Kate Hoffmann - The Sexy Devil

“But I’m very particular about my sleeping environment,” she said. “Things have to be just right, or I don’t sleep at all.”

“You don’t have any trouble sleeping in my bed,” he said.

“That’s because your bedroom has solid walls, an adjoining bathroom, 600-count sheets and really nice down pillows. But I did have trouble sleeping that first night. Mostly because we were up so high and I felt the building swaying. Kind of like this boat.

And, your clock makes this funny humming sound, so I had to put it inside the drawer.” She paused. “Lip balm?”

“All right,” Max said. “Lip balm, water, pillow. I’ll be right back. If you see any bears, just give me a call.”

“There are bears?”

“No,” he said. “But if you see any, I want to know.” Max grabbed his clothes, then stepped out of the boat to dress on the pier. “You’re very high maintenance. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

“Never,” she said. “Lip balm, please.”

Max walked back to the cabin, laughing softly. This was interesting, he thought to himself. The more comfortable they became with each other, the more he began to discover about her. She was a bit odd, but he liked that about Angela. All her idiosyncrasies were so damn lovable.

He tiptoed into her bedroom and retrieved the tube of lip balm and a pillow, then fetched her a bottle of water. But by the time he got back to the boat, she was asleep. Max stripped off his shorts, then pulled the sleeping bag up around them both.

She sighed softly as she curled her body into his, pressing her face against his shoulder. “Good night, sweetheart,” he whispered.

As her breathing slowed, Max silently stroked her back, his eyes closed, his body completely relaxed. Though it always seemed like the most natural thing in the world to make love to Angela, lying beside her like this felt just as good. He could spend his entire life like this, if he chose. He could have her forever.

He’d have to get her to agree, but Max didn’t see that as an insurmountable problem. After all, he was a charming guy. And women loved him. But, there was only one woman he wanted and he had to figure out a way to make her need him as much as he needed her.

MAX SAT AT THE BAR, the Tribune sports page spread out in front of him. He scanned the box scores for the Rays, then went though the rest of the scores for the teams in his division.

He and Angela had driven back from Chicago the previous morning and spent the entire day and night in his apartment, curled up in bed watching old movies, eating Szechwan, and reading the Sunday paper.

But when he suggested they spend Tuesday in bed as well, she’d put her foot down. She had to at least make an attempt to go to work on occasion. The more she left for Ceci to do, the further behind they got, she’d argued. So Max had reluctantly kissed her goodbye, pulled on shorts and a T-shirt and gone for a run. “Hey there!”

Max glanced up to see Dave strolling in through the kitchen door. “Hey. I didn’t expect you back until later. It’s not even eleven.”

“Lauren got us up at the crack of dawn,” he said. She said she wanted to do some gardening. And the kids have swimming lessons this afternoon.” Dave tossed his keys on the bar then poured himself a glass of lemonade from the pitcher in the refrigerator. “So, did you have a nice weekend?”

“It was great until my bozo of a brother showed up and ruined it all.”

“Sorry. I guess now that you’re home, we’ll have to schedule our weekends at the cabin. Lauren extends her deepest apologies, as well. Although she was really glad she got a chance to meet Angela. Lauren said you two met in high school. I didn’t know Angela went to Evanston. But now that I think of it, I remember a Susan Weatherby. She was really smart.”

“We didn’t know each other back then.”

“Lauren also mentioned that she thought she recognized her from somewhere.”

“Susan?”

“No, Angela.”

Max looked up from his paper to find Dave watching him with a cautious expression. “From where?”

His older brother winced. “Well, that’s the thing. She couldn’t remember. So she did an Internet search and…well, she remembered seeing Angela on a morning news show last winter.”

Max felt his gut twist as he recognized the look in his brother’s eyes. This was not going to be good. Was she a criminal? A bunny boiler? Or even worse-a reporter? “What?”

“Lauren found a video clip. It turns out Angela Weatherby is writing a book. About dating disasters.

I think she might be writing about you.”

Max braced his elbow on the edge of the bar, frowning. “Angela? No, she would have told me about that.”

“She has a Web site, Max. It’s a big collection of dating horror stories. They have files on thousands and thousands of guys, all written by the women they’ve screwed over. And guess who’s on the Web site?”

“Me?”

Dave nodded. “Yeah. You’ve got a really fat file.

Lots of women have a helluva lot to say about you.

And none of it is very nice.”

“Nah, Lauren must have it wrong. There’s probably another Angela Weatherby.”

“Look for yourself,” Dave said. “You can use the computer in my office. I’m just saying, if you’re going to invest time in this girl, maybe you ought to get to know her a little better.”

“It’s not going to make a difference,” Max said.

“So she’s writing a book.”

“And maybe you’re just research?”

“Jeez, David, give me a break. We’re sleeping together. Don’t you think that’s a little extreme to be research? She’s a nice girl. She wouldn’t do that.”

“I’m just looking out for you, man. You have to admit that you haven’t made a lot of sensible choices when it comes to women. Half of them were flat out crazy, and the other half were only interested in sex.”

“And you think Angela fits in one of those two categories?”

“Just go take a look and form your own opinion. I just think you might have a few questions you want answered.”

Max stared at his brother for a long moment, then cursed beneath his breath. “All right. I’ll go look. But it’s not going to make any difference.” He shoved away from the bar and stalked back to the office, slamming the door behind him.

Over the next half hour, he looked at every Google link that had to do with Angela Weatherby of Chicago, Illinois. By the time he was finished, Max was forced to admit that he didn’t know her at all.

Who the hell was this woman? She seemed to be determined to exact some kind of revenge on any guy who didn’t automatically fall in love with the woman he was dating. His own profile was filled with detailed stories of Max Morgan’s pathological inability to commit.

Hell, if she’d read his profile, why in the world would she want to date him? If he were a woman, he’d stay as far away from himself as possible. But was he really that bad? He’d never made any promises and then broken them. All the girls he dated knew he wasn’t interested in marriage. But they’d all been certain they’d be the one to change him. It’s not like he forced them to hop into bed with him. They were perfectly willing partners.

Max leaned back in the desk chair, rubbing his hands over his face. Now that he knew, what was he going to do about it? He could pretend it didn’t make a difference, but he knew it did.

How had he missed this? His experience being in the public eye had given him a keen radarlike sense that detected anyone with suspicious motives. When he’d come home to Chicago, he’d let his guard down and shut the radar off. And now, he was left to wonder just who Angela Weatherby really was.

Max pushed away from the desk and walked back out into the bar. “I’ll see you later,” he muttered as he passed Dave.