Janet Evanovich - Full Tilt

"Sounds like you thought of everything but a wrestling ring," Max said.

"Oh, Frankie has already had one built at the YMCA," Deedee said, "and he gives lessons once a week."

"He's very devoted to this town," Beenie said, still eyeballing Max.

"Doesn't sound like you're taking retirement very seriously," Max said.

Frankie shrugged. "I like staying busy, and it's for a good cause."

Finally, Max stood. "Guess I'd better clean up."

"I'll show you to your room," Beenie offered, already moving toward the stairs gracefully. "I'll even see that your bags are carried up for you."

"By the way, there's a tux in your closet," Deedee called out once Max was halfway up the stairs.

He turned and scowled down at her. "You did that on purpose. You know how much I hate to dress up."

* * * * *

Max stood beside Frankie, shaking hands and making small talk, but the look on his face suggested how bored he was. Deedee had simply introduced him as Max, her little brother, and nobody had made the connection. After an hour, Max slipped through a pair of French doors leading to a large balcony that overlooked a perfectly manicured golf course.

He gazed at the woman for a full minute, a smile playing on his mouth. It would have been impossible not to recognize her. Jamie Swift was even better looking in person.

* * * * *

Jamie Swift was one irritated woman, and she didn't notice the stranger at first. Her mood had only worsened since she'd learned her investor was coming to town, and the last thing she wanted to do was mingle with the crowd inside. Frankie must have invited close to two hundred people, most of them couples, and she was without a date.

Where the heck was Phillip? Here she was, dressed in her navy silk cocktail dress, the one Phillip claimed showed off the best legs he'd ever laid eyes on and brought out the highlights in her blond hair. Oh, what she'd give to be wearing her comfortable jeans and loose-fitting T-shirt and sprawled on her sofa reading a good book.

And what was with these high heels? The saleslady at the discount shoe store had talked her into buying them. Dumb idea. She preferred sneakers. The spiked heels added a good three inches to Jamie's five feet seven and made her feel as though she should have strapped herself into a parachute before putting them on. If she fell she would break every bone in her body.

Not that it would be the worst thing that had happened to her that day. She took a sip of her wine, her second glass.

"Darn you, Phillip," she muttered. "Of all times to be late." He was probably sitting in his private club right now, sipping a Dewar's and talking about tax law. Tax law, for Pete's sake! Who cared? The subject held as much interest to her as a hernia operation. "Oh, double damn," she said.

Jamie caught movement and turned quickly, almost spilling her wine. Her mouth flew open, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she found herself gazing at one of the best looking men she'd ever laid eyes on. And, he had caught her talking to herself.

"Excuse me," Max said. "Is this a private conversation?" When the woman winced, he smiled. "I'll bet he's a rabbit and his name is Harvey."

Jamie was tempted to dive from her high heels and end it all right there. "How much did you hear?"

"Something about a guy named Phillip who's really late." Max cocked his head to one side. "He must not be very smart."

"Phillip is my fiance. And very late. Who are you?"

"Max."

"Jamie Swift." She offered her hand.

He took it and they shook. "Nice to meet you, Miss Swift." Max reluctantly let go of her hand.

Jamie studied him. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"Just visiting."

Jamie wasn't surprised. She would have noticed him, what with those broad shoulders and olive complexion that was even more attractive against his white shirt. He did wonderful things to a tux. His face was striking, interesting to look at. She didn't know if it was the wine or the man, but one of them was making her light-headed. Be just her luck to do something stupid and swoon. And her engaged and all. That would certainly start tongues wagging in Beaumont.

"Nice to meet you, uh, Max." Dang, her voice suddenly sounded as though a bullfrog were giving birth in her throat. She cleared it. "Welcome to Beaumont."

"I came out for some fresh air. The view out here is great."

Jamie noticed he was staring at her and not the scenery. Smooth guy, she thought. Very smooth.

"So, is your fiance the jealous type? Should I disappear in case he shows up and finds you standing out here alone with a strange man?"

Jamie chuckled. "Maybe that's exactly what he deserves. I think he's beginning to take me for granted." She checked her wristwatch. "But he's more than an hour late. I seriously doubt he's going to make it at this point."

"I'll bet he has a very good reason."

"Men always stick together."

"If you were my date I would have been here early, and I would have brought you a dozen roses.

But that's just me. I'm the sensitive type."

Jamie saw the teasing look in his eyes. "Yeah, right. The minute I laid eyes on you I said to myself, "Jamie, there stands one sensitive, touchy-feely guy."

Max grinned. "Could I get you another drink?"

"Uh, no, thanks. I've had my limit."

"And I'll bet you never go over that limit, do you? I'll bet you've never once thrown caution to the wind and said, "Oh, what the hell, I'm going to slam down another tequila shooter whether anyone likes it or not."

She laughed. "Hey, I've written on bathroom walls."

"No way."

Jamie nodded proudly. "In seventh grade I carved Davey Callaway's initials with mine and drew a heart around it."

Max pretended to look shocked. "I would never have thought it of you."

"I can be quite brazen at times."

"Oh, yeah? I'm beginning to hope your fiance doesn't show up after all."

Jamie realized the wine had gone straight to her head. She tried to pull herself together. "So, Mr., uh, Max. What do you think of our little town?"

"I've only been here a couple of hours so I haven't had a chance to see it."

"You should take a complete tour sometime when you have an extra ten minutes on your hands."

"It can't be that bad. What do people do for fun?"

"Mostly they go to church. Folks are big on church socials. You know, potluck dinners and all that. You want a good meal in this town you have to join a church. We have a theater we're very proud of, stadium seating and eight different movies from which to choose. Not to mention a skating rink and arcade for the kids."

"Yes, but what do the wilder, more sophisticated people like yourself do for fun?"

"We have a steak house and a seafood restaurant. Not to mention a hamburger joint where the onion rings are so greasy they almost slide off your plate. They insist on checking your cholesterol before you're allowed to order them."

"Sounds like my kind of place."

"Oh, and we've got this roadhouse on the outskirts that serves the coldest beer in town and plays music on Friday night. The Baptists pretend it doesn't exist so everyone gets along just fine."

"And here I thought I'd seen and done it all," Max replied. "I'll bet you can tear up a dance floor."

Jamie's smile faded slightly. "I'm afraid I don't go out much. I own the newspaper so I spend most of my time there." Jamie realized she was enjoying talking to the man.

"I used to work for my cousin's newspaper," Max told her after a moment.

"Then you know what it's like."

"Stressful at times."

"You should try finding news in a town this size. That's the stressful part. Not much action around here, you know?"

Max chuckled. "Perhaps you could pay someone to commit a crime."