Grand Passion

falling into his arms.

    The inn's lounge was quiet again that evening. The handful of guests were clustered around the hearth sipping espressos, lattes, and sherry. Cleo sat on her favorite stool and watched Max wash and dry glasses. Neither of them had referred to the small scene in the meditation center that afternoon.
    “You know, you're really good at that,” she said as Max rinsed another glass and set it on the tray. “You're good at everything around here. Remind me to have you take a look at one of the water pipes in the basement tomorrow. It's leaking.”
    “Something is always leaking around this place,” Max said. “One of these days you're going to have to put in new plumbing.”
    Cleo sighed. “That will cost a fortune.”
    “You can't run a place like this without making occasional capital investments.”
    “Easy for you to say,” she grumbled. “You're not the one who has to come up with the money. I wish Benjy would come back.”
    “Ben.”
    “Right, Ben. He had a knack for handling the plumbing.”
    Max seemed to hesitate. “Speaking of Ben—” He broke off abruptly and glanced toward the door. “Ah, I see we are about to entertain another one of your gentlemen callers.”
    “My what?” Cleo glanced around in surprise. “Oh, that's Nolan.”
    “The budding politician?”
    “Yes. I wonder what he wants.”
    Nolan walked purposefully toward the bar. He was wearing a handsome leather jacket, a discreetly striped shirt, and a pair of dark slacks. His light brown hair was attractively ruffled and slightly damp from the rain. He smiled broadly at Cleo, just as if he hadn't labeled her book pornography a few days ago.
    “Hello, Nolan.” Cleo peered at him warily. “What brings you here?”
    “I wanted to talk to you.” Nolan sat down on the stool next to Cleo's. He glanced briefly at Max. “You're new here, aren't you?”
    Cleo stepped in to make introductions. “Nolan, this is Max Fortune. He's a new employee. Max, this is Nolan Hildebrand.”
    “Hildebrand.” Max inclined his head and continued drying glasses.
    “Fortune. I'll have a double decaf nonfat grande latte,” Nolan said.
    Max elevated one brow, but he did not respond. He turned to the espresso machine and went to work preparing the coffee drink.
    Cleo idly stirred her tea. “Gosh, Nolan, I hope you're not jeopardizing your chances of getting elected next fall by being seen here with me tonight. I'd really hate to have that on my conscience.”
    Nolan had the grace to look abashed. “You've got a right to be annoyed with me, Cleo. I handled that scene at the cove very badly.”
    “Was there a good way to handle it?” Cleo asked. She was aware that Max was listening to every word.
    “I shouldn't have come unglued just because you wrote that book,” Nolan muttered. “It wasn't that big a deal. I want to apologize.”
    Cleo widened her eyes in surprise. “You do?”
    Nolan nodded his head with sober humiliation. “Yeah. I behaved like an ass. Will you forgive me?”
    Cleo relented instantly. “Sure. Don't worry about it. I know it must have been a shock to find The Mirror stuffed into your mailbox along with that note.”
    “You can say that again.” Nolan gave her a rueful smile. “It's still hard for me to believe you wrote something like that. I mean, it just seemed so unlike you, Cleo. All that stuff about ribbons and mirrors and scarves and so on.”
    Max put a small paper napkin down in front of Nolan and positioned the latte glass in the center. “A fascinating tour de force in the neoromantic style, don't you think?”
    “Huh?” Nolan blinked and turned to scowl at Max.
    Max picked up another wet glass and went back to work with the dish towel. “I think The Mirror offers a unique and insightful perspective on the interior landscape of female sexuality.”
    Nolan scowled. “Who the hell did you say you were?”
    “It varies. Tonight I'm the bartender,” Max said. “But getting back to The Mirror ; I have to say that I was very impressed by the intricately layered depths of many of the scenes. Weren't you?”
    Nolan stared at Cleo. “You said no one else around here knew you'd written that book.”
    “Excepting family, of course,” Max murmured.
    “Family? What family?” Nolan demanded.
    “Never mind,” Max said. “Didn't you find that there was extraordinary shape and substance to the eroticism in the book? It goes far beyond the overtly sensual and into the realm of the