The usual disclaimers here. These characters aren’t mine. I just borrowed them for a little while. A special thanks to Toni, who gave valuable feedback and put up with much whining while I wrestled with this one.

Just What He Needs

by

Jan

As the limo maneuvered smoothly through the city streets, Maxwell looked over at his beautiful wife and drew in his breath. He was continually amazed at her. Her dark, sparkling eyes, her sensuous mouth that made his heart race each time it curved into that gorgeous smile, her silky skin that he would never tire of caressing—all were a constant reminder that he had to be the luckiest man on earth.

And it wasn’t just her outward beauty that he worshipped. How could he ever express how grateful he was that she had come knocking on his door? She had single-handedly brought them all back to life with her fire, her passion, her joie de vivre. She had appeared just at the moment he had needed her most, and he shuddered to think what his life might be without her. No, lucky didn’t begin to describe it.

Especially when he thought of how long she had waited for him to make a commitment to her. He felt tears stinging his eyes as he thought of how many times he had come close to losing her just because of his stupid fears. He really didn’t deserve her. The only explanation he could think of was that, surely, they were meant to be.

He quickly wiped away the wetness at the corners of his eyes. Fran glanced over at him and caught him with one of those looks on his face. The kind that synthesized all the powerful emotions one man could possibly feel for a woman. He couldn’t speak. Hell, he could barely breathe. She gave him a sweet smile and reached up to touch his cheek tenderly. "I know," she said. "I love you, too."

Just then, the limo glided to a stop and Max gathered himself enough to step out and then reach his hand back to help Fran. He felt a quick rush of adrenalin as she slipped her arm through his and they walked through the front door of the banquet hall. He always loved the moment when he entered a room full of people with Fran on his arm. People would turn and stop what they were saying or slightly lift an eyebrow in admiration of the breathtaking woman who stood next to him. Max looked over at her, his eyes full of pride. She was absolutely stunning, and she was his. Indeed, he was a lucky man.

"Tell me again who these people are," Fran said under her breath leaning her head toward him and flashing that million-dollar smile all around.

"They are very wealthy people here to pat themselves on the back for contributing to the new children’s library," Max explained to her again. He smiled and waved to a silver-haired gentleman across the way.

Fran turned and looked at Maxwell surprised. "Then what are you doing here? This isn’t your style, making a big show out of your charity work."

Max smiled and nodded as a round, bald man raised his glass toward him. "No, but hanging around rich, generous people is my style, darling. In fact, it’s a very important part of my work."

"And you schlepped me along because. . ."

"Because you’re my wife now, and you’re beautiful and charming and have been known to do your share of schmoozing on occasion."

"Ahh, I get it," she nodded.

Just then, the silver-haired gentleman started heading toward them. On his arm was a very elegant woman dressed in a gorgeous Todd Oldham evening gown. When Fran saw them approaching, she leaned over to Max. "Sweetie, do you know this man coming toward us?"

Max looked up and instantly plastered a smile on his face. Quickly, he whispered, "That’s Everett Jenkins, one of the wealthiest shipping tycoons in New York. He made his money the old-fashioned way—he married it, and he loves giving it away. I’m counting on him to fork over a hefty chunk of it for my new play."

Everett Jenkins extended his hand and Max grasped it in a firm handshake. "Max, good to see you again."

"Thank you, Everett, how are you?"

"Fine. And who is this lovely young woman with you tonight?"

"Everett, I’d like you to meet my wife Fran." Fran bestowed on Mr. Jenkins one of her most engaging smiles as she reached out her hand. He placed a charming kiss on the back of it as suddenly, Fran’s eyes narrowed and she began staring at him. It was obvious she was trying to figure out where she’d seen him before.

Ignoring Fran’s expression, Everett said to Max, "Yes, I’d heard that you had recently remarried." Then to Fran, "A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Sheffield. And may I present my wife Emily?"

Max took Mrs. Jenkins’ hand in both of his and held it graciously. He waited for Fran to greet the gentleman’s wife, but she just stood staring at Everett. Finally, Max nudged her. "Darling, Mrs. Jenkins."

"Oh, I’m sorry. Hello," stammered Fran. She shook Mrs. Jenkins’ hand, but continued to look curiously at Everett. After an awkward moment, Fran finally spoke up. "I’m sorry, Mr. Jenkins, but you look so familiar. Have we met somewhere before?"

"I’m sure we haven’t," he stated rather dismissively through a practiced smile.

"Yeah, I never forget a face. I know I’ve seen you somewhere—"

Max started to panic. He remembered exactly where they had seen Everett Jenkins before, and he knew he had to steer the conversation in a different direction. "Everett, congratulations on the children’s library. It’s truly a wonderful endeavor, and I’m sure your foundation is quite proud of their part in it."

"Thank you, Max. Now I don’t suppose you know of any new projects I might be able to invest in?" he smiled knowingly.

"As a matter of fact, my production company is always looking for new—"

"I’ve got it!" shouted Fran. "It was last week at that little Italian restaurant on 66^th. What was it? Marco’s? You were at the table next to us. I knew I’d seen you before. Could you believe that chicken marsala? Was it to die for or what? But, you know, I thought the salad had way too much spinach in it—sorta did a little number on the old intestines, if ya know what I mean," she said with a wink.

Max started stuttering, willing anything to come out of his mouth and halt Fran’s babbling. It was bad enough she was carrying on mindlessly about the food, but Max was petrified she would bring up—

"And you," Fran said pointing to Mrs. Jenkins. "I guess I didn’t recognize you because you changed your hair color. Was that a blond wig you had on last week, or did you dye it already? Ya know, I think both colors really work for you."

A cold glare was the only response from Emily Jenkins. Thinking the woman must not like divulging any of her beauty secrets, Fran turned to Mr. Jenkins. "What about you, Mr. Jenkins? Which look do you like better, the blond or the brunette?"

At that point, Max just about choked on his own air. Fran felt his fingers tightening their grip on her upper arm and she looked over at him only to see the vein in his temple pulsing as he strained to keep the smile on his face.

"Darling, I believe I see that our table is ready. Mrs. Jenkins, excuse us, won’t you? Everett, shall I send the information on my new play to your office?"

Mr. Jenkins cleared his throat. "I’m afraid I’ll be out of town for the next several weeks," he stated curtly as he turned to go.

Fran waved at them as Max pushed her toward their table. "Nice meeting you," she called to their disappearing backs. Then she looked at Max. "Sweetie, what’s the matter? Did I say something wrong? I told her she looked good both ways. Why are you so upset?"

Max stayed silent until they were seated. He took a huge breath and finally said in the most pleasant tone he could muster, "I’m not upset, darling. I just need a scotch. A very large one."

"What do you mean you’re not upset? That vein is about to explode out the side of your head. I told her she looked good as a blond."

"Which would have been a very nice thing to say if the blond last week had been Mrs. Jenkins."

Fran’s mouth formed an "O" as her eyebrows shot up. "I guess he does prefer the blond look," she declared wide-eyed. Then she looked apologetically at Max. "I’m sorry, honey, but how was I supposed to know? I mean, if he’s gonna mess around on his wife, what’s he doing taking his girlfriend to a restaurant right out in public like that?"

Max just looked at her, unable to mask his irritation. Why did she have to be so damned naïve and candid about it at the same time? It was a lethal combination.

Sounding as though he were explaining something to a child, Max said, "Marco’s is often frequented by wealthy men and their"—he searched for the right word—"dates. It’s intimate and out of the way, and the staff there is very discreet."

"Why do you want to do business with such a dishonest person?" she asked.

"I do business with him because he has lots of money. Whether or not he’s faithful to his wife has nothing to do with it."

"It has everything to do with it. It says something about his character. Do you want to be associated with someone like that?"

"What? Now, darling, you’re making more out of this than there is."

"And you’re not making enough out of it. You act like it’s no big deal, and everyone else should just go along with it."

"I didn’t say that. It’s just that in my line of work, I run into it quite often. And if I’m going to get these men to trust me enough to invest in my shows, I have to accept it and keep their little secret."

Fran sat there thinking about what Max had just told her. She thought back to the near fling Sylvia had with that doctor and the way Max had initially reacted to that. He had brushed it all off by saying that he was European, and that sort of thing was more accepted there.

Max was just glad that she was being quiet for now. The waiter approached their table.

"Now, darling, what would you like to drink?" Max asked her, appearing somewhat calmer and thankful for the distraction.

"How many of them do it?" Fran asked.

Max rolled his eyes and then turned to the waiter. "One pink squirrel, please, and a scotch rocks, and make it a double." He turned back to Fran and saw that she was still waiting for his answer.

"I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve taken a survey or anything."

"Take a guess. How many of the men in these blue blood circles of yours have a little action going on the side?"

"Oh, I don’t know, probably at least half of them."

Fran’s jaw dropped. "Half? I can’t believe that! Why?"

"Sweetheart, could we please talk about this another time? I really don’t think this is the time or the place to be discussing it."

"Just answer my question, and then I’ll let it go. Why do they do it?"

Max took an exasperated breath. He could see that she was not going to drop it until he answered her. "Well, I suppose many men feel they must marry women who are a good match for them socially, but then look for, you know, entertainment elsewhere. Now, can we please drop this?"

Fran looked around the room at all the elegant, high-class women and immediately felt sorry for them. How did it feel, she wondered, to realize that your husband wanted and needed more than you could possibly give him?

Just then, Fran and Max saw another distinguished couple heading toward their table. Max leaned over to her and whispered hurriedly, "Now, please, darling, be careful what you say. This is Edward Marsden, the software developer. He has shown some interest in backing my play. Let’s not spoil it."

Fran whispered back, "Is that his wife with him or. . ."

Max shot to his feet and extended his hand to Mr. Marsden. After the exchange of pleasantries and they were all seated, Max and Edward began discussing the software business and Fran just sat there quietly trying to look as though she were enjoying herself. The men’s conversation was boring her to tears, but she really had nothing to contribute and besides, she was terrified of making another faux pas. Soon their dinner was served, and Fran was glad to have something to occupy her.

Finally, Mrs. Mardsen spoke up. "This terra miseu is simply delicious."

"Isn’t it?" Fran replied. Then she thought to herself, "Boy, that was brilliant." She started to comment that she had tasted better at Marco’s, but stopped herself just in time.

"So, Sheffield," Edward Marsden said, "tell me about this new play you’re mounting. I’ve been hearing good things about it."

Max literally lit up as he launched into a brief description of the play as well as the actors he had lined up to star. Mr. Marsden listened with rapt attention, and Max became more and more excited as he talked. Fran watched him impressed. He really was good at what he did, she thought proudly.

Then the band began playing, and Fran saw Mrs. Marsden throw a little sideways glance at her husband. Edward spoke up, "You’ll have to excuse us. My wife and I would like to take advantage of this wonderful music to have a turn around the dance floor."

Max said, "That sounds like a superb idea. Darling?"

The two couples moved on out to the dance floor, and Fran breathed a sigh of relief as Max wrapped her in his embrace and they began to move to the music. Here she felt comfortable, like she belonged. As long as she was in Max’s arms, everything was fine.

After a few minutes, Max looked at her and smiled. "See, sweetheart, that wasn’t so hard, was it?"

"What?"

"Having a pleasant dinner conversation?"

"I guess not," she said. Then she thought to herself, "As long as I keep my mouth shut and let you do all the talking."

After a few more dances and a couple of boring speeches about the children’s library, Fran and Max decided to call it an evening. As they prepared to leave, Fran looked at Max and was glad to see that he appeared to have forgotten the earlier fiasco with Everett Jenkins. He looked relaxed and happy that he seemed to have scored some major points with Edward Marsden. She recalled the look on his face when Mr. Marsden had asked him to send information about investing to his office first thing Monday.

Fran and Max stood outside waiting for the limo to be brought around. Max looked at Fran and couldn’t resist the urge to bend down and give her a sweet kiss. Although it had gotten off to a rocky start, the evening had ended wonderfully. He couldn’t help thinking about how much nicer it was to have Fran with him at these affairs rather than coming alone or with C.C. as he had done for so many years, although there were moments, he knew, when her rough edges appeared rather too rough in comparison to the other guests. He pushed that thought aside as he saw the limo round the corner.

The limo pulled up and Max opened the door for Fran. As she was getting in, Max turned and saw Edward Marsden, who had stepped outside to enjoy a cigar. Max started to wave when he saw that Marsden was deep in conversation with—oh, God, Everett Jenkins. Suddenly, the warm feeling Max had about the evening dissipated. If the two men compared notes about their experiences that night, he could just kiss Edward Marsden’s investment good-bye. Max and just about everyone else knew that Marsden and his "date" frequented Marco’s regularly. Max’s mood instantly shifted one hundred eighty degrees. He climbed into the limo and shut the door, letting out a long, slow breath.

On the way home, Fran couldn’t help but notice the change in Max’s mood. She tried snuggling up to him. He smiled weakly and put his arm around her, but went back to staring out the window. Knowing how Max tended to keep his feelings bottled up, she knew better than to push him. She had an idea of just how to take care of his sour mood. Although she might not be the sophisticated wife he always needed in public, she sure as hell could be the comfort he wanted in the bedroom.

They arrived to a quiet house, with everyone else having already turned in for the night. The two climbed the stairs without conversation, both being a bit tired from the evening’s activities. While they changed for bed, Fran noticed that Max still had that preoccupied look on his face. As she lay back on the satin sheets, she watched her husband finish getting ready for bed. She was thankful for these moments they had alone together. No children to worry about, no work to get done, no upper crust acquaintances to schmooze. They could let the rest of the world just drift away and concentrate on each other. All she had to do was get his mind off whatever was concerning him, and he was all hers, and that was just the way she liked him.

Max slid beneath the covers, turned out the light, and reached over to give her a quick peck on the lips. As he laid his head back on his pillow, he had a million thoughts deluging his brain. What if Everett Jenkins convinced Edward Marsden not to back his play? What if he told him that Maxwell Sheffield and his new wife couldn’t be trusted? Trust was the most important element in getting people to invest. If word got around that Max wasn’t trustworthy, his business was sunk.

Fran inched over and started placing seductive kisses on Max’s neck. Her hand began caressing his chest, working its way slowly down to his stomach. Max couldn’t bring himself to respond. He was too worried about his business future, and he had to repress the urge to blame Fran. He loved her so much, and he loved being married to her, but this could turn into a huge problem. As his wife, she would have to accompany him to these high-class affairs, and who knew what she might say to embarrass him and scare off the people he depended on for his success?

Just as all these thoughts were swirling around in Max’s head, Fran’s hand reached its intended destination and began languidly stroking him. "Oh, God," he thought, "not tonight—not with all these distractions on my mind."

"Sweetheart, I’m really tired tonight. Do you mind if we just go to sleep?"

Fran continued her ministrations. Between kisses, she said, "No, honey, I don’t mind." Her mouth began a trail of kisses down his neck and across his chest, pausing briefly for her tongue to pay particular attention to each nipple. Her hand never stopped its motion.

"Come on, Fran. I have to get up—"

"I know. That’s the idea," she said in that low, seductive voice of hers.

"No, I mean it. . ."

His words stopped the moment her mouth took over what her hand had been doing. The only thing Max could manage at that point was a deep growl.

"Please, darling, don’t. . .

"Don’t what?"

She took him fully in her mouth and instinctively his hands reached down to hold each side of her head encouragingly. "Don’t. . . stop."

Fran smiled to herself. There was no way she was going to stop anyway. It was just nice to have him voice his support. She knew just what it took to make him relax and forget his worries. He needed her and the tremendous love she had for him in every way that she could show it.

Max’s groaning became louder, and Fran could tell that he was getting close. The sounds coming out of him and the way his body responded to her turned her on so much that she was about to that point herself. In one smooth motion, she moved up and swiftly impaled herself on him. The cries that tore from their throats blended together, and Max opened his eyes to watch the beautiful, dark-haired vixen above him take them both to ecstasy. His hands encircled her waist and he clamped her body to his as they rode the waves together.

As she descended from her high, Fran collapsed on Max’s chest, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her sweetly. They waited together for their breathing to slow. Then Max felt a tiny drop of moisture on his shoulder, and he wondered what could make her weep.

"Sweetheart?"

She raised her head just enough for her water-filled eyes to lock onto his. Her beautiful face was flush with emotion, and she couldn’t speak. He gave her the slightest of sweet smiles and brought his hand up to brush his thumb tenderly across her cheek. "I know," he whispered. "I love you, too."

*****************

Max paced back and forth in the foyer waiting for Fran to finish getting ready for the Davissons’ dinner party. He was so nervous, he couldn’t keep from wringing his hands. He knew she would look absolutely stunning, and he would be so proud to have her by his side at the party, although he secretly hoped her dress was at least somewhat demure. On the one hand, he loved the admiring looks all the men gave his wife, but on the other, he didn’t want her to look as though she were—well, selling something.

"I’m ready, sweetie," Fran called as she started down the stairs.

Max looked up and breathed a sigh of relief. High neckline, long sleeves, snug enough to flatter her gorgeous body but not too snug. She looked absolutely breathtaking, as usual, and very classy. The silver blue color set off her dark hair and eyes beautifully, and her hair was swept softly off her neck with tiny tendrils framing her face. As she stepped down the last two stairs, Max moved toward her and placed a tender kiss on her cheek. "Darling, you look absolutely beautiful tonight. That dress is very becoming."

"Ya like? I wasn’t sure it was really me."

"I love it. And I love you very much." Max placed her wrap gently around her shoulders and they headed out the front door. In the limo, Max wavered before bringing up the matter that had been weighing on him all day. Finally, he spoke up. "Darling, you know this party is very important to me. I hope to make an impression on some people who might possibly be persuaded to invest in my show. So. . ."

"I know, so don’t say anything to embarrass you," Fran sighed.

"Well, I wasn’t going to say that. I just thought in order to avoid any uncomfortable scenes like at the children’s library banquet, we might review a few topics that shouldn’t be brought up."

"For instance?" Fran looked at him with an eyebrow cocked.

"Well, extra-marital affairs comes to mind right off the bat. And anything having to do with the digestive system, your family, your. . ."

"Ok, ok, I get the point." She smiled at him reassuringly. "Don’t worry, honey, I won’t say anything to embarrass you."

Max breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, sweetheart. Now, have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?"

"Yes, honey, and you don’t have to keep saying it just to smooth over your nagging."

"I’m not nagging you, darling. I just want you to have a good time this evening and not feel ill at ease. You know, some of those people can be quite snobbish."

Just then, the limo pulled up in front of the Davisson mansion. As they got out, Fran couldn’t help but notice how nervous Max appeared. She watched him straighten his tie for the tenth time, run his fingers through his hair, and fumble with his cuff links, all during the short walk between the car and the front door. "Calm down, sweetie," she said. "You’re making me nervous."

He tossed her a crooked little half-smile as they walked up the steps. William and Helen Davisson were just inside to greet them. "Maxwell, thank you for coming," William said as he shook Max’s hand warmly. "And this must be your beautiful new wife everyone’s been talking about," he said smiling at Fran.

Max swallowed hard at that remark and stammered, "Y-Yes, allow me to introduce my lovely wife Fran."

Fran smiled charmingly and said, "Hello," as she shook both their hands. "What a lovely home you have."

"Thank you, dear," said Mrs. Davission. "Do come in." Fran and Max moved on in to mingle with the other guests.

"So far, so good," Fran quipped, smiling teasingly at Max. She glanced up at him and saw that he still had a furrowed brow to go along with his forced smile. "Oh, would you calm down?" she said.

Max looked around the room, nodding his head in acknowledgment as he recognized several acquaintances. "I’m as calm as I can be, sweetheart, when the host has just informed me that everyone has been talking about you."

"Look on the bright side, honey, now I won’t have to do my strip tease after dinner just to get people to remember my name." Max shot her a look of alarm. "Kidding!" she said.

Then Max turned to shake hands with two men from the directors’ guild. As she stood there watching her husband turn on the charm for his society acquaintances, Fran began to think that maybe this problem was a little more complex than she had originally thought. Max was still so jumpy in spite of her efforts to reassure him or make light of it. His edgy demeanor indicated that there was more to it than just making sure she avoided embarrassing topics at parties. Obviously, he had some serious concerns about her ability to fit into his high-class circles. And maybe he feared that she would drag him down to her level, which would spell disaster for his business. His business was his life—he would never be able to forgive her. "This cannot be good," she thought, "no matter how much he loves me."

She looked over at him and saw that his face had lost its worried expression as he became wrapped up in the engaging conversation with the two gentlemen. She just stood there next to him, trying to appear interested while feeling like a—she searched for the right word—an ornament. "Oh, well," she thought. "My looks have always served me well. I might as well use them to help my husband."

She smiled at the guests who walked by and even winked in response to one gentleman’s admiring leer. After a few minutes, Max suddenly noticed she was still standing there. "Oh, I’m sorry, darling. Where are my manners? This is Mike Stevens and David Perkins from the Directors’ Guild. Gentlemen, my wife Fran."

Fran shook both their hands and smiled charmingly as she said, "Nice to meet you both."

The two men then moved on to mingle with other guests. Soon, a waiter came by with a tray full of drinks. Max took two and handed one to Fran. As she took a sip, she watched him over the rim of her glass and couldn’t help but notice how much calmer he looked than just a few minutes before. He was in his element now. Unfortunately, she was completely out of hers. The best she could do for her husband, she realized, was just smile, look pretty, and keep her mouth shut.

The rest of the evening went smoothly as Fran fell into her newly found role. Dinner was delicious, and the conversation was engaging. Mostly, Fran just smiled, laughed in the right places, and kept her comments to herself. At one point, she did start to say something, but before she could get it out of her mouth, Max jumped in with one of his Kaye Ballard stories, and the opportunity was lost.

As they climbed into the limo for the ride home, Max leaned back in his seat with a satisfied sigh. "Well, that was a very pleasant evening, wasn’t it, darling?"

"Yes," she agreed.

"I must say, though, that you seemed a bit quiet tonight after we got there. Are you feeling all right?"

"Yes, just a little tired, I guess." She smiled at him weakly and let out a long sigh. Hadn’t he noticed how hard she had tried to be a proper society wife? Didn’t he appreciate the fact that she had just spent an entire evening being someone other than herself?

Max leaned back with a satisfied smile. "You know, I think I made quite an impression on a couple of very important potential backers. All in all, I’d say it was quite a successful evening." He reached over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, sweetheart."

"For what?"

"For being wonderful and supportive in helping me schmooze the right people."

"I didn’t really do anything."

"You did exactly what needed to be done."

Fran turned to look out the window so Max couldn’t see the lone tear that threatened to escape down her cheek. Her role in Maxwell’s social and business life was becoming crystal clear to her. She loved him so much, and she wanted to be the best wife she could be for him. And if that meant being a speechless, brainless ornament hanging off his arm, that’s exactly what she would be.

****************

"Knock, knock, sweetie," Fran said as she came breezing into Max’s office. "What are you still doing up?"

Max glanced up at her as he finished the calculations in front of him. "I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I really need to finish going over the budget for this new play. I’m afraid that so far, there’s just not enough in there to cover all the costs." Max blew out an exasperated breath as he took stock of the backers he had lined up. Everett Jenkins and Edward Marsden had both backed out. Luckily, he had picked up two at the Davisson’s dinner party, but neither was quite as generous as he had hoped. All he could do now was pray that the upcoming backers’ party he and C.C. were planning would garner enough investors to put them over the top, or this play would simply never happen.

Fran came and stood behind his chair. She placed her hands on his shoulders and began massaging, trying to rub away his tension. "But, sweetie, lack of sleep isn’t going to solve your budget problems. You need to come to bed now."

Max tossed his pencil down on his desk. "You’re right, darling. I have a full day tomorrow. I really need my rest." She took his hand and led him out of the office, turning out the light on her way.

They climbed into bed and Max rolled over and took her in his arms. His kisses told her how much he needed her warmth and comfort, and she was thrilled to provide whatever it was he needed from her. "Sweetie, why don’t you turn over on your stomach and let me finish that massage. You’ll never get to sleep while you’re still so tense."

Max smiled at her. How was it that she could always read him so well and know exactly what he needed? He rolled over, and Fran began her tender ministrations. She worked her hands gently but firmly over the muscles in his shoulders and then slowly down his back. As she continued, she could feel the tightness slowly easing. After a few minutes, she could tell by the rhythm of his breathing that he had drifted off to sleep. She kissed his cheek and whispered, "Sleep well, my love," and settled down on her side of the bed.

Soon after Fran had fallen asleep herself, she awoke with a start. Max’s screams filled the room, and Fran shot up to turn on the light. As she leaned back over to wake him from his nightmare, she had to rear her head back quickly to avoid his fist, which was flailing wildly through the air. "Oh, God," she thought. "Not that nightmare again."

"Honey, honey, wake up," she coaxed. Max’s eyes were clinched shut and his jaw was set in determination. "Maxwell, it’s me," she screamed at him. His eyes shot open. He looked around still in a panic until his eyes landed on her. It took him a few seconds to recognize her and realize where he was. Then he grabbed her and held her tightly to him, willing his breathing to slow. She held him close as she whispered, "It’s ok, it’s ok," soothingly into his ear. "I’m right here."

Finally, he lifted his head from her shoulder and looked at her with traces of the panic he had just experienced still lingering in his eyes. "I’m all right now," he assured her. "Thank you, sweetheart, for being here for me."

Fran looked into his face searchingly. "It was the mugging again, wasn’t it?" He nodded. "Sweetie, are you starting to see a pattern here? Every time you go to sleep upset about business, you have a nightmare reliving the mugging behind the Ambassador Theater. It’s like all your fears are wrapped up in that one incident. Maybe you should go see Dr. Miller. Maybe he could help."

Max gave her a tender kiss. "I’ve got all the help I need right here in my arms." He kissed her again. "I’m fine now, darling. Let’s get some sleep."

Fran turned out the light and settled back down to sleep. She slid over and rested her head on Max’s chest as she wrapped her arm around him. He kissed the top of her head and draped his arm around her. She hoped that holding him in her arms while he slept would prevent any more bad dreams.

She worried about him as she lay there trying to figure out the source of his nightmares. How in the world was his subconscious tying his business worries to the mugging he had suffered the night he proposed to her?

Suddenly, it struck her, and her hand came up instinctively to clutch at her heart. The connection was her. He had feared falling in love with her— he fought it for five years. He had feared marrying her—their differences were so extreme. And in his mind, that night represented the beginning of his commitment to her. Now he was stuck with her, and he was terrified that she could bring down the business he had worked his whole life to build.

The nightmare was frightening enough by itself—the muggers had beaten him and threatened his life. But more than that, it was the culmination of all his fears about her. She couldn’t help the flow of tears that spilled down her cheeks at her realization. She took the edge of the sheet and wiped away the drops that had spilled onto Max’s chest as it rose and fell evenly with his breathing. Heartbroken, she rolled over onto her side of the bed. It would be hours before her swirling mind would allow sleep to overtake it.

*****************

Max sat at his desk looking over some papers. He stifled a yawn and rubbed his right eye with the heel of his hand. God, he was exhausted. He didn’t even want to think about how little sleep he had gotten the night before. The nightmare—again. Thankfully this time, at least, he hadn’t awakened Fran. He remembered waking suddenly in a cold sweat with his heart pounding. He had looked around the room expecting to see the muggers standing over his bed, but instead only found his beautiful wife sleeping peacefully next to him. He had thought about waking her up so she could comfort him back to sleep. Nothing in the world made him feel better than having her arms around him. But she looked so beautiful lying there—like an angel, he remembered thinking. No, he couldn’t wake her. So he just lay there for hours, praying for sleep but terrified it would bring on the nightmare again.

Just then, C.C. came breezing into Max’s office. "Maxwell, I checked with Benson’s, and their private dining room is available on the sixteenth and the eighteenth. Which date do you want to reserve it for the backers’ party?"

Max flipped through the pages of his day planner. He saw that he had jotted down "Fine Arts Fair at Gracie’s school" on the sixteenth. Gracie’s violin ensemble was going to perform a few numbers that evening, and he hated to miss it. He started to tell C.C. to schedule the party for the eighteenth when a sudden thought struck him. If the party were the same night as the fair, Fran would have to. . . "No," he thought to himself, "I can’t do that—it would be. . ." But the financing for this new play was still on very shaky ground. Besides, he had seen Gracie perform many times; surely she would understand as long as she had at least one parent there to support her.

As he sat there wavering, C.C. became impatient. "Well? The sixteenth or the eighteenth?" He hesitated another moment. Fran had done really well at the Davissons’ dinner party—no inappropriate comments, no social missteps. But, could he count on her to behave at this next party? With Fran, he never really knew what would come out of her mouth.

"The sixteenth looks good. Go ahead and book it," he said slamming his day planner closed. Immediately, a wave of guilt washed over him. He felt just awful. But, damn it! There was too much riding on this backers’ party. If they were going to get the money they needed, it would have to be just him and C.C. working as a team without any distractions. Just like they had always done before Fran—he stopped himself before finishing that thought. He went back to the contracts he had been reading and prayed there wouldn’t be hell to pay later.

A few minutes later, Fran came sauntering into his office. "Knock, knock, sweetie. I just wanted to let you know that I’m going out for a while. I’m taking Gracie shopping for a new dress to wear to the Fine Arts Fair. You didn’t forget about that, did you? I told you to write it on your calendar for the sixteenth."

Max shot a sudden look at C.C., who sat on the green loveseat with a look of mild shock on her face. Thankfully, Fran’s back was to her. Max cleared his throat nervously. "I wrote it down, sweetheart, but I can’t make any promises. That’s going to be a very busy week for me."

"But, Maxwell, Gracie will be so disappointed if you’re not there."

"I’ll do my best. Now, is there anything else?"

"No, honey. I’ll see you later," Fran said as she skirted Max’s desk to give him a quick good-bye kiss.

C.C. waited for Fran to leave. "So, what was that about?"

"What was what about?" Max asked nonchalantly as he shuffled some papers around on his desk.

C.C. suddenly realized the value of not looking a gift horse in the mouth. Not only would Nanny Fine’s absence at the backers’ party prevent any more embarrassing scenes, it would give her and Max a chance to work their magic on those rich old coots together just like old times. No interference from you-know-who. It looked to C.C. as though Maxwell was finally coming to his senses about Nanny Fine. "Nothing," she said. "I’ll call Benson’s and book the room."

***************

Fran sat at the kitchen table as she hung up the phone from talking to her mother. She sighed heavily. The Fine Arts Fair the night before had been very nice. Gracie’s violin ensemble had played beautifully, and Fran was so proud of her—she just wished she could have shared her parental pride with Max. But she knew the backers’ party had been really important to him, and she had been so happy for him when he had come home telling her what a success it had been. Five new major backers, and a host of smaller ones. It appeared as though this new play was going to become a reality after all.

Maybe it was better that she hadn’t gone with Max to the backers’ party, she thought to herself. She hated that they had to spend last evening apart, but she might have said something to offend a potential backer, and Max would have gotten upset with her again. And it didn’t take a genius to make the connection between her absence and the party’s success. Besides, not going at all was better than having to spend an evening pretending to be one of those wives she had seen at the children’s library banquet.

She hated the weeks right before one of Max’s plays opened. He was so busy they rarely had any time for just the two of them. And whenever they were together, if seemed there were just too many distractions for them to really connect. If C.C. wasn’t talking business with him, one of the kids needed something.

If they went out to one of his elegant parties, she was so caught up in playing the role of the blue blood wife, she felt as though the real Fran wasn’t even there. Once during a party, she had stepped into the ladies’ room and caught her reflection in the mirror. It had taken her a few seconds to recognize herself. The truth was that she was almost relieved that she hadn’t been able to attend the backers’ party. At least with Gracie at the Fine Arts Fair, she could just be herself. She smiled as she thought back to that day at the dinner table when a six-year-old Gracie had said, "You could never embarrass me, Fran." Would she ever hear those words from her husband?

But it seemed as though their differences melted away when it was just the two of them—that’s when they were at their best. Fran had a sudden and intense need to have some time alone with her husband. Just then, she saw Niles place the last of Max’s lunch on a tray. "Wait a minute, Niles," Fran said. "Would you mind doing me a favor? Take that stuff off of the tray and set up a nice lunch here in the kitchen for me and Max. I’m gonna go talk him into taking a little break and spending some time with me." She gave Niles a quick wink as she stood and went skipping out of the kitchen.

As she approached the office door, Fran overheard C.C. "You know, Maxwell, it’s a good thing you chose last night for the backers’ party. They’re predicting a terrible storm for tomorrow. Who knows how many guests we would have had. We might have even had to cancel."

Fran stopped dead in her tracks in the doorway. C.C.’s statement hit her like a ton of bricks. Max had chosen last night for the party. Suddenly, it all became crystal clear to her, and her heart sank.

Without looking up from his desk, Max said, "Yes, the whole evening was a stroke of luck all the way around, wasn’t it?" The significance of his statement was not lost on Fran. Just then he glanced up and saw her standing there. The look on her face told him that she knew—knew he had manipulated her, knew that he had lied to her, and knew why he had done it. Regret didn’t begin to describe his feelings upon seeing the hurt in those gorgeous brown eyes. He jumped out of his chair and flew around his desk. "Darling, come on in," he stammered, trying to hide the panic in his voice. He ran over to her and reached out to grasp her hand. "Was there something you wanted?"

Fran stood glued to her spot. She felt her throat tighten as she reeled at the thoughts and emotions deluging her brain. Finally, she managed to say, "It can wait."

"No, no, come on in. C.C. and I were just finishing up here. I was thinking that you and I could have some lunch together," he said, hoping his smile appeared genuine.

She stared at him with eyes that confessed the ache in her heart and pulled her hand from his. "I already ate," she stated flatly as she turned and left his office.

Max just stood there staring after her. He hadn’t seen such hurt in her eyes since he had taken back the thing. He ran his fingers through his hair and moaned, "Oh, God." He loved her so much, and it killed him to hurt her like that. What the hell had he been thinking? He had known when he married her that she wasn’t like those other society wives, and now here he was expecting her to be poised and sophisticated whenever it suited his needs?

How could he make her understand why he had done it? Hell, he wasn’t completely sure himself. He needed some time to think, and obviously she needed some time to calm down. Max decided he’d talk to her after dinner. He’d apologize and beg her forgiveness.

Max turned and slowly walked back over behind his desk. He plopped down in his chair as he spoke in a low tone, "That’s all for today, C.C. I’ll see you tomorrow." He didn’t look up at her.

C.C. knew better than to argue or comment. She gathered her things and silently slipped out of the room. Max picked up Fran’s picture from his desk and stared at it, mesmerized by her sparkling eyes and that smile that was positively luminous. There had been no glow about her just now—his actions and the hurt they had caused had extinguished it, and as he fought down the lump forming in his throat, he was hit with a huge wave of remorse for the loss of it.

***************

As Max sat down at the dinner table, he looked around at his three children, who seemed unusually quiet that evening. They could tell something serious was going on between their parents. Then Max looked over at Fran’s empty chair and let go a deep sigh. "Niles, did Fran mention any place she might go other than the park? It seems she’s been gone so long."

"No, sir, she simply said she needed some fresh air and some time to think, so she was going for a walk."

Max had been trying all day to figure out why he had tricked her out of going to the backers’ party with him. No matter how he rationalized it, her public demeanor came nowhere close to justifying his actions. The truth was that watching some of those haughty, self-important aristocrats squirm in response to Fran’s behavior was often a source of amusement to him. It helped him remember not to take himself and his business too seriously. After all, there were more important things in life, and Fran was a master at helping him maintain that balance. In fact, it was one of the main reasons he had fallen in love with her in the first place.

Just then they heard the front door and all of them tossed awkward glances toward each other. As Fran came strolling into the dining room, Max looked up at her and studied her face briefly. She appeared pleasant enough—if she was still mad at him, she showed no signs of it. "Hi, everybody. Sorry I’m late." She took her spot and reached over to give him a peck on the lips.

Max took a big breath and with relief in his voice said, "Darling, how was your walk?"

"Fine," she said without looking at him. Then she started asking Brighton about the English paper he was working on, and Maggie began talking about the new shoes she was wanting. Soon the dining-room banter sounded just like any other meal. Max kept glancing at Fran out of the corner of his eye as she chatted animatedly with the children, but he couldn’t detect any hint of the hurt she had shown earlier that afternoon in his office.

After Maggie, Brighton, and Gracie excused themselves, Max reached over and took her hand. "Sweetheart, why don’t we go out on the terrace for a little after-dinner drink?"

"What, you don’t have any business you have to rush off to? Ya mean, you can actually spend some time with me tonight?"

"Yes, darling, we can watch a movie or go out dancing—whatever you like. Just you and me."

Fran thought to herself, "Yeah, whatever I like, as long as it’s just the two of us and I can’t embarrass you in front of anyone."

Patting his hand, she said, "That sounds great, sweetie, but let’s start with that drink." She had a few questions she needed answers for. They got up and walked through Max’s office and out onto the terrace. Niles appeared with a bottle and two stemmed glasses, and then disappeared just as quickly. Fran stood staring up into the night sky as Max poured their drinks. He came up behind her, set their glasses down on the table, and slid his arms around her waist, drawing her up against him. She laid her head back on his shoulder and relished the feeling of being wrapped up in his arms. He rested his cheek against her temple, breathing in her intoxicating scent.

"Max?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Why did you marry me?"

His head jerked up. "What kind of a question is that?" He spun her around and looked directly into her eyes. "I married you because I love you."

"I know you love me, but that doesn’t explain why you married me."

"Now, darling, we’ve been over all this before. I told you on our wedding day. I love your pizzazz, your fire, your passion. I love how you adore the children, the way they worship you…"

"Yeah," she interrupted him. "I heard all that before. It sorta loses its resonance the second time through. Like it’s just a little too rehearsed, if ya know what I mean. Like maybe you had to practice it a few times just to convince yourself."

"Fran," he said, looking desperately into her eyes. "When I told you those things, I was speaking from the heart. I didn’t have to convince myself of anything."

"Oh, yeah? Then why did it take you five years to propose?"

"I told you, darling, that was me and my problems. It had nothing to do with not wanting to marry you. I’m just so very grateful that you were willing to wait for me while I came to terms with all of that."

Fran really wanted to grill him about just what exactly he had to come to terms with. Marrying so beneath him? Living with a social blunder waiting to happen? What he would do for a living after she ruined his production company? She turned back around and took his hands in hers, wrapping his arms around her. Resting her head back on his shoulder, she drew the strength she needed to continue from the comfort of his encircling arms.

"Why did you take me to Marco’s?"

"What?"

"You said it was a place where wealthy men took their ‘dates.’" You know, the women they want for ‘entertainment’ but wouldn’t marry?"

"It’s not as though it’s off limits to anyone else. I took you there because it was close by and you were in the mood for Italian and their food is wonderful."

"And because you feel comfortable there with me?"

"I feel comfortable anywhere with you," he protested. She decided to let that one slide.

"Do I embarrass you?" she asked tentatively.

Max hesitated. He knew better than to even try to deceive her again. "Not really," he offered. She lifted her head from his shoulder and cocked it around to check his expression. The look on his face was way too sheepish for her to swallow that answer. "Ok, maybe just a little," he admitted. "Sometimes you say things that are a little. . ." he fumbled for the right words, "out of the ordinary."

"Maxwell, if you don’t want me coming to your fancy parties, just say the word," she stated.

Max took a deep breath. "Sweetheart," he said tenderly, "You have every right to be mad at me. I am so sorry I arranged the backers’ party so that you couldn’t attend. I don’t know what came over me. I was just so worried about the financing for this play, I let my fears overrule my better judgment. Please say you forgive me. I promise I will never do anything like that again."

"Sweetie, I’ve had a lot of time to think about it today, and I’m not mad. In fact, I understand completely. You had to do what you had to do for the sake of your play. I mean, it’s not like after that Elton John fiasco where you could just not ask me out on a second date. We’re married now, and you’re stuck with me."

"Oh, my sweet darling, I don’t feel stuck with you. I’m so eternally grateful to have you. I want you by my side forever. Do you have any idea how proud it makes me to walk into a room with you on my arm?"

Fran literally flinched at that remark. On his arm—like an ornament, she thought to herself.

He took her by the shoulders and turned her around gently, looking deeply into her dark almond eyes. Their beauty made his breath catch, but he still couldn’t detect the tiniest glimmer of their natural sparkle, and he cursed himself for that. "I’m sorry if what I did made you question how important you are in my life." He waited for tears, anger, something, but instead saw only acceptance in her eyes. He didn’t know what to think. She was usually so sure of herself and ready to fight for what she wanted. God, what had he done to her? With a note of desperation in his voice, he said, "Fran, surely you know that you mean the world to me."

She looked at him intently. "Yeah, but do you know it?"

A slap across the face would have pained him less than that question. Max stood there speechless, trying to process the magnitude of situation. He searched desperately for some way to reassure her. He had to start somewhere, so clearing his throat, he stated in his most gallant tone, "Mrs. Sheffield, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the Producers’ Guild benefit next week?"

Fran gave him a wry smile. "Max, it’s ok. You don’t have to do penance or anything. I told you I understand. Why don’t you take C.C. to the benefit?"

God, this wasn’t her, accepting defeat. "Now, why would I take C.C. when I would much rather be with my gorgeous, charming wife? Please?" His twinkling eyes belied the ache he was feeling inside for the way he had shaken her confidence.

Fran just stood staring into his eyes shaking her head.

"They’ll have lots of big shrimp," he coaxed.

She wavered for a moment and then couldn’t help a little smile. "Are you sure you want me there?"

"Of course I’m sure!" He wrapped her in his arms and gave her a kiss that portrayed all the love he held for her. Their bodies melted into each other as she responded, pouring all her love for him into her kiss. After their lips finally parted, it took several seconds for each of them to regain their breath. "Fran, I love you so much."

"Oh, Maxwell, I love you too," she replied.

"So, you’ll go with me next week?" he asked, pressing his forehead to hers.

She sighed before saying, "Ok, if you’re sure. And I promise I will be the classiest, most demure wife at the party."

Max hugged her tightly to him. God, he loved her so much, and he was deeply touched by the way she was trying so hard to be the wife she thought he wanted. And it only magnified his guilt for the way he had been treating her. Once again, he told himself that he really didn’t deserve her.

He spoke gently, "So, what do you want to do tonight? It’s your choice."

She gave him a seductive little smile and said, "Grab the champagne. I know the perfect place." She took him by the hand and led him upstairs to their bedroom.

Once inside, Fran locked the door. As soon as Max set down the champagne and glasses, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and began giving him slow, sweet kisses. He slid his arms around her tiny waist and pulled her snugly to him. They both let go a sweet sigh at the feeling of their bodies so close together, standing there simply allowing their lips to express the deep feelings they had for each other.

After some time, Max broke their kiss and looked into those bottomless chocolate pools that he loved to get lost in. He reached up and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Then he whispered his thumb across her cheek. "Don’t move an inch," he said softly. He disappeared into the bathroom and started filling the Jacuzzi. When he rejoined Fran in the bedroom, they took up where they had left off, gently pulling at each other’s mouths and allowing their tongues to spar tenderly. Slowly, they began undressing each other, never stopping the long, slow kisses.

At last, they stood naked and relished the feeling of their warm skin against each other’s. Max took her by the hand and led her to the Jacuzzi. He stepped in first and then helped her in. They settled into their favorite position—Max leaning back with Fran sitting between his legs lying back on his chest. He handed her champagne to her and took a sip of his.

Then he picked up her loofa and drizzled some of her coconut lime verbena on it. He began to wash her, making languid strokes up and down her arms. He swirled the loofa gently around her breasts and across her stomach. Then she leaned forward, and he spent the better part of the next half hour washing and massaging her back. When he was finished, she took the loofa from him, applied some of his musky shower gel on it and turned to face him. After she had gently lathered every part of his body, she moved toward him, and eased herself onto his lap, wrapping her legs around his middle and her arms around his shoulders. After kissing him thoroughly, she laid her head on his shoulder, and they remained that way until the growing chill of the water made them stir.

They stepped out of the tub and with big fluffy towels dried each other off. Max slipped on a pair of silk boxers and Fran pulled on a thong and a soft jersey sleep shirt that was short enough for him to admire her shapely hips and legs. They lay back on the bed and cuddled up to each other. Picking up the remote, Max turned on the TV and flipped the channels until he came across one of Fran’s favorite romantic movies.

As they lay there watching the movie, Fran suddenly realized that they had just experienced two whole hours of uninterrupted time together. It was utopia. Fran and Max, so much in love, totally into each other without an inkling of any thought about the outside world. In this room it was just the two of them, and they were a perfect match, completely attuned to each other. Their two different worlds had become one, and there was only the pure pleasure of being together and expressing their powerful love for one another.

The movie ended, and Max picked up the remote and clicked off the TV. He rolled over and began kissing his beautiful wife, and with each kiss, his passion grew. He couldn’t resist pushing his lower body into her, and soon he was having a hard time breathing while maintaining the pace of their kisses. He drove his tongue deeply into her mouth, and she instinctively let go a satisfied moan. Her hands moved up and down his back and then moved lower to slide under the waistband of his boxers, massaging his sexy toush and encouraging the rhythm of his hips.

She raised up slightly and Max pulled her sleep shirt over her head. He trailed kisses down her neck and across her collarbone as she slid her fingers through his thick black waves. He took her breast in his mouth, at first teasing the hardened tip gently with his tongue and then sucking harder, pulling at it again and again. He gave the same sensuous torment to the other one, and Fran felt a warm, tingling sensation permeate her body. Max moved lower and deftly slithered her thong down her legs. He continued the trail of nips and licks and kisses across her belly and she began to writhe beneath him.

He knew exactly what she wanted, and he wanted to give it to her. He was determined to make her feel completely loved by him after what he’d been putting her through. He quickly dispensed with his boxers and slid further down, gently pushing her legs apart. He began gently sucking on the tender skin of her inner thigh as she let out a long moan in that raspy voice that drove him crazy. "Oh, God, Max," poured from her throat as his kisses moved closer to her center.

She loved being pleasured this way. His tongue dipping in and out of her would send her quickly and powerfully over the edge. Suddenly, a panicked thought struck her. Did high-class women enjoy sex this way? Even with their own husbands? She reached down and grabbed the sides of his head just as he was about to slide his tongue past her silky folds. Her sudden movements stilled his actions and he looked up at her in confusion. She sat up swiftly, pulling his face up to hers. She began kissing his mouth hungrily, attempting to smooth over the sudden shift in direction their lovemaking had taken. She lay back, pulling him with her and continuing her assault on his mouth. As he eased down on top of her, he felt the tip of his manhood nudge her entrance and he couldn’t fight the urge to push into her. She grabbed his hips and pulled him deeper inside. They created a rhythm together that began slowly and increased steadily until a cry of pleasure tore from Fran’s throat, which made Max join her in his passionate release.

As their breathing slowed, Max’s thoughts turned to Fran’s odd actions. He looked deeply into her eyes, trying to detect some clue. Was she punishing him? Surely not—Fran was not that vindictive, he told himself. "Sweetheart? Are you ok?" he said.

"Mmm—more than ok. I just made love to my gorgeous husband, and now I’m lying here in his arms. What could be better?" She smiled up at him sweetly, trying to gloss over what she had just done.

"It’s just that, why wouldn’t you, I mean—never mind. I just want you to know how very much I love you."

"I love you more," she answered.

Max rolled over and pulled her with him, kissing her tenderly. He was still curious about the strange turn of events. She had always been the passionate and exciting one in the bedroom—sometimes shocking him with her erotic maneuvers. Why would she stop him? "Darling, are you sure you’re all right?"

"I’m fine, I’m perfectly fine." She gave him one of those smiles that made him melt, and for the moment, everything between them seemed perfect.

An hour later, Max was still tossing and turning, unable to sleep. Fran might say she was perfectly fine, but he sure as hell wasn’t. He cursed himself for hurting her so much that she could no longer give herself completely to him. He lay there racking his brain trying to remember why in the hell he had ever thought it was a good idea to leave her out of the backers’ party. He tried telling himself that her rough edges didn’t bother him that much, but deep down he knew the messages his actions had sent her. What else had he been doing to make her feel so unworthy?

And where was her fire, her determination? Max knew the answer to that question before his mind had even formed it. He had snuffed them out. He rubbed his eyes in a vain attempt to dispel the painful vision of utter resignation he had seen on her face. The Fran he had fallen in love with was gone. She had sold her soul to become some image of the perfect wife. As he lay there feeling his eyelids getting heavy, he fought sleep and dreaded the nightmare that he feared was on its way.

***************

Fran finished paying for the dress she had picked out to wear to the Producers’ Guild benefit. A simple yet elegant black cocktail dress—and very classy. She had made up her mind to go with Max, although she was sure he didn’t really want her there. Of course, he had insisted on her accompanying him just to keep from hurting her feelings again, but she really wasn’t looking forward to another evening of being an ornament hanging off his arm and pretending to be something she was not. C.C. was so much better at those things.

She left the store and hailed a taxi. As she settled into the backseat, she sighed heavily thinking about the state of her marriage. It wasn’t exactly what she had been dreaming of the last five years. She and Max were just too mismatched. It seemed that all the fears that had surfaced on her wedding day had become a reality. It was obvious now that Max needed someone more on his level. And no matter how hard she tried, she would never be that kind of wife. You can take the girl out of Queens, but. . .

Meanwhile, Max was having a hard time keeping his mind on his work. "Maxwell? Maxwell?"

"What is it, C.C?" Max replied without looking up from his desk.

"Maxwell, that’s the second time I’ve asked you about tomorrow’s rehearsal schedule. Where is your head today? We’re on a deadline here, you know."

"Oh, I’m sorry, C.C. What about the rehearsal schedule?"

"Never mind," she said, "I’ll take care of it. She let out an exasperated breath.

Max looked up at his business partner. There was one little issue that had him worried, and he hoped C.C. would help. Fran had agreed to go with him to the benefit, but he knew she really felt uncomfortable at those affairs. What if she backed out at the last minute? As fragile as their relationship was right now, he didn’t want to push her into anything she didn’t want to do. "C.C., I was wondering—do you have a date for the Producers’ Guild benefit tomorrow night? I’m not sure Fran will be going, so I thought you and I might go together."

C.C. tried to hide her joy at the prospect of spending another elegant evening with Maxwell without having to put up with the annoying Nanny Fine and all of her inappropriate comments and stories. What a pleasant evening it would be without her—just like the backers’ party! This was too good to be true, she thought. Maxwell and Nanny Fine were on the outs, which meant she would have more of him to herself.

But then she started thinking about the way he’d been acting the last week. And while trouble in paradise would normally make her positively giddy, if it meant having to put up with a morose, preoccupied business partner who couldn’t seem to get anything done, she wasn’t so sure the trade-off was worth it. "No, I don’t have a date. We can go together if you like," she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact.

Max glanced up at her a bit sheepishly. "Thank you, C.C. I appreciate that."

C.C. got up and left the office to go refill her coffee. Max blew out a long breath. God, he missed Fran. At least, he missed the Fran he had fallen in love with and married. Every day, it seemed, she withdrew from him further. He couldn’t even remember the last time she had come into his office and interrupted his work to share a funny story or to ask his help on some ridiculous matter with the children. It wasn’t so much that he enjoyed being interrupted, but that he missed the way she used to share little things with him.

And he didn’t even want to think about what had been going on in the bedroom—or, more precisely, what hadn’t been going on. Where was the passion and excitement she had always brought to their lovemaking? Since that night last week when she had stopped him cold, things had definitely become routine—almost boring.

Max wondered if Niles or the children had noticed the change in Fran. She still showed her loving and nurturing ways—nothing could ever change that. But her bubbly, vivacious personality had been replaced by a more restrained version, and her wardrobe had definitely taken on a more subdued tone. She still called him her pet names, gave him lots of kisses, and told him she loved him, but if Max looked just beyond that front she was putting up, he didn’t recognize the Fran he found there. How could he put into words the anguish he felt every time he saw her move a step further away? He had lost the Fran he had fallen so much in love with—he could feel it, and he had no idea how to get her back.

Just then, Niles knocked at the office door. "Excuse me, sir, but will you be taking your lunch in here or the kitchen?"

"Actually, Niles, I’d like to take my lunch with my wife. Where’s Fran?"

"I’m afraid she’s already eaten, sir, and left to do some shopping."

"She left without telling me she was going anywhere?"

"I didn’t know it was necessary for her to check in with you, sir."

"Not check in, old man, just let me be a part of. . .oh, never mind. I’ll take my lunch in here." Just as Niles turned to go, Max spoke up. "Uh, Niles, did you happen to speak with Fran before she left?"

"Yes, why?"

"Oh, no reason in particular. I was just wondering how she seemed."

"Do you mean is she still upset with you?"

Max lost his last ounce of reserve. He shot up out of his chair and came around his desk, ripping his glasses off. "I wish to bloody hell she was upset! Why can’t she just scream, yell, throw things at me? At least then I would know what I was dealing with. But, this!" He stopped his tirade and looked directly at Niles. As an expression of utter loss crossed his face, he said, "It’s as if she’s given up on us already." His voice dropping barely above a whisper, he begged, "Help me, Niles. I can’t lose her."

Niles walked over and stood right in front of his boss. "She needs reassurance," he stated plainly.

Max looked at Niles taken aback. "But I do reassure her. I tell her a hundred times a day that I love her, but it doesn’t seem to matter. I try to show her how much I love her, but she pulls away from me."

Niles rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. "She knows you love her, sir. She needs reassurance that you accept her for who she is and that you don’t expect her to become something she can never be."

Max looked at his butler puzzled. "I know she thinks all those conceited snobs don’t accept her, but why would she think that of me?"

Niles gave his shoulders a little shrug. "Oh, I don’t know. Maybe she got such a silly notion from the way you correct her and limit her conversation at your elegant soirees. And surely it couldn’t have anything to do with your excluding her from the backers’ party." He watched for his boss’ reaction before continuing. "But I suppose you make up for all of that by parading her around like some kind of trophy on your arm."

Max stood there stunned. Niles’ statements certainly made sense. He walked back around his desk and fell into his chair. Dropping his head into his hands, he mulled over what Niles had just told him.

Shaking his head at his boss, Niles continued, "As I recall, you tried playing ‘My Fair Lady’ with her for Miss Margaret’s debutante tea, and we all know just how well that worked. I’d have thought it would have been a lesson well learned."

Max looked up at Niles. "Are you sure, old man? Did she tell you that she feels that way?"

"She didn’t have to, sir. Anyone can see it," he said pointedly. Then he turned and walked out of the office muttering to himself, "Well, almost anyone."

Meanwhile, C.C. was heading back to the office with her coffee when the front door opened and in walked Fran. "Whew!" said Fran. "I’m beat!"

"Just back from another mind-numbing lunch with your mother, Nanny Fine?" C.C. smirked.

"No, doing a little shopping," Fran said, hanging her coat up in the closet. "I had to get something to wear to that thing Max is schlepping me to."

C.C. stopped and turned around, suddenly interested. "What thing?"

"Some kind of benefit," Fran said, walking over to the foyer table.

C.C. walked over to stand where Fran was combing through the mail. "The Producers’ Guild Benefit? I thought you weren’t going to that."

"What makes you think I wasn’t going?" Fran asked casually.

"Because Maxwell asked me to go with him. I mean, I just assumed you had something else to do, you know, like you did the night of the backers’ party." Seeing the look on Fran’s face, C.C. realized she might have said too much. "I need to get back to work now," she said turning to scoot back to the office.

Fran let out a long sigh as her shoulders sagged. Why was she not surprised? Although Max had sounded convincing enough when he’d asked her to go with him, he obviously couldn’t convince himself. When it came right down to it, he preferred C.C.’s style and charm at an event where he would be mingling with the crème de la crème.

Fran walked back over to the closet and tossed the shopping bag inside. "Oh, well," she thought to herself. "It’s probably for the best anyway." She could just take the dress back next week. "It’s not like I’m gonna need any fancy party clothes anymore," she said out loud.

***************

Fran lay in bed listening to the water run in the shower. She heard it shut off and knew Max would be sliding in next to her in just a few minutes. She prayed he would just kiss her on the forehead, roll over, and go to sleep, but she couldn’t keep her mind from fantasizing about all of the wicked little tricks she wanted to do to his body.

A few minutes later, he came padding into the bedroom, his hair still damp. God, she loved that tousled look on him. He took off his robe and crawled into bed. After turning off the light, he slid over and took Fran in his arms. He began kissing her and moving his hand up and down her back, allowing it to wander down to gently massage her sexy little bottom. Fran fought her response and forced herself to stay still. She felt his tongue slide into her mouth and had to swallow her instinctive moan at his passionate kisses. Suddenly, he pulled away from her and looked directly into her eyes. "Fran? What’s the matter?"

"Nothing, sweetie," she said, trying to remain cool while battling a strong urge to grab him by the shoulders, pull him over on top of her and wrap her legs around his hips.

Max attempted to read her eyes, but they were blank. He felt a wave of exasperation hit him. "Fran, what the hell is going on?" He searched her face for some clue, but all he found there was complete resignation. He threw back the covers and shot out of bed. He stomped over and grabbed the brandy, sloshing some into a glass. He downed it in one gulp and turned to her. His eyes showed total despair. "My God, Fran, this is pure torture! I apologize for anything I ever said or did to hurt you. If you can’t forgive me, at least fight back—yell at me, hit me, say you hate me. Please, God, I can’t take this total submission!"

She sat up in the bed. "Oh, honey, you haven’t done anything. I swear. Everything’s fine. Let’s just go to sleep. We’ll feel better in the morning."

Max was so astounded he could barely catch his breath. This was not the Fran he knew, sweeping problems under the carpet. She had always met life head-on, and here she was telling him there was nothing wrong. This had to be so overwhelming that even she couldn’t deal with it, and that shook Max to the core. Gathering all his strength, he spoke in a measured tone. "Fran, I need to ask you something, and I want an honest answer." He paused and took a deep breath. "Do you regret marrying me?"

Fran hesitated. She didn’t know how to answer honestly. She regretted the fact that their differences now seemed too great to overcome, she regretted the fact that she didn’t think she would ever be the kind of wife he needed, she regretted the fact that her dream marriage now appeared to be just a fantasy.

A pain he had never felt before welled up in his chest. Her silence screamed at him. "Thanks for your honesty," he spit out as he grabbed his robe and stomped out of the room. Fran burst into tears and collapsed onto the pillow as deep sobs began racking her body. How could she make him understand that she didn’t regret marrying him, but that she was terrified he would soon regret marrying her, and she was trying her damndest to put that off as long as possible? She felt beyond help, beyond hope.

Max slammed the guest room door behind him. He threw himself on the bed and lay there staring up at the ceiling. He concentrated on calming down. As he clutched at his chest attempting to stem the intense pain he felt there, tears began stinging his eyes. What the hell was he doing in the guest room when he should be making love to his beautiful wife? How the hell did things get this way?

He tried to retrace all the events of the last several weeks. When did things begin to deteriorate? God, he was so confused, and he cursed himself for not being more attuned to what had been happening between them. He lay there for hours with a myriad of confusing thoughts and painful emotions assaulting his brain. After several hours, his exhausted body finally overcame his swirling mind, and he felt himself fall into a fitful sleep.

Suddenly, he was back in the alley behind the Ambassador Theater. At first, he felt an overwhelming sense of joy that in just a little while he and Fran would be at the Rainbow Room surrounded by all their loved ones. And he would soon become the happiest man on earth when Fran accepted his marriage proposal. But then the muggers were there, blocking his way. One of them asked for the time, and like an idiot, he glanced at his watch. Then they started closing in on him, and Max felt the sweat break out on his forehead as panic gripped him. He backed up, realizing there was no escape.

As the first fist slammed into his jaw, his only thought was of Fran. The next blow was to his stomach, and it knocked him off his feet, but that didn’t stop the pummeling. The physical pain he felt as each blow landed couldn’t compare to the ache in his heart at the prospect that these could be his last moments on earth and he would never have the chance to let Fran know just how very much he loved her—how much he wanted to be married to her, how she meant everything to him, how she completed his life and made him feel like a whole man. How could life be so cruel that on the night they were finally to become one, it was all being taken away from him? Max flailed about in the bed, throwing his arms around wildly trying to fend off the blows.

The nightmare had never gone this far before. Every other time, he would wake up just as the muggers started beating him. Mercifully, his subconscious hadn’t forced him to experience the worst part of the dream—the realization that he might never get the chance to marry his beloved Fran. As he thrashed about in the bed reliving the nightmare, his frantic plea for survival tore from his throat in one word: "Fra-a-a-n!"

The terror in Max’s voice as he screamed her name shot Fran bolt upright and out of bed. She was down the hall and at Max’s side in seconds. She wrapped him in a fierce hug and began rocking him. "Sweetie, I’m here. Shh—I’m here."

He grasped her desperately to him and allowed her soothing comfort to calm his pounding heart. When his breathing at last had returned to normal and his trembling had subsided, his head fell onto her shoulder. He was spent and exhausted.

She rocked him gently for another minute. Then, she spoke in the gentlest voice, "Come on, sweetie, come back to bed. Tonight, you’re going to sleep in my arms."

She took his hand and led him back to their bedroom. She fluffed his pillow for him and he settled back onto it. Fran snuggled up against him and wrapped her arm firmly around him, and he could feel her warmth and comfort flow all around and through him. All the hurt and tension from their heated exchange earlier that night melted away as they lay there in each other’s arms enveloped by their powerful love for one another.

After some time, Max’s breathing became even, and Fran hoped he was finally able to get the rest he needed. She lay there with her head nestled in the crook between his neck and shoulder, but her mind was still racing. In spite of her efforts to make herself into Max’s dream wife, his nightmares were getting worse. His subconscious fears made it clear that all her efforts just weren’t enough. She would never be the wife Max needed to complete his life.

*****************

The next morning, Fran stood at the kitchen island sipping her coffee and looking over the newspaper. She was skimming through the society section when her eyes landed on a brief article about that night’s Producers’ Guild Benefit. "The evening promises to bring out Broadway’s best and brightest," she read.

"Well, I sure as hell don’t fall into either one of those categories," she said aloud to herself.

Just then, Max came through the door. "Oh, there you are, darling." He walked up behind her and slid his arms around her waist, placing a kiss on her temple. "Reading about the benefit? It should be quite a grand gala, but of course the best part about it will be having you there with me."

She was glad she had her back to him. She didn’t want to see the lie in his eyes. Besides, she had already decided to let him off the hook.

Fran cleared her throat. "Uh, honey. About tonight, I think I better stay home with Gracie. She hasn’t been feeling too well lately. C.C. can go with you, can’t she?"

Max turned her around and looked at her a bit sternly. "Now, Mrs. Sheffield, you know that Niles is perfectly capable of taking care of Gracie if she’s not feeling well. And you also know that your place is by my side, just where I need you tonight."

"But, Max. . ."

"No buts. You’re coming with me."

Well, he certainly sounded sincere, she thought. "Ok," she agreed reluctantly. She looked at him and noticed the signs of fatigue in his face. "Honey, did you get any sleep at all last night?"

"Oh, a little," he said, attempting a weak smile.

Her heart went out to him. She laid her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arms lovingly around his middle and squeezing him to her. "Sweetie, I’m so sorry you’re having these terrible nightmares." She didn’t know how to tell him that she felt so responsible for what he was going through, and she was doing everything she could to make them stop, but it seemed it was just no use.

"Thank you, darling. I have a feeling they won’t last much longer." As Max turned to go back to his office, Fran thought about how she was going to get through another evening trying to pass herself off as a perfect society wife. Well, no need to brush up on her mingling skills, she told herself. It didn’t take any special talent to stand there and be an ornament.

****************

Max sat at his desk going over his checklist. There were still a million things to do for this play, and opening night was just a few short weeks away. Thank goodness the financing was on solid ground. Max had enough to deal with right now without having to worry about scrounging up any more investors. He rubbed his temples just as the phone rang.

He picked it up. "Hello?" Suddenly, Max’s face lit up. "Joc! What a pleasant surprise!"

"Hello, darling. I hope I’m not interrupting. How have you been?" came his sister’s voice from the other end.

"Splendid," he lied as he tossed down his pen and leaned back in his chair. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, of course, dear. I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be coming to New York next month. I hope to have some time for a nice visit with you and Fran while I’m there. "

"Well, of course. What are the dates?" He grabbed his pen and jotted on his notepad. "So, Mopsie, how is everything with you? Tell me, is your divorce from Lester final yet?"

"Yes, as of last week." There was a bit of silence on Max’s end. "What is it, Max? I didn’t realize that you were that fond of him."

"Oh, no, that’s not it. I mean, Lester seemed a perfectly nice chap and all, but, well, it’s just too bad that it didn’t work out for you. You both seemed so happy, at least at the beginning."

"Yes, darling, we were very happy, but unfortunately that didn’t last long."

Max started making nervous doodles on the notepad on his desk. Jocelyn could hear in his voice that something was bothering him, but, knowing her brother, she knew better than to ask.

Finally, he spoke up tentatively. "How long would you say it lasted? The happiness, I mean." This was very difficult for him to talk about with his sister, but he was desperate.

"I’m not sure. I believe it started when he began to feel out of place at all the social affairs I dragged him too. You know, fish out of water and all."

Max swallowed hard. This was killing him, but he needed help. Finally, he managed, "When did you know, Joc?"

"Well, of course there were little clues all along, but I suppose I didn’t really pick up on them until it was too late. He would make up ridiculous excuses not to accompany me to parties, that sort of thing." Jocelyn could tell this conversation wasn’t really about her and Lester. "I suppose the beginning of the end was when he began to hold back in the bedroom. When they don’t feel worthy enough to give themselves completely to you during the lovemaking, that’s really when it all goes downhill." Max nearly dropped the receiver from his hand.

He spoke more to himself than to Jocelyn. "I love her so much, and I tell her constantly how much she means to me. How can she doubt my love for her?"

"Maxwell, dear, you can say it all you like. I told Lester a thousand times a day that I loved him. But she’ll see the truth in your actions. We Sheffields may not be very good at expressing our feelings with words, but we have a way of showing our true selves in the things we do. Besides, if love were enough to keep a marriage together, well, we wouldn’t have nearly so many divorces, now would we?"

Hearing no response from Max, she continued, "Do try to cheer up, darling. It’s not as though you can do anything about it. After all, you’re a Sheffield, and she’s—well, not. I tried warning Fran about it on your wedding day. Classes just can’t mix. Besides, it’s in your DNA. Grandfather, father, and I all married our servants and all of us ended up divorcing. Except father, of course, but I’m sure he would have eventually divorced Joan had he not dropped dead first. It’s your fate—you can’t avoid it."

Max could hardly speak through the lump in his throat. "Thanks, Joc. I’ll see you next month." He felt as though he were moving in slow motion as he hung up the phone. Jocelyn’s words kept echoing in his brain: "It’s your fate—you can’t avoid it." He stared into space, unable to move. He felt numb, except for the piercing pain in his heart. Finally, he picked up the phone and dialed his lawyer.

*****************

"Maxwell, where are we going?" Fran asked curiously.

"Darling, please. We need to make a stop on our way to the benefit. Just indulge me this once. It’s very important to me."

Fran looked out the window of the limo at the night sky. The stars shone brilliantly, a beautiful complement to the bright city lights. It all stood in contrast to the dull feeling she had inside. Soon she noticed that they were entering the theater district, and she began to recognize some of the theaters where Max had produced his plays. The limo slowed as they neared the Ambassador, and Fran looked over at Max in surprise.

"Maxwell, why are we here? It was hard for you to even finish the run of your play at this theater. Why would you want to come back here?"

"You’re right, sweetheart, this theater holds a terrifying memory for me—especially the alley behind it. But that’s exactly where we are going. Now, come with me."

Max opened the door and stepped out. He reached back and grasped Fran’s hand to help her out of the car. As she gained her feet, she started to pull her hand from his, but he wouldn’t let go of it. In fact, he intertwined his fingers with hers and squeezed snugly. Fran realized then that he needed that physical connection to her in order to face what he was about to put himself through.

They walked around the building and slowly stepped into the alley. It was almost as if some force was pulling Max deeper into it. He stared at a particular spot on the ground along the wall not too far from the stage door. He seemed transfixed, and Fran’s heart ached for him. "Honey, why do you insist on doing this to yourself? This has got to be too painful for you."

Max stopped at the exact spot he had been staring at and turned around, wrapping his arms around her waist and drawing her up to him as tightly as he could. He was trembling all over and his heart was pounding through his chest, but as long as he had Fran in his arms, he could get through anything. She knew they were standing on the very spot where he had proposed. He drew in a ragged breath.

"This alley was the scene of one of the most frightening events of my life, but it was also the scene of the most wonderful moment of my life. It wasn’t under the best of circumstances, but you accepting my proposal changed everything, and for that reason, this alley will always hold a very special place in my heart."

She smiled that smile that melted his heart and said, "In mine too."

"I know I’ve been a complete ass. I’ve done and said things to make you feel, well, unworthy. I’m a total idiot, and I don’t deserve you. I should be doing everything in my power to prove to you that you are just exactly what I want and need in my life, because you are."

"Oh, Maxwell, it’s not you. It’s me. I’m just not the wife you need, and I don’t think I ever can be."

"Please, darling, let me finish. It’s true, sometimes you do and say things that embarrass me in front of certain people. But that doesn’t mean I’m not madly in love with you or that I don’t want to be married to you. In fact, your naïve candor is one of the reasons I love you so much. Believe it or not, I actually like it when you make me feel uncomfortable about who I am. It reminds me that there is so much more to life than making money and moving in the proper social circles. In other words, you make me feel alive, like a whole person. I need that—I need you in my life."

Tears filled Fran’s eyes and threatened to spill over. She took a sobbing breath.

He gave her a tender little kiss and continued, "And I admit that I am totally in love with your beautiful face and stunning body, and I love it when other men drool over you. To me, you are the most gorgeous, sexy woman in the world, and I think about making love to you nearly twenty-four hours a day. Can I help it if I’m so proud to be married to the most beautiful woman in the world and I like to rub it in other men’s faces? But that doesn’t mean that I think any less of you as a person. It just means that I am the luckiest man on earth." His green eyes desperately searched her brown ones for some sign of that natural sparkle he had missed so much.

"You asked me once before why I married you. The answer is simple—I can’t imagine my life without you. You’re my partner, my soul mate, my best friend, my lover—you’re everything to me."

Fran stared into his beautiful green eyes, too overcome for words. He reached up and gently caught a tear as it ran down her cheek. "Oh, Maxwell," she purred.

"Last night I learned the cause of my nightmares. The truth is I am absolutely terrified at the thought of not having you in my life. What if the muggers hadn’t stopped after they got the ring? I mean, what if they had taken my life just when you and I were about to start our lives together? The whole time they were pounding away on me, my only thoughts were of you and the children. I just kept praying that I would be spared so that you and I could be married. And if I wasn’t going to be allowed to do that, I cursed myself for the time I had wasted." The tiniest gleam emanated from her eyes as she looked transfixed at her husband.

"But, Max," she said, "you always seemed to have the nightmare when you went to bed worried about work. I thought you were afraid I would ruin your business."

"Oh, my poor baby," he said, "that wasn’t it at all. Whenever I started worrying too much about my work, the nightmare was my subconscious kicking me in the touchas to remind me of what’s really important in my life—you." He touched her lips lightly with his own and then continued, "Yes, I am proud to have such a gorgeous woman on my arm, and I am excited to have such a sexy woman in my bed, but I am also grateful to have such a wonderful mother caring for our children, and I am humbled to have such loving, supportive wife at my side for the rest of my life."

She let go a sob. "I’ve been trying so hard to be the wife that I thought you wanted."

"You are the wife I want. You are the wife I need. I’m just so eternally grateful that you are willing to put up with me as a husband." He reached into his pocket and pulled out some papers. He unfolded them and held them out for Fran to read.

Her eyes scanned over the legal jargon, but she couldn’t make heads or tails of it. "What is it?" she asked.

"It’s the preliminary paperwork selling all my shares of Sheffield-Babcock Productions."

Her eyes opened wide. "But, Maxwell, why would you do such a thing?"

"I told you in Kooristan that you are more important to me than my work. If my doing business with those blue blood snobs drives you and me apart, then I‘ll have nothing to do with them."

"But, Maxwell, I couldn’t ask you to do that. Your work is your whole life. It’s who you are."

"No, you are my whole life. You and the children. And besides, didn’t you give up who you are for me?" He took out a pen and looked at her intently.

He pressed his forehead to hers. "Don’t you ever leave me like that again," he chided her softly.

Her eyes narrowed in confusion. "Maxwell, I would never leave you."

"I mean here," he said, pointing to her heart. "Now, do I sign these papers, or do you promise?"

Her heart was pounding and she could barely speak. Finally, she whispered, "I promise. You have my whole heart, always and forever."

"I’m serious, Fran. If you ever pull away from me like that again, I will sign these papers in an instant." Then Max got a nostalgic look in his eye. "Do you remember the first time I fired you?"

She couldn’t suppress a tiny laugh through her tears. "There were so many times—let me think."

"That first weekend. Niles said something to me that saved my life. I confessed to him that I knew I had overreacted by firing you. He had brought me a sandwich, and he said it was just what I needed. The funny thing was, he wasn’t talking about the sandwich. I knew that night that you are just what I need in my life—not some idealized version of an upper class wife. You. Only you. Always you." Then he kissed her so passionately her head began to reel and he crushed her to him as if he would never let her go.

When he finally broke the kiss, his green eyes crinkled as he looked into her gleaming chocolate pools. "Now, Mrs. Sheffield, would you care to accompany me to the benefit?" Hand in hand, they walked out of the alley and to the waiting limo.

*****************

Fran let out a serene sigh as she leaned back on Maxwell and rested her head on his chest. She relished the feeling of his arms around her and inhaled the fragrance of her coconut lime verbena. The soft glow of the candles surrounding the Jacuzzi added to the romantic atmosphere, but they couldn’t compete with the natural sparkle of Fran’s gorgeous brown eyes.

Max kissed her temple and squeezed her to him. He looked down at her beautiful face and delighted in the small strands of wet hair that framed it. He took note of the way her beautiful mouth was curved into a little grin.

"What are you grinning about?"

"Does there have to be a reason? Can’t it just be that I am so supremely happy?"

"I know you. There’s something behind that grin."

She closed her eyes and sighed deeply. "It’s just that I can’t stop thinking about that magical tongue of yours."

Max smiled. "So, I take it you were pleased?"

"Mmm—pleased is such an inadequate word."

"I thought maybe you were still grinning about the look on Howard Martin’s face tonight when you asked his wife if she liked the necklace you saw him buying while you were shopping yesterday. I’ll bet he makes quite a scramble to the jeweler’s first thing in the morning."

Fran let out her signature laugh. "I think it’s pretty safe to say he won’t be backing your next play."

"Like I would accept money from him anyway. You know I don’t do business with a men who cheat on their wives."

She turned in his arms and looked at him with her head cocked slightly. "Since when?"

"Since my beautiful, loving, and forgiving wife taught me what’s really important in this world."

"Well, you’re not quite there yet. You still have a few lessons coming."

"And I’m looking forward to each and every one of them. Now, come here."

He pulled her onto his lap as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist. He drew her to him as their lips met in the most tender of kisses. Slowly, as they deepened their kiss, the realization of what each had been so ready to sacrifice for the other washed over and enveloped them like a warm ocean wave. And they basked in the understanding of what it was to give themselves over so completely to the other. Surely, there was never a deeper, purer love than the one they shared.

As their lips finally parted, they looked intently at each other. She saw on his face all the powerful emotions he felt for her, and he saw in her eyes all the natural sparkle he loved so much. Both found it hard to speak.

Placing her hand tenderly on his cheek, she murmured, "I know. . ."

Brushing his thumb softly across her face he whispered, "I love you too."

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