TO THE MAX Harlequin Temptation April 2005 EXCERPT The last time Max Dolinger indulged himself with a long look at Sara Reynolds, he’d been at a wedding and a guy he’d known since grade school had threatened to flatten his nose. If the guy hadn’t been well on his way to getting smashed at the open bar paid for by the groom’s parents, he would have realized two things: He didn’t have a fighting chance against Max, who was bigger, taller and trained to defend himself. And Max would never make a move on a friend’s girl, even if the friend wasn’t much of a friend and the girl was very much a woman. Max looked his fill at Sara now, very much doubting anything or anybody could have made him look away. He’d been in the back yard returning his late grandfather’s ancient

lawnmower to the shed when he’d heard a car rumble up the long gravel driveway. When he’d come to check it out, he’d seen Sara breezing up the sidewalk back into his life.

Appropriately, a storm was brewing. The wind swept up and over the rise. It rustled the leaves of the tall oak trees and bushy sweet gums in the front yard that were just starting to show their fall colors and blew strands of honey-blonde hair into Sara’s face.

Late September in Maryland could still be hot, and today was unseasonably warm. Sara’s sundress was appropriate for the temperature, but not for the wind. When she let go of the skirt to brush back her hair, the wind lifted the gauzy material and bared her shapely legs.

For scintillating seconds, she reminded him of that famous pose of Marilyn Monroe with her skirt billowing as she straddled a New York subway grate. Sara’s figure wasn’t quite as lush as the movie star’s and her white panties were dotted with red polka dots, but Sara wasn’t posing. Max thought that made her look even sexier than Marilyn had.

But what was Sara Reynolds doing here?

Nobody except a couple of friends and the real-estate agent who’d spent the past eighteen months hounding him to sell his late grandparents’ spread knew he was back in rural Maryland.

He doubted the FBI field office in El Paso leaked information on where special agents spent their vacations, though he couldn’t imagine why Sara would ask.

He’d only seen her twice before, and that had been shortly before he’d left Maryland for the FBI. A buddy from high school had gotten married and invited the old crowd, which included both Max and Larry Brunell, to his wedding. Larry, the punch-drunk guy, had showed up with Sara.

Max had noticed her at the rehearsal dinner even before she’d beaten him to the mother of the bride, who’d been choking on a piece of filet mignon. After performing the Heimlich, she’d stroked the older woman’s arm and deflected her embarrassment with a funny story about how she’d tripped on the wedding runner and crashed into the best man the last time she’d been a bridesmaid.

Max had fallen a little in love at that moment. At the wedding the next afternoon, he couldn’t help but notice Sara looking like a vision in a creamy backless gown, her honey-blonde hair swept off her neck.

Unfortunately, Larry had noticed him noticing and asked why Max was staring at his girl. It hadn’t occurred to Max to tell anything but the truth.

“Because she's gorgeous.”

That had set off the fireworks, not that anyone had seen them flare except Larry and Max. The irony of it was that Max had merely talked to Sara. Out of consideration for Larry, he hadn't even asked her to dance.

“Stay the hell away from her,” Larry had sneered.

Max had stayed away, not because he was afraid of Larry but because he feared the scene Larry might make at their buddy’s wedding.

Max hadn’t seen Sara since then. Until now.

And now he was getting an eyeful.

She wrestled the material of her skirt back in place and held it awkwardly around her legs. Shuffling up the sidewalk, she climbed the wooden porch steps he’d repaired the previous morning and knocked on the heavy oak door.

  Figuring there was only one sure way to find out why she was here, he emerged from the shadow his grandparents’ sprawling house cast on the just-mowed lawn. Stepping into the sliver of sunshine the overhead clouds hadn’t yet obliterated, he opened his mouth to announce his presence.

“Hello, Max.” Sara started talking before he did, except her eyes were on the door instead of him. “I hope you remember who I am, because you sure made an impression on me.”

She made a purely female noise of approval that reminded him of a cat’s purr. “Not a bad opening but not quite right.”

Max frowned and forgot about announcing himself.

“I should get straight to the point. Yeah, that’s it. I’ll blurt it right out.” She lowered her voice. “I want you, Max.”

His heart gave a bounce worthy of one of those synthetic rubber balls with the super spring. Had that strong current of attraction he’d experienced at the wedding flowed both ways?

“No,” she said. “That's all wrong, too. How about, I need you, Max.”

Could she be talking about... No. It wasn’t possible. The way Larry had spun it, he and Sara were headed for happily ever after.

But Max hadn’t been back to Maryland since he’d left for his training at the FBI Academy in Quantico a week after the wedding. That had been a full year ago.

She rapped on the door again, harder this time, then heaved a sigh he heard clearly from where he stood.

“What will I do if he doesn’t answer the door?” she asked aloud.

“You could turn around and say hello.”