He offered me his elbow. So, feeling like a girl who was dipping her toe into a fairytale she knew might be too good to be true, I hooked my arm through his and fell into step beside him as we made our way down the block to the restaurant district.
Chapter 27
Max
Laura’s arm was hooked through mine. Having her walking along beside me made me feel like someone else—someone other than Max Miller. The heels of her boots struck the sidewalk with every step and fell in line with mine.
When we rounded the corner and made our way down a less busy side street, Laura pulled me off to the side of the sidewalk where restaurants had their menus posted. “See? This is how it’s done. You pick the place to eat based on the menu, not the other way around like La Bouche. Stupid restaurant.”
I chuckled. “I deeply regret taking you there.”
“You should. It was a terrible place. So pretentious.”
“Honestly, you may have taken their business model a little personally.”
“Anyone who likes to know what they’re ordering before they order it would take it a little personally.”
I scratched my jaw and peered over her shoulder at the menu posted outside a steakhouse. “This looks alright. Peppercorn steak. Ribeye. Sirloin. What do you think?”
She shrugged. “I don’t like settling for a first choice without looking at other options.”
I sighed and she pulled me along the sidewalk, where we stopped and read the menus of four more restaurants.
Outside an Italian place Laura tapped my arm. “I like the looks of this one. The ravioli sounds amazing. And can you smell those spices?”
“Smells good,” I nodded.
She looked up at me. “Do you think you can handle the festive cheer?”
I gave her a sheepish smile. “I’m sure I can.”
The restaurant was called Decadente. The outside patio was separated from the sidewalk by a black wrought iron fence, and strung along the top of the fence from post to post were dangling icicle lights. Above was a ruby red awning, also hosting twinkling lights over the heads of the guests. Outdoor space heaters kept the guests comfortable. The interior was dimly lit and much more romantic. As soon as we stepped inside Laura looked nervously up at me. “Want to eat outside?”
I nodded. “Works for me.”
The maître d took us to a table outside, right beside the fence. It was a nice private spot and was right beneath a heater. Laura sat down across from me and tucked herself in while the waiter filled our empty glasses up with ice water. Before he left I ordered us each a martini.
“I hope you still like them,” I said, after he left to put in our drink orders.
Laura smiled. “I do, actually. I don’t indulge and treat myself to them very often though.”
“Well, tonight you deserve it.”
“Thank you Max,” she said, as she set her purse down between her chair and the fence. She pulled her phone out and put it face down beside her. “I’m sorry about the phone, and I know this is rude, but I might be getting a call in the next little bit. It could be one of my volunteers or the church coordinator regarding the double booking, and in that case, I would need to take it.”
“Don’t apologize. I understand.”
“You said no work talk though.”
I laughed. “It’s not set in stone. I just meant no Nova Corp talk. I wanted to focus more on us.”
Laura blushed as she plucked her white napkin from the table and draped it over her lap. Then, with a crooked smile, she picked up her menu and flipped it open.
Doing the same, I scanned the menu, spotted a delicious looking scallop appetizer, and began to salivate. “Would you like to share the scallop appetizer?”
“I was just looking at that.”
“Perfect. We’ll order it.”
We spent the next few minutes selecting our meals. Laura decided on what she was originally drawn to, the butternut squash ravioli smothered in a marinara sauce and candied pecans. I ordered a creamy Alfredo dish full of seafood.
After putting in our orders, our martinis arrived. I watched Laura savor her first sip. “Good?” I asked.
She nodded as she set the glass down and licked her lips. “Delicious. Dry. Just how I like it.”
“Me too.”
She ran her hands down her thighs. She seemed nervous and almost out of sorts. I wondered if it was because she was out for dinner with me or because she was worried about her Christmas Eve event.
When she reached for her phone and lifted up the edge to see if she had a missed call, I asked, “How many people usually show up at this thing?”
“On Christmas Eve?”
“Yeah,” I said, taking a sip of my martini.
“Well, this year we’re expecting around two thousand. It grows every year with people talking about it. And it’s for everyone, really. Not just people who can’t afford to have a Christmas dinner, but to people who might be alone on Christmas. It’s for people who have nowhere to go, no one to see or to share the holidays with.”
“Where do you usually spend the night? Are you running around behind the scenes making sure everyone gets their shit done?”
Laura giggled and shook her head. “Not anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the first year I volunteered that’s what I did. The church didn’t have a coordinator at the time so I filled that role, making sure all the volunteers were where they were supposed to be and were able to take breaks and what not. It’s a very intense four hours while all the guests are there. I made sure Santa showed up on time, I managed the gifts and made sure they went to the right kids. I coordinated the entertainment and all that and ensured that everyone had enough food and food safe practices were being used.”
“And now?”
“Now I wait tables.”
I blinked. “Really?”
Laura rested her fingers along the base of her martini glass as a small smile stretched her lips. She turned the glass in a slow circle as she spoke. “Yes. This will be my third year serving tables. It’s so much more enjoyable for me than being the person who has to crack the whip all night long. I like talking with everyone. Hearing their stories. Sitting down with them when I have a moment. You can learn a lot in a short amount of time from someone whose life experience has been completely different from yours. It’s as beautiful as it is difficult, sometimes.”
She’s way too good for you, my mind whispered. The voice was so sharp and so visceral I flinched, and then disguised the reaction by adjusting myself in my seat. Laura hadn’t noticed. As I sat there and studied her, this beautiful girl from my past—a woman who dedicated her life to helping others and enriching their lives—that voice continued harassing me. She’s too good for you. She’s always been too good for you.
“Do some of the same people come every year?” I asked, hoping she didn’t notice the hitch in my voice.
“Oh yes,” she said, her smile stretching. “And sometimes they bring others with them. Friends. Family. Partners. They’re always eager to introduce me to whoever they brought with them, and I’m always grateful that they have a good enough time at the event to want to bring someone back with them. It means we’re doing a good job and making a difference.”
“You’ve always made a difference, Laura. No matter what you were doing. It’s been your calling since the first time I met you.”
Laura fell very still. “Do you remember?”
“The library?”
She nodded.
“Of course I remember. How could I not? You saved my ass from getting chewed out by my criminology prof. And you saved me a couple hundred bucks on that textbook.”
She looked down at the table. The fullness of her cheeks gave away her grin. “You were so hopeless in that library. Like a fish out of water.”
“I think that was one of about five times I went in there the whole time I was in college.”
“That’s horrifying.”<
br />
I shrugged. “School wasn’t for me. You know that.”
“Oh believe me, I know. You tried your best to end my love affair with education, too. Continuously interrupting my study sessions with your—affection.”
“Affection?” I chuckled.
“Yes. Affection.” Laura’s eyes twinkled as she tipped her head back to finish off her martini. I polished mine off as well, and it was perfect timing, because within minutes our meals arrived. Steam wafted up from our plates of pasta, tickling our noses and beckoning us to unsheathe our cutlery from the secondary napkin it was wrapped in.
We dug in.
The first bite was delicious. I watched Laura work to cut her ravioli into bite sized pieces, then she ate one piece at a time, delicately and slowly. She sipped her ice water and dabbed at the corners of her lips after almost every bite.
She was a woman of class.
“Is it good?” I asked.
Her gaze flicked up from her plate to meet mine. “Yes. Very. And yours?”
“Better than expected.”
“Good,” she smiled.
Too good for you. Too good for you. Too good for you.
“Do you want to come back to my penthouse after this?”
Laura paused with her fork inches from her mouth. A piece of ravioli dangled from her fork, and as she considered my question it fell back to the plate, sending splatters of red marinara sauce along the sides of the white dish. “You’re inviting me back to your place?”
I chewed the inside of my cheek. “Yes.”
Laura put her fork down. “Alright. I’ll admit I am a bit curious and would like to see how the other half lives.”
I grinned. “Excellent.”
Too good for you.
Chapter 28
Laura
After dinner Max ordered us each a glass of red wine. I told him I wouldn’t be able to drive my car after this, which was still parked down the block by the bank. So he called a couple of his drivers. One came to our table to get my keys and drove my car back to my place while the other tailed him so they could both drive back to the restaurant. Then they sat out in the black luxury SUV and waited for us to finish a second glass of red wine.
We left the restaurant at around nine-thirty—much later than what I was used to. I mean, I liked to dawdle and have an after dinner drink every now and then, but I usually didn’t stay this late, and I usually didn’t enjoy myself so thoroughly.
Max was a whole new man.
He was attentive, and curious, and engaged. He showed keen interest in what I was saying, which was a stark contrast to the way he used to behave back in college. Back then he’d been interested in one thing and one thing only—getting in my pants.
Of course I knew that could be his motivation tonight as well, and considered the situation as I slid into the back of the SUV with Max. He told his driver to take us to the penthouse, and as we pulled away from the curb Max reached over and laced his fingers between mine.
Maybe he did just want to get down and dirty again. Maybe I was misreading all the signals.
Maybe.
For some reason I was willing to take the risk. Had someone told me a couple weeks ago that I’d be on my way to Max Miller’s penthouse with a belly full of very expensive pasta and liquor, I would have told them to check their facts; oh, and pull their head out of their ass.
The building Max lived in was nothing short of an architectural masterpiece. When the car pulled over and I got out I found myself leaning backward to peer up to the top floor. It was massive, at least eighty stories high, with high gloss floor to ceiling windows on the exterior. The front of the building curved in a wave, almost making it look like it was wet—or like an oil slick on pavement.
Max took my hand and led me across the sidewalk, covered by a red carpet below and a red canopy above. We continued up the stairs to the front door. He held it open for me and I stepped into a gorgeous lobby with black marble floors and pillars. It had a modern yet ancient sort of vibe, with design elements inspired by ancient Greece. As Max led me to the elevator, my ears were filled with the sound of a fountain—with a woman pouring water from a pitcher—that sat in the middle of the lobby.
When we stepped onto the elevator, he pressed ‘P’ for Penthouse.
The elevator ascended. I held his hand and leaned against his arm as the elevator music played softly around us. It was not Christmas music. I wondered if Max had used his considerable wealth and influence to ensure they didn’t play it in the elevator. I wouldn’t put it past him.
Max gave my hand a squeeze when we passed the fortieth floor.
I squeezed back.
Then he pulled me out in front of him, turned me to face him, and pushed me against the elevator doors.
“Max,” I whispered. I wasn’t sure what I was trying to do. Warn him? Plead with him to kiss me?
He interpreted it as the latter, because suddenly he had my face in his warm hands and he was kissing me with an insistent tenderness that made my legs feel like butter. I pressed myself more firmly against the doors at my back to stay on my feet and slid my hands inside his open coat to untuck his shirt from his jeans. It came free easily and I ran my fingers along his taut stomach, tracing his abs.
Abs. I almost giggled. Men like Max didn’t come into my life often. In fact, it had only ever happened twice, both times with him. The other two men I’d ever been serious with had been nothing like him. A law student and a politician. Neither had abs. Or a face like Max’s. But they were sweet, and smart as hell, and they challenged me. But not the way Max did.
No man ever challenged me the way Max did.
Max grabbed my wrist and pulled me against his chest as the doors behind me opened. I collapsed against him and he wrapped an arm around my waist, guiding me out the doors and across the hall to a black front door with a gold ‘P’ on it.
“Fancy,” I said.
Max chuckled as he pulled his key out of his pocket. It too was gold. He unlocked the door, shouldered it open, and stepped inside with his arm still hooked around me.
The delusion that I’d agreed to come over because I wanted to see Max’s penthouse crumbled as soon as he kicked the front door closed behind me. All I knew of his place was that it was dark. Dark walls. Even darker floors.
He gathered me up in his arms and walked me backward as he tugged my jacket off and let it fall to the ground. I stumbled over it, the heels of my boots catching in the fabric, and Max held me up with one arm wrapped around my waist. I giggled as I nearly fell on my ass and grabbed the front of his shirt, tugging him down to me.
His kisses became greedier, the farther into his place we got. Soon I was bumping into furniture. Max tugged at his tie and pulled it off over his head. As his fingers worked down the buttons on the front of his shirt, I scrambled to undress. Moments later, when I stood before him in nothing but my black lace bra and matching panties, Max whistled.
I giggled. “Shut up.”
Max stepped out of his jeans. He was nearly naked too, except for skin tight black boxers that left very little to the imagination. His cock was already hard and straining against the thin fabric. The sight of him had my skin burning up. I wanted him to take me in his arms again, lay me down somewhere soft, and make me feel the same way he had the other night.
I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my panties and licked my lips. Max, his eyes glistening from the lights of the city down below, made a deep sound in the back of his throat as I slid them down my thighs and over my knees, until they were around my ankles. I stepped out of them and shot them across the room like a slingshot. Max chuckled. Well, sort of chuckled. It was a deeply aroused sound that resembled a desperate laugh of some sort, and it vibrated through my veins, sending wicked licks of anticipation throughout my body.
My insides ached.
I turned around slowly. When my back was to Max I reached my arms around to unclip my bra. It popped open and the tension on my shoulders evaporat
ed as I slipped my arms out of it. The air was cool on my exposed skin as it fell to the floor. I reached my arms over my head, tracing the tips of my fingers along the outside of the opposite arm as I did. Goosebumps emerged on my skin and I arched my back, pressing my ass out to give Max a view I knew he would appreciate.
I didn’t hear him come up behind me, but he put his hands on my hips and squeezed the soft flesh there. I smiled and let my eyes close so I could focus on just the feeling of his hands on me as he ran them up my sides to my breasts, which he cupped in his hands as he bowed his head to plant little kisses along my neck and shoulders.
The heat of his breath on my skin was more intoxicating than the drinks at dinner.
I rolled my hips into his groin. He lowered one hand, tracing a line down the middle of my stomach and around my navel, working his way lower, and lower, until he cupped my pussy and pressed the heel of his hand to my clit.
I sighed and rubbed myself against him.
With his other hand Max reached up and gripped my chin to turn my face to the side. He tilted my head up to lower his lips to mine. The kiss left me in need of air as he plunged his tongue into my mouth. At the same time, he rolled his palm in a slow circle then pulled up, tracing his fingers along my opening and dragging my wetness up and around my clit.
My knees trembled and I gasped for air around the thickness of his tongue. Max held my chin tighter and I yielded as the kiss deepened and he slid a thick digit inside me.
Gripping his forearm as he continued to hold my chin, I dug my nails in. As he slid his finger in and out, I whimpered and moaned in his grasp. Max suckled my tongue, then my bottom lip, finally trailing kisses across my jaw while he turned my face away from his to nibble at my earlobe.
He eased another finger inside my pussy.
I gasped, but he didn’t relent. He pushed in deeper, curled his fingers up to my G-spot, and flicked them in a come hither motion.
Suddenly, it had become impossible to stay on my feet. Max released my chin to wrap his arm around my waist and hold me up. He kept me on my feet, even as my legs began to quiver of their own volition, and the tightness inside me burst apart, sending a crescendo of pleasure through my entire body. My orgasm was wild, wet and messy. It shook my entire body and left me breathless once it finally ebbed away.
Brand New Man Page 17
