Page 43 of The Devil In Denim
Maggie glanced at the watch on Mal’s wrist. “It’s two A.M. A cab will be fine.”
“Okay.” He studied her for a second, dark eyes inscrutable. Mystery man, indeed.
“Good night,” he said finally, leaving Maggie feeling like she’d missed part of the conversation as he walked out of the kitchen.
She stared at the doorway for a few more seconds, then shook herself. Mind on the job. The caterers seemed to have the kitchen under control. The tray of pastries that Mal had been munching on was whisked away now that he’d gone, along with his mug. The kitchen was mostly empty and sparkling clean, only two of the white-coated catering staff left.
With nothing left to do, she backed out of the kitchen and headed toward the living areas where the party had been held. Alex’s apartment must’ve been half the floor of the building, one long rectangle, bisected by a single corridor that led from the kitchen at the far end back to the huge living space. The corridor was painted the same pale cream as the rest of the place, the expanse of off-white only broken by a series of black-lacquered doors, firmly shut, and the art hanging on the walls. She curbed her curiosity, resisting the temptation to snoop.
She had no right to poke her nose into Alex’s business. Even if somewhere behind one of those doors was his bedroom, presumably. She wondered if that might be as sleekly male and modern as the rest of the place. Then ruthlessly cut off the dangerous train of thought.
Still, she walked slowly, trying to ease the ache in her feet as she stopped to look at the art lining the walls.
Alex, it seemed, liked big bold canvases. Abstract art, photographs, and landscapes were mixed together in a series that should have been confusing but somehow worked.
She was staring at a huge painting of a stormy beach with lightning over the water when the door behind her opened and Alex stepped through.
He stopped when he saw her. Then smiled. A dangerous smile. “I thought you’d left.”
He sounded pleased. Her pulse bumped traitorously. “I wanted to check that the catering staff were done. And besides, it’s not polite to go before you say good-bye to the host,” she said, then winced. God. She sounded like Veronica.
“They know what they’re doing,” Alex said. “But thank you.” His eyes gleamed very green, and Maggie was suddenly aware that there wasn’t much space between them and that she couldn’t hear any other voices in the apartment. Just the music—something low and rock with a beat that might have made her want to dance if her feet hadn’t been protesting quite so hard—piping through the rooms on what was, no doubt, a state-of-the-art sound system.
“Has everyone gone?” Maggie said, feeling her pulse kick up a notch or two.
“Just put Gardner and Dan Ellis in cabs,” Alex confirmed. “Just you and me now.” His smile had faded but there was heat in the green eyes now.
“I—” She stopped, swallowed, tried again. “Then I should go too.”
“No rush,” he said softly.
“It’s late.”
“I’m not tired.”
“Alex…”
“Maggie…” he mimicked back.
She knew that she should go. Knew it was dangerous to stand here in semidarkness with this man with the fizz of champagne in her blood and the too-strong awareness of him shivering across her skin. But she stood still, just looking at him. “We said we wouldn’t do this,” she said.
“But that was before the mistletoe,” Alex said.
“That was just a friendly kiss,” she protested, knowing it was a lie.
“If you kiss all your friends like that, then you must be very popular,” Alex said.
“It was nothing.”
He stepped closer. Almost touching. She had to tilt her head back to watch his face. Which was set in a very determined expression.
“No,” he said. “You can choose to ignore it. You can do nothing more about it, but I’m not going to let you get away with that. That kiss was short but it wasn’t nothing. It was—” He stopped, paused, eased back a fraction. “I liked it. You liked it. I’d like to do more of it. But that’s up to you.”
She wondered if he could hear the thump of her heart as loudly as she could.
Probably not. Probably he couldn’t read the conflict between her body and her head raging through her in her eyes either. Up to me. A heady thought. That if she chose, she could reach up and kiss him. Give in to what they both wanted. Feel that heat and fire again. Or she could walk away and leave him aching. Leave herself aching as well if she was being honest.
Aching was better than stupid.
