She shook her head and shrugged. “I found this at Mama T’s Thriftique. I loved it right off the rack.”
“Is that your secret?” Maxwell eyed her suspiciously.
“It’s hardly a secret. I love old stuff.”
“You always look so polished and put together. That must be why. They don’t make clothes like they used to.”
“I noticed the label in your jacket. Is it thrifted?”
Maxwell nodded. “Kind of, I guess. It was my father’s.”
Talia chuckled at the coincidence. “I started thrifting after I found a pair of my grandmother’s bell-bottom jeans. The fabric was the perfect weight for summers in Georgia. I’ve never found another pair like it in regular stores.”
“Probably linen. I bet you looked—” Maxwell stopped abruptly and looked at his hands folded in his lap.
Why had he looked away?
Had she shared too much? Had he? Talia sipped her tea and studied the degrees hanging on his wall. Flattening her left palm, she made a rest for her tea mug. Squinting, she tried to make out what the far diploma said. Harvard? Really?
“What’s that?” Maxwell asked, tipping his chin toward the tea mug.
Talia looked down, knowing instantly what he was talking about. The navy blossom inked across her inner wrist looked out of place with her Holly Golightly dress.
“Oh, um, the henna?” Talia moved her tea and lifted her arm so he could get a better look. “It’s an old design I freshened up last night.”
“You did this?” Maxwell’s brow lifted and before she knew what was happening, he had taken her wrist in his hand and pulled it closer for inspection. Under a kind of control she’d never experienced, her bottom lifted off the sofa, her entirety following the wrist. Pulled to him by a seemingly cosmic force, she didn’t stop until her body was inches from his. Her arm could have simply extended and accomplished the same thing. Only it hadn’t.
Her heart thumped so hard against her chest she found her breath altered. And in an effort to catch that breath, her lungs pressed her breasts against the neckline. The fabric was unforgiving, forcing the flesh to bubble over. It wasn’t lost on Maxwell. His eyes strayed for a moment to the snow-white mound spilling over the seam. He stilled, his grip on her wrist tightening by a hair. Without moving anything else, his gaze lifted to find hers.
Surely, he was looking for an answer, but she was paralyzed. Because what could she say—that his simplest touch caused her to completely unwind? Wouldn’t that be stating the obvious? Instead, she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. Their eyes stayed together for a second—maybe longer—before he let out a long, slow breath and turned away.
“It’s beautiful. Is it an almond blossom?” he asked, forcing his focus elsewhere.
“Lotus.” Talia offered a one-word answer. It was all she could manage with him in her personal space.
He released her hand and it immediately found the warm underside of her mug again, though it was aflame all by itself. She took a half step back, felt the sofa behind her knees, and fell onto it as gracefully as she could. He looked out the window. She studied the tea bag drawn tightly against her mug’s side.
Silence filled the room. Down the hallway, there were sounds of life. And despite her nerves, she hated the thought that their moment was nearing its end.
“You don’t wear a ring?” he said absently, his face pulling together like he hadn’t intended to say it aloud. It was an odd comment, but it broke the awkwardness.
“No.” Talia wasn’t much for jewelry. “Every penny I’ve made went to school costs.” Talia rambled because her mind was out of sorts, and it didn’t register how odd the comment was. Why did jewelry matter?
Maxwell nodded and crossed his arms over his chest.
“So, um, the gala…” Talia forced her brain to function again. “I have my old planners in a box somewhere. Since I worked the event several times, I’m sure I have notes in them about it. Do you think it would be helpful?”
“Since I know nothing about hosting a gala, everything is helpful.” The ease flowed back into Maxwell’s words.
“Great. I’ll dig through some stuff tonight. See what I can find.”
“Great.” His voice was flat, and the change deflated Talia. Still seated on his desk, Maxwell turned halfway around, picked up his phone, and thumbed through several screens. “I’ve got a break after my eleven o’clock lecture tomorrow. Want to grab lunch and we can go over it?”
Talia fought a smile. Lunch with Maxwell?
“Sounds great.” She rose from the couch, placed the mug on his desk, and gathered her stuff. “Thank you for the tea, but I need to run.” Talia pulled the strap onto her shoulder. “Mrs. McTavish is a stickler for punctuality.”
“Good for her. More people should be.”
“Right.” Talia couldn’t help but return the devilish smile that seemed so at home on his lips. “Thanks again”—she patted the blazer she’d laid on the sofa’s back—“for saving me and all.”
“Anytime.”
Talia turned for the door, feeling his eyes on her with every step she took toward it. There was no need to look over her shoulder to confirm it. It would ruin the effect.
She’d gotten his attention. She wasn’t exactly sure what kind of attention, but she definitely had gotten it.
Wonder if a little kid could do that? Talia thought as she pulled on her coat and turned for her office.
Chapter 10
Maxwell
A lotus flower’s symbolism is derived from its natural growth cycle. Starting life as roots buried deep in muddy waters, the lotus bud grows until it emerges from the mire as a beautiful blooming flower.
Yes, he was googling her. He always did that when people popped into his life that he couldn’t quite figure out. Call it an occupational hazard. He was trained to know what made people tick. So, when he found someone who confounded him it presented an opportunity to learn.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
Talia Crump was now Talia King. A wife without a ring. It was another inconsistency in her character. Just like the lotus on her wrist.
At face value, Talia looked straight out of a 1950s family movie—the perfect housewife. But she refused the traditional golden symbol of that union and instead chose to ink her skin with an image that symbolized more. Two sides of wholly different coins. The possible reasons were endlessly fascinating. But was this a bridge too far? Such an intense interest landed him one step away from being a creeper who was quasi cyberstalking the poor girl.