by Hadley Quinn
He only stared past her, refusing to look her in the eye. He also didn’t answer the question, and instead, shrugged a casual shoulder like he was dismissing it and didn’t care.
Worry crept from Anna’s chest to the pit of her stomach. Max was actually right. She didn’t belong with a guy who couldn’t be honest with her. How would she ever know when he wasn’t just feeding her a line?
She turned away from him and headed back to the couch, leaving him at the door. “You choose the company you keep, you know. It’s a lovely little thing called free agency. The choices you make are yours, and no one else’s.”
“Easy for you to say,” she heard him mumble.
He hadn’t been looking at her, but then his eyes shifted her way. Sometimes silence said more than anything, and right now, she felt he was asking her to understand. She didn’t understand yet—she didn’t come from his exact world or family—but maybe she didn’t need to know details. Maybe he just needed acceptance.
Anna patted the space next to her and picked up the cake again. “I am not eating all of this by myself.” She took a bite, not able to help the moan that escaped her throat. It was absolutely divine.
“Share it with you? Are you trying to watch your figure?” he mused as he returned to the spot next to her.
She laughed before taking another bite. “Hell no, I just don’t want to make myself sick. At least not in one sitting. And you’re not going to point out so-called ‘flaws’ to make me feel inferior to you,” she added. “I don’t care what you think you’re doing but I don’t believe half of what you say. I will admit, though, that you’ve made me feel horrible sometimes. If that’s your goal, you’ve succeeded. I’m only human, and no matter who you are, you have the power to influence how a person feels. However, I’m not going to let it affect my interest in being a friend to you. It’s your choice.”
She took another bite of cake, using the time to assess his reaction to her speech. His face held no expression as he remained on the couch next to her, but he did rest back and stare straight ahead while she ate another bite.
Finally he answered, “I’m sorry for making you feel horrible. It wasn’t my intention.”
“No?” she scoffed with a laugh. “Then tell me…what was your intention?”
Max leaned forward, setting his elbows on his knees. She couldn’t help observing him in this position because there was somewhat of a humble regret as he looked down at his hands folded together. She studied his jaw line, and the way he allowed his eyebrows to give away his apprehension right now. The stubble on his face was more evident than it had been earlier, and the fact that he seemed so picture perfect was confusing. This man was so damn striking it left a lump in her throat.
But maybe that was the bite of chocolate fudge she hadn’t swallowed yet.
When he still didn’t answer, Anna set the cake on the coffee table. She tucked her legs up under her and turned to face him. “When was the last time you took a deep breath, let it out, and just…relaxed?”
When a short laugh came out of him, she was surprised. He turned her way and said, “Never?”
“And it’s obvious,” she nodded, joining his amusement with a smile. Mustering up some courage, she scooted her back against the couch’s armrest and grabbed one of the small throw pillows for her lap. “Come here.”
He cocked that eyebrow at her again, and instead of letting it affect her, she arched one right back at him and motioned to her lap again. “Put your noggin right here, I’m gonna give you some really amazing head.”
A smile broke out on his face as he stared at her, but she only grinned at him and pointed to her lap. Surprisingly, he moved so his back was lying on the couch and set his head on her lap. With the opportunity to finally touch him, Anna paused with her hands inches from his head. She slid her fingers under his neck, pressing them against his warm skin. She massaged from his neck to his shoulders, and then to the back of his head, repeating this pattern over and over until her hands, wrists, and forearms were aching.
Neither of them said a word. She didn’t prefer him to talk in the first place—she wanted him to just relax and regroup if he could—but in a way, it was almost more intimate than she’d expected. No matter how tired her hands were, she still had the desire to continue touching him. She massaged his head, to his ears, along his jaw, and eventually ended up on his chest. He didn’t protest, so she smoothed her hands over his pecs to the fronts of his shoulders, and then slid them down his upper arms as far as she could reach without shoving her boobs too far into his head. Then she massaged back up until she returned to the back of his neck again.
Anna had suggested this because she felt he needed it, but good God, it was turning her on. She had to force images out of her head—images where she had him naked while she continued to massage him wherever she wanted. These thoughts were arousing, and even though there was a pillow separating his head from her lady parts, just the idea that he was so close provoked the reaction she was having between her legs.
She focused on the pain in her knee instead, the one that had been repaired but still ached when it was folded for too long. The awareness made it throb even more, so she gently held the pillow in place while she slipped her leg out from under it in order to stretch for a bit.
Max moved, like he’d been sleeping but was now aware she’d moved her leg. He went to sit up, but Anna placed her hands on his shoulders to hold him down.
“No, stay. I just needed to move my leg.”
He turned his head to the side where she’d stretched it toward the coffee table. Then he did something that completely shocked her and looped his arm under her leg, pulling it over his shoulder. The back of her knee arced just perfectly over him and her calf was now resting on his chest.
“This is the one you had surgery on?” He’d asked, but she felt it was more of a statement. And he was already softly rubbing it with his other hand, so the ability to answer had been completely stripped from her mouth. Instead, she just watched his hands—his left one lightly placed on the top of her shin, and the right one gently massaging over her kneecap and to each side of her leg.
His hands. She had to admit it was her favorite part of a man’s body. Strange? Well the hands on a man are what carry out the intent of his heart. Actions instead of words. The hands open your door, hold you at night, caress your skin, wipe your tears, hold a newborn baby—
No. Don’t think about babies. Although the thought of Max’s hands doing all of those things and more was a little overwhelming. Her compassion was stirred, along with her biological clock.
“Does that feel okay?” he asked. His voice kissed her heart with comfort.
Not meaning to, Anna moaned. “Mmhmm.” She closed her eyes so she couldn’t stare at those hands and imagine what it would feel like to be touched by him in other places. It didn’t help, though. The image was already engraved in her head as she leaned to the side to rest against the couch.
And Max McCallan’s sexy hands were the last thing she remembered that night.
Chapter Twelve
Max pinched the bridge of his nose to alleviate the pain behind his eyes. After leaving Anna asleep on the couch at her place, he’d sat at his computer and worked for six hours straight. It was almost two in the morning right now, but he was going to keep working until this last scene was completely finished. He hadn’t planned on being done so quickly, but his mind hadn’t shut off since he returned to Quentin’s house. The words just came effortlessly, and the images played out perfectly as if he were watching it unfold in real life.
Life is a journey, not a destination. Those are words you consider as you write a story. Only twenty to thirty pages of your one-hundred-twenty page script will display your build-up and climax. Why so short? Because the story should have carried you to those few minutes’ worth of film. How you get to the end is just as important as the end itself. Patience while writing this screenplay had been Max’s most valuable ally. He didn’t want
to rush it, and he certainly wanted it to be the best it could be, but to pace his writing properly had been a significant choice. He wasn’t patient with most things in life, but he’d forced himself to be this time.
He couldn’t believe he was done, though.
Pressing save, Max sat at the desk and just gazed at the screen for a few minutes. The conclusion to his story had been written and it just seemed…illusory. He’d been tinkering around with this for almost a year, never telling anyone he’d been sticking his toe into another aspect of film. But life had elbowed him in such a way it seemed like the proper time to follow through. With Tate as his newfound inspiration, Max was able to turn an idea into a much-needed piece of inspiration.
He now had a complete script for a full-length drama…and it was based on a true story.
His stomach growled. Realizing he hadn’t eaten for nine hours, he stood and paced the room. Grocery shopping had been avoided, but maybe it was time to hit a twenty-four hour store.
After checking his options and realizing that nothing was open twenty-four hours in the area, Max gave up and entered the kitchen instead, knowing full well the leftover pizza was already gone. He opened the refrigerator anyway, just so he could stare at its empty contents sullenly, but there were several unfamiliar items arranged on the shelves. Some was store bought, including milk, juice, and yogurt, but there were also plastic containers that must have come from someone’s kitchen.
He grabbed a yellow one that had a note hanging from it.
Thought you could use some food. But seriously, start locking the back door! ~Anna
Not knowing when the hell she’d been in the house, he thought back to the last six hours. There’d been nothing in the fridge as of nine p.m., so she must have come over while he’d been at work in the bedroom.
Max opened the container, never in his life so appreciative of food that’d been made for him. His kitchen staff cooked for him all the time, but they were paid quite well for it. Anna had taken the time to put all of this together and deliver it without even bothering him?
He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
While it heated in the microwave, Max found his phone in the bedroom. She was probably sleeping, but he wanted her to know how much she’d made his night. He sent her a text so she’d get it first thing in the morning.
Thank you so much for the food. You have no idea how grateful I am.
While he sat at the counter, ready to stuff his face, his phone alerted him with a reply.
Anna: You’re welcome. Thanks for putting me to sleep Oh, and for locking MY door on your way out. Can you please do the same to yours???
He’d never put any thought into locking up at home because someone else did it for him. And he usually wasn’t without Joe, either. His bodyguard knew his habits well and he never had to speak to him much.
Max: Why are you awake?
Anna: Because I had a nightmare you ate the rest of the cake. Thank God it was still there but…it’s not anymore.
Smiling, he finished off the last of his food. He had no idea what it even was—a chicken casserole of some sort—but it was amazing and he couldn’t thank her enough.
Max: I owe you a meal or two. Wanna do lunch tomorrow? I need to sleep for a bit and will probably wake up late, but I’m free for the day.
Ten minutes went by before she replied. He was just about to text her again as he brushed his teeth and got into bed, but she finally responded.
Anna: Actually…I’m leaving tomorrow morning. But thanks for the offer. I would have loved to. Get some sleep, McCallan. It’s starting to show on your movie star face
He stared at her message for almost a minute. He was surprised she was leaving, but then again, he’d never really asked her much about her stay or the length of it. But what truly bothered him was how he felt at that moment. He was disappointed. Sad. He felt a bit lost.
Max: The movie star face will be a thing of the past. And sorry to hear you’re leaving, I have something I wanted to show you.
Anna: *snicker* sounds interesting
He smiled to himself, but the late hour and his level of exhaustion made him rub his face for a moment, trying to keep his mind focused on something else. He could so easily go a different direction with this conversation, but he figured he’d play it safe.
Max: Not sure where your mind is surfer girl but I was going to show you what I’m working on.
Anna: Hmm I’m paying attention. How bad do you want me to see it?
How bad did he want her to see it? Good question. The fact that he was even considering it made him think he needed his head examined.
Keep your life private. Don’t open up. Show no vulnerability… It was the mantra his father had pounded into him, but Max was still feeling the mutiny in his chest that had developed so strongly over the past six months.
Max: Being that you gave me a massage that practically left me comatose, I feel I owe you something.
Anna: Owe me? Nah. It was my pleasure. And I’d do it again just to see you lighten up a bit
He rarely let down his guard for anyone, but he had with Anna. And he was also afraid to let her touch him like that again. What she did had surprised him, but besides it doing a world of good for his overall state of mind, she smelled amazing and having her hands all over him…
Max: Well it was much needed. Thank you. I think you’ve wrecked me for life, though. Nothing will top it.
Anna: Ohhhh that’s where you’re wrong. You didn’t even get the FULL BODY treatment.
He’d never had a text message give him an instant hard-on. For one, he’d never risked his reputation by participating in sexting with anyone. No evidence was the best evidence, and he’d never been the victim of leaked emails or messages to the tabloids like some other celebrities. But just the thought of her touching other parts of him…
Max: You’re evil because now I’m thinking about it. But if you’re offering…
Come on, they were both adults. He liked her, she liked him, it was obvious they probably both needed to get laid. But he instantly regretted his text. What if she laughed in his face by rejecting him? Or worse, what if she made screen shots of his conversation trying to hook up with her and—
Anna: Is your back door still unlocked?
He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. All other worries disappeared instantly.
Max: If it’s not then it will be
He knew he hadn’t locked it yet, but got up to check just in case. Was she seriously going to come over? The thought of sleep was now a lost idea, because once he returned to the bedroom, he was wide-awake. And horny as fuck. And realizing that she hadn’t texted him back yet. And then decided he must be the biggest asshole in the world because he was letting a young woman walk the streets late at night by herself.
He was just about to text her that he’d come to her instead, but then paused. What if she fell asleep? What if she decided she didn’t want to come over? Or worse, what if she’d just been teasing him and—
A sound in the other room halted his worries. He thought he heard the sliding door shut, so he waited. He couldn’t see much in the dark, but maybe saw her silhouette in the doorway a few seconds later.
“I thought you’d be asleep already,” she chuckled.
Realizing the screen of his phone was still lit, illuminating his face, he set it down on the nightstand. “I was going to tell you I didn’t want you out so late.”
She paused. “Oh. Well, if you don’t want me here…” He could easily discern the disappointment in her voice.
“I didn’t say that. No, I just meant you being out on the street in the middle of the night. I guess the neighborhood might be safe, but you never know.”
“Oh.”
She sounded relieved, but she was still standing in the doorway. Why did this seem so awkward? Anna Evans was beautiful, she had a great personality, and he wanted to trust in her ability to maintain and respect h
is privacy. Teague had vouched for her, but seriously, how could you really trust anyone these days?
“Look, uh, maybe I shouldn’t have come,” she said quietly. “I just…I thought maybe… I thought we might both be into one another and be adults about this but… Maybe I assumed wrong.”
He’d at least put on a pair of shorts before she arrived, so he swung his legs out of bed and stood. He was so fucking sick and tired of having to weigh and measure his every move with people. Even though the room was dark, he made his way to her silhouette in the doorway. Besides the ocean waves at the back of the house, the only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat right now.
“You didn’t assume wrong,” he answered. “I invited you here because I want you here.”
“Really? Because you have a way of making me feel not so sure of myself sometimes, and as much as I tell myself to not care, I just can’t do that. It’s sort of a weakness of mine. I care too much and then it works against me.”
Hearing her words made him think about Tate’s journal. We all have strengths and weaknesses, he needed to remind himself. The right person will know what to do with me. However, it was fucking hard to risk it again. He’d already made that mistake and it destroyed him more than he ever knew was possible.
“I understand that, and I’m really sorry I treated you that way,” he told her softly.
“Are you?” She sounded so meek and unsure, and it was nothing like the Anna he’d been familiar with lately. But certainly she had a vulnerable side to her just like everyone else, and she was sharing it with him right now. He respected that, and because it made him feel like a dick, it also humbled him.
“I really am,” he answered, taking another step closer to her. She was leaning back against the doorframe, and just like the night before, he could sense her go rigid as soon as he invaded her space. But this time he wasn’t trying to rattle her. This time he honestly wanted to just be himself.
