That Special Smile/Whittenburg (17 page)

A sweet remembrance teased the corner of her mouth. Max. She couldn’t wait to tell him about Juliette and Benton, about the suggestion that
she
open the dress shop instead of Julie.

Yes, Sylvie thought. She couldn’t wait to hear what Max would have to say about that.

* * * *

It was three days before Sylvie had a chance to broach the subject to Max in private. On Monday, Juliette decided to announce her engagement to a few close friends at an impromptu luncheon. The luncheon stretched far into the afternoon and expanded to include friends who were not so close, acquaintances, and anyone else who passed within twenty feet of the restaurant. By the time Benton arrived from Fayetteville that evening, the luncheon was a full-fledged engagement party and had moved to Juliette’s house. In the cramped quarters Sylvie had little opportunity to talk with Max and had to be content with his casual touch and not-so-casual smile.

On Tuesday, Juliette decided that their father should hear the wonderful news in person. Because Benton was in the middle of a trial, Sylvie was persuaded to make the trip home. Juliette, of course, couldn’t go alone ... and besides, it was a four hour drive, the perfect opportunity for quiet, sisterly talks about quiet, lovely wedding plans.

Max was invited to go along, but he declined with a somber regret that hid an unrepentant grin.

The trip home was pleasant, and while there, Sylvie had time to make a few inquiries about marketing Max’s toys. She compiled a list of possible distributors, printed out contacts and pertinent information, made notes on each potential lead. It was preliminary stuff, nothing definite, but it was a beginning.

And it was something to think about while Juliette regaled family and hometown friends with the love story.

Still, Sylvie felt oddly restless during the overnight visit. She refused to give in to the impulse to phone Max and told herself the time away from him would help her keep things in perspective.

But several hours later she acknowledged that she had no perspective.

She just wanted to see him, talk to him, touch him. When Juliette wheeled the car onto the driveway and parked late Wednesday afternoon, Sylvie walked straight to the house next door and into his arms.

“Mmm,” he said, after a long and semi-satisfying kiss. “Either you missed me or you’ve decided not to buy me a Christmas present.”

“Mmm,” she murmured noncommittally.

“Well, which is it?”

Sylvie draped her hands loosely at his nape and smiled a certain mysterious smile. “I guess you won’t know that until Christmas, will you?”

Max pulled her closer and tipped up her chin with his finger. “You could find yourself in serious trouble making threats like that. Withholding presents at Christmas is a punishable offense, you know.”

“You’ll never be able to prove a thing.”

With a slow glide of his hand over her hip Max proceeded to prove several things ... all of which threatened her equilibrium. But he seemed unconcerned by her apparent loss of balance and simply lifted her into his arms and carried her to bed.

In the bedroom, Sylvie’s longing became a hunger like none she had ever known. She could almost believe it had been weeks, months even, since she’d first experienced his lovemaking, instead of a matter of days. Her hands roamed over him with an urgency she couldn’t control, and Max moved with her, matching her every action. She had missed him, far more than was prudent, and she knew she could no more have prevented the quick flaring of desire between them than she could have stopped the sun from setting behind a distant hill.

And she didn’t want to stop the mindless, burning passion of her body for his. She didn’t want to lose the almost panicky, increasingly demanding sensations spinning and spinning inside her. Clothing became an inconvenience to be shed with little regard. Conscious thought became a slave to the intense pleasure of physical need. And throughout the journey, from consuming desire to fiery fulfillment, Max guided her. She never once doubted his direction, and somewhere along the way her heart became his hostage.

When the stormy reunion had receded to a calm, rather luxurious renewal of serenity, Sylvie sighed with contentment at being home and in his arms. The fleeting thought that she was not home and that her arms embraced an uncertain future was ignored, along with Max’s suggestion that she tell him all about Juliette’s wedding plans. Instead, she wanted to know how he’d occupied his time in her absence.

He began to tease her then with outlandish tales of adventures and misadventures. Sylvie was unimpressed and told him so, but he went on, undaunted, and eventually won her laughter as his reward. Finally, she turned the conversation toward the more serious topic of Hannah Lee House, with caution, unsure of what she wanted to say, unsure of what she hoped his reaction would be.

“Juliette’s going to sell the Hannah Lee House,” Sylvie said in a lighthearted voice that understated her feelings. “She wants to finish the renovation work and list it with a realtor as soon as possible.”

“Are you positive she didn’t tell you to take care of those details?”

“She’s very definite these days about who will do what. And amazing as it seems, she hasn’t even asked me to open a can of paint or pick up a piece of sandpaper.”

“There hasn’t been time, Sylvie. Save your sigh of relief for another day.”

His tone was easy, and she wondered if it had occurred to him that once Hannah Lee House went on the market, she would have no reason to stay in Eureka Springs.

“Juliette suggested I take over the project and go on with the plans we made for the dress shop.”

There was a moment of quiet; her heartbeat dropped into a vast well of unnamed hopes.

“And what did you say?” he asked without a discernible change in tone.

“I told her the last thing I needed was a business so far from Boston.” It sounded settled, with no chance of a change of mind, but Sylvie felt unsettled even before the words left her mouth. “Can you imagine? It would be sheer idiocy for me to open a dress shop here. What do I know about vintage clothes and costumes? It’s just not practical.”

“No,” he agreed without hesitation.

Sylvie frowned, thinking that at least he could have taken a few seconds to agonize over his agreement. “Of course, I could learn if I wanted. And I’m sure I could make it a successful venture. But not from Boston.”

“You’re absolutely right.” Max seemed to be fighting a yawn, and Sylvie curled closer to his side, wanting more of his attention.

“And you’re absolutely no help.”

“Help? What help? You just said you weren’t considering the idea.”

“Right.” But she would have considered it in a minute if he’d shown any sign of encouragement. “It wouldn’t work out.” She paused, but couldn’t restrain the question that pushed its way past her lips. “Would it, Max?”

His arm tightened around her and his breath was warm and titillating against her temple. “That’s something I can’t tell you, Sylvie Anne.”

She didn’t know what reaction she’d expected, but she knew for certain this wasn’t it. Yet, what more could she say without sounding as if she were pleading for a verbal commitment from him? And she wasn’t about to do that. It would have been nice to hear a note of disquiet in his voice, a hint of anxiety about her return to Boston, but if he chose to maintain that casual attitude, she couldn’t ask him point blank if he wanted her to stay.

“Max,” she whispered softly, knowing she was merely whistling in the dark. “I missed you.”

His gentle kiss brushed her cheek. “I know.”

* * * *

Max wanted to say more. A lot more. But during the next few weeks he maintained a nonchalant and often painful silence. If he’d had any doubts about his feelings for Sylvie, they’d vanished the moment she walked freely into his arms. Love wasn’t an emotion with which he had a great deal of experience, yet he recognized it just the same.

Once before, a long time ago, he’d felt like this ... about Melynda. But it had not ended happily. He’d decided to resign his high-salaried, heavy-pressure job with a toy-manufacturer and do what he’d always wanted to do – make handcrafted toys.

Melynda hadn’t understood, and she had said so in the loudest, most incredulous manner at her command.

He could smile about it now, but it had been a long time before he’d been able to see the silver lining. Max had finally come to believe he’d expected too much. But then, so had she, and in the end the result was the same: they had each made their choice.

And now Sylvie had to choose. For the first time in their relationship he felt she wanted to ask his advice.

She was hesitant about taking over the dress shop, he knew, and he also knew it had little, if anything, to do with the responsibilities involved. Hell, she’d had those all along, anyway. He thought, hoped, it had more to do with him and whether or not he wanted her to stay in Eureka Springs.

Max was well aware that nothing would please him more, but telling her would only influence a decision that had to be hers alone.

Sylvie loved him. He recognized that even if she hadn’t as yet. But love was not a substitute for self-esteem. He could not be happy in the pressurized atmosphere of a big city, not even with Sylvie. He was satisfied with himself, with his toys, his storefront and with his choice to measure success by his own standards.

He had to allow Sylvie room to decide where and how she wanted to live and what successes she wanted in life. Only then could he speak to her about the future, their future.

And if she chose to return to Boston?

Well, in that case he would have saved them both the embarrassment of breaking a verbal commitment.

Unfortunately, whatever Sylvie chose, Max knew his heart was already firmly committed.

As each crisp December day blended into the next, Sylvie spent less and less of her time at Hannah Lee House. The restoration was nearing completion and Juliette was doing most of the remaining work herself. She didn’t refuse Sylvie’s offers of help, but she made it quite clear that she was capable of handling the job. Sylvie suspected it was a demonstration, largely for Benton’s benefit, of the
new
Juliette; responsible, dependable, and even, occasionally, on time.

On his visits, Benton displayed a keen appreciation for all the things she managed to accomplish in only a matter of hours.

Sylvie had to admit a growing admiration for her future brother-in-law. He handled Juliette beautifully, loved her blatantly and, for that alone, Sylvie felt the world owed him a debt of gratitude.

With the security of Benton’s love and the demands of planning the wedding, Juliette grew quieter, easier to be with, and even more understanding of others. Sylvie ran through a gamut of emotions before settling into the acceptance that her free-spirited sister was no longer in need of a guardian angel.

Sylvie found it hard to believe, but at times she envied Juliette’s calm, steady progress toward the future. A certain, settled future with the man she loved.

Sylvie wanted a share of that confidence to soothe her own doubts, but she simply didn’t know how to obtain it.

Max remained elusive on the subject of dress shops, weddings, and relationships. He talked for hours about his plans for the coming season. With only a little prompting he showed Sylvie the process of sculpting, molding, and working with the various mediums he used in toy making. He made love to her with a tenderness and depth of feeling that made her ache to pour her indecisiveness at his feet and allow him to guide her.

But she didn’t do that. She didn’t really need to have the decision made for her; she only wanted to know how he felt before she made a choice.

The questions, pro and con, clung like a mist of fine rain to everything she did. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t bring her wishes to focus on the practical rather than the romantic. And Max further confused the issue with his Christmas gift.

McKeever, the carousel horse from the toy store, was not a conventional gift. Sylvie couldn’t believe Max was giving it to her, and she couldn’t imagine why. When questioned, he told her not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but to rub his nose three times and make a wish. Sylvie had stroked Max’s nose instead, whispered a wish, and later told him he was much better at fulfilling fantasies than McKeever could ever hope to be.

But she pondered the significance of his gift for days afterward. McKeever became a symbol of the choice she would soon have to make. In her apartment in Boston the carousel horse would be an oddity, a conversation piece admired for its singularity. In Eureka Springs, the brightly painted wood sculpture became something else entirely, a wistful magic touched with the same unhurried, enchanting quaintness that formed the resort town.

She thought a lot about taking up permanent residence in Eureka Springs and the changes it would mean in her lifestyle.

Yet, over a period of time, Sylvie realized it would mean more of a change to return to Boston and the offices of Smith-Kessler. Oddly enough, her attitude about life seemed to have altered course the moment she’d arrived in this town. She would have liked to believe that Max was the one and only reason, but she knew he wasn’t. The town itself had captured her interest, and the idea of opening the dress shop was more and more appealing. She even, at times, considered that she might eventually help Max in designing clothing for his dolls.

By the week after New Year’s, Sylvie knew what she wanted to do. She was willing to take a risk with the dress shop and with Max. If he was pleased, wonderful. If he wasn’t, well, she’d worry about that when the time came.

But some foolish corner of her heart hesitated to tell him until he gave some indication as to whether or not her decision mattered to him. With a resigned sigh Sylvie had to face the truth: she wasn’t nearly as liberated as she’d thought she was.

She turned her attention and her hopes toward receiving that first and all-important response from one of the marketing firms she had contacted. Maybe that would be the breakthrough in this waiting game she and Max were playing. Maybe a business venture would provide the bonding their relationship seemed to lack.