That Special Smile/Whittenburg (7 page)

He chuckled and bent toward her. Sylvie would have stepped away, but the door frame was at her back and she didn’t want to rush out onto the porch as if she were afraid of him. Which she wasn’t, of course, but….
What
was he doing?

His nose almost touched her shoulder and in that one split second of closeness a dozen different sensations sashayed through her body. He did smell nice, she realized. He had a good, clean, natural scent like wind and water and sunlight. And his hair did curl, just a little, at his neckline. For some completely incomprehensible reason she wondered if her hands were big enough to measure the width of his chest.

Ridiculous thought.

Her hands were big enough to give his chest a good, hard shove and that was all that counted.

But then he was moving back, his eyes catching hers for a moment that held no trace of laughter. And then, as if it had never been, the moment vanished. His expression lightened and his lips formed a teasing frown of concentration. “I don’t recognize the fragrance you’re wearing, Sylvie. What is it?”

“It’s called
No Nonsense
.” She lifted her chin and smiled sweetly. “Would you like me to spell it out for you?”

“Wait until we get closer to Christmas. I might forget between now and then and get you the wrong perfume.”

“Max McConnell,” Juliette said as she joined them in the entryway. “Don’t you dare let Sylvie talk you into buying perfume for her. She won’t wear it. She says there’s no reason to encourage a man to think she’s interested when she’s clearly pretending not to be. But
I
think….”

“I think we ought to leave now.” Sylvie squelched the rest of Juliette’s comment with a pointed look. “Before I decide to change into something
pink.
”

Max placed a hand on the door and Sylvie walked past him, followed closely by Juliette...in a soft pink sweater.

“You’re not getting this sweater, Sylvie. Besides, that bet doesn’t begin until we get home tonight, and I told you already pink will clash with your red hair. Won’t it, Max?” She turned the question to Max, who was closing the door behind them. “Oh, wait, Max. I forgot….” The door clicked shut. “…my key.”

It was not a good beginning.

* * * *

“...but Sylvie told him she wasn’t about to....”

Sylvie took a long drink of iced tea and wondered if anyone in the restaurant would notice if she yawned.

Silly idea.

There was hardly anyone left in the restaurant, other than herself, Max, and Juliette. An elderly couple sat in the far corner, and on the other side of the room a man sat alone eating his dinner. Altogether that made six customers. Sylvie had counted two different people who apparently took turns at the cash register, waiting for any or all of the six to pay their bill.

“...it was touch-and-go until Sylvie got home. But then she....”

Sylvie stifled the yawn and regarded Max with a mixture of grudging respect and growing irritation. By rights he should be yawning. He deserved to be bored. It was his fault that Juliette kept talking.

And talking.

And
talking.

There was no doubt in Sylvie’s mind that Max was encouraging her sister’s embarrassing recital of long-dead adventures, or rather
misadventures
, depending on one’s point of view.

Setting her glass on the table, Sylvie was glad, at least, that the food hadn’t matched the dinner conversation.

The restaurant was neat, somewhat cozy, if not busy. But then, most people ate dinner earlier. With a glance at her watch Sylvie reached for her glass again.

“...and then, my date – I’ve forgotten his name, but he was the shortest player on the basketball team. At least, he was short then, he might be taller now. Some guys grow taller after high school, you know. Well, anyway, my date had brought a bottle of vodka. Heaven knows where he got it. And since Sylvie was playing chaperone that night, she....”

Juliette was on a roll, it seemed, and Max was listening attentively to every word, although his eyes were often on Sylvie. He’d been flirting with her that way all evening. It was a subtle and, for the most part, silent courtship, but Sylvie recognized his attempts to coax her smile, to capture her gaze with his own, to entice her to play the game.

She just couldn’t seem to get across the message that he was wasting his time.

With arms crossed over his chest and his shoulders resting against the chair back, his posture was one of easy confidence. Or maybe
lazy
would be a more appropriate adjective. Even
indolent
would work, although Sylvie admitted that her assessment was not objective.

That bothered her because she usually was objective when it came to men. Even when she was strongly attracted to a man, she was careful to keep her perspective.

But with Max she hadn’t been able to get a grip on what that perspective should be. And that was an unfamiliar feeling and a very unsettling realization, one she didn’t much like.

She absently traced a rivulet down the side of her water glass, analyzing the reason for Max’s unmistakable interest in her and her lack of indifference about it. But the logic, if there was any logic involved, eluded her and faded into the sunny vivaciousness of Juliette’s voice.

“...but since Sylvie Anne had taken a first-aid class, there was no reason to panic. Which turned out to be a good thing, because no sooner had....”

Juliette’s voice always amazed Max and invariably left him a little breathless. It wasn’t her wide variation of inflections or even her pleasant soprano. It was the sheer unbroken rhythm she maintained that fascinated him. He always felt as if he should take a deep breath whenever Julie opened her mouth.

Of course, most of her monologue this evening had been at his instigation. Every time she paused or turned an inquisitive look to her sister, he posed another question, urging her to continue. It wasn’t the gentlemanly thing to do, he knew, but he
was
interested and he wanted to see just how long Sylvie Anne could sustain her composed, polite expression.

Indefinitely, it seemed, although he thought she was beginning to show signs of stress.

Her finger was drawing a steady, repetitive pattern on the sweaty side of her glass and Max felt sure that at any moment she would adjust the fit of the wire-rimmed glasses she wore. He had noticed the change of spectacles the moment he’d seen her that evening. She had traded her earlier outfit for a sleek and classy blue dress that did nice things for her body.  The hemline showed her long legs to advantage and the strappy sandals she wore now had a high heel and added a bright splash of color and style.

But it was the trendy frames of her glasses –

a different pair than she’d worn before – that added the extra flare, a cool hint of mystery.

Sylvie Anne had dressed for him, whether she realized it or not.

Her entire ensemble had been chosen to give the impression of inaccessibility, and Max could only assume she’d meant the message for him.

But he was beginning to get other messages from Sylvie, little signals that he chose to interpret as reciprocal interest.

She’d go down in flames before admitting it, but he knew she was aware of it too. The very fact that she treated the whole thing as a joke appealed to his sense of humor. But despite her attempts to deny it, he knew there was a very real, very serious attraction operating below the surface...for both of them.

Max shifted position and caught Sylvie’s glance. His eyes held hers in a brief but scintillating encounter. As she turned her head, her fingers moved to touch the frame of her glasses and Max felt a slow smile begin. He knew he was enjoying the early rituals of this flirtation far more than was prudent, but she was so delightfully indifferent, so careful to maintain that cut-above-the-rest composure. He couldn’t resist the challenge.

It was a flaw in his character, he supposed, but he was going to see just how deep Sylvie’s resistance ran.

“...and in the end, everything worked out just the way Sylvie said it would, but there were a few anxious….” Juliette straightened and her eyes widened as she looked through the window. “Oh, there’s John and Melissa. See? Outside. On the sidewalk.” She lifted her hand to wave. “You remember meeting them this afternoon, don’t you, Sylvie? They have the bakery with the heavenly cookies.”

Sylvie remembered, but had no time to comment before Juliette was pushing back her chair. Max got only halfway out of his own chair before Juliette was pushing him back down with a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t get up, Max,” she said. “I just want to tell Melissa something I forgot. You and Sylvie stay put and I’ll be right back.”

Juliette left the table and Sylvie decided the ensuing silence was the high point of the evening. Even Max, as he settled back into a lazy posture, seemed to be absorbing the sudden quiet as if it were an after-dinner mint.

“Is it true?”

“That she’ll be back?” Sylvie nodded wearily. “I’m afraid so.”

His husky chuckle had a pleasant resonance, a soothing richness. “I meant is it true that you spiked the punch at the sophomore prom and then had to resuscitate Juliette’s short basketball player?”

“Oh, Max, you didn’t really listen to all that, did you?”

“Of course I listened.” He paused, and his eyes darkened to a flirty velvet-blue. “After all, she was talking about you.”

“And talking and talking. You shouldn’t have encouraged her.”

His grin was disarming. “You noticed that, huh?”

“Oh, I’ve been awake off and on all evening. Actually, Max, you got exactly what you deserved.”

“I usually do, Sylvie Anne. You might want to remember that.”

“I’ll make a note in my diary just as soon as you break into the house and open the door.” Sylvie tucked her hair behind her ear and glanced at the window. Juliette was outside on the sidewalk, chattering away, her hands moving up and down as she told Melissa whatever it was she had forgotten to tell that afternoon. With a sigh Sylvie looked back to Max.

“I still can’t believe I forgot to get the key. It’s usually the first thing I ask for whenever I’m staying with her. It doesn’t matter which lock the key fits –  house, car, file cabinet, or jewelry box. If it can be locked, Juliette can lose the key.”

“I haven’t noticed that she has too much of a problem with that sort of thing. As far as I know, you’re the first person who’s been locked out.” He smiled. “Twice in one day, Sylvie. Maybe she’s trying to tell you something.”

Sylvie straightened her shoulders. “Maybe you just don’t know everything that happens next door.”

“This morning you seemed to think I knew quite a bit about it. Are you having a little trouble deciding on which side of the property line I belong?” He lifted his coffee cup and sipped, watching her all the while.

“I haven’t given it much thought, but I do hope you’ll stay on our side long enough to get the house unlocked.”

“Our?”

With a shrug Sylvie took her napkin from her lap and placed it on the table. “I’m accustomed to using the plural possessive with Juliette. A habit left from when I lived at home, I suppose.”

“Probably something similar to Juliette’s habit of depending on you to remember the key.”

Sylvie regarded him pensively. “I hardly think that could be called a habit. Juliette was excited about going out to dinner with you tonight and she simply forgot, that’s all.”

“And is that the reason you forgot the key, Sylvie Anne? Were you excited about being with me?”

“You should never ask a question like that, Max, unless you’re prepared to hear an honest answer.”

“I’m ready. Let’s hear it.”

“And spoil the mood of this entire evening with a bit of truth? No, I wouldn’t want to do that.”

“It’s all right.” He pushed back his chair and prepared to rise. “I know what you would have said.” Standing, he came around the table to pull back her chair. “And I know it would have been a bit of the truth and a bit of a lie too. But I’d still like to know…” He smiled down at her. “…if you spiked the punch.”

She tucked her purse under her arm, picked up the embroidered clutch Juliette had left behind, and stood, facing Max. “The reports of my heroism are greatly exaggerated. I told you this afternoon you shouldn’t believe everything Juliette says.”

“I hope that holds true for you too.” With a touch of his hand to her back he kept Sylvie beside him as he walked toward the counter and the waiting cashier. “The reports of my relationship with your sister have been exaggerated somewhat as well.”

Sylvie wasn’t in the mood for that kind of honesty. It wasn’t any of her business, for one thing, and for another, it gave her a definite feeling of disloyalty. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that, Max. Juliette falls in and out of love the way most people catch a cold. With the kind of attention you paid her during dinner, I’m sure she’s already beginning to sniffle.”

His lips curved just a little as he stopped to pay the check. Then, slipping his billfold into his hip pocket, he turned to face her. “I think you missed the point, Sylvie Anne. I was only listening to Juliette tonight. I was paying attention to
you.”

“Then you’ve had a doubly wasted evening, Max.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I’m going to reserve judgment on that until later.” He opened the door for her, and as she walked past him, her chin high, heels tapping the floor in determined steps, her whole demeanor one of cool, impenetrable confidence, he knew he had to have the last word. “In the meantime, Sylvie, you should take a little extra vitamin C, yourself.”

It was the most casually provocative statement any man had made to her in ages, and a fine thread of pleasure spun through her senses. Not that she believed he actually meant it, but still....

“No need for that. I have a natural immunity to the common cold.”

“Oh, are we going?” Juliette waved to her friends and joined Sylvie and Max in front of the restaurant. “I was just getting ready to come back inside.” She took the purse Sylvie offered. “Thanks, Syl. And thank you for dinner, Max. It was great. Wasn’t it, Sylvie?”