“Nah, nah. We just need to give your girl some more information to work with. Make sure she knows that beneath this crude exterior, our boy Brandt’s got some quality shit going on.”
Sarah was trying to keep a straight face, but Max was cringing.
“We gotta get her on the hook.”
“I think Carl’s a step ahead of you on that count.” Sarah pinned Mick with an amused look, recounting Carl’s tall tales from that first night. Yeah, Max remembered. The guys were hooting it up, rolling with Carl’s lies. But Max tensed, knowing it was too much to hope that steel-trap mind of hers would have forgotten what else Carl had said. “And then there was the whole taking a bullet thing,” she added, shaking her head with laughter—until the other guys cut off abruptly.
Her head came up with a snap as she looked from one to the other before turning those big, brown eyes on Max, the question unmistakable within them.
Before he could answer, Jimmy stated solemnly, “Yeah, our Max here’s a real hero. That’s no joke.” While Mick added, “He did good that day. Made the whole city proud.”
The fingers woven with his tightened, Sarah’s eyes taking on a glossy sheen as they lowered, slowly scanning Max’s body like she was looking for the blood soaking through his clothes. “That scar on your thigh. It wasn’t a camping accident.”
No. But it had been easier for him to tell people that.
“It was a long time ago, Sarah,” Max stated firmly, catching her chin with the crook of his finger and bringing her gaze back to his. “It wasn’t serious.”
The guys turned away from them then, suddenly fascinated by the char marks on their brats. They had wives and girlfriends who worried, but this was the first for Max. He’d never had to have “the talk” before. His dad had been a cop, so he and Molly had grown up understanding how it worked. The same with Joan. But Sarah—hell, she was smart enough to know the risks he faced on a daily basis. Still, there was a reality to what he did for a living that she’d just had brought home.
Max led Sarah past the pergola and around the far side of the house where there was a strip of grass maybe three feet wide. Tears shimmered in her eyes as she shook her head.
“I know you’re fine,” she whispered, her voice thick. “I can see with my own two eyes you’re okay, but the thought of a bullet—” Her voice broke off, and she looked into his eyes as if willing him to hear what she was saying, to understand what it meant to her. “I know how dangerous your job can be. How important it is, and that’s why you’re willing to risk yourself every time you go out there. But—you were sh-shot, Max. You c-could have been killed.”
“But I wasn’t,” he said gently, firmly. “Baby, I’m right here.” Then pulling her to his chest, he wrapped his arms around her back and held her close. He could say that all he was doing was trying to offer her some comfort, but there was more to it. He was trying to get control of his own heart, of his own voice. Because seeing this woman look at him like that—like the idea of him being hurt, no matter how long ago, nearly broke her—it affected him. More than he was ready for.
“Don’t cry,” he pleaded, feeling her back shudder within his arms, her worry soaking into his shirt. Her tears were gutting him. Making him wonder how he was ever going to let her go.
Sarah sniffed once more, then quickly straightened. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten so emotional, Max. It took me by surprise, and the thought of anything happening to you—” She broke off again, but she was already pulling herself together. Peering up at him with watery eyes, she sighed. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you in front of your friends.”
He brushed at her tears with his thumb. Then ducking down, Max kissed her. Tasting the salty emotion on her lips, he pulled her close again. “Never, baby.”
* * *
Hours later, they left the party, Sarah sharing tight hugs with the girls she’d talked to, promising to send Vin’s wife, Peg, a recipe and Nora, one of the two female officers at the party, a snapshot from Times Square when she arrived in New York. At first it had seemed strange when she realized the only plus-ones at the party were filed under “significant other.” Emphasis on significant. Most were wives, and the couple of girlfriends in the mix had been with their guys for years. And then there was her.
The summer affair with an expiration date right around the corner.
As they cut through the city streets, Sarah’s head resting against Max’s back, her arms holding him tight, she tried not to think what it would be like to have all those people as her friends. To know she’d see them in a few weeks. To be around to congratulate Darcy when Mick gave her the ring she’d accidentally found the week before. To see Clara’s baby when it was born. To have Max making her feel beautiful and special for more than just a few weeks. To be there every night and know he’d made it home safe.
She sighed, calling up thoughts of New York. Waiting for that soul-deep churn of anticipation. The anticipation was still there, yes, but it wasn’t powerful enough to distract her from the ache of good-bye.
Chapter 15
Sarah had never been too troubled by nightmares. She’d had bad dreams before, ones she’d wished she could forget, sure. The stress-spurred, irrational variety that reared their ugly heads from time to time over the years: a ghoul chasing her through quicksand that was about to seep into a laptop with the only copy of her final paper stored on the hard drive, a presentation to deliver and the horrifying realization that all the data had changed overnight and nothing she’d prepared was current, Cory walking into her office and informing her he was her new boss and she’d accidentally married him after all.
That business where her brain screwed with her during off hours usually sent her pulse racing, and when she woke, it was typically with a gasp as she bolted upright in her bed.
That kind of traditional bad dream she could take, because when it was over, she’d run her fingers over the cool sheets, grounding herself in the comfort of what was real and the knowledge that what wasn’t was already fading from her mind.
What she’d woken from this morning had been nothing like that. To begin with, there’d been no silent scream or full-body lunge thrusting her into a waking state. She’d been still, quiet, blissfully drifting beneath the warm breeze as Max dropped a circle of kisses around the full swell of her belly. Their fingers had been threaded together, and when he smiled up at her, she’d known with soul-deep certainty that somehow she’d found everything that mattered. That she had as much happiness as one life could provide.
Then she’d blinked. Just opened her eyes into the darkness of predawn, not understanding where the sunny afternoon had gone, why the sheers weren’t billowing into the room. Her smile fell away as the soft sheets grounded her in a reality she found no relief in. Her hand moved to the flat of her stomach and she felt gutted, the sense of loss greater than anything she could remember.
Because in this reality, the Max sleeping with his arm thrown over her and his head in her hair didn’t love her. They hadn’t been married for three years and weren’t counting the days until the miracle growing inside her was finally in their arms. The house that had been filled with light and love and laughter was a mostly empty shell Max owned alone and looked forward to moving on from.
None of it was real.
She tried to close her eyes, hoping she’d drift back into the world she’d just lost, because more than anything, she wanted that perfect peace back, if only for another ten minutes. She wanted Max to murmur in her ear that she was his. That he loved her. Only there was no going back. She was awake. And this wasn’t forever.
Silently, she pulled back the sheet and padded into the kitchen, where she stood at the sink with a glass of water and waited for her brain to rewire itself. For reality to become the relief, because this, what she actually had right now, was exactly what she wanted. The perfect job lined up in a city she’d been salivating ove
r for years, and a stint with a sexy, generous, highly skilled bad boy warming her bed in the meantime. There were no complications. No questions. No letdowns or betrayals or expectations for anything beyond what they had that very minute. It was perfect and safe, and it was supposed to make her feel like she had in that dream.
A floorboard creaked behind her, and then Max was there, his strong arms wrapping around her.
“You okay, baby?” he asked, his voice rough from sleep. Comforting.
Setting the glass on the counter, she turned to him and pressed her face against the warm skin of his chest. “Just a nightmare.”
He stroked her hair and held her closer. Rested his chin on the top of her head so they fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. “Mmm, come back to bed. Whatever it was isn’t real.”
She swallowed past the knot in her throat. “I know.”
It wasn’t real. Even if she suddenly wanted it to be.
Max took her back to bed, tucked her into the warmth of his body, and held her close and tight as she waited for sleep to return. Only instead of falling back into that taboo dream world, she lay there thinking about how Max’s arms felt around her. How she’d started anticipating seeing him at the end of the day, wanting to share the details of the hours they’d spent apart, knowing he’d laugh about the prank housekeeping had pulled.
She thought about how she’d gotten so used to seeing him in the morning. How he’d rub his big hand over his head, trying to wake up as he poured coffee and asked her what her day looked like. How sometimes, for no reason at all, he pulled her in for a hug and just held her close. How he made her feel wanted. How he made her feel wonderful. She thought about how she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to wake up with this man every day and feel loved.
This wasn’t working.
“Sorry, Max,” she whispered, inching out of his hold. “Think I’m just awake now.”
“Want me to get up with you?” He was already pushing the covers aside, completely willing to get up with her at four fourteen. Definitely not helping the cause. “We could walk the lakefront or grab some breakfast.”
“No, no. Just rest.” She pressed him back with a hand at his shoulder. “We’ll get something when you’re up.” And until then, she’d work. Spend some time doing what she loved to do best. Reminding herself why she loved it.
Only the work didn’t help. In fact, it might have actually made the situation worse. Sarah spent the next three hours failing to accomplish anything, and worse yet, every time she’d had to forcibly drag her thoughts away from the bedroom down the hall, she’d resented it.
Which. Was. Insane.
The dream stuck with her all day. The emotions it stirred stayed fresh and sharp in her mind. By evening, she was about ready to jump out of her skin. A part of her—the rational, reasonable part—knew the answer was getting out of there. Getting some distance and maybe a little perspective. But the other part of her wouldn’t hear of it, choosing instead to stay close to Max, because soon enough she wouldn’t be able to.
“What are you thinking for dinner?” he asked that evening, one muscular arm braced against the doorframe to the kitchen. He was wearing a Red Hot Chili Peppers T-shirt that, thanks to his stance, didn’t quite reach the worn jeans hanging criminally low on his hips. It was calendar-quality stuff.
But was she thinking about dropping to her knees and worshipping that insanely hot inch of bared skin the way it deserved? No. She was thinking she felt every kind of screwed up and that nothing would be better than walking up to Max and sliding her arms around his ribs while she buried her face against his chest and just breathed him in.
He looked like sex on a stick. And she wanted a hug.
“Sarah?” he asked when she didn’t answer him. Then he was walking over to her, giving her exactly what she wanted—the hug. The comfort. The support. The exact opposite of what she needed, which was a less-perfect man. Someone it wouldn’t kill her to walk away from.
“You seem tense. What’s going on?” Rubbing his big hands over her arms, Max dropped a kiss at the crook of her neck. “Talk to me.”
What was going on was that she’d had a glimpse into a life she’d never let herself consider. A life she couldn’t have and wasn’t supposed to want. Because this thing with Max was about sex. Fine, more than sex, but absolutely unequivocally less than what was suddenly slithering through her mind.
Maybe that was the problem. The solution? Heck, she didn’t know. Maybe what she needed was to take away some of the tenderness and focus on what had brought them together in the first place. She needed to put this relationship back where it belonged—on sexy ground.
Turning to him, she reached for the back of his neck and tugged him down to her. “I don’t want to talk.”
Max’s mouth met hers in a soft press, tender and sweet, his arms circling her back and holding her close. It was the kind of embrace that had caused the temporary short circuit in her brain, and she didn’t want any part of it.
Pulling back, she nipped at his mouth and then kissed him again, harder. Max’s brows drew together, his eyes going dark.
“That’s what you want?” he asked, his voice dangerously low.
No. It wasn’t what she wanted, but tonight it was what she needed. Max had promised to show her everything he knew about sex, and what she needed to learn now was how to get her emotions out of it. How to make it about her body and not her heart.
Pressing her hands against his chest, she gave him a shove, one that didn’t move him an inch until he willingly stepped back. Sarah whipped her shirt overhead and tossed it on the floor, refusing to meet Max’s searching eyes.
She didn’t want him to see what she wasn’t ready to acknowledge herself. The emotions she’d somehow let out of the box from eight years ago. The ones Max had warned her about that day in front of the Science Building, when he’d caught her watching him too intently. She’d been standing there wondering how things could be so easy and right between them, how she could be feeling everything she was feeling, if there wasn’t something more than friendship at play.
But when she’d asked him, Max’s answer had come in no uncertain terms.
No.
He hadn’t wanted those feelings then, and they weren’t fair now. The arrangement between them had been clearly defined, and falling in love wasn’t part of it.
Something she’d do well to remember.
Slipping her thumbs into the waist of her cropped jeans, she flipped the button and lowered the zipper. Her hips shifted from side to side, as she eased the jeans past her thighs to where they dropped to the floor.
Stepping free of the denim, she asked, “What are you waiting for?”
The question seemed to snap Max into action. Suddenly he was stripping with an economy of motion that had her mouth watering and the heat churning low in her center. His shirt landed beside hers, his jeans, belt, and boxer briefs a few feet away. Then he was advancing on her, naked and beautiful, those heavy muscles flexing with each step. Her breath hitched as he caught her around the waist and hauled her up against him. She wrapped her legs around him and shoved her fingers into his hair, holding on as his mouth slammed down on hers.
His tongue was thrusting deep, his hold on her ass just this side of rough as he held her, rocking her over his shaft. Her back met the wall, and mmm, it felt so good. She wanted him inside her, hammering against that spot that made her mindless. She wanted him slamming into her so hard he drove the tenderness away.
She could do this.
She could keep her heart out of it.
But then Max released her mouth, his breath coming hot and ragged against her jaw and throat. “Fuck, Sarah, what are you doing to me?”
And she felt that pang deep in her chest. That twist and churn deep inside.
She couldn’t let him talk to her, not when they were
like this. Even knowing not to read anything into his words, just the gravelly sound of his voice was too much for her.
“Don’t make me wait,” she panted, squeezing him closer with her legs and using her forearms on his big shoulders as leverage to move against him.
Pushing off the wall with Sarah wrapped tight around him, Max turned toward the bedroom—toward the bed he’d bought so her first time wouldn’t be on a mattress on the floor or in a hotel room. Because he wanted it to be special for her.
Shaking her head, she nipped his jaw. “Not the bed.”
Those heated eyes met hers. He was looking too close.
“I don’t want soft tonight.” She couldn’t take it.
“No?”
She shook her head and levered herself against him again, her eyes drifting closed at the wet friction from Max’s thick cock sliding between the spread of her sex.
A second later, her bottom met the solid top of his kitchen table.
Releasing her hold from around his neck, she planted her hands behind her.
Legs spread, heart pounding, she waited for him to retrieve the condom from his discarded wallet. He rolled it on, but instead of driving into her the way she’d expected, he dropped to his knees.
Eyes gone wide, she tried to scramble back. “No, that’s not—”
But then Max had her by the backs of the knees and was towing her to the table’s edge. “Don’t worry,” he said from where he was licking his lips between her legs. “I’m not going to be gentle.”
Sarah about combusted on the spot, because that was just the kind of promise she needed.
His mouth covered her sex, greedy and hot. He sucked and licked, sucked harder and bit softly, but not too softly. His thumbs were at either side of her sex, holding her open, as he devoured her with hungry intent. It was too much, too intense, exactly what she needed.
With his mouth covering that dangerous bundle of nerves that seemed to be connected to every far corner of her body, he gave her another breath-stealing suck that took her to the edge and launched her over.