The Professional

by Addison Fox

  Lange’s most powerful feature had always been his eyes. A pale, nearly reptilian green, their ability to stare down an opponent with all the calm and predatory grace of a snake had given the man an unwitting edge.

  Now they were dull. Lifeless. And fixed, almost unseeing, on the lone ruby at the center of his desk.

  Alex had believed the promise in those eyes. He’d devoted his life to the belief that Tripp Lange was well able to seek restitution for the ravages faced by their homeland during the war. Even more, he’d committed himself fully to Lange’s service, knowing his vow to his dying father would be realized by his alignment with Lange.

  He’d failed.

  Once more, Alex held back disgust as he looked at the man he’d allied himself with. His pulse beat a hard thud in his chest, but he maintained the calm outward demeanor. It would do no good to tip his boss off to his disillusionment.

  Retribution would be swift, and it was no use to give up that edge.

  “I have some news.”

  Lange’s gaze remained fixed on the ruby. “Yes?”

  “I’ve worked out our next move.”

  “Dallas. Tomorrow. We already discussed it.”

  “I believe I have something better.”

  That pale gaze remained dull, but Lange did lift his eyes from the ruby. “We already discussed attacking the women in their place of work.”

  “Let’s hit them with something harder.”

  Chapter 14

  Max prowled around the kitchen looking for something to eat along with the beer he’d already popped. He was still full from Gabby’s enchiladas but eyed the package of leftovers she’d made him. At least it was something to do.

  Which was ridiculous.

  He shouldn’t even be here right now. He should be wrapped around Violet Richardson, delightfully wet from the mutual shower they’d have already completed. Or were still in progress of completing. Instead, he was standing in his damn kitchen, staring at an open refrigerator and attempting to cool the fire in his blood. Hell, he’d taken the edge off in the shower and it still hadn’t done much to drive away the gnawing desire that clawed at his gut with razor-sharp nails.

  So here he was, with nothing but his damn thoughts to keep him company.

  What had he done? Had he pushed her?

  He saw the No Trespassing sign. It came on fast, like a hairpin curve out of the blue, but it was as clear as the drop off a sheer cliff.

  What had happened to her?

  He’d suspected it, even if he couldn’t quite identify what he sensed underneath her often prickly shell. Had another man hurt her? A former relationship?

  Ignoring the enchiladas, he drained the rest of his beer in the cool air of the open fridge, then reached for another. He wasn’t interested in getting drunk, but a few more beers might help take that edge the rest of the way off.

  The knock on his door interrupted his thoughts, and he was about to ignore it when he heard his name.

  “Max. Open up. It’s me.”

  He moved through the small living room, suddenly grateful he’d remembered to vacuum Saturday morning, and opened the door to Violet standing on the other side. Her hair was still wet, she wore no makeup and he knew, without question, he’d never seen anyone more beautiful.

  So why the hell was he thinking about his vacuum? “What are you doing out of your place? With all that’s going on, I figured you were smart enough to stay put.”

  “I had my old phone with me and had 911 programmed and ready to go if I needed it.”

  He pulled her inside, slamming the door behind her. “Stupid risks. Why the hell—”

  Violet never let him finish. She slipped into his arms, her body flush against him as she pressed her mouth to his. The past hour vanished as if it had never happened and he pulled her close, barely holding back the growl that centered in the back of his throat.

  She was here.

  Max buried his hands in her still-wet hair, desperately pleased she’d come to him even as the ravages of their conversation still lingered. They needed to talk. Needed to come to some sort of understanding.

  But right now, all he wanted to do was kiss her and sink into the one thing between the two of them that did work.

  “Max.” She squeezed his shoulders. “We need to talk.”

  The rational part of him knew she was right—having her back in his arms didn’t negate any of the reasons he’d dropped her off at her apartment alone—but the irrational part just wanted to hang on and never let her go.

  “That’s what got me in trouble earlier.”

  “Not true.” She squeezed his shoulders once more before putting some distance between them. “Give me a chance to explain. Please. You deserve it.”

  Violet shook her head. “No, that’s not quite true. We deserve it.”

  Max led her to the couch and took the seat beside her. “Do you want anything?”

  “No, I’m good.” A small, tremulous smile tilted her lips up. “And I’ve finally taken a shower and cleaned off two days of grime, so I’ve already got a clearer head.”

  He brushed at several strands of hair that had already dried and tucked them behind her ear. “So I see.”

  “You do.” She gripped his hands in hers, and he reveled in the feel of her slender fingers holding him tight. “You see a lot. And it’s bothered me. More than I’ve understood or been able to explain to myself.”

  “Violet—”

  “Please. Let me finish.”

  Max nodded even as his own words caught in his chest. He wanted to tell her she was beautiful. That he wanted her in a way he’d never wanted another woman. That it wasn’t just sex, even though he wanted her body with a desperation that bordered on madness.

  But more, he wanted her.

  In his bed. In his arms. In his life.

  “I’m not comfortable letting other people in. I find emotional intimacy intrusive.”

  “This from a woman who helps people create one of the happiest days of their lives.”

  “The great contradiction of my life.” She squeezed his hands once more before continuing. “But it’s easy to create that for someone else when you know it’s just a fantasy. Every wedding I help put on is just someone else’s play.”

  “And you don’t believe the people you’re helping are in love?”

  “It’s none of my business if they are or aren’t. It’s only my business what they tell me and what they ask me to help them create.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to poke a few holes in her approach when Max considered his own work. Yes, as an architect he created, but more, he was responsible for helping someone’s vision come to life.

  They knew what they wanted. It was his role to create it in the physical. It never mattered if he liked Spanish tile or French Colonial or cathedral ceilings. It was his job to create to his clients’ demands.

  “Do you hope the couples you help are in love?”

  “Of course.” She did smile at that. “I’m cynical, not mean. And if it makes you feel any better, Cassidy and Lilah both think I just need to find the right man and I can shake off this funk.”

  “It’s not a funk if you feel it deep inside.”

  The smile faded. “No, it’s not. Especially since the roots are deeply seeded in my personality.”

  “What did they do? Your parents?”

  The reference to roots moved her reticence out of the realm of an old love or a relationship gone bad. But it was in her quiet pause that Max knew he’d guessed right.

  “They never loved each other. And they put me in the middle as they figured out how to strike back and forth.”

  “How long did that go on?”

  “It still goes on from time to time, but lucky for me they’v
e both gone on to second and third spouses and have spread the striking out across more people.”

  Max knew about those moments. When you wanted to hide from the very people who should create a warm, safe haven. When their inability to live with each other—hell, even to function with each other—took away any sense of comfort or safety or roots. He’d spent his childhood that way, and if it hadn’t been for Pops, he didn’t know where he’d have ended up.

  Or who he’d have ended up being.

  “Sounds like a miserable way to live.”

  “I think so.” She glanced down at their joined hands, and Max had the fleeting thought that she was surprised to find herself hanging on so tight. “But it’s the norm, don’t you think?”

  Was it the norm?

  Had she asked him even a few months ago, he’d have likely said yes. He’d spent his adult life with a rather cynical view on love and reveled in the role, always reassuring himself that his view was based on reality. On seeing things as they actually were.

  But in the past month, he’d begun to think differently. He’d had an attraction to Violet, but since becoming involved with her and her friends, his view of the world had started to shift. He saw how happy Tucker was with Cassidy and saw the same with Reed and Lilah. He didn’t know Graystone all that well, but the man had proven himself well suited to their somewhat motley group. He’d also proven himself more than devoted to his new fiancée.

  While Max had no crystal ball, his gut told him those three couples had what it took to see a relationship through all its ups and downs.

  So maybe it was possible.

  More than possible, he thought, as he took in the woman sitting opposite him on the couch.

  He wanted to experience all those ups and downs with her.

  Her normal battle armor was nowhere in evidence. Instead, the woman who could corral a hotel staff of a hundred or plan a wedding for four times that had faded, replaced with someone who had dropped her guard.

  For him.

  Since she still waited for his answer, Max thought about what he wanted to say. He didn’t want to brush off her question—and the cynic in him hadn’t fully vanished—but he couldn’t deny his perspective had changed. Evolved, really.

  “For some, breaking up or fighting or general apathy is the norm. For others, their experience is the exact opposite. Look at our friends.”

  “What if they’re just lucky? What if that’s not meant for everyone?”

  “You think what Cassidy and Lilah found is just sheer dumb luck?”

  “I—” She swallowed hard, her gaze narrowing. “They’ve both worked hard to give themselves to their relationships. To be true partners to Tucker and Reed.”

  “So it’s not just luck.”

  “Why are you twisting up what I’m trying to say?”

  “Because it’s not as simple or easy to dissect as you’d like to make it. Maybe none of this is about being lucky at all. You make your own luck, after all.”

  “You don’t choose who you fall in love with.”

  “No?” Max had always believed that to be true, but increasingly he wasn’t so sure. The idea of cosmic forces acting upon him when he had no say in the outcome—and no ability to recognize genuine feelings for another—struck him as patently misguided.

  “Of course not. Lightning strikes and sometimes it’s a good thing, and other times—” She faltered, and Max knew the depth of her pain wouldn’t be solved by a few philosophical questions. “Other times it doesn’t work out.”

  “There are no guarantees. But I believe we control how we treat others and how we temper our expectations. You’re not like your parents, Violet. You are capable of love. I see it every time you’re with your friends.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Why?”

  Where he expected challenge, he saw only more confusion in the determined set of her jaw. “Because they’re my friends. You and I are different. We’re talking about sex, and sex changes things.”

  “I sure as hell hope so.”

  “Then you admit it is different.”

  Max squeezed her hands and tamped down on the grumbled retort that threatened. She’d been hurt before, and brushing off her concerns was tantamount to brushing off her. “Sex may add spice, but I’m talking about the core emotion of love. You’re capable of that. More than capable if what I’ve observed is true.”

  “But we’re not in love.”

  Weren’t they?

  The thought hit with such a swift punch Max wondered that he didn’t see stars.

  But of course they weren’t in love. He’d be a fool to get caught up in that notion, and he wasn’t a fool.

  A besotted one, at that.

  No, Violet was right. And if the acknowledgment of that simple fact left him with a raw-boned cold way down deep inside, well. He’d live with it.

  Of course they weren’t in love.

  “Max?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You seemed—” She hesitated, then shook her head. “We’re talking too much.”

  Her comment gave him the opening he needed, and he latched on to it like a lifeline, dragging on a lightness he didn’t feel. “Seems to be a mutual problem.”

  “What are we going to do about it?”

  “Maybe we shut up and just be friends who have really great sex.”

  The warm smile that greeted him went a long way toward thawing that deep freeze. And when she moved into his arms, Max took what she offered willingly.

  * * *

  Violet wanted to believe him. Wanted to reach out and take what Max offered with effortless simplicity.

  She wanted that more than anything. But years with her parents and their endless acts against each other, with her locked in the middle, had taken a toll. She loved them still, in spite of the endless drama, but she couldn’t deny they disappointed her over and over.

  But the idea that she and Max were leaping into just sex?

  That went down harder than she expected.

  What were you expecting? Promises of everlasting devotion?

  Violet knew she was overthinking things. Heck, she’d begun overthinking when it came to Max Baldwin the day the man walked into one of the local Design District meetings and stood up to introduce himself. Even then, she’d been intrigued.

  And attracted.

  Which only added to her internal debate. Physical intimacy between them, while a big step, was also easy. It was a moment in time. A physical need fulfilled.

  But the possibility of something more?

  She wanted a relationship. And when she looked at Max, she could even see herself in one. But the lingering ghosts of her parents’ messy relationship hovered in cold silence beside that image. A reminder that no matter how well-intentioned at the start, things ended. People moved on. And love died.

  What if you’re different? A quiet voice she barely dared to believe whispered through her mind.

  And more importantly, what if he makes you different?

  He made her feel alive. Wonderfully, magically alive.

  But was she committed to seeing this through? It was a gamble, and Violet wasn’t sure she had what it took to make the proper wager.

  But she did have it in her to take tonight.

  To keep all the shadows at bay—the ones she couldn’t quite escape and the others that still lurked outside, waiting to attack. “I want you. More than I’ve ever wanted anyone, I want you. But I can’t promise you anything. I don’t know where this is going to go.”

  “I don’t know, either.”

  Violet cocked her head. “You’re awfully reasonable. Is it the promise of sex talking?”

  “If it helps, I can promise you I’ve heard every word.”

 
She did laugh at that, the fear of what still lingered in the shadows fading at the raw hunger that filled his sky-blue gaze. “There you go with that honesty thing again.”

  “I can’t be anything else, Violet. I hope you understand that.” He shifted closer and pressed his lips to her ear. “And I do want you. But it hasn’t completely shut off my brain or stopped me from hearing you.”

  She settled her hands on either side of his face. “I do love a man who can multitask.”

  “Did I also mention I was skilled with my hands?”

  The tension that had set her shoulders in hard lines on the short drive to Max’s apartment began to fade in the simple joy of being with him.

  He made her happy.

  Somewhere deep inside the denials and the questions and all the rational reasons why she should walk away, Violet had begun to think about all the reasons she should stay.

  “Those are awfully promising words, Mr. Baldwin.”

  “I’ve got the skills to back up the promise.”

  “Why don’t you prove it?”

  * * *

  Max’s apartment was small and spare, but the walk from the living room to the bedroom seemed endless. Now that she’d made her decision, the desire to be with him overtook everything else. The need to join with him—to welcome him inside her—became as steady and as necessary as her heartbeat.

  Max never broke contact as they kissed and touched their way to the bedroom. The clever man even managed to remove the thin summer tank top she’d paired with shorts, the silky peach material floating behind them in their wake.

  She should have felt briefly self-conscious to stand before him in her bra, but instead she was empowered. Emboldened by the way he made her feel and the sensual power that beat beneath her flushed skin.

  So it was with no small measure of embarrassment that she nearly retrieved the tank top at the dark look that filled his eyes as his gaze roamed over her bra-clad form.