by Louise Dawn
They stopped at a traffic light and Max leaned in. “What’s wrong with the word ‘quaint’?”
His eyes ran over her lips, and she licked her lower lip in response. “Nothing. You’re just—I don’t know—very male. It sounds weird. Such a pretty word, coming out of your masculine mouth.”
Abby gasped as he pressed a kiss to her lips. Her warm lips were heaven. “Wanna see what else my masculine lips can do, or maybe my masculine tongue?”
Heat flared in those emerald eyes. A car horn blared and Max grinned, pulling across the busy intersection. Making prim and proper Abigail Evans wriggle in her seat was fun. It also served another purpose by distracting her. She wasn’t thinking about protecting secrets when Max turned on the charm. She was thinking of him touching her, stroking her, licking her. Hell, he was thinking about it too, but Max wouldn’t give them any breathing space; he’d slip into all her private places, mentally and physically. Abby would be putty in his hands.
◊ ◊ ◊
A sweet-talking, lady-killing Casanova took up all the oxygen. Abby’s nether regions were having a party while her head ran in panic mode. Her brain obsessed over the thought of his mouth nibbling at her panties. Was it hot in here? Maybe the seat warmers were on? Nope. It was just her panty party gaining momentum, making her squirm again. Abby cracked the window and sucked in cool air. Grinning at her move, Max swerved expertly into a parking spot.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, what’s that smirk for?”
“Feeling warm, Abby?” Frosty eyes ran conceitedly over her body.
A flush slid up her neck. No one ever made her blush. That in itself made her mad. Was he purposely messing with her? Screw him.
As she reached for the door, Max grabbed her arm. “Shit, I’ve upset you. That was inappropriate and rude. I’m more of a gentleman than this.”
“You’re fine. I just need air, and I need food.”
“No. It’s not fine. My mother would box my ears if she heard what just came out of my mouth on a first date.”
Abby smiled at that. “She sounds fearsome. But this isn’t a date, it’s just lunch, and there’s nothing wrong with a little flirting. I’m just not used to the flirting thing. I pretty much suck at it.”
Max chuckled. “It’s not possible for you to suck at anything. You’re gorgeous, look at you.” He traced her jaw with the back of his hand. “And…” he continued, “I’m about to kick my own ass for not opening your door. Stay where you are, and I’ll come around.” He circled to the driver’s side.
Abby wanted to believe the sweet words that fell so easily from his mouth, but she wasn’t perfect. Not by a long shot. Cowardly and deceitful were a better fit. Still, it felt nice to be put on a pedestal, even if it was by a sexy man who was a stranger yesterday and would soon be a stranger again. The trouble was that Max felt the opposite, familiar and safe, two qualities that would lead to their mutual downfall. Casual is what this was, and casual was what it could only ever be.
The restaurant was quaint and the food tasted delicious. How had she not known this place existed? The easy-going atmosphere and the glass of wine had her sinking into her chair. Max chatted about his family back in the US. His father was a rancher in Wyoming, his mom was the warm matriarch who kept his large family of siblings together. His pops always grumbled that the place was never quiet but secretly loved having friends and family over. Like Abby, his mom loved to bake. Max enjoyed visiting, he lived an hour away from his family. Then it was her turn. Abby knew it was coming. Wasn’t that how it worked, I tell you mine, and you tell me yours?
Max looked at her expectantly. Abby played with a crumb on her empty plate. She could choose the path of least resistance, tell him her parents were lovely people who lived in some remote spot on the planet. He didn’t need to know about her hard childhood or the monster in her closet called Dad.
Max was the man who’d held her on her bathroom floor as she’d sobbed. The man who’d patched up her head with gentle hands. The man who’d kissed her like she was a spun-glass ballerina. No one had ever treated her with such tenderness. They’d known each other all of two days and yet she instinctively knew that Max was a mighty fine man. Her biggest secrets were still hers to keep, but she’d give him a glimpse of someone she’d hoped to become. A woman who overcame the odds and came out stronger.
Decision made, Abby took the plunge. “I didn’t have your idyllic childhood. I’d lie if I didn’t tell you how envious I am.”
Max considered her words.
“The first memories were good ones. My parents lived in my grandparents’ basement in New York. We weren’t wealthy, but my family was happy in a super loud kind of way. That was due to my Italian grandmother and, even though I don’t have vivid memories of her, I have a vague sense of her energy. She passed away when I was four. It destroyed my father and my grandpa. Lucy was still so young, had a heart attack one morning while cleaning the stove. After a year of mourning, my dad—Jimmy—barely came near the family and my mousy mother barely emerged from their bedroom. She wasn’t exactly maternal. Grandpa Noah rocked me in this giant rocking chair that I’ll never forget, singing me Italian lullabies. Noah also fed and changed me when my parents were doing God knows what.”
The waiter came by, and Abby ordered a cup of chamomile tea.
Max spoke up. “So, what changed?”
“My father. Jimmy came home one evening carrying a pamphlet from a new church in the area called The Unity of Light. It wasn’t quite a church at the time. More like a youth meeting held in someone’s basement once a week. Jimmy started spouting religious quotes, saying he’d found his new path and would lead his followers towards the light of God.”
Abby scraped at her thumb as she considered her next words. “At first, Noah was happy for his son, praying that my father would find peace in religion. Pretty soon, it became clear that the meetings damned all other congregations or sects. Jimmy chose to build his first church in a secluded wooded area far from any city. He first moved us to Colorado, calling it the land of light. His followers made the trek, and so did Noah, out of concern for me. Over the next couple of years, Jimmy kept pressing for Grandpa to convert and Noah refused. Eventually Grandpa left. My father blamed me for it, said that I was a naughty brat that destroyed everything in my wake.”
“Goddammit. I’m sorry Abs.”
She shrugged away the old hurt, remembering that day. An eight-year-old mind never forgets seeing her grandpa pack up his truck and give her the tightest hug in the world, while sobbing into her neck. For years she’d wondered if Jimmy was right. Did Noah get tired of looking after a lively kid after her parents had checked out? Did he leave because of her?
Blinking tears away, Abby rushed to finish her story. “Anyway, Jimmy had a falling out with his congregation, and we moved to Northern Idaho to start a new parish, where Jimmy wrote a small bible outlining his warped beliefs.”
Max frowned. “What kind of beliefs?”
“If you fall ill, it’s the devil who’s come a-calling, infecting you with his evil. So the solution is to beat the devil out while confessing your sins. One winter, I fell ill with a severe bout of flu and was beaten with a belt and locked in the basement. I was nine years old and spent three days down there. “
Max looked furious. “What did your mom do?”
“She stood by, like a good little pastor’s wife, believing that my father was a prophet, here to save humanity.”
“Those fucking monsters.”
“One of their devoted followers came over for tea on the third morning and heard me coughing. My mom tried to clean me up before they could lay their eyes on me. Didn’t help though, I ran raging temperatures and spent two weeks in the hospital with pneumonia.”
“Child services didn’t take you away?”
She met his angry stare. “There wasn’t a whole load of evidence to go on. Technically the witness hadn’t seen me in the basement and only my
butt and lower back showed bruising from the beating. The small-town police officer who stopped in was part of the congregation. He said there was nothing wrong with a good spanking every once in a while. It makes for healthy young folk.”
“Ass-wipe,” Max growled.
“Yeah. That was just the tip of the iceberg. According to prophet Jimmy, any book but his bible was seen as the devil’s work including school books and the actual Bible. Of course, television, the radio and computers were also Satan’s tools.”
“Sounds like freaking North Korea. Were you allowed to go to school?”
The North Korean comment made her smile. “Yes, but just so that Jimmy could look normal in the community. I shake my head at him now but at the time it was a living hell. I had no friends, no life or choices in anything I did. I hid library books in a hole I’d dug out behind wallpaper in my room. Jimmy found them eventually and a two-day stint in the basement was the result. When he spanked me he usually used his belt but, in that instance, a cane was his weapon of choice.”
Max stroked her arm. “I want to find him and beat the living shit out of him.”
“If anything, it made me more determined than ever to escape that life, even though it wasn’t all bad. We traveled to other countries. Jimmy used his influence to set up a second church in South Africa. I got to stay in some interesting places, and it gave me the travel bug.”
“How did you escape?”
“I left when I was sixteen.”
“Do you keep in touch with the bastard?”
Abby gave him a bitter look. “Would you?”
“If it were up to me, I’d bury the dickhead after putting a bullet between his eyes.” The tension in Max had Abby bracing for his next words. “Did he hurt you in other ways, Abs?”
Abby knew what he meant and shook her head. “Not like that, but it doesn’t make me hate him any less. It was always about Jimmy, always concerned for himself. His path in the world was the most righteous, his greediness and how others saw him. It was never about his wife or child. I haven’t seen them since the day I left. I lived in Southern Africa from eleven to sixteen years of age. When we went back to Idaho for a six-month stint, I ran away to Utah, completing my last year of school while working nights. My father runs a growing cult. That’s the only way to describe that community of brainwashed zombies. I’d rather die than give that power back to Jimmy. My father now runs five global locations, so I guess he’s doing well for himself.”
Abby ignored Max’s unblinking concern as she played with a loose thread in the tablecloth. Storm clouds hung low, darkening the courtyard.
“Leaving my family at such a young age forced me to be resourceful; there were no safety nets to fall back on. I didn’t have the white-picket-fence childhood that you grew up with, but I think I’m doing okay.”
Thunder rumbled as Max threaded his fingers with hers. “You’re more than okay. You’re amazing and just so you know, I don’t know of many people who had a white-picket-fence upbringing. My parents are a fluke, but we still had our difficult times—nothing compared to having Kim Jong-un as a father—but challenging nonetheless.”
Abby chuckled. The wind picked up, blowing up leaves around the courtyard. Max looked dark and mysterious in the shadowed light. Her heart fluttered.
“I love your hands.” He played with her fingers.
“Are you crazy? You like utilitarian grunge?”
Max chuckled. “What’s wrong with a little paint? They’re neatly manicured and tell me who you are. Creative…” He stroked her index finger. “Hardworking…” He circled a ring finger. “Intangible yet strong.” He drew her little finger into his mouth and pulled it out slowly.
Holy Cannoli. Abby sucked in a breath; Max placed her hand back on the table. The fire in his eyes matched her raging hunger, and she looked away.
The waitress cleared their plates.
Max stroked a foot along her calf. “So, what did you do after you left, Abs? You said you had the travel bug? Where did you go?”
That was where her secrets began. Playtime was over. “A story for another time. Should we get out of here? It looks like it’s going to rain.”
Max kissed her palm. “I’ll grab the check.”
◊ ◊ ◊
It didn’t bother Max that she’d raised her walls up at his last question; that fitted with her profile. What didn’t fit was Abby opening up about her relationship with her family. The file they had on Abigail Evans never included details of abuse. From the intel they’d gathered, Max profiled a teenage Abby as a rebellious pastor’s daughter, leaving the restrictive nest and thumbing her nose at her small-town missionary parents. When questioning the Idaho community, they’d called her parents “saints.” Saying what do-gooders they were. How sad they were when Abby had left the protection of their church and the light of God. Some of the intel hinted that The Unity of Light had worrying cultish quirks, but overall the followers kept to themselves and stayed out of trouble.
Max had a problem on his hands because this new information changed things. Abby hadn’t run to the Middle East as a spoiled, lost, small town girl looking to make her mark. She’d run there as a determined survivor willing to fight for a new future. She was now a square peg that Max was trying to fit into a round hole.
The heavens opened up as they ran to the truck. Max grabbed Abby’s hand, hearing a giggle as she tripped, grabbing his waist and twirling in the rain. Max couldn’t take his eyes off her. Jesus. The now transparent white shirt clung to her tanned skin. A lacy white bra stood out beneath.
“The rain makes you whole, doesn’t it? It’s freedom!” Abby shouted with sparkling eyes.
She was like a fucking glowing angel. An angel that suddenly gave a whoop and pressed her lips to his. Holy cow. A warm, wet female smelling like vanilla and spring rain filled his arms. Dragging his mouth away, Max hustled her into the vehicle. The downpour screwed up his comms unit, and Max slipped it into his jean pocket before climbing in the truck. They were effectively alone, and Max felt the buzz.
“That was fun. I love cloudbursts.” Abby grinned and then turned serious. “Whenever a storm blew into Idaho, I used to run out to my neighbor’s field and sit in the mud, feeling the rain pelt my skin.”
Max paused before starting the truck. “That doesn’t sound wise. Lightning is dangerous and kills around fifty people per year in the US.”
“I know but the storm was an escape. It made me feel like I mattered, like the heavens reserved their potent beauty just for little old me.”
“Now why do you have to go and say something so profound?” Max pulled a sodden lock of hair off her cheek.
The fogged-up windows encased them in a veiled sanctum where only the sound of their breathing filled the space. Her rounded tits rose and fell with each breath; drops of water ran down between them. Abby bent towards him; those incredible mounds were too close. Her hand ran up his chest as she climbed into his lap. Too damn close.
“This isn’t a good idea.” The air felt hot. Steamy. Her body heat surrounded him as Abby shifted her hips on his lap. “Fuck.”
“Kiss me,” she murmured.
Her serpentine eyes held him captive for long moments. The small, intimate space made him want to look away, but before he could move, her mouth was on his. They were alone for this minute, and Max took full advantage. His hand gripped her tangled hair and dragged her close, mating his tongue with hers, rubbing his hard cock against her mound. She tasted so good. He gripped her wet jeans as Abby dry rode his crotch.
Moaning, Max dragged up her filmy shirt and shoved her breast into his mouth. A nipple covered in lace puckered as he sucked. He pulled the delicate fabric down and ran his tongue around the taut nipple. God, it was so damn beautiful.
He nipped and she whimpered. He was going to shoot his wad, in this truck, just by sucking on Abby’s breast. What the hell was he doing? Losing control, that was what he was fucking doing. Pull back, buddy. Pull the hell back. With one
last lick he drew away.
“You’re amazing.” His voice was husky with need. “But I’m not taking you up against a steering wheel in broad daylight, at least not the first time I have you.”
She kissed him, then shot a wry grin as she climbed back into her seat. “It wouldn’t have got that far, honey. I’m so not that easy.”
Max burst into laughter. “Well Miss Prissy, it’s getting damn cold, and I can see goose bumps. Besides, you can’t just run through the mall in your wet tee. Most of the men—including me—wouldn’t get a damn thing done. You’ll have to wear my jacket.”
◊ ◊ ◊
The shopping part of the date was fun. What was not to love? Abby wore a large Arc’teryx coat that smelled deliciously like sexy male. The owner of the said jacket grinned as he held up a box of cake mix.
“C’mon, Abs. I love red velvet cake.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Not on your life, buddy. If I make you a red velvet it will be free of that artificial red dye crap—not to mention all those preservatives.”
“Now, now. Don’t be a cake mix snob. I’m sure you’ve stashed away some of these babies in the past.”
“You cheeky bugger. I bake my cakes from scratch!”
Max laughed. “Did you just call me a cheeky bugger?” He pretended to be offended.
“Did you just accuse me of being a fraud baker?” Abby shot back while looking for cocoa powder, shoving the shopping cart at him.
“Well,” he said as he walked backwards, “I’ve only tasted just a teeny, tiny slice of a cake you’ve made. I would need to do more sampling, to make up my mind.”
Abby raised her brow. “Make up your mind?”
“On whether you have mixes stashed away somewhere, or if I’m tasting the real thing…made with actual butter and all that.”
Hiding a smile, Abby asked. “And just how many of these cake slices would you need, to make up your mind?”
Max pretended to think. “I’m thinking…at least ten.”