What?” Sophy stared at her parents, then Max, hoping that thudding sound she heard was her heart, and not her jaw dropping to the parquet floor. She must have heard wrong. Max was responsible for her parents’ divorce?

She wheeled on her mother and lowered her voice. “Mother, did you and Max...” The words stuck in her suddenly dry throat and her mother burst into laughter.

“Good grief, no!” She turned to her ex-husband and waved a hand absently. “Your daughter thought that Dr. Wright and I...”

Sophy’s father chuckled. Max turned bright red. Sophy glanced around furtively; the gift table was stacked pretty high, maybe she could hide behind it.

Her father was still pumping Max’s hand up and down. “Maura and I really can’t thank you enough, Dr. Wright.”

Sophy frowned. Thank him for what? She winced, knowing that her frail-looking father actually had the handshake of a raptor. She only hoped that Max would still have feeling in his right arm when her dad finally let go. Stepping forward slightly, she linked her arm through Max’s and pushed him a foot or so over to one side, effectively breaking her father’s death grip. It was a subtle move she had learned years ago.

“Dad, I’m confused. Exactly how do you know Max?”

Her mother twisted her beads together nervously and glanced at her ex-husband. Then she turned back to Sophy, her smile dripping sympathy. “Honey, he was our marriage counselor.”

Sophy dropped Max’s arm as though her mother had just said that he had been her gigolo. Or her divorce lawyer. She turned to Max and narrowed her eyes.

He held up a hand. “Hey, I had no idea that you were your parents’ daughter. I mean, that your parents were related to you. I mean...”

Her father chuckled. “It’s okay, my boy. We know what you mean. Are you still doing couples therapy?”

“No, I’m a psychology professor over at the university now.”

Sophy’s mother sighed. “Oh, that’s a shame. You were such a good marriage counselor.”

Max smiled tightly. “Yes, except for the fact that every couple ended up in divorce court.”

Sophy frowned. “How many?”

“How many what?”

“Couples. How many couples?”

“Oh.” His smile faded altogether. “Twenty-two.” Sophy gasped softly; she couldn’t help it. “In a year,” Max added gloomily. “I had a very busy practice.”

Sophy fell silent, wondering if his dismal track record could explain his distrust of romance. It would make a lot of sense. Maybe his research study would be more positive.

“Well, it just proves that those people weren’t meant to be married in the first place,” announced her mother. “Doesn’t it, Richard?”

“God knows we weren’t,” he mumbled.

“Exactly.” Maura Hadden beamed at all of them, and her eyes widened as the band started playing a tango. “Richard? Shall we?”

He shrugged and allowed his ex-wife to lead him off. He called out behind him, “I can’t live with her, but she’s a terrific dancer. It’s the only reason I invited her to this. Don’t be a stranger, Sophy! Good to see you, Mr. Wright.” His slight figure disappeared into the crowd and within seconds it was as though they had never been there.

“Dr. Wright,” Max muttered.

Sophy could almost convince herself that she never saw them, except for the burning in her stomach and the throbbing behind her eyes. She raised the back of her hand to her forehead wearily.

“I think I get it now.”

He took her other hand and led her back to the table. “What do you get?”

“Your animosity towards marriage,” she said dully.

“I’m not against marriage, when it works. But it often doesn’t.”

She dropped into her chair and stared up at him. “Why doesn’t it work?”

He sat down beside her, not answering right away. She had meant it to be a rhetorical question, half in jest, but the longer he remained silent, the more she anticipated his reply. He plucked at the curly pink ribbons on the box beside his plate, then offered a wedding chocolate to her.

She popped one into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “You haven’t answered my question,” she mumbled around a truffle.

Max pushed the small white box around on the table, then met her curious gaze with a blank expression. “Most marriages don’t work because of romance,” he finally said.

Sophy sat up straight in her chair and started to protest.

“Just hear me out,” Max asked, his jaw rigid and his mouth set in a thin line.

She nodded slowly and swallowed the truffle.

He continued, “People get so wrapped up in romance and lust that when they decide to get married, they don’t stop to consider that they might be totally wrong for each other. Too many couples, like your parents, think that having great sex is a great foundation for marriage.”

Sophy shifted in her seat, distinctly uncomfortable at the idea of her parents having sex, great or not. She preferred to believe that her mother found her in the garden under a cabbage leaf. “So what do you think is a good foundation for marriage?”

He reached into the box and pulled out a rum ball. “I’m not sure. Mutual respect, friendship, common interests.” He tossed the rum ball past his teeth and licked his fingers. “None of which your parents had,” he said pointedly.

“Until now.”

He tilted his head. “Yes, you’re right. Which just goes to show, they’re better off divorced.”

“Let me get this straight. You think that love isn’t a good basis for marriage?” she said incredulously.

“Not exactly. Lust isn’t a good basis for marriage.”

“Lust?”

“Yeah, lust. Hormones. You know, secreted by the—” He broke off as she glared at him.

“Can’t it be a good starting point?”

Was that pity in his eyes? “You are a hopeless romantic, aren’t you?”

She shrugged.

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But it’s never the ending point. That’s usually broken dishes and shouting matches.”

“But what about true love?”

“Doesn’t exist,” he said matter-of-factly, and reached into the box for another chocolate.

She sighed and slumped in her seat. Waving off the offer of champagne truffle, she eyed him carefully. “You’re not human, that must be it. Isn’t there anything you feel passionately about? You know, something that gets your heart racing and makes your skin tingle?”

Max turned slowly in his seat to look at her. The tip of his tongue poked out to drag across his lower lip, catching a stray smudge of melted chocolate.

Sophy inhaled sharply, mesmerized by the movement of his mouth. A pool of warmth spread through her stomach and she turned away.

“Forget I said anything,” she said brokenly.

His voice broke through the haze surrounding her brain as she struggled to ignore him and the slow fire burning deep in her body. “I believe in passion,” he said carefully, sounding as though the admission pained him. “Passion exists.”

Slowly, she turned her head to meet his darkening gaze. “Show me.”

* * *

“This is your passion?” Sophy shoved her sunglasses up on her head and looked around herself in bewilderment. And he thought she was crazy?

Max trailed a hand reverently over a nearby display model and smiled softly. “Why not?”

“But they’re... they’re...” she sputtered in disbelief.

“Computers, I know. What’s so strange about that? You have one, don’t you?”

She eyed him warily. “Yes, of course. But I don’t fondle it in a public place. There’s probably a word for that.”

“Technosexual.”

Good heaven, he knew that? And did he just sigh?

“I have to pick up a new backup drive,” he told her. Waving towards the far corner of the store, his eyes lit up suddenly. “Wow, I didn’t think this was coming out for another two weeks,” he murmured and stalked towards a laptop display.

Sophy sighed and pushed her tote bag further up on her shoulder. Unbelievable. When she had asked him to show her what he was passionate about, she was hoping for something a little more, well, heroic. Poetry. Fine wine. Maybe horses. Not this. For such a handsome man, he had astonishingly geeky tastes.

Well, maybe it wasn’t so bad. Computers were certainly an important part of life, right? She knew there were people out there who treated their computers like their children, lovingly wiping the static from the monitors and rhapsodizing over each feature as though it were a first tooth. She just wasn’t one of them.

Just because she had a four year-old laptop didn’t mean that she was computer illiterate. Sophy just didn’t see the need to keep buying new stuff every six months when what she had worked just fine. All she used was the internet and her word processor.

“Sophy, look at this!”

She sighed again and walked over to Max. “What?” She looked where he was pointing, but didn’t quite understand half the words on the packaging.

“Oh, I have to get this!”

She’d never seen him so excited, and it was a relief. It was nice to know he was indeed passionate about something, even if it was a small metal box. She picked up the brochure beside the display and peered at it.

She started reading the specs out loud, not even sure what they meant. Until she heard a slight hiss, and glanced up at Max.

His jaw was clenched and his pupils were dilating. He inhaled slowly and deeply, a flush crawling up his neck. She took in his flaring nostrils and the flaming tips of his ears and grinned.

“Why, Dr. Wright, I think this is turning you on.” Okay, so he was passionate. She stifled the urge to laugh, and laid down the brochure. Max Wright was apparently a hot geek at heart.

He turned away from her and caressed the smooth metal. Sophy’s gaze was riveted to the lean length of his fingers trailing over the letters on it, and she shivered. Wrapping her light cardigan around her, she muttered, “Damn air conditioning. Uh, your drive?” she prompted.

“Oh, right. I’ll go get it. You want to come?”

“No, I think I’ll look around a little.”

“Good idea.” He nodded. “Maybe you could look for something to replace what you’ve got now.”

She bristled. “There’s nothing wrong with what I’ve got now. It works just fine.”

Max shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. Grinning, he replied, “Yeah, but the hamster running around inside of it must be getting pretty tired.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Go get your stuff.”

As soon as he moved away, she swiftly loaded her author page on every computer and device on display that she could.

* * *

Why were romance novels adored by so many, yet sneered at by so many others? Max chewed on the end of his pen and pondered the question. Drumming an impatient tattoo on the edge of his laptop, he sat in his office and stared at the blank screen in front of him.

His research was going much better now, thanks to Sophy’s input, but he still couldn’t figure out what made millions of readers of romance so loyal to the genre.

He tapped the pen against his teeth absently, and pecked out a few words with his right hand.

Looking for a hero.

Sophy certainly was; he knew that much. And she seemed to want to cast him in the role. He wished she wouldn’t; she’d only be disappointed.

His fingers stilled and tightened on the pen. Yes, she would be disappointed. He had a great gift for disappointing people. Like Trisha, his former clients looking to mend their marriages, his parents who wanted him to go to medical school. He knew that the Doctor in front of his name was not the kind they had been hoping for. Even Chapaty would be disappointed in him if this damned paper didn’t get written soon.

Max dropped the pen on the desk and leaned back in his chair. His lips twisted as he ruminated that for once, just once, he would like for someone to want him for who he was, not what they expected him to be or to do.

The buzzing movement on his desk brought him out of his funk of self-pity, and he auto-saved as he reached for his phone.

“Dr. Wright,” he announced.

“Hi, Max!”

He sighed. “Sophy.” Her brief greeting had sounded positively exuberant, which was always a bad sign. “You know what? I’m really tired today. I’m not sure I’m up to any more of your harebrained schemes.”

“Ah, but this isn’t a harebrained scheme.”

Max frowned. “Ha! Right. So far you’ve been the Wile E. Coyote of romance research.”

She giggled nervously. “This is different! I promise!”

“What is it?” He had good reason to be suspicious. After all, the last time she had sounded this optimistic, he had ended up practically mooning his boss.

“You’ll see. Are your classes done for the day?”

“Sophy, it’s June. Classes have been over for over a month.”

“Oh right. Then you’ll have no excuses.”

“What?”

“I’ll pick you up in front of your office in twenty minutes.”

The click echoed in Max’s ear as she hung up. He sighed, replacing the receiver with resigned wariness. He wondered if it was too late to call his insurance agent. There must be a policy against inhumane humiliation.

True to her word, she was waiting outside in exactly eighteen minutes. Her small compact vibrated silently as she rested her arm on the open window. She was humming along to the radio when he opened the passenger door and leaned in.

“Where are we going?”

She turned towards him with a broad smile, and he suspected that her eyes were sparkling behind her sunglasses. “It’s a surprise.”

The word sent shivers down his spine. He slammed the door shut behind him and started walking away from the car.

Another clunk sounded and he heard her sandals slapping on the asphalt as she ran after him. “Hey, wait a minute!”

He pivoted on one heel and crossed his arms over his chest. “Give me one good reason why I should go anywhere with you.”

He knew he was being petulant, but he was tired, and staring at his blank screen all morning hadn’t exactly helped. If he didn’t get some writing done soon, he could kiss his grant goodbye. Not to mention his merit increase. And tenure.

She stopped a few feet away from him and crossed her arms the same way he had. The movement deepened the cleavage revealed by her black tank top, and her expression was unreadable behind her sunglasses. Sweat suddenly prickled on Max’s forehead, and he wondered if tweed was too hot for June.

“Why?” he repeated.

“Because you have less than two months left on your grant, and a little over two weeks left on our agreement. And I’m going to help you.”

He turned away from her, his jaw set. “I think you’ve helped enough.” He pivoted, raising an eyebrow when she muttered something under her breath. “What was that?

The expression in her eyes concealed by her sunglasses, she smirked and enunciated clearly, “I said, what an asstard.”

“Well, then. Good luck with your book, Miss Honeypot.”

Her voice rang in his ears as he walked away. “How’s the paper coming?”

Max halted. Damn. She had him, and she knew she had him. When he turned back, her sunglasses were off and she squinted at him in the sunlight. Raising a hand to shade her eyes, she promised, “I am going to help you. Just come with me.”

He sighed, set his shoulders back, and followed her to the car. “Should I call my attorney first? Or a bail bondsman?”

She slid the sunglasses back on and grinned at him. “Buckle up. We’ll be there in an hour.”

There was a large mall in a neighbouring city fifty miles away, where Sophy pulled into a parking space. Max carefully peeled his hands from the armrest, which he had been clinging to for the last forty miles.

“My god, where did you learn how to drive?”

Her reply was muffled as she reached into the backseat for her tote bag. “My mother taught me.”

“Figures,” Max mumbled, remembering a few volatile counseling sessions and the way Maura Hadden had thrown her ex-husband around the dance floor the week before.

They entered the mall and Max instantly felt more comfortable, thanks to the icy blast of air conditioning. Sophy swung her straw bag over her shoulder and pointed to the left. “This way.”

A few minutes later they reached a bookstore. A poster near the entrance announced a book signing at two o’clock.

“Great, we’re not late.” Sophy clapped her hands together lightly and headed for the back of the store.

“Uh, what are we doing here?” Max had an idea that their visit had something to do with the signing, but he wasn’t sure what. Until he saw the display.

Dozens of books lay snuggled in a cardboard case. Heaving bosoms abounded on every rose pink cover, as well as long flowing hair, pectorally-enhanced bodies of both sexes, and curly script.

He frowned. “This isn’t your signing?”

“Oh no.” She pushed her sunglasses up on her head. “This is another romance author’s. I’m here to show support.” She jabbed him in the chest lightly. “I thought you could do some impromptu interviews of the customers. You know, get an idea of the average romance reader. A focus group of sorts.” She smiled softly, as if thinking about some private joke.

Relief flooded Max’s veins. He had been worried that she was planning to position him near the display and poll customers about his heroic qualities. This was different. This was almost academic. There was a method to this. He could handle this.

“Got a pen and paper?”

She beamed at him and produced a slightly battered notepad and ballpoint pen from the depths of her purse.

“I’m going to go talk to the author,” she told him.

He looked around the store and nodded towards a wall of paperbacks. “Is it okay if I stand over here and approach people as they leave the signing table?”

“Perfect.”

Max was surprised at the number of people who came into the store just after two o’clock. He peered at the display case again, wondering if he should recognize the name on the cover. He didn’t, but he would be the first to admit that his ignorance didn’t mean that the author wasn’t popular. Apparently she was.

The author sat behind the table with a welcoming smile and friendly words for every customer. She laughed at something Sophy said and glanced in his direction.

Clearing his throat, Max flipped open the notebook and walked over to a lady admiring her signed copy of the new book.

“Hi, I’m a psychology professor doing a study on the phenomenon of romance novels. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”

The woman glanced down at the pen in his hand and then smiled at him. “Sure, go ahead.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-seven.”

Max jotted it down on the pad. “How long have you been reading romance novels?”

The woman’s gaze shifted to the small stack of books in her arms and looked pensive. “Probably about fifteen years or so. Maybe longer.” She frowned. “I guess it depends on what you consider romance,” she added.

Max made a note. Just what was considered romance? he wondered. “Are you married?”

“Yes, for ten years. Two kids, girls aged seven and nine.” Her smile widened and her eyes softened.

“That’s great.”

She nodded in agreement.

“What do you do for a living?” Max asked.

“I’m a stockbroker.”

Max nearly dropped the pen. “Really?”

The woman blushed slightly and shifted the books in her arms. “I’m taking the day off. It’s my brokerage, so what the hell!” Her laugh ended in an “Oops!” when one of her books slipped from the pile and fell to the floor.

Max stooped to retrieve it for her. She thanked him with a smile.

“Just one more thing.”

She waited patiently.

“Why do you read romance?”

Her brow furrowed slightly. “I’m not sure,” she replied slowly. “I guess I’m just a sucker for a happy ending.” Her frown disappeared and her mouth curved once again. “It’s nice to escape once in a while, you know what I mean?”

Max looked at her blankly. Escape? Escape from what?

She wedged the stack of paperbacks under her right arm and reached into her pocketbook for her purse with her left. “I mean, after work and the kids and everything, it’s nice to read a good book and relax.”

He was beginning to understand. “What does your husband think of your reading preferences?”

She unearthed her purse and let out a short laugh. “They’re not his cup of tea, but he doesn’t mind me reading them.” She winked at him. “He thinks they make me more creative, if you get my meaning.”

Max stopped scribbling on the pad. “Uh, yeah. Thanks for your time.”

She nodded and headed for the cash register.

Max bent his head over the pad and starting making some notes. He stepped forward, intending to head over to Sophy when he ran into something. Something around the size of a Mack truck, to be more specific.

His head jerked up to take in the expanse of black leather and steel studs, and the grizzled beard hiding an equally grizzled face. He would bet his nascent university retirement plan that there was a big, bad, black motorcycle in the parking lot with this guy’s name on it. Bubba, maybe. Or Snake. Max smiled nervously at the giant.

Yeah, Snake sounded about right. It would match the tattoo that surely covered a fair portion of his anatomy under the leather and studs.

“Sorry,” Max said.

The man grunted and stepped to the left at the same time that Max stepped to the right. They reversed directions and ran into each other again. This time a book fell from the Mack truck’s hand. Max glanced down at the fuschia cover and tried to hide his astonishment.

“You read romance?”

The man grunted again.

Max raised his pen. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

“I guess.” He sounded as though he chewed gravel for breakfast.

Max asked him similar questions that he had been asking other customers, trying to establish a kind of profile of the average romance reader. But, as Snake’s scarred leather pants caught the fluorescent light in the bookstore, Max realized that this man could never be called average.

He noted Snake’s answers on his pad and glanced over at Sophy. She was watching them carefully, a small smile on her lips. There seemed to be an “I told you so” glint in her eyes, and Max turned back to Snake. It was time to get to the interesting stuff.

“Do you feel that romance novels promote immoral behaviour?”

“Immoral?” Snake’s bushy eyebrows raised from beneath his wraparound sunglasses. “I guess not.”

Max tilted his head, frowning. “Why do you read them?”

“I like the characters, I guess.” Snake was starting to look uncomfortable.

“Which do you prefer, the hero or the heroine? Generally speaking, of course?”

Snake’s lips twisted in a grin. “The villain.”

Max made some notes and one more thing popped into his head. He looked up at Snake and smiled. “Just one more question. Are you ever embarrassed that you read a genre considered by most to be traditionally feminine?”

The last thing he saw was the light reflecting off of the steel studs on Snake’s jacket as his fist plowed into Max’s face.