Chapter Text
“The path you walk is like a heatwave
You burn everything that you touch
And it’s harder to breathe at a thousand degrees
But you’re walking through my life just like a heatwave”
–‘Heatwave’, Modern Maps
Fran bursts through the front door, exclaiming a vindicated, “Ah-ha!”, upon seeing Mister Sheffield approaching, “What are you doing home in the middle of the afternoon?”
“...My office is at home.”
She ignores his patronizing tone and forges ahead, “Well, Mister ‘I’ve-got-an-answer-for-everything’, answer me this: are you having an affair with Mai Ling?”
Though the words sound strange to her own ears, the idea is lodged in her head now and she’s gotta know for sure.
“Miss Fine, are you insane?!” He sounds appalled, and probably rightly so.
Mai’s been here for what, a week? Would the man who thinks five years is too fast really make a move on another woman so quickly, and such a young woman, at that?
It’s highly unlikely. Pretty much impossible, actually. Oy, this is what she gets for listening to Ma.
“I have never been this sane in my entire life. Or this thin, thank you very much!”
Okay, so, maybe she is teetering on the edge of ridiculousness with this line of questioning, but it’s out there now so she’ll have to stick to her guns.
And despite the fact that he’s staring at her like she’s nuts, he looks so irritatingly perfect just standing there; all suave charm and ocean-bright eyes, absentmindedly making her weak at the knees. Well. Now she’s annoyed with him all over again.
“If there’s nothing going on between you two, then answer me this: why do you look so unbelievably handsome? And explain that extra sparkle in your eyes, hmm?”
“Because I’m looking at you.”
His words give her pause for just a moment before she shakes the compliment off—this isn’t gonna be one of those times where he distracts her with flattery—she’s still peeved at him.
“Oh, please,” She scoffs. For all his talk weeks ago about this thing between them feeling ‘inevitable’, he’s certainly doing a good job of keeping himself in check. It's really starting to get on her nerves, “If I’m so irresistible, why aren’t you all over me?”
It’s a genuine question, a dare, an invitation, and a flirtation all rolled together. She knows how hard she has to work to keep her hands to herself when he’s near, it would be nice to know it’s not just her; that he’s just as tempted, even when he acts as though he’s not.
Still, she doesn’t expect him to admit anything, or really to react at all to her goading. Which is why she’s so taken aback by the way he grabs her, why she loses the thread of the conversation entirely and melts into his arms as he hauls her against him.
Miss Fine glares up at him—eyes as fierce as the flames licking up the arms and legs of her suit, flaring up the curve of her hips to flicker at the bow of her waist—and demands to know why he’s not all over her.
The hell if he knows.
Max has no good answer for that question, not one that he can think of right now, at any rate. Not with her standing before him brimming with intensity, practically giving off sparks, blisteringly beautiful in her vehemence.
And, despite the insanity of her accusation, he can’t help but be caught up in the conflagration of her proximity. She’s hot as sin and twice as seductive. She’s temptation incarnate and one real taste of her could char him to ash and then revive him; a phoenix awakening to a whole new world of passionate wonder.
She thinks he doesn’t want her? Thinks that he could want someone—nevermind who—else? That he could possibly have space in his mind, in his heart, for another when she’s taken up every available millimeter with her mere existence?
What an utterly absurd notion. Even now, as irked with her as he is, she’s so dazzling it’s hard to look upon her, so alluring that he aches to touch her.
So he does.
Thoughtlessly—helplessly, ardently—he wraps her in his arms, drags her against his chest and captures her mouth. Kisses those sultry garnet lips with abandon, brands himself with her taste, absorbs the heat of her body against his and revels in the way she ignites every nerve.
He vaguely remembers he was supposed to be making a point here, what was it again? Oh, yes, that she’s the one he wants, the one he thinks of, the one he burns for.
The only one.
That reminds him of her nonsensical allegation and he breaks the kiss, trying to breathe through the still-smoldering desire. Playing at being unaffected he steps back, straightening his tie, and can’t help but to feel gratified by the way she sways with a dazed gasp. Doesn’t she know that if he was “all over her” every time he felt the urge to be he’d never let her go?
Well. Fran may not have been expecting that, but she’s not about to let it go without a response, either.
It’s her turn now.
“To hell with Mai Ling,” She declares, and reels him back in to kiss him anew, sliding both hands into his hair and, for a glorious minute, he lets her. Until, unfortunately, he remembers himself and grips her arms to set her firmly away from him.
“Miss Fine!” He admonishes, “I cannot believe you’d accuse me of such a thing. She’s a teenager, for heaven sakes! I mean, it’s not as if I’m some over-sexed 16-year-old boy.”
The latent possibility of his statement takes a second to occur to them both but, as soon as it registers, their eyes meet and, totally in-synch, they go running up the stairs towards Brighton’s room.
~~~~~
“Oh, Mister Sheffield!” Fran greets as she saunters into his office later that evening, “I don’t suppose your tailor would be able to fix this…?”
Brandishing her destroyed Moschino blazer she rounds the side of his desk and props one hip against the corner.
“What in the devil happened to it?” He asks, eyeing the torn shoulders in confusion.
“It—uhh—got ripped…accidentally,” She says, slinging the jacket over one shoulder, “Meanwhile, it’s designer so I’d like to get it repaired.”
“Of course, Miss Fine.”
Gaze roving over her body, he takes her in from head to toe, lingering on the sheer red top that’s been hidden underneath the blazer all day, eyes catching on the red lace of her bra visible beneath, just as she’d hoped.
“I’d hate for you to be unable to wear that outfit again,” He says, cheeks flushing, “It’s—ahh—that is to say, it’s a very flattering ensemble.”
“Ohh, you like?” She can’t help but tease him when he’s flustered like this, it’s just too fun.
“Well, yes, I suppose I do. It suits you, Miss Fine.”
He rises from his chair, stepping closer, and the intensity in the room suddenly ratchets up several notches. He’s right in her space, looming over her, watching her with a focused consideration that makes her heart race.
“It suits me? How so?”
Yeah, alright, so she's baiting him, fishing for compliments, but who could blame her? Having the rapt attention of a man like Maxwell Sheffield is a heady thing, and she’s not about to give up an opportunity to take advantage of the situation. Especially when she didn’t get to kiss him nearly long enough earlier.
“I’m not sure I can explain it right but, it enkindles you. Something about the illusion of fire…it’s quite captivating. Tempting, even.”
His hands reach out, fingertips skating the diaphanous fabric over her ribs, a gossamer-light tease of a touch.
“Tempting, huh…? Like a moth to a flame?” Dropping the blazer to the floor she winds her arms around his neck, drawing him in, inviting him closer with a tilt of her chin.
“Mmhm,” He hums, nose brushing hers, lips a hair's breadth away, “Something like that,” His voice whispers against her mouth and her eyes flutter closed as they fall into a kiss.
He just can’t resist her allure, Max acknowledges to himself as their lips meet. Or, more accurately put, he doesn’t want to resist. To borrow a poet’s phrase: It’s as simple and as complicated as that.
She entices him, ensnares him, and he’s defenseless against her magnetism. She pulls him in as effectively as anything, as easy as breathing; kisses him with a hopeful assurance that inflames him.
Not wishing to waste a second of this opportunity on wonderings of how or why she holds this sway over him, he catches her up in his arms and devours her, deep and impassioned. Plying her lips apart with his tongue, he dips inside to taste her honeyed heat and a satisfied moan rumbles low in his throat.
Christ, but this woman is a temptation he can’t help but fall prey to and their kisses earlier today were a mere preamble, just the smallest fraction of the passion that burgeons between them. So, here he is, yet again, indulging in his desire for Fran Fine. If this continues to happen every time they’re alone together, one time or another he’s going to find himself well over the line he’s drawn; won’t be able to stop himself from, finally, having her the way he’s wanted for so long.
Would that really be such a bad thing?
No. No, it wouldn’t be bad at all. It would be good. Beyond good. Incredible, even.
But he knows that he’s still not ready and, until he can voice his feelings, it wouldn’t be right to take that leap. At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself.
Even so, he keeps kissing her, not yet willing to let her go. Not when she feels so perfect in his arms. Not when her mouth is open and pliant under his.
“Excuse me, Sir, I—Oh!”
He jerks his head up, breaking the seal of their lips, startled by the unexpected voice, and sees Niles hovering just inside the doorway smirking gleefully.
Fighting his own smile at the way Miss Fine huffs in annoyance, crossing her arms and leveling a glare at her friend for interrupting, Max steps back slightly and endeavors to look a little less like he got caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar, “What can I do for you, Niles?”
“If you’re busy, Sir, I can always come back later…”
“No, that’s alright—”
“Yeah, that’d be great—”
They respond at the same time, contradictory words overlapping and causing Niles’ eyebrows to shoot up in amusement.
“Right, well, now that that’s all cleared up,” Niles doesn’t even attempt to disguise the merriment lacing his tone, “I was stopping in to let you know I’m headed to run errands, if there’s anything you need while I’m out, Sir?”
“Yes, actually, there is,” He stoops quickly to grab Miss Fine’s blazer from where it had landed on the floor in a crumpled and forgotten heap and passes it to his butler, “Would you drop this off at my tailor’s for Miss Fine?”
“Hmmm, what happened here?” Niles examines the torn garment for several seconds before assessing the duo before him, eyes gleaming with suspicion and mirth, “Did someone get a little overzealous when ripping it off?”
Max sputters at the implication, choking on air at the thought of ripping Miss Fine’s clothing off, but she merely rolls her eyes and laughs.
“I wish that’s what happened!” Her blunt declaration brings an instant blush to his cheeks and he struggles, unsuccessfully, to keep from picturing such an interaction.
“Unfortunately, it wasn’t anything near that exciting,” She says with an exaggerated pout of disappointment. Crossing towards the door, she hesitates on the threshold and glances back at the two men. Aiming a teasing smirk and wink combo over her shoulder she purrs, “Maybe next time!”, and vanishes.
Her intimation spreads through him like wildfire and he sinks down into his chair, breathless and flushed, shaking his head in fond consternation.
“I swear, Niles, that woman is going to be the death of me,” He confides, voice laden with exasperation and expectation, both.
“Mmmm… But what a way to go, eh?”
Niles’ mischievous remark surprises a laugh from him and they grin at each other conspiratorially.
“You got that right, ol’ boy,” He agrees, “You got that right.”