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Silhouette Special Edition #1574
Montana Mavericks
November 2003
ISBN: 0-373-24574-2

From Life in the Fast Lane….

New York socialite Jinni Fairchild would take care of her sister, even if that meant sacrificing, temporarily, her jet-set lifestyle for the wilds of Rumor, Montana. No limos, no parties, no haute couture—She was barely surviving. Until she met Max Cantrell.

…To Slow and easy

Tall. Dark. Gorgeous. And rich as Midas. Jinni knew how to handle men like him. With one flirtatious smile, she would have him eating out of her manicured hand. Except Max had his own agenda, one that involved long talks, gentle kisses and an unhurried sensuality that tempted this city girl to stop and smell the roses—with him

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Max Cantrell lay back on the grass, arms tucked under his head as he closed his eyes. As he reclined, Jinni trailed her fingers down his chest, letting them rest there, feeling his heart beat through her own skin. She watched him for a second, hoping he’d switch from Melancholy Max to a gear more befitting a lover’s sky.

She waited. Nothing happened.

“Welcome to my mid-life crisis,” he said. “Can’t say I know how to handle one, either, but I’m pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to dump all problems on my nemesis from
the MonMart parking lot.”

“Hey,” said Jinni, finally taking her hand away and laying down next to him, using his coat as a blanket, “I’m all ears.”

And all worked up, truth to tell.

She listened to him breathe, his chest rising and falling, making her want to rest her head on him, to see the world float up and down.

He turned his head in her direction. “You won’t know about hitting that mid-life brick wall for a while.”

“You flatter me so.”


“Yes, forty. And not afraid to admit it.”

Oh, she hated her age. It made her want to sit on a park bench, pretending to feed the pigeons like a nice old maid should, and trip all the pre-menopausal women as they walked by.

“That’s right,” she continued. “Forty’s just a number.”

“You don’t look your age at all. I thought you were maybe thirty-five, thirty-six.”

She gasped, trying to ignore the pain of reality. Even her fake, delusional age was over the hill.

So, now that he probably thought her skin was crumbling to dust right before his eyes, what were the chances of him rolling over and planting a kiss on her?

Probably nil.

Bother with this. Jinni turned on her side, propping her head up with one hand while resting the other on a hip. Very come hither. It had to work.

Make your move, honey.

Max just grinned at her. “You’ve turned out to be a good listener. I’m glad we met up tonight.”

Oh, brother. “Glad to help. Is there anything else you’d like to do?”

“You mean chat about? Nah. I’m all talked out.”

Okay. He wasn’t getting it, and as a result, she sure wasn’t getting it.

She decided to change tact, lowering her voice. “Isn’t it romantic out here? The stars, the moon, the fact that we’re all alone?”

He made an uh-uh sound. Perfect. He’d bared his soul to her, but he couldn’t bare anything else?

Jinni flopped to her back again, losing hope. She didn’t have it anymore. Forty had sucked all the attractiveness out of her. Rumor had already shaped her into Granny Ankle-High-Nylons.

She was done for.

Once again, her gaze lingered over his length. The wing-tip shoes, the crisp slacks, the stylish tie. Sigh.

Wait a second.



“Wouldn’t a Barbra Streisand song make the moment?”

She held her breath, hoping, praying…

“Bently likes her. Sometimes he’ll throw on one of her CDs, so I’ve got no choice but to listen.”

Bently? Who was Bently?

Ahhh. Maybe this was the problem. Maybe Max wasn’t touching her because he was…confused. That would explain it.

Mid-life crisis, indeed.

He bolted to a sitting position. “No.”

“No, what?”

“No, I’m not a Barbra Streisand fan. Because I think I know what you’re asking and… Hey, is that what you were asking?”

“Just wondering.”

He cursed.

“Hey, don’t revert to sailor speak just to prove your manhood.”

“I can’t believe you thought…”

Jinni sat upright, too. “And I can’t believe you think I look thirty-six!”

“You said you didn’t care about age.”

“I don’t.” She smoothed her hair, trying to seem glacial. “Age is immaterial.”

He cursed again, this time with a slight amount of mirth.

She was about to chide him for his course language, but the whole alpha talk bit was lighting her fire. She liked it when he showed some raw emotion.

Too bad he couldn’t extend some of that passion in her direction.

Once again, she felt inadequate. So she did the only thing that could cheer her up--reminding herself that she was wanted.

Or maybe she merely needed to convince herself that Max was a little slow in kissing her because of other reasons.

“You remind me of Jordan Clifton,” she said.


Jinni smiled tolerantly at him. “The movie star with five films in the top ten list of worldwide grosses?”

Max shrugged, probably still smarting from the whole “gay” misunderstanding.

“Well, you’ve got the same dimpled chin. When we were engaged--”

“--You were engaged to a movie star?”

“Three, actually. But when we were engaged--”

He wiped a hand over his face and slumped back down to his reclining position. “--Incredible.”

Good, she’d gotten a rise out of him. Could she hope that his frustration stemmed from the slightest bit of male jealousy?

Jinni followed his lead, leaning over him. “You don’t want to hear about other men, do you?”

Her heart jumped when he took her chin between his index finger and thumb, pulling her further toward him.

Right next to his mouth.

“Quiet, Jinni,” he whispered. “Why don’t you just be quiet.”


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From the book: Her Montana Millionaire
By: Crystal Green
Imprint and Series: Silhouette Special Edition
Publication Date: 11/03
ISBN: 0-373-24574-2
Copyright: 2003
By: Chris Marie Green
R and TM are trademarks of the publisher.
The edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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