Making matters worse, she insisted on perching on the edge of the cushion, poised to take flight at any moment.
“You know,” he said, slipping a fraction closer “it’s all right to sit back and relax. I don’t bite, I promise.”
“Forgive me if I question the sincerity of a man whose guest bedroom has never been used before.”
Gaze shifting to his lap, he scrubbed the warmth from the back of his neck. She had him there. “Well, you have my word I will be on my best behavior.” The words unless you ask otherwise fell silently at the end of the sentence.
Silent or not, she picked up on the postscript, and narrowed her eyes. “Why do I think you say that to everyone who visits your apartment?”
“In your case, it’s true.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah, it is,” he said, the depth of his sincerity surprising him. “I know you didn’t plan on staying here tonight, and that you only came because I twisted your arm.”
“Thank you for realizing that.”
Those weren’t the only reasons, though. The women he usually brought home were all beautiful, desirable and completely interchangeable. One blended into another in an unmemorable, indistinct kind of way. Arianna, on the other hand...
“You’re different.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Different,” Max repeated. Having said the word out loud, he decided to plunge on with his explanation. Surely he wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t know already. “You’re not like the other women I know. You’re...” A lady, he almost said. “A cut above.”
“A cut above what?” She laughed. A light and airy sound, like bubbles rising up from her chest. It wrapped around his insides, making him regret the promise he’d just made.
“Everything,” he replied.
* * *
Arianna knew that tone of voice. Gentle yet seductive. Manolo used to use the same voice whenever he was trying to be romantic. Max, however, didn’t have to try. The tone came naturally.
Making him all the more seductive, despite his promises.
Setting her tea on the coffee table, she turned to face him only to realize how closely they were sitting when their knees bumped. Quickly, she shifted backward. “Why are you doing all this?” she asked him.
“Doing what?”
Looking innocent didn’t come naturally to him. “This. Being nice to me. Opening your home to me.” If not to seduce her, then what was his motive? “Why are you doing all this for someone you barely know?”
“I thought we covered this earlier, at the restaurant.”
Yes, they had. He’d told her he was a sucker for a sob story. Was that truly the only reason? Was helping her simply another one of his attempts to save the world? It all seemed too good to be true.
She smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt. “How do you know I’m not a murderer like the woman on your poster?”
“Wouldn’t that be priceless,” he said with a laugh. “Killed by my own obsession. How film noir.”
“I’m serious. You don’t know.”
“No, I don’t. But my gut tells me I’m pretty safe.”
Much as she hated to admit it, she trusted him, too. She started to reach for her tea, then changed her mind. Normally mint settled her stomach, but her insides were as squirrelly as ever. “I’ve never been very good when it comes to intuition,” she said.
“Put your faith in the wrong person, did you?”
“More like I didn’t trust myself. I let myself be swayed by other people’s opinions, when I should have listened to the voice in my head.”
“Happens,” Max said. “Some people can be very persuasive.”
Present company included. “Especially when all you want is to make them happy.”
That was all she wanted, only to fail them by falling out of love and running away. The disappointments would continue, too, no matter what future she chose.
The cushions shifted. Max had switched positions again so that his arm was stretched out along the back of the sofa. If she leaned back, Arianna would find herself nestled in the crook of his shoulder. Protected by his warm presence. The notion was scarily appealing; she sat a little straighter.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Max’s bottle resting on his thigh, balanced in place by his long index finger. “You know,” he said, “I always figured Darius would be the first person to use my guest room. In fact, I’m surprised he hasn’t, considering how many times he crashed on my sofa before I moved.”
She wondered if the bartender would be upset that she had usurped him. “The two of you are very good friends, aren’t you?” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement of fact. From the start, she’d recognized that theirs wasn’t the usual employee-employer relationship. Their banter reminded her of the way she and Armando would egg each other on when they were kids. “I take it you’ve known each other a long time.”
“Since forever,” Max replied. “He used to get his mom to let me crash at their place in high school on nights I didn’t want to go home. She used to make this dish with pork and coconut milk that was amazing.”
No wonder he and the bartender were so comfortable with each other. “He still looks out for you, doesn’t he?” she said, thinking of the bartender’s glares. “He’s protective.”
“It goes both ways. We’ve seen each other at our lowest.”
How low would that be? How much lower could a person go when they spent their childhood hiding in a library and avoiding home? It was a life she couldn’t begin to imagine, and the man next to her had lived it. Made her problems seem very small in comparison. Small and silly.
“Did you know he got me my first job?” Max asked. “Bar-backing at this bar where he and his crew hung out.”
The strange term pulled her from her thoughts. “Bar-backing?” she repeated. “What’s that?”
“Like being a busboy, only without the glamor. Paid the rent, though, which was what mattered. Anyway, a few years ago, when I heard Darius was out of...that is, back in the city and looking for work, I paid him back by hiring him.”
But, according to him, he didn’t have a rescue complex. “That was nice of you.”
“Nice had nothing to do with it. I owed him. I wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t given me my start.”
Arianna took a good look at where “here” was. As far as luxury accommodations were concerned, the penthouse was smaller and less opulent than many of the places she’d visited. Certainly when compared to her own home. Nevertheless, the apartment had a unique richness many of the other places lacked. A style. Personality. Max’s personality. From the film posters to the Scandinavian furniture, the place reflected its owner’s smooth elegance.
That Max lived in style wasn’t a surprise. She would have been shocked if he didn’t. What did surprise her was learning that he hadn’t grown up in such surroundings. The man seemed, to steal one of Manolo’s favorite phrases, to the manor born.
“And how did you get here?” she asked.
“You mean, the story of Max Brown’s success?”
“Exactly.” How did a man go from hiding in the library to living at the top of Manhattan? “Couldn’t have been all Darius’s doing.”
“No, but like I told you, he did get me my start. The rest was a combination of good old-fashioned hard work and a lot of luck,” he told her. “Helped that the bar owner took a liking to me. I worked my way up from bar-back to bartender to manager, and eventually saved enough money to buy in to the place. From there, I bought in to another and another.”
She hadn’t realized. “How many restaurants do you own?”
“Not restaurants. Dives. Places a lady like you wouldn’t step foot in.”
Considering her current circumstances, his continual labeling of
her as a lady amused her. “You mean places like the Dunphy?” she asked, offering a sideways smile.
“Worse. These places made the Dunphy look like the Taj Mahal.” Forearms resting on his knees, Max cradled his empty bottle in his hands. “Profitable, though,” he said, staring at the label. “Very profitable. And, to answer your question, I owned six. I sold them to finance the Fox Club.”
“Your labor of love.”
“Yeah,” he answered in a soft voice. Arianna waited, curious if there would be more. The faraway expression on his face suggested as much. “I wanted to build something I could be proud of,” he said after a moment. “Some place as far away from those dives as possible.”
He smiled. “Can’t get further away than 1945, can you?”
“No, you can’t,” Arianna replied. Although he was trying to sound light, she could see the shadows behind his smile. It wasn’t only the dives he’d wanted to escape from, it was reminders of his roots.
“It’s no wonder you’re proud. You’ve created something really special. The restaurant, that is.” Without thinking, she placed her hand on his leg, only realizing what she’d done when she felt the muscles beneath her fingers stiffen, then relax.
“I like to think so,” he replied.
The hairs on her arms started to rise as he transferred his attention from the beer label to the back of her hand. She should pull it away, she knew, but for whatever reason, her brain wouldn’t send the message. It was too focused on the roughness of his wool slacks, and the strong thigh beneath. Strength that matched the man’s character.
She wanted to tell him she understood how he’d felt. While she wasn’t running from as significantly terrible a past, she was facing an unwanted future. Surely the two were a little bit similar?
She didn’t tell him, though. Saying anything would only open the door to revealing more, and she wasn’t ready to trust her secrets with anyone, not even Max Brown.
Slowly, she lifted her hand. “It’s getting late.”
“You’re right. It’s been a long night, too. Let me show you the spare bedroom.”
“Thank you.” The way her insides lagged at his quick agreement she blamed on fatigue. It’d been a long, eventful day. No doubt she’d be asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.
A thought suddenly stopped her. “All my clothes are at the Dunphy,” she said. “I have nothing to sleep in.” For that matter, she didn’t have anything to wear the next day. They hadn’t discussed what she was going to do beyond access to a toothbrush.
“Check the bureau drawer. I’ve got some old T-shirts stored in there. One of them should fit.” He pushed the door wide to reveal fawn-colored walls and a satin-covered queen-size bed. “I hope this is okay.”
Okay? After two days of dinge and dust, the pristineness of the room nearly made Arianna weak in the knees. Oh, but to slide into what she knew were soft, clean sheets. Her heart bounced at the thought. “It’s wonderful. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” The tenderness in his voice, coupled with the gentle softness that had taken up residence in his gray eyes, knocked her off-kilter, as though the ground she was standing on had suddenly shifted.
She reached for the doorframe to keep from swaying forward, swearing as she did that Max was swaying, too. His head appeared to dip ever so slightly. “Arianna...” he whispered.
She should have stepped away. Gone into the bedroom and closed the door. But his slate-colored eyes hovered so close, gray back-lit with dark blue and desire, their slumberous gaze rendering her mute. Before she could think another thought, she rose on tiptoes, her lips parting in welcome.
His mouth slid over hers, and she sighed. Long and loud, as though she’d been holding her breath and only just now remembered how to breathe. He tasted of beer and spices, a taste so exotic and lovely she wanted to taste it forever. Max’s hands cradled her face. His fingers tugged at her chignon, pulling loose the strands. Soft moans punctuated his kisses. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pressed herself against his length, their bodies fitting together so neatly, it made her head spin.
It wasn’t until she felt his hand slide down over her shoulder to rest on her ribs that reality came crashing back. With a cry, she yanked herself from his arms.
There was guilt along with the confusion in his eyes. “I’m—I’m sorry, I thought...” He started to back away. “I’ll leave you alone now.”
“Max, wait.” It wasn’t right to let him shoulder the guilt, not when she was the one who initiated the kiss. “It’s my fault. I should never have kissed you in the first place.”
A rueful smile found its way to his face. “Let me guess—you’re married?”
“No, not married.” Her hand slid across her abdomen. As much as she’d rather keep her secret, he deserved a true explanation. “Pregnant.”
CHAPTER FIVE
PREGNANT? MAX PRESSED his palm to the wall for support. Of all the reasons... He’d thought she might be married, or hiding from a jealous boyfriend, but pregnant?
Suddenly, the pieces started to make sense. The chronic nausea. The herbal teas. This was why she was hiding.
She looked as mortified as he felt. “I should have said something before you... I’m sorry.”
“No, no, I’m the one who should be sorry.” What kind of man kisses a pregnant woman like he was on his last breath?
Apparently, his kind, since his arms itched to wrap themselves around her again. “I broke my promise. Ten minutes ago I said I wouldn’t...”
“Both of us were...”
Yes, they’d both been willing participants, but he was the one who had promised otherwise. It was just that when she looked up at him with those parted red lips, he couldn’t help himself. He’d wanted to taste them for days.
Still, she was pregnant? The word refused to leave his brain, as though if he repeated it enough, it would make sense. He looked to her middle, flat and tiny in her dress. “How?” That was a stupid question. “I mean...”
“It’s complicated.”
“I bet.” Ten to one she didn’t want to tell him the details, either. Pregnant women didn’t run away on a lark. Whatever the reason, he bet it was a doozy. What did she say earlier? About not trusting her instincts?
He was too tired to press for details right now. “It’s been a long night,” he said. “Get some sleep.”
“All right.” Her attention focused downward, she stepped into the bedroom, only to step back again. “Max, I—”
He was too tired for the regret in her voice, too. “Good night, Arianna.”
Nodding, she disappeared behind the door. Max waited until he heard the latch click before turning around. How quickly circumstances changed. No way he could let her leave the restaurant now, or go back to the Dunphy. Not when there was a child’s welfare in the mix.
Memories of her sighs whispered in his ear. Jamming his fingers through his hair, he forced the memories to be silent. No sense tormenting himself over something that wouldn’t happen again. Best to just shove aside his thoughts.
He headed into the kitchen, away from Arianna.
* * *
Arianna sank onto the bed, no longer enthralled by the clean linen. What kind of woman passionately kisses a man when she is carrying another man’s child? She was going to be a mother for goodness’ sake—mother to possibly the future king of Corinthia. She had no business kissing anyone, no matter how seductive and strong.
At least she came to her senses before circumstances went too far. Tomorrow morning she would again apologize to Max and explain how she’d been overtired and let pregnancy hormones get the best of her. Then she would focus her energy on whether or not she would marry Manolo, as she was supposed to be doing.
“Don’t worry, bambino,” she whispered. “I won’t let you down anymore.
”
But as she was slipping out of her dress, her thoughts once again drifted to Max. Her body still trembled from his kiss, a reaction she never had with Manolo. Back then, she’d told herself seeing sparks was nothing more than a myth. If only she had known...
It wasn’t more than the sparks that left her longing, though. Being with Max felt so...natural. Beyond feeling like she’d known him forever. When she looked into his eyes tonight, it was as if she were teetering on the edge of something more than mere attraction. Something vast and exciting.
She was playing with fire, that’s what she was doing. The last thing she needed was an unwanted attachment to a man who, by his own admission, thought relationships were foolish. She had enough going on without getting her heart involved.
Best that she use her head for once, and keep her distance.
* * *
When she stepped from the bedroom the following morning, Max was already sitting at the kitchen island. From the looks of him, he’d been awake a while. Either that, or he woke up looking debonair, which, with him, was a distinct possibility.
He wore a fresh suit, charcoal gray if the pants were any indication, while the sleeves of his white shirt were already rolled to the elbows. Meanwhile, her hair was damp from her shower, and she lacked makeup.
“Sleep all right?” he asked. His eyes remained on his phone screen, last night’s warm gaze a thing of the past.
“Very good. You?”
“Fine.”
Arianna wondered if he was lying, too. Recalling his shell-shocked expression, she was pretty sure he was.
“There’s water in the kettle if you want tea.”
“Thank you, but I’d rather... That is, do you mind if I...” She pointed to the stack of buttered toast by his elbow.
He glanced up, then back at his phone. “Help yourself.”
“Thank you.” They ate in silence, the night before sitting between them like a giant third party. This, she thought, must be what a one-night stand felt like—awkward and stilted. She missed last night’s companionship. The ease with which they’d talked. She supposed that was gone for good now. She’d be but another employee.
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