make of you, Max Allen.”

  He grimaced. “I’m about as uncomplicated as it gets.”

  She slowly shook her head. “Too many layers to be uncomplicated.” She grabbed his wrist suddenly and lifted it, angling her head to see his watch. “My charter was scheduled to leave a few minutes ago.” But she didn’t let go of his wrist.

  “The advantage of a charter flight is that it’s designed around the needs of its passengers.”

  “Passenger,” she said. “Just me, today.”

  “Get lonely?”

  “Not while I’m thinking about you.” She shook her head, looking away. “The things I say where you’re concerned. It’s like my filter of propriety goes completely out the window.”

  He twisted his wrist until his fingers threaded through hers and he pressed his palm against hers, feeling heat stream through his veins. She wore a brilliant white blouse beneath the black suit and his gaze strayed to the sexy hollow at the base of her neck revealed by the unbuttoned collar. “There’s not a lot of propriety where my thoughts about you are concerned, either.”

  She swallowed and he dragged his eyes upward, seeing her pupils dilate. “Max—”

  “Ms. Fortune?” The flight attendant that Max had noticed earlier stopped next to Emily. She wore a discreet name badge. “We’re ready for you to board, ma’am.”

  Emily’s gaze didn’t stray from Max. “I’ll be right there, Sandy. Thank you.”

  Sandy smiled and smartly disappeared.

  Max kissed Emily’s knuckles and let go of her hand, stepping away before he did something really stupid, like yanking her into his arms and planting his mouth on hers. He held up her briefcase by the strap. “Think about that dessert I owe you.”

  Her fingers brushed against his as she took the strap. She sucked in her lower lip for a second, leaving it wet and shining. “Dessert.” She nodded. “I will.” And then she turned and followed the flight attendant.

  Max could have sworn he heard her add “and fireworks” as she went.

  Chapter Five

  “Okay, Emily. You did great.” Dr. Grace, Emily’s Red Rock gynecologist, draped the paperlike blanket back over Emily’s legs before rolling back on her little padded stool. She peeled off her gloves and made a notation on the medical chart opened on the counter next to the examining table where Emily was currently lying, her heels inelegantly propped in the stirrups. “You know the routine. Just close your eyes and relax for a while and think happy thoughts about becoming pregnant. Then come back in a few weeks for a pregnancy test if you haven’t gotten your period.”

  “I really have to wait that long?”

  Dr. Grace gave her a sympathetic look. “I told you last time that we can do a blood test as early as a week from possible conception, but the chances of a false result increase. It’s up to you, though.”

  Emily smiled nervously. “Two weeks, then.” She didn’t want to have to deal with false anything. “Do you think it’ll work this time?” This was her second artificial insemination attempt, after all.

  Dr. Grace smiled encouragingly. “Thinking positively doesn’t hurt.” She patted Emily’s arm. “We’ll know soon enough. If not, we’ll discuss the same options I went over with you before.”

  “Fertility treatments.” Emily didn’t relish the possibility, but she’d already foreseen it and had gotten herself an appointment with a famous fertility institute in Massachusetts. But that appointment was nearly six months away and she’d hoped she’d never have to use it.

  “Perhaps.” The doctor reached for the door. “The nurse will come and let you know when you can get up and get on with the rest of your Friday.”

  Emily nodded and closed her eyes.

  Not only was it artificial insemination Friday, it was “date-night” Friday.

  And as she rested there, waiting for the sperm she’d selected out of the hundreds of donor profiles she’d meticulously studied to do its intended job, she couldn’t help wondering what else the day would hold for her.

  Max had told her to think about “dessert,” and in between the back-to-back meetings her assistant had scheduled for her in Atlanta over the past week, she’d thought of little else.

  She could hear her cell phone buzzing inside her purse where it was sitting on the side chair just inside the door of the small room. She wasn’t supposed to move for a while, but she reached out her arm and managed to snag the handle of her purse and she lifted it onto her belly, quickly pulling out the phone.

  It wasn’t Max, though.

  She sighed, telling herself she had no reason to be disappointed that it wasn’t, and pressed a button. “Hey there, Blake,” she greeted her little brother. “What’s up?”

  “Just checking in,” he drawled. “Heard you got in from Hot-lanta late last night.”

  “Yes.” She curled her bare toes that felt chilly from the air-conditioning blowing into the room. “I’d have been back earlier if I hadn’t had to appease Dad and stand in for you with the Connover deal.”

  “I was meeting with the minister Katie wants to marry us.”

  It was still hard to believe that the baby boy of the family was getting married. To his assistant, no less. “As much as I admire Katie for taking you on for the long haul, I hope you appreciate my sacrifice.”

  “What sacrifice? A day and a half less in Red Rock, studying your baby-making spreadsheets?”

  She closed her eyes. “It wasn’t too long ago you had a thirty-day plan to get a wife,” she reminded. It was Blake’s business strategy to reunite with his college girlfriend that had inspired her own, equally logical plan to become a mother.

  “Yeah, and look how that turned out.”

  “Just because you came to your senses and realized Katie was the one for you and not Finicky Brittany from college doesn’t mean your strategy didn’t work.”

  “It was insane to think I could force a relationship into a business plan. Doesn’t work any more than putting square blocks in round holes. I just don’t want you being disappointed
if all of your research and goal-setting doesn’t turn out the way you want.”

  She opened her eyes and stared at the poster affixed to the ceiling above the examining table. It was a snowy landscape featuring a Cinderella-perfect castle that she happened to know was actually located in Germany. She knew, because she’d visited Neuschwanstein. She was supposed to have been in Frankfurt for a conference, but had snuck out on her own for three days to explore elsewhere.

  Her father had been furious. About as furious as he’d been when she’d returned to Red Rock yesterday. He’d been convinced that he’d be able to talk her into staying in Atlanta.

  He’d even come close to threatening her with her job.

  She wasn’t sure anymore if she cared, and for a woman who’d spent her entire life trying to be the model, corporately-aggressive daughter for him, that was quite a question to consider.

  “I’m not going to be disappointed,” she told her brother now, and very nearly told him what she was doing right that moment, just to prove her point, but discretion won out.

  That, and the fact that she rarely shared such private matters with her siblings. Or anyone else for that matter.

  Max’s face swam in her mind.

  “I’m kind of in the middle of something,” she told Blake. “Unless there’s something urgent, I’d better let you go.”

  “Nothing urgent,” he assured. “Tell Wendy hello for me.”

  Blake and Wendy were nearest to each other in age. They’d always been close. “Will do. And you give Katie a kiss for me.”

  Blake laughed. “I’ll give Katie kisses for me,” he said, before he rang off.

  Emily turned off the phone and dropped it back into her purse. Everyone in the family was finding romance these days. Only she and her eldest brother, Mike, were still single. She wondered if Mike’s life were as interesting as hers was at this particular moment…

  Remaining where she was, lying on the slightly slanted table, she tossed her purse back onto the chair and rested her head back against the thin, paper-covered pillow once again. “We’re finding our own future,” she said and patted her abdomen. “Aren’t we?”

  Then she firmly closed her eyes.

  Happy thoughts, she reminded herself.

  Again, Max’s image swam behind her lids.

  Eight more hours, and she’d be with him in person.

  Warmth coursed through her at the thought. Decidedly…sensual…warmth.

  She opened her eyes and stared at the poster again. It was much less of a turn-on, and considering that she was trying to conceive a baby at that very moment in the most unromantic, scientific of ways, just then felt a whole lot safer.

  * * *

  That evening in San Antonio, Max pointed at the doorway leading off the tree-lined sidewalk. “This is it.” A discreet gold sign on the wall next to the door stated Etienne’s. He pulled open the door and waited for Emily to enter first.

  He couldn’t help but absorb the fragrance of her hair as she passed by him. Light. Airy. Every bit as heady as it had been the first time he’d soloed in an airplane. He’d almost been sorry to arrive in San Antonio after the drive from Red Rock, because she’d been sitting beside him in his truck, never knowing that her fragrance had been wrapping around him for the entire drive.

  She hesitated inside the dimly lit entrance of the restaurant, waiting for him. Her hair was pulled back as usual, but instead of hanging thick and sleek from the ponytail he was used to seeing, it was twisted into a complicated-looking knot, leaving her neck and shoulders entirely bare except for the narrow straps of the close-fitting ivory dress she wore.

  He dragged his eyes from the nape of her neck and met the gaze of the maître d’ who was giving Max a tight, superior look. “Reservations?” The guy obviously expected otherwise, and gave a grimace that was probably supposed to pass for a smile when Max gave him his name. “Mr. Allen. I see.” His gaze moved to Emily and his smile warmed, probably thinking she at least belonged there, before coming back to Max. “If I may speak with you for a moment alone?”

  Feeling his nerves tighten, Max followed the tuxedo-clad man a few steps away. “What’s wrong?”

  “We require our gentlemen to wear jackets and ties, Mr. Allen,” the maître d’ said.

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “We can provide you with a suitable tie,” the man went on. “A loan,” he added, as if Max were likely to think otherwise.

  For a second, Max considered telling the man what he could do with his loaner ties, and leaving. He shoved down the response, though, and considered himself lucky for having at least worn a gray blazer with his button-down white shirt and black jeans. “Thanks.”

  The maître d’ disappeared for a moment and returned with a plain burgundy tie. “The men’s room is down the stairs,” he said.

  Max hid a grimace and returned to Emily, who was looking concerned. “Tie required.” He held up the loaner. “I’ll be right back.”

  Before she had a chance to comment, he headed down the short staircase that was to the right of the foyer. He made short work of putting on the tie, then went back up the stairs.

  Seemingly satisfied, the maître d’ showed them to a small table in a small, sparsely tabled room that was lit only by the heavy iron candle sconces hanging on the walls. “Georges will be your server this evening,” he told them, before withdrawing.

  Emily smiled across the minuscule table at Max. She was probably used to uptight maître d’s. “Considering the lighting in here, nobody but me would even know whether you’re wearing a tie or not.” Her voice was light.

  Max felt heat crawl up his neck, and was acutely glad for that lighting because she probably wouldn’t notice. “I should have been more prepared.” He could kick himself that he hadn’t.

  She nudged up her glasses and glanced around at the other tables, only half of which were occupied, then leaned forward a few inches. “I’m taking it that you haven’t been here before. So what made you choose it?”

  “The food comes highly recommended.” But he’d have to tell Brandi she should have warned him about the tie business.

  Emily’s voice lowered even more. “After the voice mail you left me today, I mentioned to Marcos where we were coming. He told me the chef here is phenomenal.” Her smile turned almost mischievous. “And I shouldn’t even pass on Wendy’s term for his talents.”

  “What was it?” He wasn’t entirely interested in what her sister said, but just then couldn’t seem to think of anything beside her skin, which, even in the dimly lit room seemed to glow from some inside source.

  Her lashes lowered, almost shyly. “Orgasmic.”

  His mind felt a lot like a compass needle, suddenly veering north. Emily and orgasms. Not a safe pre-dinner thought, but hardly the first time that combination had crossed his mind. “Seems like a good recommendation,” he said before he could think twice.

  She laughed softly and sat back, looking up when a skinny, balding man dressed in black from head to toe stopped next to them to introduce himself as Georges. “Your wine selections this evening,” he added in his heavy French accent as he handed Max a thick, leather-backed board. “Chef Etienne’s recommendations are noted.”

  Max handed the board to Emily, ignoring the disapproving look that Georges gave him. “You’ll know better what you want than me,” he told her.

  But she didn’t even glance at it, just handed the board right back to Georges. Her smile was still in place, but had turned cool. “Merci, Georges. Mais nous n’aurons pas du vin ce soir.”

  “Très bien, mademoiselle.” Georges took the board. He switched to English, taking in Max, again. “Shall I bring water, Monsieur?”

  “Please.”

  “Still or sparkling,” he prompted, as if Max should have known better than to need prompting.

  He wondered what the guy would do if he said tap. “Still.” He glanced at Emily, who ordered the same.

  Georges gave a stiff nod and disapp
eared.

  Max felt like sighing with relief. “What’d you tell him about the wine?”

  “Only that we wouldn’t be having any.”

  Max glanced toward the door the waiter had disappeared through. “You didn’t have to abstain just because of me.”

  Warmth returned to her curving lips. “I know.” Her fingertips touched the small diamond pendant that dipped just below the enticing hollow at the base of her throat. “I’m actually not a big wine person.”

  “I’m not sure whether to believe that or not.”

  She dashed a quick cross over her chest. “Honest.”

  He kept himself from staring at the invisible cross, positioned tauntingly over the curves beneath the slightly shiny ivory fabric of her dress. “Just margaritas?”

  Her fingertip pressed against the diamond, again. “And a really good beer now and then.”

  “Right.” He shook his head. “You don’t strike me as the beer type.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “And what type do I strike you as?”

  “Champagne and diamonds.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Is that because I’m a Fortune?”

  He stretched his arm across the table and pressed his own fingertip on top of hers, on top of the diamond. “Diamonds,” he drawled pointedly.

  Her smile seemed to turn a little shaky. She slid her finger from beneath his, but only to press her palm against the thick white tablecloth. “A few diamonds,” she allowed softly. “My parents gave me this particular necklace when I turned eighteen.”

  He lowered his hand next to hers on the table, too. Not touching. But close.

  “I’ll bet you were—what do they call it? Finishing school. I’ll bet you were finishing school perfect at eighteen.”

  She didn’t deny it. “And what were you?”

  “A hellion. Nobody you’d have wanted to have dinner with at a fast-food dive, much less a place like this. Your parents give you French lessons along the way, too?”

  “A few.”

  “In France?”

  Candlelight gleamed over the creamy shoulder she lifted. “A few,” she said again. Then she leaned closer once more, her gaze looking at him over the top of her glasses. “I had one tutor who taught me how to swear in three languages.”