by Layla Hagen
“Morning,” Max greets me.
“Hi.” For some reason I’m incredibly shy, and I pull the cover over my breasts. Max cocks an eyebrow.
“No need to feel shy.”
I give him a nervous giggle in return.
“If you’re going to say last night was a mistake, I will kiss you until you change your mind.” He scoots closer to me, looking beautiful, all man, and impossible to resist. “Actually, if you’re going to tell me anything other than, this was the best sex of my life, you’re gonna pay.”
And just like that, he breaks the ice, doing away with my morning-after jitters.
“I admire your confidence. Are you under the impression that you can tell me what to think or say just because you were inside me?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says solemnly. “This is reverse psychology.”
I wave my hand in a dismissing gesture. “Clearly you don’t know women.”
Max leans in closer, cupping my jaw. “I know you. At least, I knew Jonesie, the girl, now I want to know the woman. I want to know all there is to know about you.” Putting his lips to my ear, he whispers, “I can be very persuasive.”
“What does that persuasion include?”
“Spoiling you, lots of kissing, and hot sex.”
“If I pretend to disagree with you all day will you do that stuff?”
“You little vixen.”
Hooking an arm around my waist, Max pulls me to him until our bodies touch completely. We’re naked under the cover, and feeling his warm skin against mine is about the best damn way to wake up.
“I wasn’t going to say that last night was a mistake. You’re right. We do have a good thing, and I want to be with you. Just don’t hurt me, okay?” I ask in a small voice.
“I won’t.”
“And if at any moment you think that we’re not working out, just say it. I’ll do the same. Promise to do it when you feel something is off. Don’t wait until we can’t work on it anymore. I don’t want to collect wedding dresses.” My throat nearly clogs at the mere thought of that scenario playing out, but I need to say it out loud. If there is one thing I can trust Max to do, it’s to be up-front with me. I rarely show my vulnerable side to anyone, even Evelyn and Abby, but I can’t seem to help myself with Max.
“You already dreaming about marrying me, Jonesie?” His voice is light, but my stomach drops.
“Crap. I didn’t mean that…. I just—”
“Shh, calm down, beautiful. I know what you meant. I was just trying to lighten things up. I’d never do that. I promise.” He caresses my cheek with the back of his fingers, and peppers the side of my jaw with kisses.
“Good.” A knot unfurls in my stomach, and I feel as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. “Now, I still want you to make good on your threats. They sounded like so much fun.”
“You’re a demanding little thing.”
“I might be a bit high maintenance,” I admit. “I require a lot of laughter and orgasms.”
“Happy to comply with both. But I have a requirement first.”
“We’re negotiating?” I ask in disbelief.
He purses his lips, as if he’s weighing his options. “No, we’re just exchanging information.” He adopts a serious, businesslike demeanor, and I have a hard time reining in my laughter. “In order to comply with your requests, I need to know all of the facts.”
“All right, fire away.”
“Do you admit that last night was the best sex you’ve had?”
“It might make the top ten,” I tease.
“There was definitely something that sounded an awful lot like ‘I’ve never felt like this before’ in there.”
“Pfft,” I say, waving my hand. “I could have been referring to many other things.”
“Such as what?” he challenges.
“Such as the lovely Egyptian cotton I’m lying on.” I wiggle my butt against the bed, and pat the smooth fabric of the sheet to make my point.
Max levers himself over me, propping the weight of his upper body on his forearms. “If you remember the cotton and not what I was doing to you, I have some serious improvements to do.”
“I won’t say no to that.” I lace my fingers at the back of his neck, my forearms resting on the expanse of his broad, strong shoulders. “What improvements are you thinking about?”
“Making you come until you can’t even remember your name,” he whispers in my ear. Desire shoots right through me, singeing me.
“Oh, God, I want you,” I murmur.
His eyes twinkle with a hunger that mirrors my own, and when he lowers his mouth to meet mine, I raise my head, meeting him halfway. This man will drive me crazy with desire. Max makes passionate love to me, and despite fighting to remain awake afterward, I drift off to sleep.
***
When I wake up next, the bed is empty. I grab Max’s pillow, hugging it to my chest. It smells like him, and I love it. Sitting up on the bed, I inspect the room. Across from the bed is a double window, which allows in plenty of natural light. Since we’re on the tenth floor, the view encompasses the San Francisco skyline. A few gray clouds hang low in the sky, a sure promise that rain will follow sometime today. Tearing my gaze away from the window, I take in the colorful green carpet, which contrasts with the elegant white furniture. On the nightstand next to the bed, I find a note from Max.
I called Mrs. Wilson this morning. She doesn’t mind staying at your house the entire day, looking after Grams.
Something warm and powerful takes residence in my chest as I read the note over and over again. This means more to me than he can possibly know. Smiling, I descend from the bed, heading to the bathroom.
I take my time in the shower, and wash my hair as well, which turns out to be a bad idea a few minutes later, when I realize Max doesn’t own a hair dryer. My hair tends to be on the wild side if I let it dry naturally. Oh well, nothing to do about that now. I go about finding Max, wearing nothing but a towel I wrapped around me.
Music blares from the living room, and when I get there, I discover it comes from some embedded sound system that extends to his kitchen. Nice. I could see myself cooking in this perfect kitchen. I inspect the glossy cabinets and the stove. It doesn’t have one single scratch. It’s perfect. Too perfect.
Over the music, I hear Max’s voice from outside. He’s on the balcony, and he’s quite a sight, wearing low-rise jeans and nothing else. One hand holds his phone to his ear. I stay put for a moment, simply enjoying the view and wondering how lucky I am to be standing here.
Finally, my fingers begin to itch with the need to touch his gorgeous hair, or maybe his skin. I haven’t decided which part of him I want to take advantage of first when I push the sliding doors of the balcony open. Max swirls around, looking me over from head to toe.
“James, I’ll call you back later,” he says into the phone, not taking his eyes off me. Then he clicks off.
“Now this is something I could wake up to every morning,” he tells me. Taking a step forward, he cups my face, sealing his lips over mine in a hungry kiss. The kiss grows more passionate by the second, and before long, his arms are around my waist, and I lace my fingers at the back of his head. Without warning, he lifts me up, and I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist. He walks like this to the kitchen counter, accommodating me on it. At that precise moment, my stomach rumbles loudly, reminding me I haven’t eaten anything for almost twenty-four hours.
“I’m hungry,” I inform him unnecessarily.
Max places his palm across my stomach, chuckling. “Yeah, the announcement was pretty clear. There’s a cafe across the road, and they have excellent breakfast.”
“But I love your apartment so much. I don’t want to leave it.” I touch the sleek surface of the counter, sighing. “We can scramble something here. I can make something tasty out of any raw materials.”
“Except that my raw materials are just last week’s leftovers,” he says with a smirk. “I thin
k there’s three-day-old pizza and a two-day-old burrito in there. If you look hard, you might even find some week-old pie leftover.”
“You don’t cook at all?”
“Nope.”
“What good is it having a top-notch kitchen if you don’t use it?” I inquire.
“That’s what I asked myself when I saw the apartment. I bought it before I returned from London, and Alice helped decorate it.”
“Ah.”
“Yes. She insisted that a state-of-the-art kitchen,” he says, making air quotes with his fingers, “is a must-have. I learned long ago not to fight Alice unless I absolutely have to. Anyway, I think I finally know what to do with the kitchen.” His eyes spark with mischief. “I might not do cooking, but I’ll happily do you.”
His voice is low and throaty, fueling my own desire for him.
“Can you get your mind out of the gutter enough to feed us?” I ask, only half joking.
“If I have to.”
Max smooths his hand down my hair, and I self-consciously realize that my hair is a wild mess. I don’t have my usual hair products here, which means I can’t tame the frizz of curls. I groan when I catch my reflection in the tinted black glass of the oven. My hair sticks in one million directions.
“This is such a mess.” I desperately pat my palms down my hair.
“I like it,” Max says. “I missed seeing it this wild.”
I open my mouth, ready to fire back something sarcastic, but then I realize he’s not joking. He holds my gaze in his for long moments before he leans in, his lips brushing my forehead. The chaste, sweet kiss fills me with warmth, and I rest my palms on his chest. As we stand here, sharing this quiet moment, it strikes me how different dating is when you do it with someone you’ve known since you were a kid. I know so much about Max, and yet, a side of him is completely new to me, and I can’t wait to discover it.
“By the way, this week I worked with the investigators I told you about. They researched some potential partners. You want me to tell them to look up your father?”
Oh. I never gave him an answer on that matter, and Grams has brought up the subject again twice.
“Yeah. I… I want to do this for Grams. It’ll be good for her.”
“What about you? ’Cause I think you’ll end up hurt. ”
“Maybe it will be good for me too. Settle that score.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Max nods once, kissing my forehead.
“Okay. Come on, let’s shop for raw ingredients, and then you can charm me with your cooking talents,” Max says.
“I have to change. Be back in a minute.”
With the speed of the wind—or in my case, extreme hunger—I race to the bedroom, put on yesterday’s clothes, except the panties, and then join Max in the living room.
“Wow, I never imagined you’d actually be back in a minute,” Max says with appreciation.
“I always keep my word. I wanted to talk to you about something though…. I want to go back to the house tonight. I know Mrs. Wilson said she’d stay the entire weekend, but I don’t want to stay away for so long.”
“Okay. We can go to your house anytime you want.”
We, not you. There was no hesitation in his voice. “Great. By the way, thank you for calling my house and talking to Mrs. Wilson. Can’t believe it slipped my mind to do it.”
“You deserve time off from all your responsibilities, Emilia. Cut yourself some slack. I’m happy to help.”
Not knowing what to say to that, I just rise on my tiptoes and kiss the corner of his mouth. This man is worming his way into my heart with every word.
Max leads me to a nearby grocery store, and as we walk side by side, I can’t help noticing the way he keeps a protective arm around my waist, or occasionally my shoulders, and walks on the side to the street. I lean into his touch all the way, soaking in the warmth and safety he radiates.
I go wild in the grocery store, buying enough food for six people, but I don’t feel at all guilty. As we exit the store, we notice the drops of rain splattering on the pavement. A memory flashes before my eyes, of Max and me running barefoot through the rain, our feet sloshing through the mud. A low chuckle snaps my attention to Max.
“You’re thinking about all those times we got dirty in the rain, aren’t you?” he asks.
I nod. “We did like to get dirty a lot.”
He leans in to me, whispering conspiratorially, “We still do, only now it’s a different kind of dirty. Much more satisfying.”
He takes my hand, and as we rush to his building, I relish every feeling Max awakens in me—the familiar and the new.
Once back in the apartment, I immediately head to the kitchen. The rain was light, just a few drops, so there’s no need to change. I whip out a pan from his very well-stocked cabinets and start making pancakes. Max merely hovers around me, looking ridiculously out of place.
“How come you don’t cook? I remember you distributed tasks evenly when you were kids.”
Max scowls, having the distinct expression of someone who has been caught while doing something wrong.
“What I’m about to tell you is a secret,” he says seriously. “I think only half my family knows this.”
“Oh, what a secret. Do tell,” I encourage, turning to him while keeping an eye on the pan.
“You remember Christopher, right?” The serious expression melts into one full of mischief.
“I think I do.” I feign thinking hard for some seconds. “Tall, handsome—looks exactly like you.”
“That’s the one. Well, we didn’t use our likeness just for pranks, we also exchanged tasks from time to time. Christopher is an excellent cook.”
“What tasks did you do for him?” I ask suspiciously, turning the pancake in the pan.
“Mainly outdoors stuff. Cutting wood, mowing the grass.” A short pause follows and then he adds, “Kissing his girl.”
I gasp. “You didn’t.”
“I was actually trying to help him, at his request.”
“And somehow your lips landed on hers? They have a will of their own?”
“Something like that,” Max says with a self-satisfied smirk. “He was preparing some crazy romantic scheme, and he wanted it to be a surprise, so he asked me to pretend to be him with his girl for about an hour while he got everything ready.”
“That makes no sense whatsoever.”
“We were sixteen. It seemed flawless logic back then. At some point, the girl kissed me, and well, I was a horny sixteen-year-old. How could I resist kissing her back?”
He says this with such honesty that I can’t help chuckling. “I imagine that went over very well with Christopher. Did he punch your sorry ass?”
“You could say that. It was the longest period we went without talking. Then we beat the shit out of each other and made up.”
“Men.” I shake my head, removing the perfectly cooked pancake, putting it on a plate, and starting with the next one. This is my favorite breakfast. “Why do you always have to solve things by fighting?”
“We’re basic creatures. I think it’s the fastest way to get the anger out of our systems.”
“I see. Any other secrets you want to share?”
Max folds his arms over his broad, strong chest. “Nah, I think it’s enough for today. Wouldn’t want to scare you off.”
“So first you got me in your bed, and now you’re sharing the ugly stuff? You’re smart.”
He hooks one arm around my waist from behind, flattening my back against his chest, and I wiggle my ass straight against his crotch.
“You’re a little devil,” he whispers in my ear, raising goose bumps along my arms.
“I have my moments,” I reply boldly.
Chapter Sixteen
Emilia
After breakfast, Max gives me the official tour of his apartment. I catalog everything in my mind, eager to discover more about him. Ironically, I already know more about Max than I
did about any man I dated, including my fiancé. But most of my knowledge is about Max the boy. Now, in his apartment, I’m getting a snapshot of Max the man.
We’re back in the living room, and I’m scanning it for a second time, when my eyes fall on a guitar case lying on top of a cabinet.
“You play guitar?” I ask in delight.
He follows my gaze to the case and grins. “Yep. Just one of my many hidden talents.”
“What are some of the others?” I challenge, enjoying the easygoing banter. I feared things might shift into the weird territory after doing the nasty, but so far, I love this.
“Out of this world orgasms,” he says confidently.
“Never thought it would be possible for you to get even cockier.” I head over to the cabinet and, standing on my tiptoes, I blindly reach out for the case, with the intention of pulling it down. Max rushes next to me in an instant.
“Careful, it’s heavy,” he warns, and pulls it down himself.
“I take it you haven’t played in a while?” I inquire.
“Since college, but it’s a nice keepsake.” He places the case on the floor, and as he retrieves the guitar from it, a nostalgic look crosses his features. I sit on the couch with my feet tucked under me.
“Tell me more about the guitar thing. Is it just a thing you started to draw in chicks?” The question was meant tongue-in-cheek, but red splotches appear on his cheeks.
“What can I say? You know me well. Took lessons in high school, was in a band in college.”
I shrug. “Not many women can resist a man with a guitar.”
“And you’re one of them?”
Heat rises to my face, and by the satisfied grin on his face, it shows.
“Do you want to play me something?”
“Nah,” he replies. “I think I want to make you blush for a while longer.”
