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“I say strawberry margaritas and enchiladas at my place tonight.” She paused, and he grunted. Knowing him the way she did, she took that as his usual “yes” grunt. “I’ll be out of here by four and then stop off at the store. I have to pick up a couple of things. How about six?”
He rose to his feet slowly. “I guess I need to get back to work.”
“See ya later, Maxwell.”
He nodded and left, shutting the door quietly behind him. The room seemed a bit cooler and lifeless after he left. Anna’s mind drifted into forbidden terrain, anything that involved Max and her feelings for him. From the moment he kissed her years ago, she hadn’t been able to forget it. If she were truthful with herself, she’d always had a crush on him. After that one little kiss, the crush turned into full-blown lust, but years of friendship had turned those feelings into something more profound, much scarier than passion or lust.
Shaking free of those thoughts, she hurried out to relieve Myra and send her home for the day. It was approaching three, and there wasn’t much to do other than close up. Anna could handle the books. And John, her cook, could handle the kitchen. She’d have enough time to get home and clean before Max arrived.
And, if she kept herself busy, Anna wouldn’t have to think about the fact that she had probably just lost her mind. She’d wanted Max for so long that the temptation with both of them free would likely overwhelm her good judgment. What little of it she had.
Tequila and Max. She licked her lips. A delightfully dangerous mix.
two
Max parkedhis sedan behind Anna’s vintage T-bird convertible and stared at her two-story house.
What the hell am I doing here?
He knew exactly what he was doing there. Having dinner with his best friend. The girl he’d watched take her first communion and play flute in her first football halftime. He wasn’t there to seduce the utterly scrumptious woman she’d grown up to be. Even if the idea felt much more enticing than anything he’d contemplated in a long time. The idea of touching her skin against his was cutting off the blood flow to his brain.
Max closed his eyes, calmed his breathing, and ordered his dick to take a rest. This was not right. The thoughts, his reactions. It was almost incestuous. Their families were friends, and they’d grown up as unofficial cousins. And while he lived in the South, he wasn’t that kind of Southerner.
Besides, he’d always considered her the pudgy little girl with long braids and a mouthful of braces. Until he returned home after graduating college. She’d lost all the baby fat, developed curves that left his mouth dry and his dick hard, and he’d felt dirty. She had been barely eighteen, and all he’d been able to think of was sliding his cock into her round, warm body.
A bead of sweat rolled down his back, and he opened his eyes. Sitting in an enclosed car in the heat of a Georgia summer evening was probably not a good idea. No better than lusting after a woman he had no right to even think of that way. Disgusted with himself then and now, he got out of his car, grabbed the bottle of wine he’d brought, and headed up the front path to her house.
She’d been planting again, he thought as he eyed the dying daisies in the flowerbed. For all her dedication to her business, charities, and friends, Anna failed in one thing. Gardening. It was something she just couldn’t accept she couldn’t do. She always had good intentions but never seemed to pick the right flowers and always forgot to water them. The abandonment cost many an innocent flower its life.
As he neared the front steps, hard southern rock drifted through her open windows. A light breeze shifted the curtains and brought her uneven voice to him. He smiled as she strangled one particularly high note.
He knocked on her screen door, and she peeked around the corner of her kitchen. Her dark red curls, dampened with perspiration, clung to her neck and forehead. Max could see a glow to her skin even through the screen mesh. In his mind, he knew it was due to the heat of the day and her kitchen. His hormones had different ideas. They were positive she would look just like this after sex. Hot, wet, messy sex. The ball of lust that had gathered in the pit of his stomach curled tighter. Heat singed a path to his cock as he grew harder.
She smiled. “Come on in. Just getting the enchiladas in the oven. I think I’ll have to turn on the AC.”
He opened the door and stepped into her foyer. As always, the color explosion in her home momentarily stunned him. Why, he didn’t know. Anna surrounded herself with color at all times.
Golds, reds, and purples graced every corner of her home. Knickknacks littered the surface of the tables and were outdone only by her many framed photos. Most were pictures of the two of them. The clutter should have driven him crazy since he liked everything in its proper place. But the dizzying array of furniture, art, and odd little “discoveries”—as she liked to call them—was completely innate to Anna. Her house would look as if a stranger lived there without it. It just looked right. Probably because he’d always seen Anna as a kaleidoscope of mesmerizing colors.
“Hey, Max, could you shut the windows in the living room?”
“No problem.”
Max set the wine he’d brought on the table in the hallway and closed the many windows in the living room and dining room. Even though it was small, he liked her house.
A long group of windows added light and a feeling of openness to the living area. The view of the woods behind her house just reinforced the homey feel. Anna, being who she was, used every bit of space in the place. If there was a corner, she had something in it. Be it a bookcase, table, or beanbag chair, Anna made sure it wasn’t wasted.
Max walked into the kitchen to find it empty. The temperature jumped about ten degrees from the stove and oven, and the scent of cumin, peppers, and onions filled the air. Here, there wasn’t much clutter.
Long counters were organized and clean for work. When she’d bought the house, she’d spent a fortune to have the entire kitchen redone. Marble counters, wooden floors, and only the best appliances would do. The one kind of plant Anna could seem to keep alive was herbs, which she grew in pots on the windowsill in her kitchen. Anna’s steps sounded on the stairs, and he knew she’d run to shut the upstairs windows.
He slipped around the corner to grab his wine and returned to the kitchen. Anna walked in as he searched for a corkscrew in her kitchen drawers.
“Forget the wine tonight, Max.” She moved toward the stove and fussed with the rice.
Her skirt brushed the top of his shoe. Anna liked full broomstick skirts with lots of color and spandex T-shirts one size too small. Like the one she was wearing at the moment. The red fabric cupped each breast tightly. Blood rushed to his groin at the sight of her taut nipples beneath the spandex. Her scent, sweet and infinitely Anna, mixed with the aroma of the hot spices she was working with. Drawing in a deep breath, Max felt his head spin. He knew she would taste like that. Sugar with a bit of bite.
Lord have mercy.
