beg the question of how Angelica Pierce and ANS found the story?”
Cara had to agree that it did. “Do you have a theory?”
Max leaned slightly forward. “Are you offering quid pro quo on an information exchange?”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Then I don’t have a theory.” He paused. “Except that I do. And it’s a good one.”
It was her turn to lean forward. “You’re bluffing.”
“Only one way for you to find out.”
There were, in fact, two ways for her to find out. But the second one was worse than the first.
“I can tell what you’re thinking,” he taunted.
“No, you can’t.”
“You’re thinking that if you got naked, I’d tell you anything.”
“I am not going to bribe you with sex.”
He seemed to consider that. “Too bad. Because it’d work.”
* * *
Max knew he had to keep himself busy for the rest of the evening. Because if he let his attention get stalled on Cara, he’d go stark, raving mad.
He’d cleaned up the dishes, refilled the wood box and checked the walls for damage where the avalanche snow had piled up. Now he was methodically working his way through the drawers and cupboards in the living area, looking for anything that might be useful to them if they were stuck here for a couple more days.
Cara had hung her blazer in the closet, commandeered a fuzzy robe from the powder room to help her keep warm and borrowed a pair of Max’s socks to use as slippers. She should have looked comical, curled up in a corner of the sofa with a magazine in her hand, but she was sexy.
“What did you find?” she called across the room, having noted he was staring vacantly into the bottom of a cabinet.
He stopped himself from turning to look at her again. “Board games.” He pulled one out at random. “Monopoly?”
“I haven’t played that in years.”
“What do you play? Angry Birds? ” he asked her.
She laughed. “Angry voters.”
He couldn’t help but smile at that. “Are you winning?”
“Hardly ever.”
He came to his feet, Monopoly game in hand. “Care to take me on?” He was about to run out of busywork, and concentrating on Monopoly was better than concentrating on Cara.
“I thought I was already taking you on,” she returned. But she closed the magazine and set it on the table.
He decided to take that as a yes.
He made his way to the dining room table, moving a couple of candles to one side, then opened the old box to see if enough of the pieces were there to play a game.
Surprisingly, the contents seemed mostly intact, if a bit dog-eared and faded.
Cara pulled up a chair. “Is the dog there?”
“We have the dog.” Max unfolded the board between them and handed her the game piece.
“What are you taking?” she asked, reaching for the piles of colored money and starting to sort.
“Top hat,” he decided.
“Not the race car?”
He frowned. “It looks like an import.”
“You’re an American muscle car guy?”
“That’s right. Nothing quite like touring a Mustang GT convertible out on Route 1.” He got comfortable in the chair across from her, then located the dice and stacked the game cards in their respective piles.
Cara paused, her blue eyes going dreamy. “That sounds nice.”
“I’ll take you anytime you want to go. Well, we might want to wait for April or May. Unless we start in Georgia.” In the winter, he always used a hardtop.
“You have a convertible?”
“I have three.”
“You don’t think that’s a little excessive?”
“They’re part of my collection.”
She gave him a knowing smile. “In my book, ‘collection’ is merely a justification for excess.”
“No argument from me.”
She looked him straight in the eye. “Now there’s a first.”
“Ouch,” he told her softly.
“How many cars do you own?”
Max did a quick calculation in his head. “Seventeen. But three of them are in the middle of restoration work. Most of them are vintage.”
“You restore old cars?”
“I
Cara had to agree that it did. “Do you have a theory?”
Max leaned slightly forward. “Are you offering quid pro quo on an information exchange?”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Then I don’t have a theory.” He paused. “Except that I do. And it’s a good one.”
It was her turn to lean forward. “You’re bluffing.”
“Only one way for you to find out.”
There were, in fact, two ways for her to find out. But the second one was worse than the first.
“I can tell what you’re thinking,” he taunted.
“No, you can’t.”
“You’re thinking that if you got naked, I’d tell you anything.”
“I am not going to bribe you with sex.”
He seemed to consider that. “Too bad. Because it’d work.”
* * *
Max knew he had to keep himself busy for the rest of the evening. Because if he let his attention get stalled on Cara, he’d go stark, raving mad.
He’d cleaned up the dishes, refilled the wood box and checked the walls for damage where the avalanche snow had piled up. Now he was methodically working his way through the drawers and cupboards in the living area, looking for anything that might be useful to them if they were stuck here for a couple more days.
Cara had hung her blazer in the closet, commandeered a fuzzy robe from the powder room to help her keep warm and borrowed a pair of Max’s socks to use as slippers. She should have looked comical, curled up in a corner of the sofa with a magazine in her hand, but she was sexy.
“What did you find?” she called across the room, having noted he was staring vacantly into the bottom of a cabinet.
He stopped himself from turning to look at her again. “Board games.” He pulled one out at random. “Monopoly?”
“I haven’t played that in years.”
“What do you play? Angry Birds? ” he asked her.
She laughed. “Angry voters.”
He couldn’t help but smile at that. “Are you winning?”
“Hardly ever.”
He came to his feet, Monopoly game in hand. “Care to take me on?” He was about to run out of busywork, and concentrating on Monopoly was better than concentrating on Cara.
“I thought I was already taking you on,” she returned. But she closed the magazine and set it on the table.
He decided to take that as a yes.
He made his way to the dining room table, moving a couple of candles to one side, then opened the old box to see if enough of the pieces were there to play a game.
Surprisingly, the contents seemed mostly intact, if a bit dog-eared and faded.
Cara pulled up a chair. “Is the dog there?”
“We have the dog.” Max unfolded the board between them and handed her the game piece.
“What are you taking?” she asked, reaching for the piles of colored money and starting to sort.
“Top hat,” he decided.
“Not the race car?”
He frowned. “It looks like an import.”
“You’re an American muscle car guy?”
“That’s right. Nothing quite like touring a Mustang GT convertible out on Route 1.” He got comfortable in the chair across from her, then located the dice and stacked the game cards in their respective piles.
Cara paused, her blue eyes going dreamy. “That sounds nice.”
“I’ll take you anytime you want to go. Well, we might want to wait for April or May. Unless we start in Georgia.” In the winter, he always used a hardtop.
“You have a convertible?”
“I have three.”
“You don’t think that’s a little excessive?”
“They’re part of my collection.”
She gave him a knowing smile. “In my book, ‘collection’ is merely a justification for excess.”
“No argument from me.”
She looked him straight in the eye. “Now there’s a first.”
“Ouch,” he told her softly.
“How many cars do you own?”
Max did a quick calculation in his head. “Seventeen. But three of them are in the middle of restoration work. Most of them are vintage.”
“You restore old cars?”
“I
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