by Isabel Love
My orgasm surprises me when it hits. I gasp, shocked at the blinding pleasure that makes my muscles seize up and tremble. He follows me into bliss, thrusting deep inside and groaning with the force of his release. We rock together slowly, chasing the last flutters of pleasure. When I’m afraid he’s going to pull out, I link my feet together behind his ass, keeping him locked in the circle of my legs.
He kisses my lips, my eyes, my cheeks, my neck, and I feel so cherished.
“Max.” He opens his eyes to look at me. “I love you,” I whisper before I lose my courage.
His eyes widen. “What?” he asks, face blank.
Shit, maybe this was not the time to tell him. I was so sure he felt the same with the emotions written all over his face just moments ago, but his face is now unreadable. My stomach drops and I feel so exposed all of a sudden. He’s still inside me, and though I wanted him to stay inside me forever, it now feels like too much. There’s no place to hide. I unhook my legs from around him and look down, afraid of his response.
“Hey, don’t do that.” He kisses me gently. “I just want to hear you say it louder.”
My eyes fly back to his and I see the hint of a smile on his lips. Relief floods my system. I study his face, trying to gauge what he’s thinking right now. He nods, reassuring me that it’s okay. I gather up my guts, clear my throat, and tell him, “I’m in love with you, Max.” There, I said it again.
A smile steals across his face and he looks so happy. Thank fucking god. “You love me?” he asks.
“Yes.” I smile back at him. “You want me to say it again?”
“Yes.” He nods.
My smile fades and I touch his face. “I love you so much,” I tell him sincerely.
“I love you too, Monica.”
I don’t think anyone has ever been happier than I am at this very moment in time. I’m in love with an amazing man, and he is in love with me too.
We lounge lazily in bed, smiling, kissing, and touching until we’re forced to get up to use the bathroom and eat something.
“Are you excited about the fundraiser tonight?” he asks me over breakfast.
“For the most part. It’s such a great event. There will be a silent auction, dinner, and dancing. I am not looking forward to seeing my dad, though. I haven’t talked to him since that last conversation I told you about.”
“Did you tell Kevin you are not going to be his date?” Max’s jaw clenches with this question, a possessive look in his eye.
Shit. I’ve been meaning to talk to him about this. “Caleb,” I correct the name, trying to come up with the right words.
“Whatever his name is. Did you tell him?” he asks warily.
“I’m sorry, okay? I promise I meant to. When I called to talk to him about it, he had already told Dr. Finley and several other people that he was taking me to the fundraiser, so I felt a bit…stuck.”
“Stuck,” he repeats, looking at me like I’m crazy.
“It’ll be fine, I promise. It’s not like I’m going out on a date with him. Essentially all it means is we are sitting next to each other at dinner. The seats are already assigned, anyway, so even if I told him I wasn’t going as his date, I would still have to sit next to him. Plus, I think Tony might be getting suspicious of us—this will throw him off.”
He sighs, dropping his fork onto his plate with a clatter. “Are you kidding me right now?”
I get up and go to him, standing against his side and wrapping my arm around his shoulder. “Hey, look at me.” I need to convince him this is nothing. He reluctantly tilts his head up to look at me. “I’m yours, Max. This stupid arrangement is meaningless. I promise I won’t let it happen again, but it’s already done and I don’t want to cause a scene in front of co-workers. Do you trust me?”
“I trust you, Monica, but I don’t trust this other guy. I don’t trust your dad, and I don’t like the idea of watching you sitting next to some other man tonight after the incredible morning we just had. How would you feel if I was set up on a date with some other woman and went through with it?”
My stomach sours at the thought and I grimace. “I would hate it.”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t like it either, Max, and I promise I won’t give him the wrong idea. At the end of the night, I’ll make it crystal clear that I’m not interested. If at any time during the evening he crosses the line, I’ll tell him right then.”
“I won’t be able to stand him touching you,” he warns, the words coming out like a growl.
“I don’t want him to touch me,” I insist.
“I hate this.” He looks away from me, clenching his fists. “I don’t want to pretend anymore. Can’t we just tell everyone already?”
“Soon,” I promise. “I just need a bit more time to figure out the best way to approach it.”
“Soon?” He raises an eyebrow skeptically.
“Soon,” I agree. I just have to figure out how to avoid losing my job and my reputation in the process.
He studies me, eyes searching my face for the truth. My eyes plead with him to give me just a little more time. He nods, pulling me onto his lap for a hug. I squeeze him tight, rubbing his shoulders in reassurance.
“Listen, I have to warn you about my father,” I start. “He’s a bit…” What exactly do I want to say here? Controlling? Arrogant? Condescending? “Overbearing.”
“Don’t worry, I’m a big boy.” He meets my eyes with a tender, caring expression and asks, “Does it hurt, going to this thing?”
It is the first time anyone has asked me this question. Tears prickle behind my eyes and all the emotion I try to keep buried comes flying to the surface. I bite my upper lip and swallow down the lump in my throat. When I can no longer keep my eyes open, I blink and the tears overflow.
“Baby,” he soothes, wiping my tears away with his thumbs. “It’s okay to cry.” He gathers me close and allows me to lean on him. His strong chest and arms surround me and I feel so safe. I squeeze him back, grateful for his comfort.
“It does hurt.” I sniffle. “I miss my mom all the time, but this event shoves it in my face, you know? I hate that I’m a survivor.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” he tells me. Everyone says that—it’s just what you say when someone loses a loved one—but I feel Max’s sincerity. His words soothe the hurt just a little.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
Eventually, we pull apart. Standing up, I wipe my face and clear the table. Noticing the time, I realize I need to get going. “Well, I need to get to my hair appointment.”
“Yeah, I need to go back to my place to get my clothes and get ready, too.”
“Do you want to meet me back here to drive together?” I ask him.
“Yes. Is it okay if Tate rides with us? She has my ticket.”
“Of course.”
“Hey.” He pulls me away from the sink and leans down to kiss me. “I love you.”
The smile triggered by those words is uncontrollable. “I love you, too.”
Max
Thoughts of making love to Monica follow me throughout the day. She loves me.
She.
Loves.
Me.
That revelation made me feel like I was the king of the world.
Then I think of her being some other man’s date tonight and my euphoria morphs into bitter jealousy. How can she think this is okay? And if I weren’t going to the fundraiser, would she have even told me? Why am I even going to this thing?
I count the reasons this is a bad idea. One: I have to pretend to not be in love with Monica. Two: her asshole father will be there and he will likely hate me. Three: said asshole father arranged a date for my woman with some rich prick. Four: said rich prick doesn’t know Monica is mine. Five: I can’t cause him bodily harm because we will be at a party with witnesses.
I want to be there to support her on a tough night, but this has disaster written all over it. Am I that big of a glutton for punis
hment?
“Hey, handsome,” Tate greets me at her door.
“Hey, yourself. You look beautiful.” I smile at Tate. “Thanks again for letting me have this ticket.”
“No problem. Let me just grab my purse and I’ll be ready to go.” She gathers her things and we get in my car.
“So, I’ve never been to anything like this before. What do I need to know to prevent making a fool of myself?” I ask her honestly as we head over to Monica’s house.
“Well, there is going to be a silent auction, but you don’t have to enter unless you want to. There will be a table set up listing the items being auctioned off. If you’re interested, you fill out a slip of paper, write your bid, and drop it in the box in front of the prize. The highest bidder wins the item and they will announce it at the end.”
“But I don’t have to bid on anything?” I doubt I’ll be able to afford anything.
“No, I never do.”
“Okay. That’s good.”
“Other than that, there is dinner, dancing, and schmoozing.”
“I think I can handle that.” I hope I can.
“So do your co-workers know about your relationship yet?”
My smile fades. “No. In fact, her father arranged for some doctor to be her date tonight,” I spit out.
“What?” Tate says, shocked. “And Monica’s going along with it?”
“Apparently by the time her father told her about it, the guy had told several of their co-workers that they were going together. She felt stuck.” The explanation sounds weak when I repeat what Monica said to me this morning. “Besides, she isn’t ready to go public with our relationship at work, so she would have never wanted me to be her date.”
“Max, I know you,” Tate says seriously. “You can’t like this hiding business.”
I sigh. “No, I hate it. I hate all of it, but what am I supposed to do? She doesn’t feel comfortable yet. Unless I give her an ultimatum, I can’t force her.” I shrug.
“Well, there are usually a bunch of people from the hospital there. Monica’s dad, also Dr. Morgan, is a huge contributor to the fundraiser. I’ve only been to this event twice before, but each time he has made a speech about surviving the loss of his wife.”
My fists clench around the steering wheel at the mention of Monica’s dad.
My phone rings from where it sits in the center console. Tate picks it up when she sees Monica’s name flashing in on the screen. “Do you want me to answer it?” she asks.
“Yes, thank you.” We’re only 15 minutes away from her house; I wonder why she’s calling.
“Hey Monica, this is Tate. We’re almost to your house. Max is driving so he asked me to answer when we saw it was you. Everything okay?” She pauses to listen to what Monica is saying. “I see.” Tate glances at me. “Okay, I’ll tell him. We’ll see you there.” She hangs up.
“What was that?” I ask her.
“Change of plans. Monica said she’ll meet us at the fundraiser.”
“How is she getting there?”
“I think that guy was there to pick her up. She didn’t go into details,” Tate says gently.
My mood sours even further. Of course, her date would pick her up. I’m trying my best to keep my temper in check, but I feel like a caveman—I want to go to her house and beat the shit out of this guy for having the audacity to pick up my woman. I force myself to breathe in and out slowly.
“Do you trust that Monica has no interest in this man?” Tate asks, treading carefully into this dangerous topic.
“I don’t believe she’s interested in him, I just wish she would tell him that because there’s no way he’s not interested in her.” The thought of some smarmy asshole trying to take her away from me fuels my jealousy.
“Honestly, this situation sucks. It would be hard enough for me to pretend I wasn’t dating Logan, let alone watch him on a date with someone else. So, if you want to ditch this thing, we totally can. We can grab some dinner and go to the gym to burn off some of this bad energy. But, I have seen you two together, Max, and Monica looks at you with stars in her eyes. I think she’s just in a prickly position at work and doesn’t know how to navigate it.”
The thought of bailing is so appealing, but then I won’t be there to keep an eye on her and make sure this asshole doesn’t try anything. I also want to be there in case Monica gets upset. I sigh heavily. “I still want to go; I just hate this situation. Will you make sure I don’t do anything stupid?”
Tate laughs. “I’ll try.”
We catch up on small talk as we drive to The Grand Ballroom. We arrive, park, and make our way inside. There is an attendant at the door taking tickets and directing everyone to what table they should sit at. As we make our way to our table, I scan the room for Monica but don’t see her anywhere.
The Grand Ballroom is, in fact, quite grand. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling over the center of a dance floor surrounded by tables artfully decorated with flowers and candles. There is a band playing soft music as everyone enters the room and gets settled. Each table sits eight people, and Tate and I are at a table with Simone, the director of Safe Zone, and her husband. After saying hi to Simone, meeting her husband—whose name I promptly forget—and making introductions with the other people sitting at our table (whose names I also promptly forget), I excuse myself to get a drink.
As I take a few sips, I lean against the bar and search for Monica again. Anxiety creeps into my system and I need to know she’s okay. My eyes land on her familiar profile about 20 feet away, and I take a moment to admire how incredible she looks tonight. Her gown is long, hiding her feet. The color is black, but as she moves, the light catches on a silver shimmer that somehow shines through the black, making her look ethereal. It is form fitting and elegant, with straps connecting behind her neck, showing her delicate collarbones and bare shoulders. Her hair is sleek and twisted in some kind of up-do, leaving her neck and shoulders bare. She looks classy and so very sexy. When she turns, I see that the back of the dress dips down low, exposing her back. Fuck. My cock twitches at the sight—it should be illegal.
She’s talking to two men with a pinched look on her face. I assume the older man across from her is her father; he has silver peppered throughout dark brown hair, a formidable brow line, and a smarmy mustache. The man standing next to her is maybe in his mid-30s, slim build, blond hair, blue eyes, and model-perfect in his custom fitted designer tuxedo. His eyes are fixed on Monica, and if I had any doubt about his intentions before, now I know for sure that he wants her. He follows every shift of her body with his eyes.
I hate him on sight. I hate the fact that he must be wealthy. I really hate that her father wants them to be together, and I definitely hate that if I didn’t know any better, I might think they make a nice-looking couple. They match in money, job, and class. I don’t want him anywhere near Monica. Fuck. Jealousy is not a pleasant emotion.
Forcing a calm I don’t feel, I unclench my fists, get a glass of water for Tate, and bring it to her. “Hey, I need your help,” I tell Tate. “Can you come with me and be a buffer?”
“Did you find her?” she asks. I nod my head in Monica’s direction and she sees them too. “Do you think it’s a good idea to go over there?”
“Probably not, but I can’t help myself. She looks upset and I have to go over there.”
“Monica is a big girl, Max. I’m sure she can handle her dad and that guy by herself.”
“Just come over there with me, will you? I’m crawling out of my skin trying to stay away from her.”
She sighs. “Let’s go, lover boy.”
Monica sees us approach and relief shows in her eyes, followed by worry. I’d guess she’s worried I’m going to make a scene, but I won’t. As we walk up to the trio, I choose to stand between Monica and the designer douchebag. Stepping closer to her than I probably should, I smile down at her. My fingers itch to touch her, but I know I can’t do that.
“Max, Tate, hi!” Monica greets.
“Dad, Caleb, let me introduce you. This is Max Spencer and Tate Sullivan.”
“Peter Morgan, nice to meet you.” Her father leans forward to shake my hand and I stand tall, meet his eyes, and shake his hand firmly.
“Caleb Anderson,” says the douchebag as he reaches forward to shake my hand. I squeeze harder than necessary for an introduction to a stranger, but I can’t help myself. He may have more money than I do, but I’m satisfied to see that I am taller by about five inches and I outweigh him by 40 pounds. Physically, he is no threat to me.
“How do you two know Monica?” her father asks.
Obviously, responding with I’m in love with her is not an option here. I swallow hard. “We work together in the ER.” Technically, this is true.
“Really?” asks Caleb, studying my face. “I just received an updated directory, and I don’t remember seeing you in the pictured staff physicians.”
Why would he assume I’m a physician? There are so many different employees that work in the ER—triage staff, phlebotomists, radiology technicians, nurses, EMTs, paramedics. “That’s because I’m not a physician,” I say easily. I refuse to be insecure about my job.
“Oh? What do you do?” her father asks. He stands with an aura of authority and looks down his nose at me.
I am not insecure about my job, I chant to myself. “I’m a nurse.” There, let’s see what he does with that. I hold his gaze, refusing to cower.
“And I’m a social worker at Safe Zone,” Tate chimes in.
“I see,” says her father dismissively. I can tell the moment he decides speaking to me and Tate is not worth his time. He turns toward Caleb and continues a discussion they must have been having before we walked up. “Monica will set up a meeting with the board of directors to discuss your latest research study findings.”
I feel Monica stiffen next to me. “Dad, Caleb can address this with the board directly.” She looks at me and smiles stiffly.
