“Fuck!” I groaned and rolled to the side, cupping my elbow.
They didn’t take notice or seem to give one freaking dingle berry about little ol’ me. The bozos continued tumbling around like two schoolboys fighting on the playground.
I peeled myself off the walkway, got to my feet, and rubbed my throbbing arm. Wow. Just wow. They really couldn’t care less about me.
I threw up my hands—Ouch! My elbow—and threw them down. “Fine! You know what?” I yelled. “Fucking kill each other!”
I marched past them, slammed my door shut, turned the dead bolt, and went into my bedroom. The knocking began immediately, but I was not about to answer. Let them have their awesome macho-man contest. Yes, Patricio had a right to be angry, but he should be upset with me. Me! I’d let Max kiss me. And it was wrong. I knew that.
Of course, Max had crossed the line by kissing me, so I got to be angry with him for that. He knew exactly how to work me.
After two minutes, the knocking ceased and my phone beeped. So now they’re texting me? I walked into the living room, grabbed my phone, and shut it off. They could stew tonight. Both of them. And maybe, just maybe, in the morning, I might be coolheaded enough to talk to them. But not now. At this moment, my damned elbow hurt and I needed to process what had happened. After I completed my angry spinning, of course.
I went to my small kitchen, popped open the freezer, and grabbed the blue plastic ice block I used for my lunches. I wrapped it in a towel and held it to the back of my arm.
The loud knocking started again. “Seriously?” I scowled. “You two need to take a hint.” I marched over, unlocked the dead bolt, and jerked the door open. “Screw you! Okay! I don’t want…” my voice trailed off as a news crew shoved a microphone in my face.
“Miss Snow! What can you tell us about the fight between Maxwell Cole and Patricio Ferrari? Were they fighting over you? Is it true one hit you? Who threw the punch? Will you be pressing charges?”
What the hell? How had the news crew come so fast?
My mouth flapped for several moments before I slammed the door shut and pushed my back against the door. “No, no, no.” The chaos was starting all over again.
This is all Max’s fault. I had to get rid of him.
After a very restless night with a very sore arm, I threw in the towel on the whole sleep idea and decided to go for an early morning run on the beach, aka my therapy because it usually cleared my head. There was something energizing about seeing the wide-open ocean right before sunrise when the air felt crisp and crackled with the possibilities of a new day.
So after putting on my blue running shorts and white sports tank and placing my arm into a little sling made from a scarf, I ran north for an hour until the sun came up.
My body tired with sweat, I plunked down in the cool sand with my legs stretched out. I wanted to stay there all day, staring at the calming ocean, because when my thoughts returned to my shop, my life, Patricio and Max, everything felt so damned heavy.
“Whatcha looking at?” said a deep voice.
I swiveled my head to find Max—shirtless, broad chest heaving, tatt-covered upper arms flexing with muscles—wearing only running shoes and black shorts. His lightly tanned, sculpted abs and pecs glistened with sweat, making my heart beat a little faster.
Okay. A lot faster.
Interesting fact: Max’s magnificent body was also a byproduct of his dysfunctional brain, which drove him to relentlessly pursue perfection in all things. The bedroom was no exception. When we’d been together, he’d used that lean, chiseled body and large cock of his to work me over repeatedly. He knew exactly how to move inside me—the timing and pressure of his thrusts, the grinding against my c-spot, the pace of his hot kisses. I’d now been with one other man—Patricio—but he didn’t compare. And part of me believed no one ever would.
But there’s more to a relationship than mind-blowing sex. Friendship, for example. Friendship is—
My eyes stuck to Max’s chest. Damn, he’s ripped. Max had added some extra definition to those chiseled abs. He looked amazing.
Oh, stop.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“You love to run. I love to run. I guess we decided to do it at the same time.”
I lifted a brow. His home was in north Chicago, so my hunch told me he was staying at one of the five-star resorts in town. None of them were anywhere near this beach. “At the same location, too?”
Max didn’t answer. Instead, he sat next to me in the moist sand and stared out at the ocean. “I’m not sorry about last night,” he said flatly.
I shook my head. “You should be.” I pointed to my sling. My elbow was black and blue and swollen.
Max looked at my arm. “What happened?”
I huffed. “Of course, you don’t remember because you were too busy fighting Patricio.”
“He attacked me.”
“Yes, but you kissed me.”
“I won’t apologize for that.” Max looked forward, watching a breaking wave. “But I am sorry about your arm, even if it was Patricio’s fault.”
God. He was so damned…stubborn! Of course, it was what I loved about him, too. His iron will. That being said, “I have to go.” I hopped up and started walking back.
“Lily, wait.” Max got to his feet, grabbed my good arm, and stopped me. “Did you think about my offer?”
“What? No! I was too busy getting knocked over by you two and fending off the press at my front door. Thank you for that, by the way.”
“I texted you a warning when I left. Didn’t you see it?”
“No. I didn’t see it.”
He shrugged his dark brows as if to say: “Not my problem. Next time check your texts.” But instead he said, “Am I the only person who found it odd that the paparazzi happened to be in the neighborhood to film us?”
“You’re not implying that Patricio had something to do with it? Because he had no clue you were going to be there.”
Max shrugged. “Perhaps he was hoping they’d be there to capture your big yes to his marriage proposal.”
I scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. He wouldn’t do that.” Would he?
“The man will do anything to advance his career, and getting free publicity is no exception.”
“If that were true, then Patricio and I would’ve had our pictures popping up in the tabloids every time we went…” My voice faded as I realized there had been a few occasions where we were surprised by photographers. The last time was at a new sushi restaurant he’d taken me to near Malibu.
I’m sure those were coincidences. Weren’t they? Wait…
“You know what? I don’t have time for this. I have a store to open.” I turned away, but Max grabbed my arm again.
“Lily,” he growled, “you didn’t give me an answer about my business proposal.”
“No. I don’t want to go into business with you. There. You have your answer.”
“Then you need more time to think it over, just like you need to reconsider my marriage proposal.”
“What are you doing, Max?”
He didn’t answer my question. Instead he said, “I stayed up all night thinking about how that kiss last night proved you don’t love him. Otherwise you would’ve resisted. So tell me why you insist on marrying him, Lily. And then I’ll leave if you want. You’ll never see me again.”
I took a breath. “It’s exactly what I told you last night. We’re bad for each other.”
“I happen to disagree. You helped me when no one else could. And I helped you see your true potential. We’re not simply good for each other, we’re perfect. And we need each other.”
“What you need is a woman who will never doubt you and be there to stroke your massive ego.”
“No. You’re wrong again. I need someone who tells it like it is. You.”
I placed my hands on my waist and shook my head at my running shoes. He was making this so hard. “I’m fucked up, Max. And will always doubt
you love me because despite my improved looks, I still feel like that girl who stood in your office eight months ago, asking for a job, but all you saw was her face—a face that revolted you.”
Max’s jaw tightened. My words clearly angered him.
I went on, “And can you honestly tell me you won’t relapse? Or that if we did get married that you wouldn’t repeat your mother’s mistakes? What if we had kids? Did you think about that? Because chances are, any child of mine will not come out looking like a beauty queen.” It was a harsh thing to say. I knew that. Just like I knew any child of mine would be absolutely beautiful to me and insanely loved. But Max needed to understand that our future didn’t look promising. “Max, can you honestly say you wouldn’t force our child to have a nose job at thirteen or punish it for being imperfect.” It was what his mother had done to him.
He shook his head from side to side. “I would never…” But I heard doubt in his voice. Or maybe it was fear.
“I can’t risk it,” I said. “I can’t risk loving you and then having a family simply to see if maybe, maybe you’ll love your son or daughter like my parents loved me.” And I certainly couldn’t risk opening my heart to him again. The pain of our breakup still made me feel sick when I thought about it.
Max looked down at the sand. He understood my point. He could say that he loved me all day long, but he could not guarantee that he’d always be there for me and our children like we deserved. Simply put, the depths of his fuckedupness were unknown.
I waited for him to respond, but he looked away. His brow beaded with fresh sweat.
Christ. See, I’m right. Whatever images or thoughts were going through his head freaked him the hell out. Maybe he’d imagined holding an ugly baby.
His head abruptly snapped up. “No. I’m not letting you throw us away based on what-ifs. I do know, Lily. I know who I am. I know the kind of man I am. And I know that I would never abandon you. I’d stick by my children, too, regardless of my struggles.”
And there it was. The point.
I grabbed his arm and squeezed gently. “Listen to yourself. Having a life with me shouldn’t be a struggle. It shouldn’t be an act of loyalty or duty or a form of torture. It should be the one thing that makes you hop out of bed in the morning with a giant smile. I can’t give you that. And I could never be happy knowing that maybe on the inside, you don’t love me or them like they deserve.” It was so surreal having a conversation about children who didn’t exist yet. Especially, because in my heart, I felt like I was letting real people go, because I was letting him go.
Max’s dark brows furrowed, his lips flattened, and his jaw muscles ticked. He did not like being told no, but he definitely didn’t like hearing that I didn’t have faith in him as a future father.
“I’m sorry, Max. But you wanted the truth, and now you have it. We’re not good for each other.” I still had a lot of healing and growing to do to accept myself, but being with Max wouldn’t allow it. I’d always be focusing on him and his phobia, wondering and worrying and doubting him or doubting us. Not healthy. It had taken these past six months to realize it, but I saw that now.
Max blew out a long breath and crossed his arms over his chest. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but maybe you’re right. I will struggle. I will fight. But I’ve yet to fail at anything. And I know you will never find a man willing to work harder to make you happy. But you? You’ve given up. Not simply on your career, but on your life. So you don’t believe we could work? All right. There’s nothing I can do about it. But trust me, Lily. I know the man. He’s not the one for you.”
I stared up at Max. Okay, he knows something. He has to. There was too much conviction in his voice. “Why do you keep saying that?”
Max scratched his chin and looked away.
“Max,” I urged him.
He shook his head. “Some things are better left alone.”
Now it was my turn to shake my head. “You can’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Ask for complete honesty from me and not reciprocate.”
“I’m Maxwell Cole. I can do anything I like.”
I tilted my head. “You think this is funny?”
“No. I think you need to trust me, and if history has taught you anything, it should be that.”
Low blow.
“Max, please. Tell me why you think Patricio and I won’t work.”
“Besides the fact that he’s not me and will never understand you like I do?”
I rolled my eyes. “Just tell me.”
Max grumbled under his breath. “Why don’t you ask him? He is going to be your fiancé. Perhaps the honesty should begin there.”
Jerk. “Fine. I will. Unlike you, I’m sure he’ll have the balls to tell me. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a business to run.” I turned away, took a step, and fell over.
“Lily!”
When I came to with a nauseous churning in my stomach and a light head, Max held me in his strong—so, so strong—arms and carried me down the beach, my cheek pressed to his chest.
“What happened? Put me down,” I mumbled.
“No. Something’s wrong with you.”
“I’m fine—I’m just tired.” The long days at the store, the stress of my business failing, and the restless nights had finally caught up with me.
“If passing out means you’re tired, then it’s all the more reason to rethink your business strategy.”
Max cut inland and headed for a very tall set of wooden stairs to get us over the sandbank.
“Where are we going?” I asked, my legs bouncing as he huffed and moved at a quick pace.
“Callahan is waiting in the parking lot.”
“You brought your chauffeur to Santa Barbara?”
“Where I go, he goes.”
“And you are going to…?” He’d promised he’d leave once I told him the truth about why we couldn’t be together.
“To the hospital.”
“No. I’m fine. It’s happened before. Please put me down.”
He gave me a stern look and lowered me to my feet.
I pressed my palms to my knees, holding my body in the doubled-over position to get my bearings. “I forgot to eat last night.” Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning. I didn’t usually do that, but with Max showing up and the fight and everything else, the emotions had killed my hunger. “You can go now. I’ll be fine once I eat.”
He placed his strong hand between my shoulder blades and made circles. “I’m taking you home.”
Oh, God. His touch felt so damned good. “No. Just go.”
“You’re being ridiculous. My driver is waiting up in the parking lot.”
I glanced at the long stretch of beach standing between me and my home and then at the flight of wooden stairs leading up to the public lot. “You’ll have to help me up the stairs.”
“No problem.” Without warning, he grabbed my arm and effortlessly whipped me over his shoulder. With my five-six height and slender frame, a guy like Max—six three, muscles in all the right places—could lift me easily, but he made a big show of it.
I’m a dude. A big strong dude. You know you’re impressed. Grunt, grunt.
“Max!”
“What?” He marched up the stairs with a smug bounce in his step.
He’s totally enjoying this! He’d thrown me over his shoulder on the night he’d taken me up to his bedroom at his home near Chicago. He’d fucked me senseless that night. He’d fucked me senseless the next day, too. Oh, hell. It had been the best weekend of my life.
Our sextastic weekend.
He had to know that carrying me brought back very sexual memories. Hot, sensual, orgasmic memories that included his tongue licking its way up my inner thigh, his hands pinching my nipples, his thick cock hammering me from behind.
Oh God. No. No. No. You’re not getting horny. You’re simply remembering how good he felt sliding between your legs. So, so hard. So, so good.
I shook it off quickly.
“Put me down, Max.” My body bounced on his shoulder. It wasn’t the most comfortable of positions and wasn’t helping my light-headedness.
“Stop whining, Lily.” He gave my ass a hard slap and the sting sent an instantaneous, scorching arousal between my legs. I wasn’t into pain, but he’d slapped my ass on that special night in his bedroom. I would never forget the sting that initiated the most erotic weekend of my life.
I gritted my teeth and pushed my lids together nice and tight. This was exactly my point. I couldn’t be around Max and not…not…want him. But I didn’t want to be one of those stupid girls who knew a relationship was completely doomed, but jumped in anyway, only to whine like an idiot after it all went south.
Finally at the top, Max tilted forward and slid me off.
Gripping my shoulders, he looked down at me and flashed a cocky smile. Oh yes. He knew exactly what he was doing.
“That was dirty, Max.”
He looked over my shoulder, ignoring my comment. “There’s Callahan. Shall we?” He held out his elbow.
I marched ahead, unable to look at him. I was so goddamned turned on, but my heart didn’t want this. It didn’t want to play this game any longer.
The ride back to my “unacceptable apartment,” as Max called it, took only a few minutes, but as far as my body was concerned, it felt like an eternity of sexual torture. Thankfully, Max had put on a black T-shirt to cover those drool-provoking washboard abs, but the smell of his expensive cologne and fresh sweat permeated the car, only fueling the intimate memories with my ex-boss.
As I prepared to deliver a very firm goodbye-for-forever speech, the town car pulled up to the curb in front of my complex—a two-story, 1960s Spanish-style building with a red tile roof, white stucco exterior, and arched windows and doorways. Max’s expression turned from serious to surprised.
My gaze followed the direction of his stare through the windshield. “Crap.” They were back. Only this time, instead of one news crew, there were six.
“What the hell is going on?” I groaned. Didn’t they have wars and election email scandals to report on?
It's a Fugly Life Page 4
