Penthouse Suite (6 page)

“And do I know your partner in crime, Aunt Dorothea?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Mrs. Jarrett said airily, an unmistakable sparkle shining in her soft blue eyes.

“I’m sure I would remember if we’d met before,” Max said, “I have a good memory for faces.”

Faces? Kate didn’t answer. It wasn’t a face that flashed through her memory. It was a nude body that made her muscles contract and her chest constrict.

Tonight Max was fully clothed. He was wearing a black dinner jacket that emphasized his broad shoulders, tapered waist, and the dark hair curling against the neck of his starched white pleated shirt. He’d gone from
Playgirl
centerfold to
Esquire
model in a matter of hours. Yuppie of the decade. Everything about him was perfectly coordinated, even down to—she glanced at his feet—his polished black dress shoes.

He caught her eye and nodded. He knew exactly what she’d been thinking. It was time that she swallowed the lump in her throat and let him know that she could play his game too. She wouldn’t have been here if she’d known. But here
she was, and there was no way she was going to back down to Max Sorrenson.

Their forward progress had stopped in the foyer, just outside the living room filled with people who were staring at them curiously. She’d heard enough to know how private Max was. He wouldn’t welcome her confession before his guests even if she’d been inclined to make it. Harassment went two ways, she decided. It was her turn to have a little fun.

“I don’t know,” Kate murmured disinterestedly, “I meet so many people in my line of work. It does seem to me that we’ve met. I just can’t recall where.”

“Maybe I look like someone you know, some television star,” Max commented in amusement. “I’ve been told that I remind people of some young hunk.”

“Max!” Dorothea scolded. “Where are your manners? Is this some kind of game you’re playing?”

“I thought you told me your nephew was a stuffy, uptight, lonely man. I think he’s quite … interesting,” Kate said, easily reading the hidden meaning of their conversation.

“Oh? And what else have you concluded about me?”

“That you’re a man who knows how to dress. By the way, I like your shoes. They do match your outfit very well.” Dorothea twisted her head slightly and glanced back at Kate.

This time Max couldn’t conceal his delight. Fine. They were on the same wavelength. The only person not aware of the current flashing between them was Dorothea, and from the curious look on her face, he thought she might be a little suspicious. Dorothea had gone quiet, too quiet and too content to be left out of their conversation.

“You have a lovely apartment, Max … I mean Mr. Sorrenson.” Kate glanced around.

“It looked quite different last night, when it was ankle-deep in water,” he said coolly. “But I’m pleased you like it Ms …? What did you say your name was?”

“Kathryn,” Dorothea suddenly joined in. “Kathryn Weston. Kathryn is new in the area. Do move aside Max, I’d like to introduce Kathryn to your guests.”

“Odd,” Max persisted as he stepped to the side of his aunt’s wheelchair. “I don’t recall hearing you mention Ms. Weston before. Do you like the ocean, Kathryn? You look like a water person to me.”

“Yes, I do like the ocean,” Kate said. “But somehow you look more like a valley person to me. Do you by any chance grow grapes?”

“No, do you think I should?”

There was no sense of anger in his teasing. Rather, a euphoric sense of pleasure seemed to have enfolded them, and Kate felt the last of her uneasiness being replaced with excitement. She could stand her ground with Max. It was the others she wasn’t sure about.

But Dorothea was right. This was an adventure, one she’d never have again. Tonight she’d let the current carry her along. The only problem was that the current crackled, and she was afraid that an innocent bystander might move between them and be electrocuted by mistake. Controlling that kind of electricity was something they never covered in her how-to class.

“Max, my dear nephew,” Dorothea said smugly, “we do appreciate your attention, but this entranceway is becoming a bore. Are you planning to let us in, or will we be served on trays in the elevator?”

“Do forgive me, my love.” He took a step forward. “Please come in. I’d like to show Kathryn my apartment. I have a particularly nice bathroom and walk-in closet.” He made a motion to relieve Kate of the wheelchair, brushing her hand with his fingertips.

Kate jerked her hand away, causing the chair to shimmy for a moment.

“Oh?” She recovered quickly and asked, “Do you have mirrors? I’m partial to mirrors in my dressing area.” Max swallowed hard.
One for me
, she thought.

Gripping the handles of Mrs. Jarrett’s chair, Kate had no intention of giving up the barrier between herself and the man beside her. She’d already found out what happened when they were alone together. As long as she had something to hold on to, she wouldn’t float across the floor.

Kate followed Max through the foyer, past the door to his bedroom, and into the main living area. An assortment of elegantly dressed people were standing in small groups, chatting noisily.

“Dorothea!” A white-haired, bearlike man roared from across the room. “Come and tell me what exciting things you’re cooking up tonight.”

Kate followed Mrs. Jarrett’s nod of agreement and pushed the chair toward the man, relieved to note that someone else had caught Max’s attention. Now her over-sensitive nerve endings had time to calm down. She’d obviously been optimistic in believing that he’d ignore her the next time they met.

Kate hadn’t been in this part of Max’s apartment before. The suite was decorated in cream and gray. The colors might have been too neutral were it not for the vivid splashes of blues and
greens in the ocean paintings and nautical wall hangings. The room was L-shaped, with glass walls on one side that opened onto a wraparound balcony overlooking the Gulf and the bright lights of the Carnival Strip, which sparkled like some garish piece of costume jewelry in the night.

“Kathryn,” Dorothea trilled, “come and meet this old sea pirate, Matthew Blue, my closest friend. Second-best fisherman I ever knew, till he swapped his fishing nets for paintbrushes and canvas.”

“How do you do, Mr. Blue. Paintbrushes? Are you an artist?”

“Well,” he said with a chuckle. “I dabble a little.”

“Nonsense,” Dorothea stated emphatically, “Matthew’s like me—never did a little bit of anything in his life. He’s responsible for all these pictures on Max’s walls.”

Kate would have liked to examine the paintings more closely. She wanted desperately to slip into the background, but even with her back turned, she was conscious of being watched. She knew that Max was still staring at her from across the room, and she trembled.

“Where on the seven seas did you find this delicious pearl?” Matthew was asking Dorothea.

“Oh, Matthew, this is Kate, eh, Kathryn, and you wouldn’t expect me to give away my best fishing holes, now, would you?” Dorothea laughed.

“Of course not. Watching you keep secrets is one of the bright spots in my life since they won’t let me go to sea anymore. So tell me, Kathryn, what do you like to do for fun?”

“Oh, please, I’d rather know about you,” Kate said. “You were a sailor?”

“Indeed I was, and a shrimper, before this old body ran out on me. Dottie, Walt, and I were the
three best fishermen on the Gulf Coast. Now Walt’s gone, Dottie’s landlocked, and all I do is make pictures of what I see in my soul.”

“Pictures of the soul. What a lovely way to éxpress it,” Kate said. “I’ve never been around the sea before, but I already love it. I’d like to have been a pirate, I think, to sail the sea searching for treasure.”

“The feel of the spray on your face, and the north star at your back? Very poetic, Ms. Weston,” Max Sorrenson commented, holding out one of the two glasses he was carrying. “Here you are Auntie, a tonic water with a twist of lemon for you. I took the liberty of bringing the same for you, Kathryn. Somehow you look like a person who prefers water to alcohol. And Kathryn sounds much too formal. May I call you Kate?”

“Of course, and thank you.” Kate answered with artificial politeness in her voice. “And I do find the slice of lemon just the right touch.”

“Oh, you like things a bit tart, do you?”

“Now, Max,” Dorothea interrupted, unable to disguise her puzzlement. “I’m surprised at your bad manners. I’ve promised Kathryn that this is just the right place to add a little sweetness to her life.”

“Oh? Well, my dear aunt, let us find out. Are you Kate, as in the strong-minded Kate Hepburn? Or are you the fiery, exciting shrew Mr. Shakespeare wrote about.”

“Neither,” Kate answered, a bit unevenly, “I’m just plain Kate, as in Weston.”

Max tried to tell himself that it was the change in appearance that made Kate so exciting. But he’d found the woman in coveralls the night before just as intriguing. He searched her face over
the top of his glass as he took a sip, trying to find an answer to this compelling fascination he was experiencing.

Logically, he recognized that she wasn’t the type of woman he normally liked. She was too undisciplined, moving from one place to another with no plan for her life. She was much too cheeky, calling him “bossman” and insisting that he help her repair the plumbing. He’d never met anyone quite so dauntless. Now she’d teamed up with Dorothea for goodness knew what. Kate Weston was definitely dangerous.

He continued to study her until he realized that the others were looking at him expectantly. What had just been said? Something about Kate being plain? Yes, that was it.

“Plain? I think not,” Max grinned, a teasing promise in his smile. “Definitely not plain. And I think I’m going to have fun discovering who the real Kate is.”

In spite of herself, Kate felt her heart pound and her face turn flame red. Hurriedly, she took a sip of her drink and knew as soon as she swallowed, that it had gone down wrong.

Matthew sprang to her side with a napkin as she began to cough. By the time the choking attack had passed, the conversation seemed forgotten.

“Have you done any sailing, Kate?” Matthew asked.

Kate was grateful for his question. “Absolutely none at all.”

“So you think you’d like sailing and the sea?” Max perched lazily on the sofa arm and openly examined Kate. “I ought to show you my boat. As a matter of fact, that’s a good idea. I’ll take you
sailing tomorrow. I have a committee meeting in Panama City. We’ll sail down and do some sightseeing along the way.”

For once Dorothea seemed content to sit as quiet as a stump. From the puzzled expression she wore, Kate knew that she was picking up on the undercurrents in Max’s innocent-sounding statements.

“Oh, no. I’m sorry. I couldn’t,” Kate blurted out much too quickly, then searched for an acceptable reason to decline. Exchanging verbal repartee was one thing, but a date with the boss? No.

Kate could tell from Max’s expression that he wasn’t accustomed to being turned down, and from the stern narrowing of his lips, she knew that he wasn’t about to drop his invitation. “I have to work,” she added quickly.

“Work? That’s intriguing. Precisely what kind of work do you do, Kathryn? I’m very interested.”

“She’s a—a writer,” Dorothea interjected smugly.

“Oh?” Max lifted an eyebrow, trying to smother a smile as he caught Kate’s look of dismay. “And what do you write?”

“I’d—I’d rather not discuss my work now,” Kate stammered, secretly shooting a look of fury at Mrs. Jarrett, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying her discomfort. “My work is rather … different from what all these people might expect,” she finished sternly.

“A writer, how exciting,” one of the other guests commented.

“What are you, a critic?” another asked. “Have you brought one of those people who rates the hotel into our midst, Dorothea?”

“Certainly not! Really, Mrs. Jarrett,” Kate shot Dorothea a look intended to straighten her hair and curl her toes. “Tell him the truth.”

“My aunt tell the plain truth?” Max shook his head. “Never happen. Never in her lifetime has she told a simple fact if she could embroider it with exaggeration.”

“Nonsense, Max. That’s your problem. You’re a ‘just the facts, ma’am’ person.”

“What I am,” Kate interjected sharply, “is—”

“Oh, don’t tell me,” Max said smoothly, “let me guess. Somehow, you don’t look like a travel writer who’s reviewing the hotel incognito. But people do disguise themselves in the most creative ways to get what they want,” Max said in a voice that dared her to correct him, a voice that reached out and touched her like a physical caress.

“Sometimes people end up in situations they didn’t plan on,” Kate said steadily, hoping that Max would let the matter drop.

“Don’t hold back, Kate. If you’re truly interested in my place, I’ll take you on a guided tour myself, anything you want to see. Of course the plumbing is undergoing some renovation at the moment.”

“Plumbing? Dull, nephew. You have no imagination. Kate’s not spying on the hotel. She’s a writer on the staff of … 
Maverick
magazine for men,” Dorothea added triumphantly, sipping her drink with a rakish gleam in her eyes.

“
Maverick?
”

Max’s startled look and the ensuing silence were new threats ready to fall. Kate couldn’t allow this to go any further. Teasing Max was a great deal of fun, but Dorothea’s plan was getting out of hand.

“Mr. Sorrenson,” Kate began. “I’d like to talk to you privately.”

“Of course you would, Kate, and Max wants to talk to you too,” Dorothea agreed with a broad wink, “and you will, right after dinner. Look, the
waiter is trying to catch your eye, Max. I’m starved. How about it, everybody? Let’s eat!”

“Why not?” Max nodded and moved through the sliding glass doors to the largest table. “Will you sit at my table, Dorothea? Or shall I send you to sit in the corner like the bad girl you are?”

“With you, of course,” Mrs. Jarrett answered, wearing the same angelic smile Kate had witnessed when she’d seen the woman sitting arms crossed and nose high in a tub full of pink bubble bath the night before. “I promise I’ll be good. I wouldn’t miss this lovely dinner for the world.”