You can run, dancing girl, but I have no intention of letting you hide.
Ila
In spite of the smell of oils and turpentine crowding my nose, I was only aware of the scent of cedar and warm male surrounding me as I walked the rows of art store shelves selecting the paints and things I needed.
I paused, trying to recall what else I wanted. Darn, I should have made a list. With Max at my side, I couldn’t even remember my own name. And that kiss last night had left me shaken to my core. With his mouth alone, Max had made love to me. Sleep had been a forlorn hope.
I hated that he’d gotten hurt in some fight last night because I had a feeling my pushing him away had caused it. But I hadn’t expected him to barge into my studio.
A soft caress along my jaw startled me, and I jerked back.
Amusement lit Max’s gaze. He held a soft, rabbit’s fur paintbrush in his hand, and under his other arm, he carried the A1 sketchpads I’d selected. “You done?”
“Almost.”
With a nod, he tossed the brush down.
Several minutes later, with everything I wanted stacked in his SUV—he’d finally admitted on the journey here that it was his—I headed for the passenger side.
He grasped my hand. “Not yet.”
Casually, he laced our fingers, shocking me silent, and pulled me along with him. He was making it very hard to stay detached with every touch, caress of a paintbrush…his mouth. “Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you for coffee.”
I arched an eyebrow at his edict. “Did you think to ask?”
“Why? You’d have said no. My way is better, less argument and time wasted.”
Max, I was starting to realize, moved to his own beat. I tried to ease my fingers from his, but he simply tightened his hold and pulled me even closer.
Sighing, I cut him a furtive look. But his gaze was focused ahead, a determined set to his jaw. Tatts peeked out from the crewneck of his tee. His dark blond hair was hidden beneath the beanie he wore. Heck, he was utterly gorgeous.
As if feeling my stare, he glanced at me. His bisected eyebrow quirked in question. Heat rushed to my face, and I blurted the first thing that came to mind. “You have so many tattoos, but just two piercings?”
His smile was sexy…sinful. “Then you didn’t look closely enough that first night.”
I frowned. He had just the two on his nipples—crap! He had a pierced… My face burned, his chuckle adding to my embarrassment. Ugh, he was probably teasing me. Wasn’t he?
“Ila?” I turned at the familiar voice, as did Max.
Darn, I’d forgotten the art store was close to Kate’s boutique. She locked her silver Audi and sashayed over in mile high heels, wearing a figure-hugging black coat-dress that stopped mid-thigh. In reflex, I pulled my hand free from Max’s and shifted a little away, painfully aware of my own grungy appearance and haphazard ponytail.
“Great job on the window, sugar.” Yesterday, she’d merely nodded her approval, no words of praise had left her mouth. Until now.
My stomach knotting, I realized why. Kate’s cool gaze settled on Max. She was tall, attractive, and sexy, and left me feeling like a gauche schoolgirl, which, come to think of it, I probably looked like with my wardrobe choice and much smaller stature. More, Kate had a sharp business mind, and when it came to the opposite sex, she dazzled them blind. I’d seen it happen many times. Now that she’d dumped Pierre, she was probably on the hunt for a replacement. And Max would be fair game.
Kate stared at me, and her eyebrows rose slightly, expectantly. My throat drying out, I introduced them in a croak. “Max, this is my boss, Kate Anders. Kate, Max Sinclair.”
“Hello.” Low. Sultry. Lines puckered her smooth brow for a second. “Maxwell Meade-Sinclair?” Kate sounded like she knew him.
His expression unreadable, he didn’t deny or confirm it. “Nice meeting you. Excuse us, Ila and I have a coffee date,” he said, taking my hand again.
Elation swept away my sinking feeling, but reality set in equally fast. From Kate’s speculative gaze, I knew the questions would fly when I saw her again. Damn.
“What’s wrong?” Max asked as we continued up the street.
“Did you have to say it like that?”
“I simply stated the truth. We are having coffee—stop complaining, Logan, and enjoy the moment for once.”
A moment later, we entered the busy Java House, and Max led me to a table in the back. He pulled off his beanie and shoved it in his jacket pocket. And raked his fingers through his hair, causing a tousled, sexy mess. So unfair. Mine usually flattened like a pancake, it was why I didn’t wear hats.
“What would you like?” he asked me.
“Dessert—chocolate.”
He gave me that look, one that made me want to laugh. Max didn’t see chocolate as an important food source. For me, it was.
He headed for the counter to place our order, and my mind circled back to the strange meeting between Max and Kate. Meade-Sinclair? I’d heard that name before, but I couldn’t quite pinpoint where.
“Hey, Max,” the barista said, then he laughed at something Max said. It seemed that he was known in this place, too. But then it was close to the university.
The girls in the queue scoped him out, their gaze settling on his backside. I couldn’t blame them. Not even I could stop myself from checking out his sexy… Very. Sexy. Ass.
Moments later, he made his way back and set the tray down. Three brown rolls with what looked like chicken filling nestled on a plate between two steaming mugs.
I raised an eyebrow. Teased, “I don’t drink coffee.”
“I know.” He pushed a cup toward me and set down a plate with a roll. “They don’t make the type you inhale, so I got the next best thing. Hot chocolate.”
He knew I didn’t like coffee? My heart clipped hard as Max sat opposite me, his spread thighs caging mine, making every inch of my hypersensitive body aware of him. Hastily, I pulled my legs beneath my chair.
“How do you know Kate?” I asked to get my mind off our touching body parts.
He took a bite of his roll and looked at me as he chewed. “I don’t.”
His cell rang. He pulled it from his pocket, glanced at the display, and dropped his phone beside his cup. Then he took another bite of his roll.
“But she knows you? Is that really your last name—Meade-Sinclair?”
His mouth tightened. He continued chewing but gave a curt nod.
So Max didn’t like to talk about his family. It didn’t take a genius to figure out all wasn’t well at home. Picking up my roll, I took a bite of the chicken and mayo, more curious now about him.
His cell went off again. He ignored it.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?”
“No.”
“It could be important.”
“It’s not.” His expression hardened. “It’s my cousin.” He continued eating. After taking a drink of his coffee, he asked, “What type of work do you do for that woman, Kate?”
“I do window displays for her.” When his brow creased in confusion, I explained, “Window dressing. I design a theme for the type of clothes she wants displayed, get her approval, and show off her garments. It draws customers into the shop. I work on all of her stores in San Francisco. It keeps me pretty busy.”
“You paint, and you design window displays. Both have a creative bent, but what exactly is it you want to do?”
“To have my own show, eventually.”
“Of what? The portraits? How does that work?” He popped the last piece of roll into his mouth, his green eyes never leaving mine.
“No, not the portraits.” I smiled, taking a sip of my hot chocolate. “My own paintings. While window dressing is fun, it doesn’t pay as much. My client’s work, those I do because I need the extra money,” I said pointedly.
“I see.” Max drank his coffee and leaned his elbows on the table. His legs pressed against mine again, and my stomach dipp
ed. “Did you approach any of the galleries?”
Despite his serious expression, he somehow managed to make my insides tremble with his direct stare. Made me recall our mind-churning kiss from last night. And here he sat, so cool, unaffected. Like he hadn’t had his mouth on mine, demanding my surrender—
Hastily, I cut off the thought, lowered my gaze to my drink and shook my head. “When I’m ready, maybe then. Besides, I don’t really have the time to paint like I want to.”
He started on his next roll, and his gaze came back to me. “Will you show them to me, whatever you’ve done?”
“You know art?” I asked, a little skeptically.
His shoulder lifted in a half-shrug. “My mom used to drag me along as her date to those things. So a little.”
Whoa. I hadn’t expected that. “She did?”
“Yeah, I hated it.” A smile hovered on his sensual mouth.
“Why didn’t your dad go with her?”
His expression blanked out. His gaze shifted away. “Most times, it didn’t coincide with his schedule.”
With no idea what to say, I sipped my hot chocolate even though it had lost its appeal. The sounds of soft chatter filled the dense silence that had settled between us. I’d had no idea my innocent question would upset him so much. Obviously, it was a sore subject. Before I could open my mouth and apologize, he looked back. The immense pain in his eyes stole my breath. “Max—”
“She died,” he said abruptly, effectively cutting off further questions.
“I’m so sorry.” I reached out and touched his hand lying on the table. A nerve twitching on his jaw, he nodded, dropped the rest of his roll on the plate, and wiped his fingers on the paper napkin.
After a long silent minute, he drank more of his coffee, then went right back to his questions. “How long have you been painting?”
My entire being shut down at the answer. I’d finished university and had worked in an advertising company. Even though I’d been the youngest on the team, with my instinctive understanding of what my clients wanted, the future had looked promising—and demanding—until one more canceled date had destroyed everything.
“Two years,” I said, tone flat. Before Max could ply me with more questions and pry through the locks in my mind, I asked, “So, what do you study?”
A slight hesitation. “I compose music.”
That I didn’t expect. “You do? Do you play any instruments?”
He leaned back in his seat, stretched his long legs, caging mine again. Hurriedly, I tucked them back, but couldn’t escape him. Darn. With a faint curve to his lips, he nodded. Heat flared in my cheeks. Crap, he knew I was dodging his legs.
He unscrewed his bottled water and drank some. “You know, Logan, that’s the first time you’ve shown so much interest in me.” His gaze did the familiar slow, sensual skim over my face and made me far too aware of him. “I play the piano. A little guitar, some sax.”
“You do? Really?” Ugh, I sounded like a parrot.
“Yeah. Speaking of which, could I use the dining area to set up my keyboard? It’s a pain in the ass having to go to Jack’s to practice with the parties he keeps going for all hours.”
I was dying to hear him play. “Yes, of course. I’ll have to find you a different place to sleep. There’s a futon in my studio—”
The hint of a smile vanished. His jaw hardened. “The couch is fine.”
Great, I had to bring up what happened in my studio again.
My cell rang, breaking the tension. I pulled it out of my pocket. Out of habit, I put it on speaker and took another bite of my roll. “Dad?”
“Sweetheart, please tell me Ray’s not around to snatch the phone from you?”
At my father’s wry tone, I laughed. “No, she isn’t. I’m in town. Had a few errands to run.”
“Oh, good. You’re well?”
“I’m fine, really.” And I realized for the first time, I was. I’d hardly thought of Devyn—the horror of what had happened—and I knew why, too. The reason was watching me with fathomless lake-green eyes. If I let myself, I’d fall right into them.
“How’s Mom?” I asked, trying to concentrate on my father.
“She’s holding up and looking forward to seeing you girls. It’ll be good, you’ll see. You and Ray work well together at the fair.”
I bit my lip. My parents understood why I avoided the event. But I couldn’t continue hiding. “All right, I’ll be there.”
“I’m glad. Ray’s bringing a friend—” He sounded pleased, then his tone turned coaxing, “Invite someone too, Ila.”
I looked up and met Max’s vivid stare, the friend Ray had invited. And here I was on a “date” with him. I had to end this insanity. “Maybe. I’ll see you soon. Bye, Dad.” Without looking at Max, I pocketed my cell. “We should go—”
“Yes, your clients. Can’t have them waiting, can we?” An edge crept into his voice. “Who is it today? The horny bastard, or the silver fox?”
Reveal that Titus was coming back? I wouldn’t put it past Max to go after the poor guy again. “Max, please, let’s not do this here.”
His expression morphed to stone. “So it’s him.”
“Max—”
“I’m not going to apologize for last night.” He cut me off. “Tell me, Logan, how would you feel if I was the one painting nude women who got turned on because my eyes were constantly on them?”
The hot chocolate I’d swallowed curdled in my stomach. When he put it like that, I wanted to find the anonymous slank and tear her face out. No, I didn’t like it. Not one bit.
Unable to answer without opening the door to things best left unsaid, I remained silent.
“Right.” He slid out of the seat and bumped into a guy walking past. Coffee spilled. With a curse, the guy jumped back.
“What the fuck, man!” the dark-haired guy snapped, glaring at his coffee-drenched t-shirt. Then he glanced up. “Well, well, if it isn’t the media’s poor little rich boy! Destroyed anything else lately—”
Max punched him in the face, sending him crashing into a table and tumbling empty mugs. Remnants of leftover coffee flowed across the surface.
“Max!” Shocked, I grabbed his forearm and tried to yank him away, but he remained rooted to the spot.
“Stay the hell away from me, Mitchell.”
“Or you’ll what?”
Fist clenching, Max spun around and stormed out without a word.
Snatching my satchel, I stepped around the cursing man and the curious on-lookers and sprinted after Max.
“Yeah, go with her, asshole!” The idiot yelled after Max. “Maybe she’ll keep you out of trouble.”
“Who is he?” I asked as Max strode toward his Jeep parked farther down.
“From the Conservatory.” Terse. Clipped. He opened the door, his expression shuttered.
“You okay?”
Silence.
Worried, I climbed in. Something I didn’t understand was eating at him. Last night, he’d been furious, but he hadn’t hit Titus. Here, now, the anger bled out of him…so much rage. And pain. The latter was there in his dulled green eyes. And it wrapped around me like a lasso. Whatever was hurting him, was really, really bad.
***
Max was still on my mind when I entered Eastern Couture later in the afternoon to drop off the sketches. On my one day off. It was like walking into a darn booby trap, both potentially hazardous and mind-numbingly annoying. Kate ambushed me the moment I stepped foot into the store.
“Why didn’t you tell me you knew the media’s bad boy?”
“Max’s life is private, and I don’t ask questions.” Irritation swelling, I dropped the sketches on Kate’s desk. “You seemed to know him.”
Kate shrugged. “Not personally, although I’ve been to a party his parents attended.”
My chest hurt for him, realizing that his mother’s death must have been recent. “Max doesn’t talk much about his family.”
“I’m not surprised,�
�� Kate murmured. She studied the sketches then cut me a considering look. “The rumor is that he was responsible for his mother’s death—drunk driving. It was all over the papers four years ago.”
“No.” Instantly, the denial sprang to my lips. I refused to believe it. Whatever had happened, there had to be a reason. He must have been so young… God! No wonder he had so much anger in him…so much pain. Was that why he refused to go home or talk to his cousin? Why he rarely slept?
“Come on, Ila, you must have heard about it?”
Four years ago, my mother had had her first stroke. I barely paid attention to anything else, much less read the paper, and I certainly wasn’t interested in scrutinizing someone else’s tragedy. “You can’t believe everything you read.”
At Kate’s knowing smile, I had to clamp down on my cutting retort before the woman fired me.
“It’s the dark, dangerous sort that does it for us women, isn’t it? And he’s grown up now. Much better. Being a trust fund baby and all that, society won’t shun him for his teenage misdeeds.”
A slow burn started inside me. She was speaking about Max as if he were some toy with no feelings.
“Kate, do you mind? I have to get going. I’ve lots to get done.” If I stayed, I would say something I shouldn’t, and I couldn’t afford to lose my job.
“Enjoy him while you can, just don’t lose your heart. No matter how many tattoos he has or the dangerous air he projects, we’re still far too low on the social rung to enter the hallowed halls of the Meade-Sinclair dynasty.” Cynicism edged her voice. “They’re old money, sugar.” Kate walked off, then paused at her office door. “If you have nothing going on with him, ask him to call me.”
My jaw hurt, and I realized then how hard I had gritted my teeth. I didn’t care who Max’s family was or if they were richer than the Queen. I liked Max… I like who he is, I finally admitted to myself. It didn’t matter that there was nothing between us; there was no way I would pass on her message.
Breathless (Players to Men) Page 10
