—Phoebe Moon and the Missing Sunshine
* * *
One year ago…
Max was vaguely aware that while his brain was fully on board with the idea of Merry as a friend, other parts of him were interested in more. Max Jr., for one. Then there were his hands. His hands wanted to touch her. Not just hold her hand, but caress her skin. Tangle his fingers in her hair. Slide his palm over the curves of her hips, her breasts, her ass. His mouth was fully on board the Merry train, desperate to taste her again, hot and silky and eager.
And then there was his heart.
It hadn’t been simultaneously excited and insecure like this about a girl since high school. Every time he had a text, call, or email from Merry, his pulse sped up. But more often than not, her name didn’t appear at the top of his list of emails or on the front screen of his text messages or missed calls.
There was a lot he didn’t know about her, but he didn’t care where she worked, where she lived, who her friends were when she wasn’t with him.
Because when she was with him, she was exactly what he wanted. She intrigued him. He wanted to know where this girl came up with the confidence to publicly claim imaginary pet dragons. He wanted to know why her left eye sometimes scrunched. He wanted to know how it was that a girl like her had managed to stay single.
Two weeks after he’d taken her on the cheese and wine tasting, he drove up to Chicago to pick her up for a planned night at a club that had put a massive ball pit for adults in their basement.
He pulled up to the address she’d given him and found her waiting on the front stoop of the apartment building just before sunset. She was in ivory leggings that highlighted her long legs, boots that were more fashionable than functional, and a long-sleeve navy blue sweater thing that showed off her breasts and hugged her hips. Her dark hair was pulled back at her nape, and Max had a sudden vision of himself pulling those silky strands loose, then kissing her until her clothes melted off.
Later.
He’d promised her a night out first.
She eyed Trixie, then glanced down the street. He leaned over and popped Trixie’s door before she realized it was him.
Her eyes met his, then went huge. “Is this your car, or did you rent it?” she asked when she slid into the seat.
He grinned and ran his hand over the steering wheel. “Merry, meet Trixie. She’s all mine.”
“I wouldn’t marry you, but I’d marry this car,” she declared.
He was okay with that, so long as she was willing to kiss him more tonight. Or more. “I wouldn’t marry you either, or let you drive.”
“So women can’t drive?”
“It’s not about you being a woman. It’s about you not giving birth to her.”
Merry cocked her head at him. “How fast can she go?”
“You like fast cars?”
There went that full, uninhibited smile he’d only seen once or twice. “I don’t know.”
She had his full attention now. His and Max Jr.’s. “One way to find out.”
He revved the engine. Merry’s smile faltered, her eyes went black as onyx, and she put a hand on his thigh. “Let’s go drive,” she said.
“You sure?”
“Oh, yes.”
He didn’t need any more encouragement. He put Trixie in gear and pointed her out of Merry’s neighborhood, then out of Chicago, Merry’s hand still on his thigh while she peppered him with questions about Trixie.
How old was she? Where did he get her? How long did it take him to restore her? Did he still do all her maintenance? And then mid-sentence, she trailed off. Her eyes went distant as the last of the Chicago suburbs faded and cornfields replaced the cityscape.
Max chuckled, and she made a funny noise.
“Where do you go when you do that?” he asked.
“Do what?”
“Disappear into your head.” He took his hand off the gearshift to squeeze her fingers still on his thigh. “It’s cute.”
“Sorry. It’s my job. I, um, work in medical billing. I know it doesn’t sound all that exciting, but sometimes there are these cases that could be coded one way or another, and I start to wonder if we shouldn’t develop a middle-of-the-road code instead, except I don’t know anything at all about computer programming, so I’m just kinda…making things up.”
Her smooth round cheeks went a rare pink, her dimple made an appearance, and her left eye scrunched.
“I don’t know anything about computer programming either, but I keep a few websites up to date,” Max told her.
“Cars and websites, huh?”
“I somehow inherited the job of maintaining the Knot Festival and Bridal Retailers Association’s sites.”
“Bridal Retailers Association? Oh, jeez, tell me you don’t call it the BRA.”
“We absolutely do.”
She laughed, and with nothing but dusk and cornfields ahead of him, Max opened Trixie up and let her fly. Her engine roared in appreciation of letting loose all those horses, and the rumble vibrated his seat.
Her laughter faded. Her grip tightened on his thigh, and when he looked over at her—Jesus.
Her plump lips were parted, her chest angled forward, her eyes glittering. She tilted her head to look at him, and her pink tongue darted out to lick her lips. “Wow,” she mouthed.
Max’s blood coursed straight to his groin in a tidal wave of lust. “More?”
“Oh, yes.”
He shifted into third gear.
Merry’s hand crept up his thigh.
Max didn’t know where this thing with Merry was going, but it was clear as crystal that regardless of the labels they put on their relationship, right now she was his.
His.
They flew through the rapidly darkening early October night until they were decently close to Bliss. But Max didn’t want to take her to Bliss.
If he showed up in Bliss with a girl, there would be questions. Whispers. The curse.
Instead, he drove her to a secluded little lake and parked near the shore, far from the nearest cabins. Moonlight shimmered off the water’s surface.
When he twisted to face her, she was staring at him with an intensity that should’ve made him uncomfortable, but instead made what little blood he had left in his brain shoot through his heart on its way to his groin. “That was incredible,” she whispered.
He didn’t know who reached for who first.
How their seatbelts came unbuckled.
Why he didn’t spontaneously combust when her cool fingers found the skin under his shirt, or how he ended up sprawled across her, the passenger seat reclined all the way.
He just knew he had to kiss her. Had to keep kissing her.
Tasting her.
Touching her.
Submerging himself in her scent, in her touch, in her pleasured moans and gasps.
Somehow they made it to the backseat. Merry’s shirt went flying into the front seat.
Max wasn’t one to let a lady be naked by herself, so he tore his own shirt off.
“I’m only doing this to reward good driving,” Merry panted.
“I’m only doing this because you’re fucking hot,” Max replied.
She stuttered out a breathy laugh that hissed into a moan when he licked the spot where her neck met her shoulder. She tasted like sin and speed and sex, and he wanted more.
He wanted all of her.
She pulled him against her while he kissed and nipped and licked at her skin, guiding his head to the tender spot between her breasts. He inhaled her spicy-sweet scent. “Even better than in my dreams,” he murmured.
“You’ve been dreaming about me?”
“Every waking minute.”
He trailed a finger along the lacy edge of her bra, feeling her skin pebble beneath his touch. Her breath came out short and uneven, and she shifted beneath him, then wrapped her legs firmly around his back. His shaft strained against the zipper of his jeans, but holy damn, when she thrust her hips against hi
s, he thought he might explode.
“I’ve been dreaming about you too,” she whispered.
She tugged his hair. He lifted his head, and she bent forward, lips parted, and brushed her mouth against his. “Make love to me, Max. Just once.”
“Just once?” He dipped his thumb into her bra and found the hard tip of her nipple.
She arched back with a strained whimper. “Maybe twice,” she gasped. “Oh, God, don’t stop.”
He lowered his head to her breasts again, licking and teasing and suckling while he lowered her bra straps one at a time. Merry twisted beneath him, and suddenly her bra slid away. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on. He pulled one nipple into his mouth while he slipped a hand between her legs and stroked, and she tilted her hips into his touch.
Twice?
Hell, they’d do this until the sun came up.
He stroked her again, and her thighs clenched around his hand, her whole back arching. “Max,” she cried.
He lifted his head and watched the ecstasy skate across her features.
Holy sweet everything.
He’d never known a woman could be so sensitive. Had he done that? Or had she?
Her skin glowed in the moonlight, her parted lips full and swollen, her dark lashes touching her cheeks. Her body sagged beneath him, and a soft smile touched her mouth while her chest rose and fell, her rosy-tipped breasts still teasing him.
Max was so hard he was about to bust through his zipper.
“Your turn,” she whispered.
“My—”
She gave a lazy push at his shoulders. “Sit up.”
He obeyed, shifting in the tight space until he was in the center of the seat with her legs in his lap. She waved a hand at her feet. “Take my boots off.”
“So now we’re Miss Bossy?” He stroked a line from her knee to the top of her boots.
Her eyes rolled back into her head while her legs twitched beneath his touch. “Thank you, Max,” she murmured.
“For taking your boots off?” He stroked her leg again.
She hissed out a breath, and Max Jr. pulsed in his jeans.
“No, you’re going to thank me for that,” Merry said.
As soon as Max had both her boots off, she pulled herself onto her knees beside him, took his cheeks in her palms, and kissed him.
Slowly.
Soundly.
Deeply.
He popped the button on his jeans.
Merry pushed against his shoulder, and he once more obeyed her simple command, lying back against the opposite window. He held her silky smooth waist, his thumbs inching higher to caress the underside of her breasts again, and she stayed with him, kissing him, her fingers leaving hot trails down his chest and stomach until she reached the waistband of his jeans. She rubbed his pulsing length through the denim of his jeans, and Max groaned.
Suddenly his zipper was down, his boxers too, and he hissed out a relieved breath as Max Jr. sprang free. But Merry took him in her hands, stroking up, then down, then up, then circling the tip of him, and once again, this woman almost made him lose control.
But God—her mouth, her hands, her body, her skin—everything about her was perfect. Soft and strong. Silky and hot. Demanding and generous.
“Merry, I can’t—”
She released him, cool air wrapping around his rigid length where her hands had been, and he shuddered at the sudden loss of her touch. She slid her hands over his quivering abs, and when she leaned over him, her hair dangled down to tickle his chest. “I want you, Max,” she whispered.
I want you.
He wasn’t in this for forever, but the simple words touched him to the depths of his soul.
Everyone should be wanted like this.
She kissed him again, then pulled back, tucked her thumbs into her leggings, and slowly, so very slowly, pulled one side down to her hip.
Max’s groin pulsed.
He wasn’t going to last. Shit, he hadn’t come early since high school, but God. If she didn’t hurry up, he’d be done for. “All. Off. Now.”
She inched the other side down, but not nearly far enough. “Like this?”
It took superhuman strength, but he managed to reach up and cup her breasts, his thumbs brushing her tips, all that silky weight of her in his palms, without losing control. “More,” he said.
Her eyelids lowered, and her lips parted. “Like this?” Two more inches of flesh appeared on her lower abdomen, along with a hint of dark curls.
He took one sweet bud in his mouth. “More.”
“You win,” she gasped.
She pulled back, and in one swift motion, her leggings and panties went the way of her shirt.
Max fumbled for a condom, and Merry helped him roll it on.
He almost fell off the seat when she straddled him, one leg between him and the seat, the other perched on the floorboard, but then she lowered herself onto him, and he was lost.
Lost in the sweetest, tightest, most perfect fit he’d ever experienced.
“Merry—”
She shuddered, lifted almost all the way off him, and then slid back down his length.
Max’s head dropped back against the window, and he thrust up into her, meeting her stroke for stroke until, too soon, his release overtook him and the moonbeams split into rainbows and stars exploded behind his eyes.
Merry pulsed around him, crying out his name once more, then collapsed onto his chest.
“Okay,” she whispered when her breathing had begun to even out, though Max was still lingering somewhere in that heavenly place between reality and utter bliss. “Maybe four times.”
Max chuckled. “It’s still okay if you don’t want to marry me.”
And he meant it.
That weird, empty sense of panic in his chest was fear of never getting laid again.
He was sure of it.
Chapter 12
“Shouldn’t you be in school, Phoebe Moon?”
“Some of us have bigger callings, Zack Diggory.”
—Phoebe Moon and the Missing Sunshine
* * *
Present day…
Max spent Monday morning helping customers at With This Ring. Normally, he spent Mondays on admin stuff in his office across from the workroom where Dan repaired and designed engagement rings and other occasional pieces. But today, two of their staff had called in sick with a stomach bug.
Plus, Max had a weird feeling about the Mrs. Claus diamond ring.
Gramps had designed the ring with a nearly flawless three-carat colorless diamond as the centerpiece, surrounded by a pattern of alternated quarter- and half-carat diamonds set in platinum, with decorative platinum touches completing the snowflake look. When Spencer McGraw sent it back, Gramps had set up a locked display case with bulletproof glass in the corner of the store. The ring sat around a black velvet display finger under lights that hit it to maximize the shine effect.
Beautiful piece of jewelry.
Max had seen it for the first time when he stopped in the shop after football practice one November afternoon while he was in high school. Gramps had been “secretly” working on it for months in the workroom, bent over his workbench, his magnifier attached to his glasses, tools scattered about in an order that made sense to only Gramps. “Come on back here, Max. Got something to show you,” Gramps had said that afternoon.
Max had been as impressed as most any teenage boy would’ve been with a ring. Could’ve bought three old cars for what Spencer McGraw was paying Gramps. Five, if Max bartered right.
But even as a teenage boy, Max had known the ring was about more than the diamonds and the platinum, about more than the design and the time Gramps had put into it.
That ring had made With This Ring famous. Spencer McGraw himself, who had been a ripe old twenty-six—a young literary genius, he’d been called—had come to pick it up with his fiancée. News outlets from all over the country had covered the story of the happy couple leaving With This Ring,
that sparkly snowflake-shaped diamond ring sitting on her hand.
And when McGraw’s fiancée had died, the reporters had come back to Bliss again, this time looking for the scoop on how Gramps had cursed the Mrs. Claus diamond ring with the same curse McGraw had put in the book.
The fascination had led to the best December the shop had ever had.
Even sixteen-year-old Max had known it was an odd time—celebrating their financial success while the man who had given them fame mourned his lost love—but the family business was their lifeblood. The third generation of Gregory men were poised to join it soon, Dan as the master jeweler in training, Max eventually in management, and business was business.
Today, Max couldn’t help but wonder if Nicholas Raymond wanted a piece of the notoriety.
If the ring was part of why Merry had disappeared last year.
Or if she was playing him to help her father get his hands on it.
Not an option he wanted to believe, but his family business demanded he stay suspicious.
“I heard you saw Merry last night,” Rachel said beside him.
Max straightened his tie and glanced around at the scattered customers, all either being helped or still just looking. “Just looking for some closure.”
“I called my friend Alyssa, the one with the witch doctor grandmother, and she said—”
“No witch doctors. And don’t try to fix the bachelor auction. It’s for charity, not for breaking a supposed curse.”
“Oh, Max, we both know curses aren’t real,” Rach said. “But getting involved again with a woman who left you—”
“She had her reasons. Be nice to her.”
“Max—”
“You ever been the outsider, Rach? Ever been misunderstood? Ever been unpopular for doing the right thing?”
She ran a hand along the corner of the smooth glass countertop. “How can leaving someone without a word ever be the right thing?”
Rach wasn’t wrong.
Merry could’ve left a note.
But watching her get grilled last night by Zoe and Pepper had made him wonder if she’d had a solid reason for not leaving a note.
“I’m over it,” Max said. “You can get over it.” The doorbell’s tone sounded again. Saved. “And now we can help this lovely couple pick out an engagement ring.”
Merried Page 10
