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  “You’re going to have to show me how to get to the place anyway,” he said. “I’ll get lost.”

  Jamie looked at him. “Oh, puh-lease. You could find your way to Mars in this car, Max.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Why don’t you ask Muffin for directions to the Carteret Street Bed and Breakfast?”

  “Because she doesn’t have beautiful blue eyes like you.” He stopped at a red light. “C’mon, Swifty, what d’you say?”

  She sighed. “Oh, Max—”

  “You’re doing it again, Jamie. You’re thinking too much. You’re doing the ‘what-if’ thing.”

  She knew he was right. It was time she stopped doing so much thinking and just enjoyed being with Max because, well, in all honesty, she wanted him as much as he wanted her. And it wasn’t like she had to stay all night. She could go home later and let Fleas out. Later, after she got over her case of the heebie-jeebies.

  “Turn left at the light.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  CARTERET STREET BED AND BREAKFAST WAS A massive, two-story Colonial with verandas on both floors. Oversized rocking chairs and baskets of ferns gave it a welcoming look. Once Max had parked his car and grabbed a bag from the trunk, Jamie pointed him toward a narrow, flower-laden path where old-fashioned street lamps lit the way. They found themselves standing at the door to his room. Sure enough, a key had been placed beneath the doormat. He unlocked the door, opened it, and motioned for Jamie to go through first.

  Fresh daisies sat on a highly polished cherry coffee table. The rust-and cream-colored furniture was comfortable looking while maintaining a look of simple elegance. The ornate crown moldings and woodwork were a deep mahogany, and repeated in the oversized fireplace. A tasteful rug covered heart-pine floors. Max opened a set of French doors and found a sink, small refrigerator, and microwave.

  “Nice,” he said. “Where’s the bedroom?”

  Jamie’s stomach dipped to her toes. “Through that door.”

  He took her hand in his and led her in that direction. An old four-poster rice bed and matching highboy, both in cherry, greeted them. The comforter was pure linen, as were the curtains. Jamie had visited the bed-and-breakfast several years ago when it had been redecorated, and she had praised it in an article. She was glad Mrs. Hobbs had given Max the nicest suite.

  The Hobbses were an older couple—short and stout as teacups, as Vera liked to say, but Mrs. Hobbs was worse than Vera when it came to gossip. Vera did most of her gossiping on the church lawn after Sunday services; Myrna Hobbs preferred holding court at the local Piggly Wiggly grocery store, where she could often be found picking up food items for her guests. Vera claimed Myrna exaggerated, that a soul couldn’t believe a word that came out of the woman’s mouth. Vera believed in sticking to the facts.

  Max reached for Jamie.

  “I, um, thought maybe you’d like to see the garden first,” she said quickly. “It’s really very nice. Mrs. Hobbs hired a man who designed a garden at one of the old plantations in Charleston.”

  Max suddenly smiled. “You’re nervous, aren’t you, Swifty? You’re remembering last time. I have to tell you, you’re all I’ve thought about the past few weeks.”

  She smiled. “Really? Gee, I wish I’d known.” Jamie hated to bring up the fact he hadn’t contacted her in the three weeks since that time, but she figured it needed saying. It had to be the wine talking. She’d had three glasses at Frankie and Dee Dee’s, which was well over her quota.

  “I was out of the country most of that time. I’m not real good at sending postcards.” When she didn’t say anything, he went on. “I guess I could do better.” He sighed and raked his hands through his hair. “Do you still want to look at that garden?”

  Jamie opened the French doors leading from the bedroom. Taking Max’s hand in hers, she led him down a brick walkway and across a small footbridge that covered a pond. Once again, old-fashioned street lamps lighted the way. Jamie was glad Mrs. Hobbs had left them burning for Max’s arrival.

  “The pond actually has goldfish in it,” Jamie said. “Huge ones.”

  Max studied his surroundings with only a hint of interest. “So, can you tell me the names of these plants?”

  “Sure.” Jamie glanced around. “That tree is a hemlock. And the plants growing beneath it are hosta plants. Or plantain lilies as they’re sometimes called,” she added. “They’re shade plants.” She pointed. “And that’s caladium, and growing next to it is ostrich fern.” She caught sight of Max’s grin. “What?”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Just because I never have time to mow my lawn or weed my flower beds doesn’t mean I don’t know about plants. I planted a whole bunch of daylilies around the pickup truck in the back yard to try to make it look more attractive.”

  “Did it work?”

  “No. But you know how attached Fleas is to that truck.”

  “Does he sleep in it?”

  “Are you kidding? He has this giant pillow that I bought for him so he can sleep on the floor in my bedroom, but when I wake up each morning I find him sprawled across the foot of my bed.”

  “That’s going to present a real problem for us.”

  Jamie’s stomach fluttered. “I think he’s become somewhat spoiled since you last saw him,” she said, changing the subject.

  Max stroked her arm. “I’d like to go inside and spoil you.”

  More fluttering. “Okay, but you didn’t get to see the entire garden.”

  This time, Max captured her hand and led her through the French doors into the bedroom. A breeze blew in from the doorway, bringing with it the scent of magnolia. Moonlight dappled the room. Max pulled Jamie into his arms and kissed her.

  Jamie leaned against him, delighting in the solid planes of his body and his scent. He offered more than a mere distraction from spending part of the evening talking about bogeymen, and she had been waiting for this moment all evening. No, she had been waiting much longer than that. Common sense had told her it was sheer folly, but her heart refused to listen. She returned Max’s kisses with a hunger that surprised even her.

  Max cupped her hips in his hands, pressing her flat against him so there was no doubt that he was as eager for her as she was for him. He slid his fingers through her hair, anchoring her head between his palms as he kissed her more deeply. Jamie clung to the jacket of his tux.

  She slipped her arms around his neck and tilted her head back, parting her lips beneath his so his tongue could explore the inside of her mouth. Max’s hands moved to her breasts, warming them through the clothes she wore.

  “I want you, Jamie,” he whispered. “I have since the first time I saw you.”

  Damned if she didn’t want him too. She just wasn’t sure she could get him out of that tux quickly enough. “I need to use the powder room first,” she said.

  He gazed down at her, a promise in his eyes.

  Jamie slipped from his arms and stepped inside the bathroom, purse in hand. An old claw-foot bathtub dominated the room. The mahogany woodwork had been softened with beige linen wallpaper and ivory towels. Still a bit rattled, Jamie checked behind the shower curtain, and then told herself she was being silly. From the next room, she heard soft music and realized Max had turned on a radio. She swayed to the sound as she reached for the zipper of her dress, slid it down and shrugged out of it. She gazed at her flushed face in the mirror, noted the worry lines on either side of her mouth.

  She wished she weren’t so edgy.

  She reached into her purse for the minibottle of Kahlúa that she had stuffed into her pocketbook before leaving the house that evening. Dee Dee had given it to her, as well as a raw-silk jacket, when she and Beenie had returned from a shopping trip in New York. Jamie had suspected things might turn romantic with Max before the evening was over, and she’d hoped the Kahlúa would settle her nerves. She opened the small bottle and took a sip. What if she was making a mistake? What if she fell head over heels in love with Max, knowing how
reluctant he was to make a long-term commitment? What if? Oh, the hell with it, she thought. She drained the small bottle.

  Bravery had never tasted so good. She could feel her shoulder muscles relaxing, and the knots loosening in her stomach.

  It was about time she took a few chances in life.

  MAX UNDID THE KNOT OF HIS BOW TIE AND WALKED into the sitting room. He opened the small refrigerator and reached inside for a container of bottled water. He turned and started for the bedroom when a light tap at the door stopped him. He unlocked it and opened it, finding a squat, gray-haired woman on the other side. She held a tray of food.

  “I hope I’m not disturbing you, Mr. Holt,” she said quickly, “I know it’s terribly late—I’ve been up watching old black-and-white movies, and I heard you come in and thought you might enjoy a light snack from the kitchen.”

  “You must be Mrs. Hobbs,” Max said, backing away so the woman could enter.

  “Yes, but you can call me Myrna.” She set the tray on the coffee table. “I trust you’ve found everything you needed.”

  “Everything is fine.”

  “I hope you like croissants. I also brought several cheeses and grapes. Fruit and cheese always go together so well, don’t you think?”

  “You wouldn’t happen to have a bottle of champagne handy, would you?” Max asked.

  Mrs. Hobbs sniffed. “I don’t keep alcoholic beverages on the premises, Mr. Holt. I guess it comes from my strict Baptist upbringing, but I’ve always been a teetotaler. My husband accuses me of being far too prim and proper, but I’m afraid it’s a little late in life for me to change.”

  “I understand, Myrna, and I respect your beliefs. Thank you for bringing me the snack.” The woman didn’t seem to take the hint.

  “Tell me, Mr. Holt,” Myrna said, her eyes bright with curiosity. “What’s it like being a big-time celebrity with all that money?”

  Max laughed and shook his head. It didn’t look like Myrna was in a hurry to leave.

  JAMIE HAD FRESHENED HER MAKEUP AND SPRAYED perfume in places she was certain would shock Vera’s church friends. She fluffed her hair, hoping it gave her a wild, untamed look.

  She turned for the door, felt her head swim. She was loose as a goose. Maybe she shouldn’t have drunk the whole ounce of Kahlúa, especially since she’d had more than her share of wine at Frankie and Dee Dee’s party. Not only that, she’d barely touched her food.

  Oh, well, it was too late to worry about it now. Besides, she was single and over twenty-one, and if she wanted to act a little wild and crazy every now and then, so be it. Max accused her of thinking too much, of being too predictable.

  Let him get a look at the new Jamie Swift.

  The music was coming from the alarm-clock radio on the bedside table; Johnny Mathis singing “Chances Are.” The bed was empty. Jamie wondered why Max wasn’t already naked and in it. Maybe he’d sensed just how nervous she was and wanted to take his time. She turned for the short hall leading to the sitting room, almost tripping over her own two feet.

  Okay, so she was a little tipsy.

  “ ‘Chances are,’ ” she sang off-key as she started down the hall, failing miserably at her attempt to walk straight. Finally, she called out. “Okay, here I am, ready and willing.” She stepped inside the sitting room, did a little dance routine, and then froze when she found Max standing at the door with Myrna Hobbs.

  The woman looked Jamie’s way, and her mouth formed a gigantic .

  . . .

  “JAMIE, I’M SORRY YOU’RE SO EMBARRASSED,” MAX said, once he’d packed her inside his car and pulled away from Carteret Street Bed and Breakfast.

  “I’ll get over it.”

  Max shook his head. “I can’t believe Myrna Hobbs kicked me out of my room.”

  Jamie wasn’t surprised. “Oh, that’s nothing. Myrna will beat it to the Piggly Wiggly the minute they open tomorrow. By noon, everyone in town will know what happened.” She did a massive eye-roll. “Did you hear what that woman called me, Max? She called me a drunken floozy.”

  “Yeah, well, I think I got it across to her that I didn’t appreciate it.”

  Jamie had to admit it was true. Max had called Myrna Hobbs on the carpet for that one, which was why the woman had asked him to leave the premises. “Thank you for defending me.”

  He grinned. “I’ll have to admit, you did sort of look like a drunken floozy, but I liked it. You looked cute.”

  Jamie groaned.

  “Hey, I think it’s great you’ve loosened up, Swifty.” He gave a low whistle. “And that thing you’re wearing under your dress,” he added. “Where can I buy you ten more just like it?”

  So he’d liked the body suit. At least one good thing had come of the evening.

  A voice sounded from the dashboard. “Excuse me? What are we up to now?”

  Jamie put her finger to her lips in an obvious attempt to stop Max from telling Muffin what had just occurred. He smiled and turned down the volume switch. “Wait a minute. You’re worried about what my computer will think of you?”

  “Muffin is not just any computer,” she whispered.

  Max turned up the switch.

  “Hello?” Muffin called out. “Is anyone home?”

  “I’m here,” Max said.

  “Why’d you hit the volume switch?”

  “None of your business,” he said, grinning.

  Silence. Finally, “Don’t piss me off, Max. You need me. I make you look good.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I need the name of another hotel. Something with a work station so I can go online. You know the routine.”

  “What was wrong with the last one?” Muffin asked.

  “Too stuffy. See what you can find.”

  Jamie was only vaguely aware of the conversation between the two. She didn’t feel well, her stomach was churning and her head hurt, no doubt from the alcohol she’d consumed. She was glad when Max turned into her driveway. She waited until the safety bar rose before reaching for the doorknob. “Well, I’d invite you in, but I have to go throw up.”

  “Rule number one: never mix your alcohol.”

  “Geez, I could have used that information earlier.”

  FLEAS NUDGED JAMIE AWAKE THE NEXT MORNING at five A.M. She rubbed her eyes and looked at him. “Gee, thanks for rescuing me from the possibility of sleeping late on a Saturday.” Since becoming housemates with the bloodhound, she rarely slept until the alarm clock sounded during the workweek, and she never slept late on weekends.

  “This must be what it’s like to have kids,” she grumbled, knowing Fleas probably had to go to the bathroom. After that he would want something to eat. She sighed.

  The doorbell rang. Max, no doubt. The man was like a vampire. He could live on four hours’ sleep. She stumbled from the bed and into the living room. Her head hurt, and her eyes felt gritty. She checked the peephole, and sure enough, Max stood on the other side.

  She opened the door. How could he look that good in the morning? “What?”

  “How’s your head?”

  She noted the amused look. “I think a couple of aspirin might help. Is that why you stopped by?”

  “I know you don’t like getting up before seven,” he said. “That’s why I brought coffee and doughnuts. To sort of soften the blow.”

  “Chocolate doughnuts?”

  “Chocolate mocha cream.”

  Damn the man for knowing her every weakness. She opened the door. He stepped inside and followed her into the kitchen, staring at her wrinkled sleep shirt. “I was kind of hoping you’d still be wearing that black thing this morning,” he said, setting down her coffee and the folder he carried under one arm.

  Jamie reached for the aspirin bottle beside her sink. She popped two in her mouth and followed it with a sip of water. “I burned it,” she said.

  “God, please, no.”

  “Okay, I’m thinking about burning it.”

  “Don’t do it, Jamie. Burn that shirt instead.”

 
She took a sip of her coffee. Naturally, Max knew just how she liked it. He grinned at Fleas and the two reacquainted themselves, Max giving the animal a hearty rub on the head. “Have you taught him any tricks yet?” he asked Jamie.

  She looked into the bag of doughnuts and pulled one out. Fleas licked his chops. “Yeah, he’s learned to wait until I leave the house before getting on my sofa so he doesn’t get yelled at.”

  “Good dog.” Max offered the dog a sympathetic look. “Sorry to hear she had your gonads cut off, guy. You’re looking a little depressed.”

  “Speaking of his unmentionables, he needs to go out.” Jamie unlocked the back door, opened it, and Fleas ambled outside as though he had all the time in the world. “Don’t pee on my rosebush,” she said, as he hiked his leg on a small bush of tiny yellow tea roses.

  Max chuckled. “Yeah, you’ve trained him real well.”

  Jamie carried her coffee and doughnut to the kitchen table and sat down. “Not that I’m not thrilled to see you, Max, but is there a specific reason you felt you had to visit the minute the sun came up?”

  He grabbed his folder and joined her. “Yeah, Muffin has all kinds of information for us. I figured you’d be interested.”

  “I’m all ears,” she mumbled.

  “Remember the ad that read ‘Till Death Do Us Part’?”

  “Yeah, that was spooky,” Jamie said.

  “He’s a minister who performs a lot of marriage ceremonies. He obviously doesn’t believe in divorce.”

  Jamie glanced up quickly. “A minister? Lamar said someone called Luanne saying he was a man of God. Max, we could be on to something.”

  “That’s why I told Muffin to dig deeper.”

  “Anything else?”

  “All the men are either single or divorced. We’ve got an auto mechanic, a dentist, a chef, and—” He paused and chuckled. “Remember the ad that read ‘Offer Good for a Limited Time’?”