Only You by Bonnie Pega

man who held her in his arms. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, inviting him to take her lips again.
    Max accepted the invitation gladly. Caitlin, vibrant and sassy, was enchanting, but Caitlin, soft and flushing, took his breath away. Only the knowledge that there was a small boy upstairs kept Max from going further. He regretfully slid his hands down to a safer perch at her waist and pressed one last kiss to her lips.
    “God, you are so sweet,” he murmured in her ear, then pulled back just enough to look at her. “Now tell me you don’t date,” he demanded.
    She opened her eyes and returned his gaze. His eyes—were they royal blue? Midnight blue? Her lashes fluttered down. “I don’t,” she said in answer to his question. When his lips swooped down to nibble the side of her neck, she said breathlessly, “I—ah—I could make an exception.”
    “You do that,” he growled against her neck. “For this Friday night.”
    “Um, I—I don’t know if I can find a sitter for Jordie on such short notice,” Caitlin hedged.
    Max sharply nipped the base of her throat, then soothed it with his tongue. “Friday night. I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”
    Go on, insisted a little voice inside her. What harm could it do? They were very different, that’s true, but accepting a dinner invitation certainly wasn’t saying yes to a proposal of marriage. Besides, the warm, liquid feeling in her limbs was nice, more than nice. Wonderful. She owed it to herself to explore this feeling further. “Okay. I’ll try to work something out,” she acquiesced breathlessly as Max’s lips continued their delicate assault on her throat.
    “Mom? Is Max kissing it better or is this just some mushy stuff?” an interested voice piped from the stairs.
    Caitlin could feel hot color paint her cheeks and was speechless, but Max, unembarrassed, looked up and said, “What do you think, Jordie?”
    “Who knows?” Jordan gave an unconcerned shrug. “Do you have anything to eat?”
    “Jordie!” Caitlin admonished, hoping she wasn’t as red as she felt. “We ate just a little while ago.”
    “It was hours ago, Mom, and I’m starvin’.”
    “Growing boy, Mom,” Max said. “Is it okay if I give him a piece of fruit?”
    Jordan didn’t wait for his mother to answer. “Do you have any bananas? I love bananas.”
    “Well, bananas it is, then. Okay?” He waited for Caitlin’s nod before heading Jordan toward the kitchen.
    Caitlin got to her feet and wandered around the living room, looking for signs that might reveal something else about the man who lived here. The furniture was nice but nondescript, and, although Caitlin was no expert, not terribly expensive.
    The one piece that didn’t fit was an antique rolltop desk in perfect condition. There were intricate carved designs on the side panels and the wood gleamed with the patina of fine old cherry. Even the brass fittings had been polished till they shone. She ran a hand carefully across the surface.
    “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
    Caitlin turned at the sound of Max’s voice and nodded. “Oh, yes.”
    “I found it a few years ago at a flea market in Vermont. It’s probably about a hundred and fifty years old. It was one of the few things I managed to keep.”
    “Managed to keep?”
    “After the divorce. Jackie hired some hotshot attorney, and I had a kid fresh out of law school. I’m still not quite sure how she managed it, but she got just about everything. I fought tooth and nail to keep the desk and the business. In the end, that was about all I kept,” Max said matter-of-factly, as if it didn’t matter.
    Did it really not matter, Caitlin wondered, or was Max a good enough actor to make it seem that way? Did anyone emerge from a failed marriage unscathed? “How long were you married?” Caitlin asked quietly.
    “Three years. Three of the longest years of my life.”
    “Why—no, never mind. It’s none of my business.” Caitlin dropped her gaze