Page 5 of Risk It All
Chapter Two
Madeleine
Iwant to get away. I truly do, and yet, I can't deny enjoying the banter or how well he dances. He's graceful and smooth, and he sends delicious sensations wherever his hands touch me. It's maddening how difficult it is to extricate myself from Max, because I don't like this man, and yet it feels good to be in his arms.
“I thought you said you weren't a coward.” He reaches for me again.
I look up at the man with the eyes the color of a cool meadow stream. I can see the annoyance in them, but also authenticity and substance, and it terrifies me. He's exactly the type of man I fall for. Intelligent. Successful. Confident. Self-Absorbed. I've done that before and have had the disappointment and heartache that goes with it.
I take another step back, breaking the distracting physical contact. “I'm not. I danced.”
“We've barely made it through half a song. Is it really that I'm decent looking and have a few bucks that makes you dislike me?”
I snort. “That's an understatement.”
“If I were ugly and poor, you'd be nicer to me?”
“I'm sorry. It's not you—”
He tilts his head toward me. “You're not going to give me that 'it's me' line, are you?”
“I am. Because it's true. Thank you for the dance, Mr. Delecoeur.” I turn to walk away, but I feel him behind me. I glance over my shoulder.
“How about a drink?” He gives me a grin I'm sure always gets him whatever he wants.
“You don't take no very well, do you?”
“You didn't say no. Not to the drink, anyway. I'll tell you what. Have a drink with me, and I'll tell you why I really wanted to dance with you and you can tell me why you really don't like me.”
I arch a brow at him. “So, it wasn't destiny?”
“That I don't know yet. So, how about that drink?”
A waiter walks by with several flutes of champagne. “Looks like destiny to me.” Max grabs two glasses of the bubbly, extending one toward me.
I don't want champagne or to know why Max Delecoeur has singled me out in a room full of women who are more willing than I am to give themselves over to his charm. But I don't mind the opportunity to tell him what I really think of his business practices. So, I accept the flute. He flashes a grin that looks a little too much like triumph.
Wanting to wipe the smirk off his face, I say, “I'm waiting.”
His eyes show amusement as he sips from his glass. “I read the article you wrote on the state of child welfare in this country and found it insightful. When your aunt said you'd be here tonight, I wanted to meet you and tell you how much I enjoyed the piece.”
Drat. I'm coming out of this exchange looking worse all the time.
“Your turn.” He nods to me.
“Wait. You said I wouldn't believe you when I asked earlier why you wanted to dance with me. You didn't think I'd believe you read an article of mine?”
“It didn't sound like you thought men like me read or cared about the world.”
“I think you're a lothario, not a caveman.” I leave out the part in which I know he doesn't care about the world. Sure, he supports programs for children, which I know stems from his own experience as a foster child. But that caring doesn't extend to children on the other side of the world. Or to animals or the environment.
“My being a lothario isn't the only reason you don't like me. What's the real reason you think I'm a heel?”
“I don't like who you do business with.”
Max's eyes narrow and he cocks his head. “I'm being judged by the company I keep?”
“Yes.” I finally feel like I've gained the upper hand in the conversation.
