Max had defused bombs that made him less nervous than the look on the magenta-haired woman’s face. Then he noticed the same speculation in Sophia’s eyes. As if she were measuring, weighing and wondering just how big he was. Her gaze slid over his body, appreciation warming the sky-blue depths as she assessed what he had to offer.
Max was pretty sure flexing his biceps would be classified as pathetic. He ordered the rest of his body to refrain from flexing, as well. Not that the rest of his body was listening. All its attention was focused on Sophia. The scent of her, the warmth that seemed to radiate from her smile. The curves that made his mouth water as if he was three-days-dehydrated.
“Okay, sure. I guess we do need help,” Sophia finally said, making a show of looking at the clock. “Let’s get to it, then.”
She and Gina ranged on either side of the statue, Gina going into a wrestler’s squat. Sophia stepped out of her high heels again before hitching up the slender lines of her skirt so her knees were free of fabric.
Max’s body went as hard as freaking marble at the sight.
Knees, for God’s sake. He’d been in the desert way too long.
“All we need to do is slide it up to the edge of the crate,” she told him. Her hands curved over the gleaming white marble in a smooth caress. He didn’t think she was aware that she was running one hand up, then down, as she pushed with the other to test the weight of the statue. “Once it’s past the edge, we can wiggle it onto the base until it’s all the way in.”
Max stared. He could actually feel the heated path his blood took on its way south to his shorts. He had a vision of her in that same position, but wrapped around him. Because God knew, the way she was making him feel, he was pretty sure his current erection could compete with that man-size sucker.
“Why don’t you two hang on,” he suggested, his tone a little strangled. “Let me try this myself first.”
Gina stepped back right away, obviously glad to let him do the heavy lifting.
“We can help,” Sophia stubbornly insisted. “After all, it’s actually our job.”
Oh, no. The way he felt right now, watching her keep on handling that penis—hell, any penis—was going to make him cry like a baby. Right after he exploded.
Desperate to get it over with, he stepped behind her, gently slid his hands under hers to release her grip, then grasped either side of her waist. He lifted. For a tall woman, she didn’t weigh a damned thing. And luckily she was too shocked to do more than stiffen and gasp when he moved her aside.
“Hey…” Her words trailed off as she watched him unbutton his cuffs. He shoved his sleeves up to his elbow so he could get a good grip on the marble.
Max approached the dick the way he’d approach a ticking bomb—with a great deal of respect, trepidation and determination. His arms couldn’t span its girth. For a brief second, he wondered who the hell had posed for this sucker. Then, needing that thought as far from his brain as possible, he started silently reciting detonation codes.
He tilted the statue back toward him, then pushed until it met the edge of the crate. He angled it just so, then lifted. He squinted as the room flashed for a second, then, figuring it was just exertion, grunted and pushed the monster onto the crate bottom.
Almost there.
His muscles trembled as the marble slipped a little under his sweaty hands. God, if the guys saw him now, he’d never live this down. That was all the motivation he needed to give it one last shove.
And done.
Not even winded, Max stepped back, dusted his hands together and gave the ladies a triumphant smile. It faded a little when he saw the camera Sophia was tucking into her pocket.
She hadn’t, had she?
He narrowed his eyes, trying to read her face. Pure innocence.
Oh, yeah, she had.
He’d just have to get her to delete it. The St. James men were used to getting their way. All he had to do was decide on a strategy. In this situation, he figured a little charming persuasion should do the trick.
“Easy enough,” he said, referring to both the crating and the upcoming photo deletion mission.
“Thanks so much. I really do appreciate both the news of Rico, and your help.”
Gina grabbed a hammer and a few more boards. Giving him her own smile of gratitude, she went to work packing up the crate.
“Don’t you think you owe me at least a drink? As a thank-you?”
She frowned, taking her time sliding her shoes back on as if his request was of monumental concern.
Max wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or intrigued by her obvious reluctance to spend any more time with him.
“Sure. We can get a drink. As a thank-you for your help, and to toast my brother,” she said finally. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time, though. I’m sure you have quite a few better things to do on leave than check up on your squad mate’s sister, Sergeant.”
“Sophia, we just spent five sweaty minutes together, wrapped around a mammoth erection,” he pointed out, giving her his warmest smile. She blinked twice and sucked in a quick little breath.
“We’re practically intimate now. So you might as well call me Max.” He loved the way she looked, all flushed and flustered. He wondered if that’s how she looked when she made love. “And don’t forget to bring that camera.”
3
SERGEANT FIRST CLASS Hottie St. James.
He was first-class, all right.
Oh, God. What were the chances that the guy whose photo she’d been dedicating orgasms to would show up in her gallery just when she’d sworn off relationships? Fate, or Rico, had a wicked sense of humor.
Skirting around the temptation to brush against the hard length of his body as Max held open the gallery door, Sophia averted her eyes and held back her sigh. This was crazy. She felt like a schoolgirl whose Teen Beat poster had just come to life.
The man was absolutely gorgeous. Even sexier in person than in the photo she’d spent months fantasizing over. He oozed charisma like a gooey caramel-filled chocolate oozed deliciousness.
And she was starving.
For the first time in her life, she wanted to strip a man naked and nibble her way down his body. She, who’d never stripped off so much as a man’s shoes.
Sophia almost tripped off the sidewalk imagining what Max might look like naked. She’d spent four years immersed in sexual images, erotic art and, hell, just today had wrapped herself around a four-foot-tall marble cock. And none of it came anywhere close to heating her up, making her want to play out the Kama Sutra, like this guy did.
“Slow down,” he said, almost making her jump out of her skin when he put a cautioning hand on her forearm. “Gotta watch for cars.”
Baffled, she looked up one side of the empty street, then down the other. Cars?
Before she could ask, a motorcycle came around the corner, speeding past from the opposite direction.
“Or motorcycles,” he amended with a knowing smirk.
It was that cocky look that punctured her sexually induced bubble. As if he was not only right, but always right. She almost tripped over her feet again as her mind did a quick replay of the last hour. He’d swept in, taken over and she’d…what? Fallen right back into her old habit of letting someone else take over.
She remembered Rico’s email. Deep pockets. So not only was Max bossy and domineering, he was rich. Two strikes, right there. And with the lawsuit and swirling rumors of her promiscuity, she definitely couldn’t afford to try for three.
Not even for what promised to be, in her limited and inexperienced opinion, the most incredible, intense, wild sex of her life.
No. This was going to be purely a thank-you-and-goodbye drink. She’d be friendly but distant, in a he’s-just-her-brother’s-friend kind of way. And keep to herself all fantasies about nibbling her way down his chest on her way to paradise.
“Are you sure this isn’t too far?” he said as they reached the door of the cantina across the street fr
om the gallery. “We could have sat on that bench there in front of your place and shared a bottle of water.”
“Clever,” Sophia said, grinning despite her intention to stay aloof. She sailed past him when he held the heavy brass-trimmed door open.
Why couldn’t he just be bossy? Did he have to be so freaking cute and charming, too? His picture hadn’t said charming, dammit.
Sophia knew that unless a photographer was extremely talented, charisma rarely translated on film. Especially the sergeant’s kind. He had a charm that combined clever humor with sexual undercurrents, and that charm promised sensual adventures to anyone willing to hand over control.
Which meant, as usual, Sophia would be missing the sexual satisfaction boat. Because this girl wasn’t giving up control ever again.
With that in mind, she called on the hostess skills she’d perfected—the one area Joseph had deemed satisfactory—during her years of marriage.
“This is my treat. A thank-you for all you’ve done for me and my family,” she told him as they stepped into the cool, plant filled foyer of the cantina. “This is a great place. Wonderful ambience, great appetizers and fast service.”
“By all means, let’s make sure we’re served quickly,” he agreed, waving his hand to indicate she proceed him. “Dragging out gratitude is such a pain, don’t you think?”
A laugh gurgled out before Sophia could control herself. The only thing sexier than those rock-hard biceps he’d shown off when he’d hefted that obscene statue was a wicked sense of humor.
The hostess stepped forward, a pair of gold menus contrasting with her brilliant red blouse and flounced skirt.
“Hi, Carmen. We’d like a table for two,” Sophia said after the older woman greeted them.
“Right this way,” Carmen invited after giving Max a little leer and then offering Sophia a naughty wink. “I’ve got the perfect spot.”
Oh, no. Her body already in motion, Sophia’s feet froze to the floor. She almost fell on her face. The perfect spot. The designated date table.
“Perfect is overrated,” she murmured, hurrying to catch up to Carmen. “How about a place by the window instead?”
Carmen frowned, shaking her round, dimpled face. “But the afternoon sun is glaring on that side of the room. The perfect table is shaded. Much more comfortable.”
“I like the afternoon sun,” Sophia said with a stiff smile, willing the hostess to understand that she didn’t want the date table.
“Maybe we could get the drinks to go,” Max drawled, obviously getting the message Carmen wasn’t. “Avoid these pesky table choices altogether?”
Sophia grinned. Giving up on the unsuccessful subtlety, she tapped Carmen’s rounded shoulder and pointed to an empty table that overlooked her gallery. “We’ll take that one, okay?”
The hostess’s heavy sigh as she seated them spoke volumes. Her inhalation told Sophia just how hot she thought Max was, and her exhalation exclaimed her despair over her friend’s poor dating skills.
Sophia gave her own sigh of agreement. Even she couldn’t argue that those skills weren’t pure crap.
“What can I bring you both?” Carmen asked as they sat on opposite sides of the scarred plank table.
“Whatever dark ale you’ve got on tap,” Max requested.
“Pomegranate margarita, please.”
“Mmm-hmm.” With that and one last look of frustrated despair for Sophia, she flounced off with a swish of her full red skirt.
A busboy set chips and salsa between them. Sophia nibbled nervously, not sure what to say now. She didn’t know how to talk to a man. She knew how to talk to guys, of course. Brothers, fathers, artists. Friends, even.
But sexy men whose photo she’d spent months fantasizing over? Men who confused her, making her want to flirt one second and yell the next? She had to swallow hard to get the fried tortilla past the lump in her throat.
She stared at the tabletop, realizing that she was so totally out of her element here.
“You know,” Max drawled after Carmen had set their drinks down and flounced away again, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so appreciated.”
Sophia’s fingers clenched the chilly stem of her margarita glass. She lifted her eyes from the frothy red drink to meet Max’s dark gaze.
Oh, no. He’d obviously taken her insecurity and nerves as bitchiness. Despite his teasing tone and easy smile, his words cut deep.
“I’m so sorry.” Sophia leaned across the table to press her hand to his bare forearm. “You’ve been nothing but helpful, and I’m being rude. Rico would be shaking his finger in my face if he knew.”
Max’s laugh lit up his entire face. “He does that to you, too? We rag him about it all the time. Big tough soldier boy, wagging his finger like a nagging granny.”
Sophia giggled, her heart softening to hear the affection in his voice for her brother. “He’s done it since he was little. We always called him abuela niño when he did.”
“Granny boy? He must have loved that.”
“I do believe that’s one of the reasons Rico’s so good with his fists,” Sophia said with a laugh.
“You said ‘we’ called him abuela niño. Who’s ‘we’?”
“My older brothers and I. There are seven of us. I’m the youngest, under Rico.”
“Seven?” Max’s eyes rounded. “Your parents were ambitious.”
“It’s the only thing my mother ever stood up to my father about. She wanted a little girl and wasn’t willing to stop until she had one.” Sophia’s tone was as bittersweet as her smile. According to her father, that rare streak of stubbornness had cost her mother her life.
Obviously hearing the underlying pain in her words, Max gave her a searching look, but was gentleman enough not to pry. Instead, he changed the subject. Telling her stories of Rico’s funnier mishaps and the practical jokes he’d pulled overseas, he swiftly moved the discussion from pain to laughter. Sophia loved hearing about her rough, tough, kick-ass brother in the words of a man who clearly appreciated Rico’s sense of humor, quick temper and fierce pride.
Ten minutes and the contents of her margarita glass later, Sophia had relaxed.
Instead of the aggressive pursuit she’d expected, Max showed gentlemanly restraint with a subtle underlying charm.
“Is it my imagination, or do the figures in that painting look familiar?” he asked as he fished out the last chip from the basket. He offered it to her, and when she shook her head, popped it into his own mouth.
Sophia didn’t have to follow his gaze over her shoulder to know what he was referring to. She did have to hide her surprise that he was observant enough to have recognized her and her brothers, though. Especially since the painting was twenty years old.
“No, it’s not your imagination,” she assured him. “My father used to own this restaurant. When he sold it a few years ago, the new owners asked to keep the decor and art.”
He studied the painting, then tossed back the last of his beer. “Dating must have been hell,” he decided.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Six older brothers looking out for you? A guy would have to be pretty brave to risk that and ask you out.” His words were teasing, but the look he gave her clearly said he was definitely brave enough.
Sophia’s stomach tumbled a little. He made her want so much. From him. From herself.
“My brothers were bullies,” she confirmed a little breathlessly. “But they’re all scattered now and busy with their own lives. These days, nobody vets my dating choices except me.”
“Is that so?” The look he gave her was pure flirtation. The giddy, giggly, naughty kind that had her pulling back her shoulders, thrusting out her breasts and fluttering her lashes before she even realized she was responding.
Damn, he was good.
Sophia immediately stopped pulling, thrusting and fluttering.
“But given that I’m not in a dating place in my life,” she quickly added, “it doesn’t matter. All six of my
brothers could be camped out in my gallery watching my every move. They’d be bored to death with the lack of bullying and intimidating opportunities.”
“Maybe they’d turn matchmakers instead and find you the perfect guy,” he teased, an odd glint in his dark eyes. “Do you think they’d take applications?”
And there it was… Her own personal version of hell. Six over-testosteroned bossy-boys ruining her life. Lurking, judging, taking over. They’d start by telling her how to dress, move on to telling her all the mistakes she was making at the gallery and end with a complete rearrangement of her world.
Her pain must have been evident on her face, because Max suddenly looked stricken.
“Oh, man, I’m sorry,” he said quietly, reaching over to warm her hand with his. “That was insensitive of me.”
Without thinking, Sophia turned her hand so they were palm to palm. Little tingles of excitement built, swirling from her hand all the way up her arm and down her belly. The palm was an erogenous zone? She was so sexually clueless.
“I forgot that you were recently widowed.”
Sophia stared.
Well, shit. Sophia slowly slipped her hand from his. She slid it onto her lap, clenching her fingers together.
She’d forgotten, too.
What was it about Max that made her forget important things?
In the past, she’d have fallen back on her tried-and-true litmus test. She’d have taken his picture. Photos were windows to the soul, showing the real person. No matter how they piled on the mundane disguises, a well-shot photo let her see the true person. Their inner being, so to speak.
It’d been photographs that’d helped her see that her father, a man who ruled his house with an iron fist, was a pussycat inside. Photos had let her see the worry lines carved into his forehead, the responsibility pressing down on his shoulders after he’d lost his wife. The pride in his dark eyes and the love in his rare smile.
Seeing that had made his controlling attitude easier for Sophia to understand. Whereas photos of her late husband had showed an entirely different story. An affable surface, with a streak of mean domination underneath. A warning to watch out for bossy men with charming surfaces.
Uniformly Hot! Volume 1 from Harlequin: Letters from HomeBreaking the RulesComing Up for Air Page 18