by Lila Monroe
He cares.
Sure, he can be reckless and charming, but I’m realizing that behind the playboy exterior, he’s also thoughtful and concerned about his responsibilities. He’s smart, and supportive, and—
Dammit.
These are real-girlfriend feelings. And a real girlfriend, I’m most definitely not.
“Anyway, I’m just saying, I hope for the company’s sake, you win.”
Max looks surprised. The intensity in his blue-gray eyes almost melts me. “You really mean that, don’t you?”
I cough, embarrassed. “Compliments completely on the house. As cocky, reckless billionaire playboys go, you’re not half bad.”
The corner of his mouth quirks up. Oh, right, I forgot “devastatingly handsome.” A phrase he’s also totally earning right now.
“You know,” he says, his voice dipping low, “in a lot of ways I’m glad my grandfather came up with this crazy scheme. It’s made me rethink a lot of things I probably should have before. And it also brought you into my life. I should thank him just for that.”
He squeezes my hand back. The warmth of his touch floods my entire body. I’m pretty sure I’m blushing. I want to ask him the questions I was asking myself just an hour ago. Is this real? Is he ever going to want to see me again after this week is finished? Could we actually build something like a relationship off the back of this mad adventure?
Luckily, Max interrupts me. “Now, what do you say we get dessert to go?”
* * *
Max practically drags me to the cab, and the second we’re in the backseat, he pulls me hard against him in a smoldering kiss. God, he’s already hard for me, and I can’t help rocking against him, kissing wildly all the way back to the hotel. The elevator ride up to our room passes in a blur, and then—thank God—he’s slamming the door shut behind us and pushing me up against it.
We’re finally alone.
Max tugs down the straps of my dress to cup my breasts, and groans, his mouth leaving mine to mark a hot trail down the side of my neck. His thumbs brush over my nipples, and I whimper.
“Hallie,” Max mutters against my skin. Every movement of his lips sends sparks shooting through me. “You drive me crazy. Can’t stop thinking about you. And this.” He pinches my nipples, making me moan. “And this.” His hands drop to slide the dress the rest of the way up my thighs. His fingers trace the hem of my panties.
“If I can make a suggestion?” I say breathlessly. “Less thinking and more doing.”
“Fuck yes.”
We kiss again, so hard and hot my head is spinning. I ease my hands down his firm chest to the button of his pants. He shifts to give me better access as I wrench at that and then the zipper. In a matter of seconds, I’ve palmed his cock. “Fucking yes,” he breaths, gripping my hips, Urging me closer. I gasp as the hard length of him rubs against my clit.
“These need to go,” Max says, hooking his fingers around the narrow band of my panties.
“Rip them right off,” I murmur. “I’ve got more where they came from.”
The heat in his eyes goes from sizzling to searing. With a yank, he snaps the fabric away from me, and then he’s sinking to his knees, a wicked look in his eyes.
He licks over me in a hot swoop, and I sink back against the door, closing my eyes against everything except the feel of his mouth on me, and fuck, his fingers thrusting up inside.
Who the fuck cares how real this is? I wouldn’t give it up for the world.
18
Hallie
Someone shakes my shoulder. Someone evil, clearly, because I am so not ready to wake up yet. I mumble a scathing remark that would stop any villain in his tracks and press my face deeper into the pillow.
“Hallie,” Max says, sounding both amused and impatient. “I need you up. I figured it out. The clue. I know where we’re going.”
“What? Where?”
He grins at me. “Gramps has a yacht called The Bird’s Eye View. He sailed it all around the world when he was my age. A window to the world—that’s got to be what he meant.”
I rub my eyes and push myself upright. “Okay. So where is it?”
“Right back in Palm Beach. We’re heading back to the start. Full circle—that’s exactly the kind of poetic ending he’d like.”
“All right,” I say, managing to stifle a yawn. “I guess we’d better get a move on then.”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “I did let you sleep as long as I could.”
He’s already dressed. Already showered, from the damp sheen of his hair. The fact that he let me sleep in is actually kind of sweet. I’d appreciate it more if I didn’t want to fall back into the pillow—and drag me down with him.
But there’s way more than just a mind-blowing orgasm on the line, and I wouldn’t forgive myself if I was the one holding him back from the prize.
I heave myself out of the bed. As I reach for my bag, Max catches my shoulder. He touches my face to tip it toward his and gives me a kiss that’s somehow soft and demanding at the same time.
“What was that for?” I ask, when we breathlessly come up for air.
He shrugs, and gives me a soft smile. “Just because.”
* * *
I doze a little on the plane, enough that I’m feeling completely myself by the time we touch down back in Palm Beach.
“We won’t have much time,” Max says, looking worried. “The minute anyone sees us back here, they’ll be on the phone to Artie and Parker. They have spies everywhere.”
“So, we’ll just have to be quick,” I agree, squeezing his hand.
There’s another car waiting on the tarmac for us, and it whisks us back to the estate in record time. Max leaps out the minute we pull up the driveway. “Come on!”
He grabs my hand, and I follow him through the estate’s winding paths, down to the private dock. Sure enough, there are a couple of yachts moored, bobbing on the tide. Max makes a beeline for the biggest one.
“Is this a yacht or a cruise liner?” I exclaim, as we head up the gangplank. It’s got to be a hundred and fifty feet, at least, with two levels of gleaming, polished decks. Max heads for the staircase, and I follow him down to—
“Holy shit.”
Someone’s transplanted an entire luxury bachelor pad into this boat. And by luxury, I mean white leather couches so soft my skin shivers when I touch them, full bar with marble countertop, an entertainment system with a TV bigger than my living room window back home . . .
And that’s just the lounge area. Through another doorway there’s a rosewood-paneled dining room with a ten-seater matching table and an honest-to-God crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the lives of the rich-as-fuck.
The one thing the yacht is missing is a clue. Or a prize. Or whatever the hell that last clue was supposed to be leading us to. Max and I scour every inch of the place, opening cupboards and drawers, peering under the couches and the double-king-sized canopy bed. I ogle fifty-year-old wines and ornate gold candlesticks. But nothing looks remotely like an answer to this treasure hunt.
“It’s got to be here!” Max exclaims, looking frustrated.
“We’ve looked everywhere.”
“Then we look again!”
Finally, we tramp back out onto the deck. The teak lounge chairs with their plump cushions look perfect for relaxing, but neither of us is a mood to relax. I yank up the cushions to check under them, but no. Nada.
“I don’t think it’s here,” I say to Max, disappointed.
He sighs. “No. I guess not. I was so sure . . .”
“The clue was really vague,” I say. “You could still be right about the full circle thing. We just need to think about it some more. Maybe if we wander around the estate, something will click?”
“Yeah.” Max runs his hand over his rumpled hair. “Might as well give it a shot. Let’s split up to cover more ground.”
“Oh.” I try to hide my disappointment. What ha
ppened to us being in this together? “Sure, that makes sense.”
Max heads for the house, and I wander the gardens. The hedge-sculpted famous figures look as if they’re contemplating the problem too. The water in the pool is so still it reflects the clear blue sky like a mirror. I poke around the patio, thinking about windows. Views. A window to the world . . .
Yeah, I’ve still got nothing.
I hear a tapping sound and look up. Franklin himself is strolling on the verandah, his cane clicking on the polished ground. “Miss Gage,” he calls. “I didn’t know you were back.”
“You mean, you thought the clues would send us somewhere else?” I frown.
He chuckles. “Ah, still playing my little game, are you?”
“Well, you didn’t exactly give Max a choice,” I point out. “Not if he doesn’t want to see the company sold off to the highest bidder.”
“Coming around then, is he?”
I’m not sure what he means. “Max has beat the others every step of the way, you know,” I say. “He’s been the first to every clue.”
“I wouldn’t have expected anything less,” Franklin says enigmatically. His tone hasn’t changed, but there’s a twinkle in his eye. Suddenly I remember my conversation with Max last night, about how this hunt has really pushed only him out of his comfort zone. That first clue was set up perfectly for him, too, wasn’t it? He was the only one who knew about his grandfather’s favorite car, and knew how to take apart an engine.
If he hadn’t gotten involved in the competition, the others would never have gotten past that first step.
I study Franklin’s expression. “You want him to win, don’t you? It’s not really a competition. You’re just testing him.”
The old man’s wizened face doesn’t give anything away. “Now why would I do a thing like that?”
“For all you know, one of the others is going to cheat their way to the final prize,” I say, frustrated. “And then you’re stuck with them. Why don’t you just sign it all over to Max? It would be a lot less trouble.”
Franklin’s eyes narrow. “That’s the trouble with your generation. You think ‘trouble’ is a bad word. Trouble builds character. Trouble forces people to either roll over or step up. Until a person knows what he’s made of, he isn’t ready to take on any real responsibility.”
Oh, not this bullshit again. “From what I’ve heard, Max has been running around reporting stories in war zones. I’m pretty sure he’s already faced a hell of a lot more trouble than you’re giving him here.”
“There are different kinds of trouble,” Franklin says lightly. “Adventuring doesn’t prepare one to run a business.” He looks me up and down. “Nor to settle down and put down roots. Marrying you will take him to where he needs to be, too.”
Well, he’s out of luck there, not that he needs to know that. “I don’t know,” I say. “It’s your business, not mine. But I still think you’re taking a pretty big risk here.”
As if to put the proof to my words, an engine roars up the drive. Here comes the cavalry.
I head over to entrance to see what the cousins are up to. If they’ve figured something out, I’d like to hear it.
They’re all pouring out of the car when I get there, Artie and Parker’s crews together. I guess the sharks have officially teamed up now. Is there a word for that? A squad of sharks? A jerkishness of sharks?
“The maid said they only got in a few hours ago,” Artie is saying as he strides to the door. “If they haven’t found it yet, we’ve got time to catch up.”
So they don’t know anything, they’re just following a tip. I step deeper into the garden before the cousins notice me.
My own search hasn’t gotten me anywhere, so following the jerkish squad seems like a decent plan. Maybe they’ll let something slip they don’t even realize is important. They ought to know the family better than I do.
I slink along behind them into the house. Parker and Brad go barging into the kitchen wing with a clanging of pots and pans. They do like making a racket, don’t they?
Artie and Cordelia take a different approach. Artie summons a few of the household staff and starts barking instructions about rooms to search. He and Cordelia start with the music room.
I putter around in the hall outside, checking behind the paintings on the walls, because why not? I wouldn’t put anything past Franklin at this point. Artie’s voice filters out of the room.
“He started this stupid hunt here. If the answer’s anywhere in the house, it’s probably in this room.”
So he had the same thought as Max about Franklin going full circle. Any other brainstorms I could use? I edge toward the doorway.
“This is so ridiculous,” Cordelia says with a huff. “I’m missing the Barnstone gala for this, you know.”
“Cordy, if we win this, you can buy the fucking Barnstone Foundation. The prize has got to be somewhere. The old man might be insane, but he wouldn’t send us on a chase without a finish line.”
I touch the door, only meaning to lean a little closer. Unfortunately, I overestimate how stiff the hinges are and underestimate my lean. The door goes flying open, sending me stumbling inside. I catch myself, tugging my shirt straight and looking around wide-eyed as if I’m not sure how I ended up here.
“Excuse me, I was just looking for my purse.”
Cordelia sneers. I guess she’s been taking lessons from her husband. “You mean the purse that’s over your shoulder?”
“Oh! Silly me. There it is.” I give her a too-big smile and start to back out of the room.
“Hold on.” Artie raises his hand and marches over. “How much do you figure Max is worth without the company?”
I blink, honestly startled this time. “Um, I don’t know? And I don’t really care.”
“Let me tell you,” Artie says slickly. “I make more in one day than he does in a month. You want to be set for life? Any information you get, you pass it on to us. I can see you never want for anything.”
Funny, because what I really want is for this asshole to get out of my face. I stop myself just short of saying as much out loud. “Thanks, but no thanks,” I say firmly. “I’m perfectly happy with the partnership I’ve already got. Good luck!”
He starts to sputter something, but I’m already walking away. This treasure hunt might be bringing out the best in Max, but it’s getting to the worst in everyone else. The sooner it’s over, the better.
19
Hallie
What do you call a treasure hunt when nobody can find the treasure?
Boring.
It’s two days since we all converged at the estate, and despite searching every square inch of the place, we’ve all got nothing. Bupkis. Nada.
“I’m missing something,” Max says, pacing frustratedly. “There’s got to be a piece I’m not fitting together.”
I watch him, concerned now. It’s past midnight, and I don’t think the guy’s had more than a couple of hours of sleep in days: there are dark shadows under his eyes, and his shoulders are hunched with tension.
“You need to get some sleep,” I tell him. “Come at it with fresh eyes tomorrow.”
“There isn’t time.” Max brushes off my concern. “You think Artie or Parker are sleeping?”
Probably not. They’ve kicked into high gear, too: bringing in guys in dark suits to prowl the grounds like FBI agents searching for evidence. This place is full of lawyers, threatening all kinds of suits against Franklin—who, of course, just smirks and ignores them—and I swear I almost tripped over a scientist with a lab coat and beaker out in the gardens yesterday. Don’t ask me what the hell he was testing for.
A whole lot of effort, and no one has any prize to show for it.
Max slams his laptop shut in frustration. “It has to be here. Maybe he just picked a random spot and buried it in the lawn.”
“Don’t say that again,” I warn him wryly. “Your cousins will have bulldozers out in the yard before sunrise. I’m kind
of surprised they haven’t started demolishing this place yet.”
“Believe me, they would if they could.” Max leans back in his seat, looking exhausted. “But this is all Grandpa’s property—until the minute someone finds that final prize.”
I glance out of the windows. They’re flung open, the warm night breeze drifting in and moonlight glimmering off the ocean in the distance.
I take his hand. “Come with me.”
Max leaps up. “Where? Did you think of something?”
“No. But you need a break.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” I tug firmly. “You’ve been going around in circles for days. Clear your head, relax a little. Who knows, maybe it’ll spark something?”
Max makes another noise of protest, but he doesn’t resist. He follows me outside, and down the path towards the ocean.
“We’ve already checked the yacht. A dozen times.”
“You’ve got a one-track mind, buddy,” I say, as we reach the beach. It’s a pale crescent in the moonlight, and I kick off my shoes, wriggling my feet in the warm sand. “But I bet I can make you forget all about the treasure hunt.”
“Oh yeah?” Max doesn’t look convinced. But that’s before I strip my shirt off and wriggle out of my skirt. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” I grin, stripped down to my underwear. “Skinny dipping.”
“You can’t skinny dip with clothes on.” Max moves closer, his hands skimming over my bare waist. But he’s not looking frustrated or bored anymore. No, that heat in his eyes is pure hunger.
“Then it’s a good thing you’re here to take them off me,” I smile, flirty.
He chuckles. “If this is your idea of a distraction . . .”
