Rogue by Danielle Steel Page A

enamel with her initials engraved in it, and he showed Sam how to work the new video game chair and paddles he'd had installed in his absence. They were all busy playing with toys, and getting acclimated to their rooms again, when Blake finally had a peaceful moment to smile at his ex-wife and put a friendly arm around her.
    “Hi, Max,” he said calmly. “How are you? Sorry about all the chaos.” He was as dazzling as ever. He had a deep tan, which made his electric blue eyes even more startling. He was wearing jeans, a black turtleneck sweater, and black alligator cowboy boots that had been made for him in Milan. There was no question, Maxine reminded herself, he was a knockout. Everything about him was appealing, and incredibly handsome, for about ten minutes. And then you realized you couldn't count on him, he never showed up, and no matter how charming he was, he was never going to grow up. He was the best-looking, smartest, most adorable Peter Pan in the world. It was great if you wanted to play Wendy, but if not, he just wasn't the right man. She had to remind herself of that at times. Being in his aura was a heady experience. But she knew better than anyone that he wasn't a responsible adult. Sometimes she felt like he was her fourth child.
    “They love the chaos,” she reassured him. Being with him was a three-ring circus. And who didn't love that at their age? It was a lot harder to take at hers. “You look great, Blake. How was Morocco, or Paris, or wherever you were?”
    “The house in Marrakech is going to be terrific. I've been there all week. I was in Paris yesterday.” She laughed at the contrast between their lives. She had been at Silver Pines, seeing Jason, on Long Island. It was a far cry from the glamor of her ex-husband's life, but she wouldn't have traded places with him for the world. She couldn't have lived that way anymore. “You look great too, Max. Still too busy? Seeing a million patients? I don't know how you do it.” Particularly knowing what heavy things she dealt with. He admired the work she did, and the kind of mother she was. She had been a great wife too. He always said so.
    “I like it that way,” Maxine said, smiling. “Someone has to do it, and I'm glad it's me. I love working with kids.” He nodded, knowing how true that was.
    “How was Thanksgiving with your parents?” He used to feel stifled at those Thanksgivings, and yet in a funny way he loved them too. They were what every family should be, and so few were. He hadn't had a holiday like that in five years.
    “It was nice. They love the kids, and they're so sweet. They're both in remarkably good shape for their age. My father is still operating, though not as much, and teaching and practicing full time, at seventy-nine.”
    “You will be too,” Blake said, as he poured champagne into two glasses and handed her one. He always drank Cristal. She took it and sipped it, admiring the view from his apartment. It was like flying over the city. Everything he owned or touched had that magical quality to it. He was what people dreamed of being if they hit it big, but very few people had Blake's style and ability to pull it off.
    She was surprised he didn't have a woman with him this time, and a few minutes later, he explained it with a rueful smile. “I just got dumped,” he said, by a twenty-four-year-old supermodel, who had run off with a major rock star, who Blake said had a bigger plane. Maxine couldn't help laughing at the way he said it. He didn't seem upset, and she knew he wasn't. The girls he went out with were just playmates for him. He had no desire whatsoever to settle down, and didn't want more kids, so eventually the young women he went out with had to marry someone else. Marriage with him was never an option, and the farthest thing from his mind. As they sat in his living room and chatted, Sam wandered in, and hopped up on his mother's lap. He sat watching Blake with interest, as though he were a family