by Layla Hagen
“Okay,” I said.
We both shed our clothes, remaining only in our undies. Then we climbed up on the cliff, and as I stood there, my heart in my throat, I looked up at Max and saw him all tall and sure of himself. There was not one sliver of fear in his eyes, whereas I had enough fear for both of us.
“Take my hand,” he says. “I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”
Remarkably, those few words calmed me like nothing else. The second his hand touched mine, the rhythm of my heart settled, and the water below didn’t seem so threatening anymore. We jumped, and nothing happened. If anything, I became braver after that day.
“Can I confess something?” Max asks, snapping me back to the present.
“Sure.”
“I almost peed myself when we were on the top of that cliff. I just wanted to impress you.”
I jerk my head back in surprise. “But you were the one with the idea. Why even bring it up if you were afraid?”
“Christopher told me you’d like me more if I jumped. He challenged me, saying I wouldn’t have the balls to jump.”
“You never walk away from a challenge, do you?”
He points to his injured leg. “After this, I might.”
“Right, I know when a patient is stalling, and that’s what you’re doing right now.” Pointing to the table, I instruct, “Lie on your back, so I can do you.” Panic flares through me as I realize what I just said. I thank heavens again that the room is big enough that the other trainers and their patients can’t hear me. “I mean so I can show you what you have to do.”
Laughter rumbles out of Max in a deep, heartfelt sound. I desperately try to come up with something clever to say. A strand of my blonde hair falls from my ponytail, and Max tucks it behind my ear, the pad of his thumb lingering on my earlobe. Heat radiates from that small point of contact, spreading to my cheeks, my neck.
“Lie on the table, Max,” I eventually say. He does as I instruct him, and once he’s on his back, my fingers accidentally touch his chest and an electrifying zip makes every part of my body heat up. He exhales sharply.
I attempt to decipher the expression on his face. There is heat in his eyes—that much is clear, but the way his brows are arched indicates that he’s as surprised by my reaction to him as I am by his reaction to me.
“Emilia,” Max says in a low voice. “I think we have a problem.”
“Mmm?” I urge, not wanting to say anything unless I’m certain we’re on the same page. I wouldn’t put it past my sex-deprived body to be messing with my mind.
“When I found out you’d be my therapist, I thought we’d pick up where we left off years ago. But then I saw you all grown up and sexy and… well.” He cocks an eyebrow, a devilish grin crossing his lips. “Just thought I’d put this out there. They say communication is the key to everything, right? And it used to work for us.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. His breathing is labored, and so is mine. Stepping back, I put some much-needed distance between us.
He nods slowly, scratching the faint stubble on his jaw. “It’s only a matter of time.”
“What is a matter of time?” I ask, not following.
“Until we’re comfortable with each other again.”
Oh, I hadn’t thought about it like that. “Maybe you’re right.”
Judging by the way my entire body seems to go hyperalert when he’s around, that seems like wishful thinking.
“Let’s start with your exercises.”
He groans. “I hoped you’d forget about that.”
“No chance.” I explain the exercise in detail for the next few minutes, and Max’s already nonexistent enthusiasm for the exercise turns to downright annoyance. To his credit, this particular exercise is a bitch. He follows through with my instructions and does a set of twenty reps.
“You’re in great shape,” I commend him. “Most people are out of breath by the time they reach twelve.”
Max draws a deep breath. “I worked out a lot before the accident, and I also play water polo on occasion.”
The thought of Max in a pool, shirtless and playing polo is fodder for my brain, which turns everything into a dirty picture.
“You know, the faster you finish the physical therapy, the faster you can do your regular workout again and keep those hard abs of yours in place.”
“You noticed?” he asks smugly.
“Couldn’t help it,” I admit. “It’s all messing with my hormones big time. Like you said, just putting it out there.”
“Maybe communication doesn’t always help. It didn’t really clear the air, did it?”
I chuckle nervously, pulling with my fingers at the hem of my shirt.
Seeing as how the air seems to consist of hormones and sexual tension, the question is almost rhetorical. When we were kids, we used to talk out loud about everything, and it helped us put some awkward incidents behind us fast. But openly admitting our attraction for each other just seems to be making everything worse.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Okay, new resolution. We’ll just ignore the chemistry until it goes away.”
Max curves his lip up in a smirk, and I can tell he has a witty reply in mind. He remains silent, though, and now I’m dying to know what he’s thinking, of course.
“Are you seeing someone?” I ask, realizing I have no idea what the status of his love life is. My stomach is in knots as I wait for his answer.
His smirk becomes more pronounced. “This coming from someone who wants to ignore the chemistry?”
“Just hoping to alleviate my conscience. As light as our flirting was, I’d feel like shit if there’s a woman in your life.”
“I’m not an ass, Emilia. I wouldn’t have flirted back if I was seeing someone. What about you? I have to say right off the bat that if you are, and you’re blushing like that when I’m just looking at you, dump him. He’s clearly not good enough.”
“You know, one thing did change about you, Max. You weren’t so full of yourself before. Now you’re bordering on being cocky.”
“Bordering? Please. I’m far past that border, deep into Cockyland.”
“Cockyland?” I giggle, then remember what Mrs. Devereaux said, that confident men are usually great in bed, and I can’t help the heat rushing to my face.
“Something about you changed too, Jonesie. You laugh a lot more. It suits you. But you haven’t answered my question.”
“I’ll tell you everything while you do another set of twenty.”
He gives me the stink eye but doesn’t argue.
“I’m not seeing anyone. But I almost got married six months ago.”
“What happened?” Max asks in a soft voice, pausing for a split second.
“He dumped me three weeks before the wedding.”
“That son of a bitch.”
I smile at his indignation. “How do you know it’s not something I did?”
“I have a hunch. Tell me.”
I instruct him to do a set of straight leg raises, then tell him what happened.
“We’d been together since college, and we got along well until Grams got sick. Things became more difficult, I was stressed…. Three weeks before the wedding, he said it was all too much responsibility for him, and he hadn’t signed up for this.”
“He was a jerk. You got off easy.”
“Maybe, but it still hurt. Like I wasn’t worth fighting for, you know.” It also twisted the knife into an age-old wound, hitting too close to home. My father took off right after Mama’s funeral, claiming that raising a kid was too difficult and he was meant for other things. “I suppose it’s better that it happened so early in the game before we signed the papers, but it hurt. I’ve put my romantic life on hold since, but I could use a friend, Max.”
My fingers are on the edge of the treatment table, and Max feathers the back of his hand over them, a devilish smile on his face. “I volunteer for that spot, Jonesie. Now, if I accidentally make an inappropriate comment or look at yo
u the wrong way, please chalk it up to the fact that I’m a weak man.”
I point a menacing finger at him. “No messing around with me. I mean it.”
“Or what? Will you spank me?” He wiggles his eyebrows. “You already have me lying down.”
“You’re a pest, you know that?” I say under my breath, but can’t hold back a smile.
“I’ve been called that before. Nuisance, plague.”
“You say that with pride, as if it’s a badge of honor.”
“It is. It means I’m determined.” Max resumes a serious expression. “And I’m determined to be a good friend to you, Emilia. I promise. Now, what’s the next torture you have in store for me?”
As I explain the next exercise, his eyes zero in on my mouth. Nervously, I lick my lower lip, and Max’s gaze smolders me, like that of a man ready to break his promise. Damn it. How is this ever going to work?
Chapter Six
Max
“You’re not getting ten percent. You’re not even getting one percent more.” I’m in one of the meeting rooms at Bennett Enterprises, negotiating a contract with a new distributor, and the moron is trying to rip us off. It’s late in the evening, and I have an early morning tomorrow, but I’m not letting him off the hook. I promised Summer we’d talk on the phone in the morning. Since she’s in Italy, we have to coordinate every call around the time zone difference. My baby sister puts up a brave face, but I know what it’s like to be in a different country on your own. It’s exciting and fun, but also lonely—which is why I make time to talk to her whenever she wants to.
“That’s the price I ask of all of my suppliers.” He sits back in his chair, smiling lazily.
“That’s not true now, is it? You ask for a seven percent discount from Deli’s, and a seven-point-five from Flawless,” I say, referring to our competitors. His face falls. “I’ve done my homework.”
Yeah, competitor discounts are hard to find out but not impossible. The two keys in negotiations are knowledge and patience. Sebastian and Logan used to handle most of the negotiations way back. One time they couldn’t make it, and they sent me instead. I spent the day prior to it researching and calling in favors to find out more information. The meeting lasted two hours longer than if Sebastian or Logan had been in it, but I ended up getting a better deal than my brothers would have, which somehow made me the official negotiator. As Director of International Developments, negotiating with local distributors isn’t something I’m supposed to do personally, but I don’t mind. In fact, I like it. It’s my family’s money. Anyone trying to rip us off is in for a nasty surprise.
“Bennett Enterprises is much bigger than Deli’s and Flawless,” he says. “You can afford to pay more.”
“Bigger doesn’t mean we’re stupid. You’re offering me the same in-store placement as you offer them. Same price. In fact, because you tried to fool us, I want a better price.”
The guy turns livid and I know I’ll wear him down. That’s right, moron. No one messes with my family’s money and gets away with it.
***
The next morning I arrive at the clinic about twenty minutes before my session with Emilia is scheduled to begin. I talked to Summer for an hour and then left my home without checking the time. The weather isn’t too chilly, so I just sit on a bench in the small park in front of the clinic, going through the e-mails on my phone. I’m about to make a phone call when I raise my head and see Emilia a few feet away. She has a baby on her hip. What the hell? She coos at the baby, making silly faces until the kid laughs. Damn, she’s sweet.
“You’re full of surprises, Jonesie,” I say, walking up to her and the baby.
“What are you doing here so early?” she asks.
I shrug. “Miscalculated the distance and traffic. Whose baby is this?”
“The owner of the clinic. She comes over three times a week before we open for an hour, talks with Kurt—the director—and I babysit this champion here while she’s inside.”
“You do this often?”
“I have a few babysitting and even dog-sitting gigs. I need the money. My salary at the clinic is great, but after paying the rent and Grams’s caretaker, not much is left.” With a grin, she adds, “But I’d babysit this adorable little thing for free anytime.”
A number of people would show frustration or at least annoyance at having to work themselves to the bone, but Emilia takes it all in stride, and with a smile. She’s grown into one hell of a woman.
“You’re a baby person,” I say when she covers the baby’s bald head with kisses.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Not at all. Just an observation.”
“I’d love to have some of my own, but I think that’s not in the cards for me.”
“Why?”
“If being left three weeks before your wedding isn’t a sign you’re meant to be an old cat lady, I don’t know what is.” She looks so vulnerable in this moment that I want to take her in my arms and not let go. The urge hits me to go after that moron and give him a piece of my mind—or fist. No one can hurt her and get away with it.
“What about you? When will the world be blessed with little Max Bennetts?”
“Kids aren’t on my radar. No father material here.” That right here is a solid reason why I shouldn’t have anything else other than friendship on my mind when it comes to Emilia. She’s in a different place than I am.
When Christopher and I turned eighteen, Logan lectured us about treating women right. He rambled on for about an hour, and I zoned out ten minutes in, but one thing did stick into my thick skull: treat every woman the way you’d want men to treat your sisters. That sounded like good advice, and it worked for Logan, but not for me. I was up-front with the women I dated, telling them I wasn’t looking for anything for the long term, just fun and company, and I treated them right. They always seemed on board with me, but then ended up wanting more than I could give them, turning bitter and unhappy. I hurt them without wanting to, but the truth was I couldn’t see myself having a future with any of them.
Emilia wants kids and a relationship and deserves someone who can give her that. But damn, the thought of my Jonesie with someone else makes me want to punch something. And knowing she shoulders the responsibility of caring for her grandmother alone makes me want to swoop in and solve everything, but that would be a surefire way to piss her off. Jonesie doesn’t take handouts. I learned that when we were nine, and I’m sure that hasn’t changed. She’s grown into an independent, hardworking woman, and I respect her for that.
“Yeah, Mommy’s coming out in a few minutes,” she tells the baby, kissing its little bald head some more. I’d seen this nurturing side of her as kids, but now it’s different in a way I can’t describe. She’s delicate and strong at the same time, and I could watch her carry this baby around for hours. What the actual hell?
“I’m done for the day!” A woman in her late thirties walks out the front door and takes the baby from Emilia. “Thank you for watching him.” The woman nods curtly at me before leaving.
“Let’s go inside,” Emilia tells me. I gesture for her to walk in front of me, which ends up being a bad idea, because I have a perfect view of her ass in that sinful pencil skirt of hers. Two vaguely familiar faces press against a nearby window, watching Emilia and me. I think one of them is the receptionist.
“What the hell?” I motion to Emilia, who turns red when she sees them.
“Those are Abby, our receptionist, and Evelyn, our psychologist. They are also very good friends of mine, and they are—”
“Checking me out?”
“They’ve done this since the first time you came. Now they’re… assessing your potential.”
“For what?” I ask, dumbfounded. When she turns a deeper shade of red, I have my answer. “Emilia!” My voice is brisker than I intended, startling her. We stop a few feet in front of the entrance.
“What?”
“You’re right to want us to be
nothing more than friends. I have a bad record with women.”
“I can’t imagine you hurting women on purpose.”
“I wasn’t. Still ended up doing it. So yeah… can’t promise I won’t flirt with you. But if I do—”
“I’ll shoot you down.” She grins, clearly enjoying my mortification.
“You do that.”
“I’ll do more, keep you all the way in the friend zone.” Her grin widens. “I’ll tell you all about my dates and sexcapades.”
“Sexcapades.” Every muscle in my body contorts. “You have those?”
“Oh, yeah. All the time. The stories I can tell you—”
“Don’t. You’re supposed to keep me in the friend zone, not hell.” Groaning, I’m beginning to wonder if they aren’t the same thing.
“I was messing with you, Max.” She doubles over with laughter as tension bleeds away from every corner of my body. “I’ll do my best to keep you in a non-hellish friend zone. Glad we cleared the air. Worked better than the last time.”
Really? Because it’s about as clear as mud to me. We enter the clinic and my eyes fall on her delicious hips again.
Friend zone feels like hell already.
Chapter Seven
Emilia
On Thursday, I arrive late at the clinic in the morning. Grams was very agitated, and it took some time to calm her down. Thankfully, Max is my first appointment for the day, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay to be late. I’ve built my reputation in the clinic by having an impeccable work ethic. As I drive my car into the parking lot behind the clinic, I see Max emerging from a sleek black car. He gives me a thumbs-up when he notices me and leans against his car, obviously waiting for me. Today he doesn’t wear one of his suits, instead sporting jeans and a simple white shirt. After stepping out of my car, I smooth down my skirt and beam at him.
