Fools Rush In by Ginna Gray Page A

passed that what he really wanted was what his mother had wanted for him all along: a proper 'French' wife."
    "Hmm. Do I detect mother-in-law trouble?" Max drawled.
    This time when she glanced at him her brown eyes crinkled with a touch of self-derisive humor. "Actually, the whole thing was probably my own fault. If I had given it enough thought, I would have realized that having a Frenchman for a husband also meant having a French mother-in-law."
    "I take it she didn't approve."
    Placing her hand over her heart, Erin gave him a look of feigned shock, then lifted her nose haughtily and sniffed. "Pour I'amour de Dieu!" she exclaimed, giving an excellent imitation of her ex-mother-in-law's disdainful tone. "A liberated, footloose American woman for Andre Phillipe Jean Louis Meleaux?" She closed her eyes and shuddered.
    Erin met Max's amused look and made a wry face. "Hardly. From the moment we met, Heloise made it quite clear that I was not at all suitable for her son. Although—" a faraway, wistful look came into Erin's eyes "—I'm sure if I'd been more like Elise, she would have accepted me. Everyone loves Elise, and she, other than not being French, is exactly what both Andre and his mother wanted."
    Erin sighed and lifted her hand in a helpless gesture. "I tried to be like her. I tried very hard, but it wasn't enough."
    Max's chest tightened as he watched her struggle with painful recollections, accept them, then square her shoulders and push the memories away. When she turned to him with a determined smile he felt a sharp stab of emotion in the vicinity of his heart, and it was all he could do not to yank her into his arms.
    "But I learned something from it all," she said brightly. "I learned it's impossible to be something you're not, or to make yourself over to suit someone else. I wish I could have been what Andre needed and wanted, but I couldn't. Any more than I could be like my sister. I'm me, and people are going to have to take me as I am, warts, weaknesses and all."
    Max leaned closer, took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned her face this way and that. "Funny, I don't see any warts," he said, peering at her through narrowed eyes. "All I see is a fascinating, beautiful, desirable woman. One I'm finding more and more irresistible."
    Her eyes widened, and she swallowed hard, and Max smiled tenderly as he felt a tiny shiver ripple through her. He cupped her jaw and brushed his thumb over the hint of a cleft in her chin, then touched one corner of her mouth. Against his palm her skin was soft and silky smooth. Her scent drifted to him, tempting, intoxicating, a heady blend of lilacs and sweet warm woman.
    Longing shimmered in her brown eyes—he was too experienced not to see that—but there was wariness, too, and because of it he put a tight rein on his own desire, ignoring the throbbing in his loins and the odd constriction in his chest. "This may come as a shock to you, Erin," he murmured, "but, though I think your sister is beautiful and sweet, I find you infinitely more appealing."
    Beneath his fingers he felt her pulse leap, saw the excitement and pleasure that flared in her eyes for an instant before it was firmly doused.
    "Max, don't. Please." It was half protest, half plea, her voice low and shaky. Max watched her as she pulled free of his touch and lowered her gaze to her interlaced fingers.
    "What is it, Erin? What's wrong? Look, if you're still worried that I've been stringing your sister along, I promise you it's not true. There is nothing between us. I'm not interested in her in a romantic way, and I swear that I've never done anything to make her think otherwise. Hell, I've never even kissed her! You've got to believe that."
    Erin believed it. From what she knew of Max, he was not the sort of man to lie about something like that. No, she could well imagine her sister weaving dreams around him, getting her hopes up over nothing more substantial than a few words of praise and a friendly