The last time she’d been to the neighborhood, she’d parked two houses down, out of line of sight and beyond a pool of lamplight. It had been night. She’d been there to steal in and out. Nothing had gone as planned.
This morning, however, she’d been invited. She parked behind his Cadillac, blocking him in as if afraid he’d run away. Bud Traynor run? She was sure he’d never done it in his life, despite what Cameron theorized about the man’s abusive childhood.
She slammed the car door. It was Friday, a work and school day. As it was getting close to seven, she didn’t fear waking up anyone. In fact, she hoped it ensured that Bud was out of bed and dressed. She ran, rain pelting her head and the shoulders of her blazer.
He answered in his bathrobe, a trick Cameron had predicted, but his hair was combed, his teeth polished to a gleaming white, and he smelled of shaving cream. He’d have been in the robe at ten as well. The lapels lay open, exposing a multi-shaded mat of gray chest hair complementing the hair on his head. He was a handsome man. Max doubted most women, or men for that matter, would see beyond the face, the grooming, and the cultured facade.
“Ah, Max. You’re wet.” He held out a hand, touched her elbow—she removed it from his grip—to bring her into the tiled hall. She wiped her feet on the front mat without thinking, then stopped herself. Polite rituals you’d perform in a friend’s house had no business here. Instead she brushed the droplets from her jacket to the floor, then ran careless fingers through her hair to smooth it.
“I was about to have breakfast, Max. You can join me.” A statement, not a question.
She could see straight down the hall and out through the backyard window. On the left, at the back of the house, there would be his elegant dining room, on the right, his state of the art kitchen. She’d stolen in that way the night she’d done a little B&E on his property.
“No,” she answered. No to breakfast and no to any shared intimacy assumed on his part.
“I’m only having toast and coffee. But I do have a delightful bran cereal, if you’d prefer, Max.” He tapped his stomach. “Keeps you fit and regular.”
“I only came to see the video.” Lance had been telling her something in that dream. She would find out no matter how many obstacles Bud threw in her way.
Still pleasant, he pushed her forward with a hand at the small of her back. “I must insist on breakfast, Max. Since you’re early.”
She looked over her shoulder to meet his gaze without allowing her eyes to drop to his body. “I told you not to touch me.”
“I know, Max. That’s why I do it.”
Of course. Barely beyond his touch, she moved ahead of him down that hall. She knew the lay of the downstairs, kitchen and dining room in the rear, living room, study and den in the front. Only four rooms, but huge. Upstairs was a mystery. It would remain that way no matter how much Bud pushed.
She’d never seen his home in daylight. The yard was green and lush, a pool steaming against the cool of the rain. Keeping tight to the house walls and in the dark on her last sojourn, she hadn’t paid attention to the manicured, immaculate surroundings.
“I have a hot tub, too. I’m sure you love a hot tub, don’t you, Max?”
She had. Until he mentioned his, and she imagined the things that went through the devil’s mind. “I like a bath. Alone. With a book.”
“How lonely for you, my lovely, darling Max.”
He pulled out a chair and gestured with his hand. She sat, pulled it in herself as he attempted to seat her. The kitchen was cold and damp, despite the subtle whir of forced air from overhead.
His robe flapped as he sat. Beneath the table, she was sure the garment had fallen open, a fact he neglected to correct. Bastard. He wouldn’t get to her, no matter what he did.
He pushed a plate of toast at her. “Eat, eat.” He waved a hand, then reached for the coffee pot between them to fill a second cup.
“You knew I’d come early.”
He smiled. “I prepared, Max, for whatever might happen between us.” The smile turned lascivious. “I showered and shaved, plucked the little annoying hairs out of my nose and ears, and changed the sheets on my bed.” He paused for impact. “And I shaved my balls. I wanted everything to be clean and smooth and perfect for you, Max.”
Ewwe . Yet, feeling anything but amused, she chuckled so he wouldn’t know his effect, and shook her head. “Your games don’t get to me, Bud. I know that’s all they are.” Taking the coffee mug he offered, she was proud that her fingers didn’t tremble. He scared her big time.
“I don’t play games, Max. Everything I do is with relentless intent.” He stared at her with those severe black eyes, and she knew it was the truest statement he’d ever made to her.