After re-combing my hair and blasting the long strands with the blow dryer and applying a quick five-minute makeup routine, I dressed in the panties, bra, and camisole I took in the bathroom with me. Then I smoothed my tangle-prone, thin strands back into a neat bun at the base of my neck.
I stepped into the bedroom with anticipation coiling low in my abdomen. My eyes immediately went to his side of the closet, where I was hoping to see him standing.
The room was empty.
Feeling the sharp sting of disappointment, I quickly dressed in a black pencil skirt, a white silk top, and a black fitted jacket. After slipping into a pair of black heels, I went out into the living room in search of Max.
He was sprawled—not sitting, but sprawled—across the sofa, making the couch seem much smaller than it actually was. Both his arms were thrown out across the back, one leg was up on the coffee table, and one was flung out with his foot resting on the floor.
I’d never seen him appear so relaxed. The first thing I thought was that he was going to wrinkle the suit he was wearing.
“Are you watching the sports channel?” I asked, taking in his appearance once more.
He sat up abruptly and flipped off the television. “It was the news, but they were talking about the game,” he replied, standing up.
I forgot about sports.
The suit he was wearing wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen before. In fact, it was just a regular navy suit with a jacket and matching slacks.
But the way he was wearing it… It looked new.
The jacket seemed to hug his shoulders a little more closely than before. The pants clung to the thickness of his thighs instead of falling away. And he wasn’t wearing a tie. The white dress shirt was left open at the throat, exposing the smooth skin of his neck and throat.
He still hadn’t shaved.
The contrast of his rough-textured jaw against the sleek lines of his suit was… stunning.
Just when I thought my heart rate was back in control, it began to beat unevenly once more. I swallowed thickly, unable to tear my gaze away from the hollow of his throat.
“You ready?” Max asked. Something in his tone made me look up into his chocolate eyes.
I cleared my throat and composed myself. “Yes.”
“Where do you want to go?” he asked, holding open the apartment door for me as I grabbed my purse off the counter.
I started to reply, stepping around him and into the hallway, when the dark shape of a man rushing me caught my attention.
Flashes of last night assaulted me and with a squeal, I stumbled backward, trying to get away. The heel of my black pump snapped with a cracking sound, causing my already teetering frame to buckle and fall.
Solid arms wrapped around me from behind, and an unyielding chest stopped me from falling any farther.
“Whoa there,” he said, his voice right beside my ear, and the deep baritone in which he spoke caused the nerves in the back of my neck to tingle with awareness. “I got you.”
And he did. It was like his body had become my safety net and I knew that as long as his arms were around me, nothing bad was going to happen.
The man who was barreling toward me kept going, his muttered curse following along behind him as he went. I watched, from the safety of Max’s embrace, as the man cornered something at the end of the hallway. He bent at the waist and scooped it up and an angry yowling sound filled the air.
He spun and looked at us apologetically. “I’m sorry. My girlfriend’s cat got out and while I think he’s a pain in the ass, she loves it.”
The pain in the ass cat seemed offended and began swishing its tail back and forth, slapping his jailor’s thigh with the white-tipped end.
I let out a little relieved laugh and straightened, pulling away from Max and his incredible warmth (Had he always been this warm?). “It’s no problem.”
The man started to smile, but it was short lived because behind me, Max wasn’t as forgiving. “Watch where you’re going next time,” he said, short. “She could’ve been hurt.”
“I’m sorry,” the man said again, hurrying back down the hall, giving us a wide berth. I glanced at Max, shocked that he would even say anything, and became even more shocked that he was glaring at the man as he and his cat hurried to the threshold of their apartment. Before going inside, he glanced back to give me an apologetic look, but when he caught Max’s stare, he rushed inside and shut the door.
I swung around to ask Max what his problem was, but before I could ask, I stumbled again, forgetting that the heel on my shoe was broken.
Max caught me by the elbow, steadying me.
“I broke my shoe,” I said, then wondered why I was stating the obvious.
“I see.” The corner of his mouth picked up.
We looked at one another for long seconds before he released me to push the door open again. “I’ll wait while you change them.”
Inside the apartment, I took a steadying breath. I wasn’t sure what was wrong with me tonight. I was so jumpy and scared.
Of course, that isn’t what bothered me most, because those things could be explained away after last night.
What bothered me more than anything was my reaction every single time Max touched me.
I didn’t want to admit it.
But I couldn’t ignore what my body was blatantly saying. In the entire year Max and I were a couple, his touch never, not one time, erupted such a flurry of butterflies within me.
Until now.
The lawyer in me was perplexed by this. My inner logic told me it wasn’t possible. Yet the evidence was swirling around inside me with every erratic beat of my heart.
It left me with one resounding question.
Why?
9
Tucker
Consciousness came to me slowly, like the way a roasting fire spread warmth on a cold winter’s day. It creeped over my skin, bringing awareness to my sleep-induced world.
The first thing I noticed was the weight against my side, the feel of something wrapped around me. Automatically, I shifted closer; the feeling of her skin was just so damn appealing.
I felt like my body was supporting her weight, like she had wrapped herself around me and I was her mattress. She was still and warm. The length of her arm wound around my middle with the tips of her fingers tucked between me and the sheets, as if her fingers didn’t want me to touch anything but her.
Her cheek was pressed against my pec, her breath fanned out over my T-shirt, and for a fleeting minute I wished my chest were bare so I could feel the full effect of her against me.
My fingers twitched, and it was then that I realized my arm was wrapped around her middle, my hand was draped across her belly, and her belly was bare.