Redheaded Redemption (Redheads Book 2)

by Rebecca Royce

  “You okay?” I stroked my hand down the side of his face.

  “I need your eyes on me.”

  That I could do. I stared at his dark depths. He really was beautiful. Like he’d seen what he wanted, he shifted his cock slightly, and his movements hit me in a whole new spot. I gasped. Yes, right there. I squeezed him tighter, drawing him further inside. I wanted more of that. Right now.

  “Oh, think I found a spot for you.” His voice was a caress in my ear. “You like that.”

  I more than liked it, but I didn’t have the words to tell him how much. It was like I’d lost the ability to communicate. Just think and feel. Just think and feel. I’d never know exactly what came over me, but I leaned forward and bit on his shoulder.

  He laughed, throwing his head back. “I like that. Anytime you want to bite me, bite me.”

  Good, because otherwise this could get awkward. I didn’t know why I’d bit him, but I loved it. A lot.

  He jerked once inside me, hard, and I came like I hadn’t just exploded minutes earlier on his tongue. I needed him, and I hadn’t realized how much. I dug my fingers into him and resisted the urge to bite him again. Once was fine, but twice was too much. Or at least I thought those might be the rules. It was more like starts and stops in between gasping for air, seeing stars, and exploding from the inside out. Max had done this to me. He was just…he was just…something.

  His body shuddered a second before he came, my name on his lips, his head dropping briefly to my shoulder. Max was beautiful all the time but especially in that moment. I watched him like I was an outsider to the moment, to my own body, as though I observed both of us from a distance. I wanted to remember the moment always. I wrapped my arms around him and held on while we both breathed so hard, we might as well have run a marathon.

  He lifted his head to regard me. “Wow.”

  I smiled at him. “Sorry I marked you.”

  He rolled off me, touching the bite mark while he did. “I told you, I liked it. Bite me any time.”

  I put my arm over my eyes. “It was…spontaneous.”

  “Good.” Max exited to the bathroom, and when he returned, he didn’t have the condom on anymore. He held a wet towel, and my mind must have been moving slowly, because I barely realized it was for me before he gently wiped my thighs with it. “I like spontaneous Hope in bed. Actually, I like all of you in bed, every gorgeous inch of you.”

  I grinned at him when he took the washcloth to the bathroom. Max crawled back into bed moments later. While he scooted close to me, anxiety, my dear old friend, found its way back into the moment. What am I supposed to do now?

  He yawned. “I wish I didn’t have to get up so early.” I looked at the clock. It read three in the morning. Wow. Yes, it was late. “But I have to go talk to the fishermen directly. I just haven’t been happy with… You know what, never mind. I’m not going to think about that right before bed.

  Was he asking me to leave? Yes, I was pretty sure he was. That was a classic line, wasn’t it? The I have to get up early, so you should be going cliché. “I’ll grab my stuff.”

  He touched my arm. “Hold on. Where are you going?”

  I swallowed. “Home. You said you have to get up early.”

  Max shook his head fast. “Oh, no. I was thinking out loud, not suggesting you should go. I didn’t mean that. I was just talking. No, I say what I mean. If I wanted you to leave, I’d say it.” He paused. “Unless you want to leave. That’s entirely your right, and all that.”

  We’d spun full circle and fast. I bit down on my lip. “I’ll stay, if that’s okay.”

  It wasn’t like I was likely to sleep in general, but I liked the idea of staying right where I was for the night. His bed was warm, and Max was practically a furnace of heat that seeped into my skin in the best possible way. He turned off the light. “Do you want the TV on?”

  “No, I’m good. I probably won’t sleep, but sometimes I just want the quiet.” I paused. “You know what I mean?”

  The darkness covered us like a blanket, and as Max tucked me in against him, I let it fold over me. “I do, actually.”

  I woke up slowly. My eyes were practically glued shut, and I moaned, not wanting to give up the nothingness of sleep and the comfort it brought. When sleep was hard, actually falling into dreams was like a privilege, like the gods of rest wrapped their arms around me and temporarily granted me manna from heaven. I rubbed my eyes open, then realized where I was.

  Max’s bed.

  Last night rushed back as it dawned on me that I must have literally passed out on Max, because I had no memory of falling asleep. That kind of sleep was so rare for me that I almost couldn’t remember the last time it happened. Months maybe? As for Max, he wasn’t there, which wasn’t surprising since the light streamed bright into the room and he’d said he had to be up early.

  Fuck. I hadn’t even heard him get up. I shook my head. Okay. He hadn’t woken me. Or maybe he’d tried and I’d just been so out of it, he’d left me there. How embarrassing would that be?

  I groaned and threw my head back against the pillows again. I didn’t do anything normally, not even wake up in the morning. I rolled over, grabbing my phone off the side table. I had no memory of putting it there. If anything, it was in the pocket of my pants, which had been on the floor. Unless I started sleepwalking on top of everything else, Max must’ve picked it up, plugged it into his charger, and left it there.

  That was really…nice of him. He did things like that. Just gentle touches of care, like giving me his coat because I was ridiculous about fashion and hadn’t wanted to mess up my outfit. I rubbed my eyes again. How had I become this person, and was it too late to do something about it?

  A message lit up, and I looked down at my phone. He’d texted me.

  Hey, hope I didn’t wake you leaving. Coffee on in the kitchen. Left you breakfast on a plate in the fridge. Warm it up. Three minutes in the microwave. Busy tonight?

  I was absolutely not busy. My heart fluttered at all the things he’d done for me so that I could stay asleep. Had anyone ever done that for me? Ever? I didn’t think so.

  I swung my legs out of bed, and after I used the bathroom—and the toothbrush he’d laid out for me—I texted him back. Thanks for all of this. Sorry, I think I must have just conked out. Not busy tonight.

  The three little dots that showed he was writing popped up before he answered a second later. Love that you fell asleep. I did too. Everything I could do to not turn off my alarm and sleep with you all day. Can I see you since you’re not busy?

  I grinned, happiness flooding through me and pushing out, for once, my constant anxiety. Sure. Sounds good.

  It really did.

  I tried to make a list of all the jobs I might be qualified for and then gave up. I went to the gym and managed to avoid seeing anyone there. Showered, dressed, and with nowhere to go, I stared at my mother’s painting, wishing it could tell me all her secrets. Why had she loved my father? What mistakes had she made? Or maybe there were more important questions. Had she loved my father? Had she stopped? Did she ever? Why did she do what she did?

  The painting told me nothing. It never did, but it did prompt me to pick up the phone and actually call Bridget. We texted all the time, but when was the last time I’d heard her voice? Had I at all since she moved away? Morning in New York meant nighttime for her. Hopefully, it meant she’d be home from working.

  “Hello?” She sounded awake, and I briefly heard a TV in the background before she shut it off. I could communicate in both French and Spanish, but neither would help me if I decided to go visit my sister.

  “Hi.” It was good to hear her voice. “How are you?”

  “Are we actually talking on the phone? Voice to voice? Have we traveled back in time?”

  I sank down to the floor. There had been a time the three of us—Bridget, Layla, and me—had been so close, but lately, we lived three separate lives, connected only because we were totally screwed over by our
father and needed constant bodyguards to keep the Russian mob from killing us.

  I laughed. “Don’t you want to hear from me?”

  Wincing, I wished I hadn’t asked. Bridget was insanely honest. What would I do if she said no? Hang up? Go cry in the corner? I couldn’t call Layla. She was busy being a mother, happy being in love. She’d be there for me, but phoning to say basically nothing would waste time she could spend with her family. She was so nice, she’d never admit it, and instead stress herself out trying to be there for me.

  Bridget—maybe not so much.

  “I do, actually.” She sighed. “I had the worst date tonight. The man was so…dumb…I’m not sure how he is standing upright on a daily basis.”

  A giggle I didn’t expect moved through me. “Really? Why did you go out with him?”

  “Because he’s really hot in that way that makes him seem like he’s badass. I have a problem with bad boys. I’ve had a crush on one my whole life, or it feels that way, and I keep looking for him in other men. Or at least that’s what my last therapist said.”

  I hadn’t even known she’d been in therapy. “I went to one too, for a while.”

  “Yeah…we’re all fucked up. Thanks, Mom and Dad.”

  Oh, she had no idea. “I went out with a guy last night. He doesn’t really date. But we had great sex.”

  It seemed foreign to speak those words. Had I really just said them? I bit down on my lip.

  “Honestly, Hope, I wasn’t sure you even had sex. I thought you might be saving yourself or something. It was great sex? When was the last time I had great sex? I don’t even know if I’ve ever had great sex. Maybe I’m defunct. Why doesn’t he date?”

  I blinked, trying to catch up to her conversation. “Why did you think I was saving myself?”

  “I’ve never seen anyone as disinterested in dating as you seemed to be. I was wrong. Answer the other part. Why doesn’t he date?”

  I didn’t know really. I had a vague sense of why Max wasn’t going to get serious, but that was about it. “He just doesn’t. Has a lot going on. He’s a chef.”

  “Ooh, so he can feed you too.”

  Yes, he was certainly doing that. “He’s really, really talented.”

  “So what else are you up to? Planned any great parties?”

  I sighed. Maybe this was why I’d called. Talking about Max was fine, but now that we were doing it, I wasn’t really sure what to say. Maybe that was because I didn’t know at all what was happening with him, which might turn out to be nothing at all. For me, it would always be special in the sense that being with him had broken through a wall I’d kept erected for years, but would it be more than that? Internally, I sighed. Probably not.

  “I’m going to need a new line of work. I was declared fat and over, so it’s a mess. I’ll find something else.”

  She was quiet. “But you love it. The event planning. Where the money goes after. And let’s face it, Hopey, you have always been the one of us to like the media attention. You like to be that person.”

  It was hard to explain that while that was true, it was also not at the same time. When I was younger, it had been difficult to understand that there was plurality to life. Things could be…and also not be at the same time.

  “Yes, I used to love to be in the spotlight. It felt like some kind of validation of, what? I didn’t know exactly. But it was clear to me I didn’t have Layla’s talent or your genius.”

  “Hope,” Bridget said, trying to interrupt me, but I kept talking.

  “So, being the one they followed made me feel great. Truth is, and we both know this, it’s Layla they’d also have preferred to be trailing, because she’s prettier than I am.”

  This time, she sighed loudly. “That isn’t true. I’m not even sure how I’d judge which one of you would be so-called prettier. What does it matter? One person seems prettier to someone and then not to the other.”

  I supposed that was true in some la-la land, but frankly, the fact that Bridget said it was surprising. Bridget only dealt in hard truths. “If you cared about such things, they’d prefer you to me too.”

  “And so what if these so-called they did? I’m sure if we took a poll of every they in the world, then we would see that…”

  My phone beeped with an incoming call—Muffy. I didn’t hold back my groan. I’d called Bridget to get a healthy dose of the medicine only she could give to me. Instead, I had to take a call from my last client ever. What did she want? I had a bunch of her money in an account that I would return to her shortly. If she wanted it today, I’d make it happen.

  “Bridget, I’ve got to go.”

  “Yep.” Short and to the point, that was Bridget. “Just, real quick, you might not believe this, but there are men and women out there who wouldn’t find any of the three of us attractive at all. Somehow, I think the three of us will survive.”

  She disconnected, which transferred me immediately to Muffy’s call. “Hi, this is Hope.”

  A loud, inexplicable noise sounded in the background. “Oh, Hope, good. I’m just calling to say goodbye. We’re off. All of us. Here, Tim, say goodbye to Hope.”

  Tim? I blinked. “You brought your son?”

  “Well, of course. I want him to see Mommy and Daddy doing good things.”

  How exactly were they going to do that? Were they going to haul the food and supplies out of the airplane? Were they going to chuck it while they were airborne? I couldn’t get over these people. “Please be careful.”

  “I’ll have you throw a welcome back party when we return.”

  I cleared my throat, a headache forming between my eyes. “Aren’t you only going to be gone a few days?”

  She’d already hung up. I stared at the phone for a second before I threw it onto the bed. Muffy was one thing, but Bridget had made some good points without really making any. Why did I care so much what other people thought? What was it about me that craved so much outside approval? What did other people do to get to the point where they were good just because that’s what they were?

  Maybe I should read some self-help books.

  The thought made me giggle until I was outright laughing. I doubted they would work for me, but it was funny to imagine myself sitting there reading them for some reason. I could get a cool pair of glasses and sit in coffee houses until I went broke from not working and how fucking expensive New York City was as a home.

  I groaned. Even my fantasies collapsed into dark realities, but no more of that. I’d take a shower. Go to the gym. And I’d have great sex again tonight. I hoped. There was probably a pretty good chance of it. Max seemed to like to see me.

  Hell, maybe I’d pretend I was more like Bridget and be done with him instead of him being done with me. I’d make things work until they didn’t for me anymore and walk away with my sense of self still intact.

  Maybe. Or maybe pigs would fly out of my ass. I laughed at my own joke again. Okay. I was funny, at least in my own mind.

  That night, I dressed for the weather. I wore a jacket, and I was okay with the look. Max hadn’t seemed to care one way or the other about what I wore. I arrived at his restaurant a little early. Just in time to see Anna talking to someone by the doorway while she smoked a cigarette. I so rarely saw anyone do that in NYC anymore. In Europe, yes. New York, no. I must have stared because she threw it on the ground.

  “I know. It’ll kill me.” She stepped on the butt. “But tomorrow is the operation, and I’m stressed. I’ve reverted ten years because of the stress. That was when I quit—a decade ago.”

  I held up my hands. “Not judging. I swear.”

  “Yes, you are, but I forgive you. Come on. Chef will want me to bring you right in.” She swung open the door. “Just finishing up the last customers. Oh, and you should tell me which one of us was texting you what we needed and how you got it for us.”

  I shrugged. “I’ll never tell. I’m great at keeping secrets.”

  “You are. I can tell that about you. Did you
grow up here? I never heard that.”

  She jumped around in topics. It was enough to make my head spin. “No, not until I was in high school. And then…”

  My voice trailed off, caught by the scene in front of me. There, in the middle of his kitchen, mild mannered Max laid into one of his cooks in a loud, angry voice.

  “You ruined it,” he shouted, and the younger man’s face fell.

  “I’m sorry, Chef.”

  Anna pursed her lips. “Whoops,” she practically whispered, and it was more like she was saying it to herself than intended for me to hear her.

  Max picked up the plate and dumped it into the garbage. “We can’t serve that. Remake it, and if you ever try to serve one of my customers something like that again, you’re out of here. Got it?”

  He stormed into his office, leaving a visibly pale cook behind, who took a second before he rushed back to his stovetop.

  Anna looked over at me. “I’ll take care of this. It’s my job. Why don’t you go see him? Just be careful not to poke the bear right at this second.”

  I had no idea how to avoid that. “Are you sure it wouldn’t be better if I came back later?”

  “Absolutely not. Please, go now.” She practically shoved me forward. “He was in a great mood today. Lance must really have fucked up.”

  I wouldn’t want to be Lance for anything in the world in that moment. Max hadn’t cursed or seemed violent, but his anger seemed to seethe throughout the room. All of his staff stared at their own workstations like they were afraid to look away, lest something happen. I hurried forward, poking my head in. “Good time, or should I come back?”

  Did I sound light and airy? I was going for light and airy. I’d forgotten Max was the same guy who had thrown me out of his restaurant. He seemed so constantly easygoing that I’d forgotten there was no way he did this job with a blasé easygoingness. No way. He’d built up, not one, but two highly rated eateries.

  He pointed at the door. “Shut that, would you?”