The lift stopped on Max’s floor and he indicated for her to alight before him. She moved past him and breathed in the sharp citrus scent of his aftershave—lemon and lime and something else that was as mysterious and unknowable as his personality.
He led the way along the carpeted corridor and came to a suite that overlooked the Grand Canal. Sabrina stepped over the threshold and, pointedly ignoring the twin king-sized beds, went straight to the windows to check out the magnificent view. Even if her booking had been processed correctly, she would never have been able to afford a room such as this.
‘Wow...’ She breathed out a sigh of wonder. ‘Venice never fails to take my breath away. The light. The colours. The history.’ She turned to face him, doing her best to not glance at the beds that dominated the room. He still had his spy face on but she could sense an inner tension in the way he held himself. ‘Erm... I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about this...’
The mocking arch of his eyebrow made her cheeks burn. ‘This?’
At this rate, she’d have to ramp up the air-conditioning to counter the heat she was giving off from her burning cheeks. ‘Me...sharing your room.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’
‘I mean, it could get really embarrassing if either of our parents thought we were—’
‘We’re not.’ The blunt edge to his voice was a slap down to her ego.
There was a knock at the door.
Max opened the door and stepped aside as the hotel employee brought in Sabrina’s luggage. Max gave the young man a tip and closed the door, locking his gaze on hers. ‘Don’t even think about it.’
Sabrina raised her eyebrows so high she thought they would fly off her face. ‘You think I’m attracted to you? Dream on, buddy.’
The edge of his mouth lifted—the closest he got to a smile, or at least one he’d ever sent her way. ‘I could have had you that night three weeks ago and you damn well know it.’
‘Had me?’ She glared at him. ‘That kiss was...was a knee-jerk thing. It just...erm...happened. And you gave me stubble rash. I had to put on cover-up for a week.’
His eyes went to her mouth as if he was remembering the explosive passion they’d shared. He drew in an uneven breath and sent a hand through the thick pelt of his hair, a frown pulling at his forehead. ‘I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to hurt you.’ His voice had a deep gravelly edge she’d never heard in it before.
Sabrina folded her arms. She wasn’t ready to forgive him. She wasn’t ready to forgive herself for responding to him. She wasn’t ready to admit how much she’d enjoyed that kiss and how she had encouraged it by grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling his head down. Argh. Why had she done that? Neither was she ready to admit how much she wanted him to kiss her again. ‘I can think of no one I would less like to “have me”.’
Even repeating the coarse words he’d used turned her on. Damn him. She couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to be had by him. Her sex life was practically non-existent. The only sex she’d had in the last few years had been with herself and even that hadn’t been all that spectacular. She kept hoping she’d find the perfect partner to help her with her issues with physical intimacy but so far no such luck. She rarely dated anyone more than two or three times before she decided having sex with them was out of the question. Her first and only experience of sex at the age of eighteen—had it really been ten years ago?—had been an ego-smashing disappointment, one she was in no hurry to repeat.
‘Good. Because we’re not going there,’ Max said.
Sabrina inched up her chin. ‘You were the one who kissed me first that night. I might have returned the kiss but only because I got caught off guard.’ It was big fat lie but no way was she going to admit it. Every non-verbal signal in her repertoire had been on duty that night all but begging him to kiss her. And when he finally had, she even recalled moaning at one point. Yes, moaning with pleasure as his lips and tongue had worked their magic. Geez. How was she going to live that down?
His eyes pulsed with something she couldn’t quite identify. Suppressed anger or locked-down lust or both? ‘You were spoiling for a fight all through that dinner party and during the trip when I gave you a lift home.’
‘So? We always argue. It doesn’t mean I want you to kiss me.’
His eyes held hers in a smouldering lock that made the backs of her knees fizz. ‘Are we arguing now?’ His tone had a silky edge that played havoc with her senses.
Sabrina took a step back, one of her hands coming up her neck where her heart was beating like a panicked pigeon stuck in a pipe. ‘I need to get ready for the c-cocktail party...’ Why, oh, why did she have to sound so breathless?
He gave a soft rumble of a laugh. ‘Your virtue is safe, Sabrina.’ He walked to the door of the suite and turned to look at her again. ‘Don’t wait up. I’ll be late.’
Sabrina gave him a haughty look that would have done a Regency spinster proud. ‘Going to have your client, are you?’
He left without another word, which, annoyingly, left her with the painful echo of hers.
* * *
Max closed the door of his suite and let out a breath. Why had he done the knight in shining armour thing? Why should he care if she couldn’t get herself organised enough to book a damn hotel? She would have found somewhere to stay, surely. But no. He had to do the decent thing. Nothing about how he felt about Sabrina was decent—especially after that kiss. He’d lost count of how many women he’d kissed. He wasn’t a man whore, but he enjoyed sex for the physical release it gave.
But he couldn’t get that kiss out of his mind.
Max had always avoided Sabrina in the past. He hadn’t wanted to encourage his and her parents from their sick little fantasy of them getting it on. He got it on with women he chose and he made sure his choices were simple and straightforward—sex without strings.
Sabrina was off limits because she was the poster girl for the happily-ever-after fairytale. She was looking for Mr Right to sweep her off her feet and park her behind a white picket fence with a double pram with a couple of chubby-cheeked progeny tucked inside.
Max had nothing against marriage, but he no longer wanted it for himself. Six years ago, his fiancée had called off their wedding, informing him she had fallen in love with someone else, with someone who wanted children—the children Max refused to give her. Prior to that, Lydia had been adamant she was fine with his decision not to have kids. He’d thought everything was ticking along well enough in their relationship. He’d been more annoyed than upset at Lydia calling off their relationship. It had irritated him that he hadn’t seen it coming.
But it had taught him a valuable lesson. A lesson he was determined he would never have to learn again. He wasn’t cut out for long-term relationships. He didn’t have what it took to handle commitment and all its responsibilities.
He knew marriage worked for some people—his parents and Sabrina’s had solid relationships that had been tried and tested and triumphed over tragedy, especially his parents. The loss of his baby brother Daniel at the age of four months had devastated them, of course.
Max had been seven years old and while his parents had done all they could to shield him from the tragedy, he still carried his share of guilt. In spite of the coroner’s verdict of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, Max could never get it out of his mind that he had been the last person to see his baby brother alive. There wasn’t a day that went by when he didn’t think of his brother, of all the years Daniel had missed out on. The milestones he would never meet.
Max walked out of his hotel and followed the Grand Canal, almost oblivious to the crowds of tourists that flocked to Venice at this time of year. Whenever he thought of Daniel, a tiny worm of guilt burrowed its way into his mind. Was there something he could have done to save his brother? Why hadn’t he noticed something? Why hadn’t he checked him mo
re thoroughly? The lingering guilt he felt about Daniel was something he was almost used to now. He was almost used to feeling the lurch of dread in his gut whenever he saw a small baby. Almost.
Max stepped out of the way of a laughing couple that were walking arm in arm, carrying the colourful Venetian masks they’d bought from one of the many vendors along the canal. Why hadn’t he thought to book a room at another hotel for Sabrina? It wasn’t as if he couldn’t afford it. He’d made plenty of money as a world-acclaimed architect, and he knew things were a little tight with her financially as she was still building up her wedding-dress design business and stubbornly refusing any help from her doctor parents, who had made it no secret that they would have preferred her to study medicine like them and Sabrina’s two older brothers.
Had he wanted her in his room? Had he instinctively seized at the chance to have her to himself so he could kiss her again?
Maybe do more than kiss her?
Max pulled away from the thought like he was stepping back from a too-hot fire. But that’s exactly what Sabrina was—hot. Too hot. She made him hot and bothered and horny as hell. The way she picked fights with him just to get under his skin never failed to get his blood pumping. Her cornflower-blue eyes would flash and sparkle, and her soft and supple mouth would fling cutting retorts his way, and it would make him feel alive in a way he hadn’t in years.
Alive and energised.
But no. No. No. No. No.
He must not think about Sabrina like that. He had to keep his distance. He had to. She wasn’t the sex without strings type. She wasn’t a fling girl; she was a fairytale girl. And she was his parents’ idea of his ideal match—his soul mate or something. Nothing against his parents, but they were wrong. Dead wrong. Sabrina was spontaneous and creative and disorganised. He was logical, responsible and organised to the point of pedantic. How could anyone think they were an ideal couple? It was crazy. He only had to spend a few minutes with her and she drove him nuts.
How was he going to get through a whole weekend with her?
Copyright © 2019 by Melanie Milburne
ISBN-13: 9781488044212
Demanding His Secret Son
First North American publication 2019
Copyright © 2019 by Louise Fuller
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 22 Adelaide St. West, 40th Floor, Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
Demanding His Secret Son Page 19
