SOPHIA WAS PRETTY SURE smacking Max around the head with her broom was illegal. But it was tempting. Still, just like calling the cops, she knew it would be pointless. With a head as hard as his, he probably wouldn’t even notice.
Trying to resist the urge, she pulled her gaze from Max’s. The only place to look, though, was at the destruction of her showroom. Her stomach shuddered at the sight.
Sophia forced herself to breathe, blinking fast to keep the burning tears from pouring down her cheeks. She had to clean up. She’d be damned if she’d fall apart.
“Fine. You don’t want to check the rest of the gallery, can you point me in the direction of a phone?”
“I told you—”
“Soph?” Gina stood in the marble column-flanked doorway, tracks of mascara streaking her pale face. “I called the police.”
Sophia had a brief urge to kick something. Why was it that whenever she tried to assert her independence, someone swooped in and undermined her? And always because they thought it was for her own good.
Did she have some freaking neon sign flashing overhead claiming her incompetence? She glanced back at Max, his sleeves rolled up to show strong arms. Arms that’d been wrapped around her ten minutes ago. She let her gaze wander up those arms to his shoulders, broad and strong. They’d felt muscular, hard, solid under her questing fingers. Her eyes rose, tracing his strong neck, a neck she’d held on to while he’d kissed her.
Her eyes locked on his mouth. Heat swirled low in her belly as she relived the pressure of that mouth. The rich taste of him. The power, passionate and needy, he’d ignited in her body. The way he’d made her think that all the fascination with sex, with erotic delights, was actually warranted.
“Can you show me the rest of the gallery?” Max asked Gina. After a quick glance at Sophia for permission, the girl nodded and led him out of the showroom.
Sophia’s hands gripped the broom so tightly, she was surprised the handle didn’t splinter. God, this was insane. Her stepdaughter was trying to ruin her life. She had a show coming up next week that needed all her focus. And now her gallery was a mess. And all she could think about was how hot Max St. James was.
The guy was obviously just as detrimental to her sanity as he was to her self-control.
And a part of her didn’t care. Closing her eyes, she rested her forehead on her hands where they gripped the broomstick. Maybe she should stop reading self-help books on independence and control and start reading about codependence recovery. Was she the kind of woman who said she wanted to be strong, then sabotaged herself?
Before she could consider that too closely, Max returned. “I checked the back, the offices and other showrooms. This is the extent of the destruction.”
His gaze traveled over the dirt-and-glass covered floor until it reached the broom in her hands. His eyes made a slow sweep up her legs, over the curve of her hips, and heated as he noted the flat planes of her belly. She sucked in her tummy and said a quick thanks that she’d turned to Pilates to fight her sexual frustration.
Then his eyes rested on her breasts. Heat washed over her, tingling and warming its way through her system. Her nipples beaded against the soft cotton of her bra, making her ache for more than just his eyes on her. She could picture his hands, large and strong. His fingers circling and petting. His mouth, hot and wet. Her breath quickened. Her body fought against itself, a part of her melting while the rest of her went on high alert. She wanted to curl into the pleasure, and didn’t want to miss a single second of the experience.
Her gratitude shifted from her Pilates workouts to the broom in her hands, since it was the only thing holding her upright.
And Max was apparently so sexually intuitive, he knew exactly how she felt.
“Sophia?” His words were low, a sensuous thrum that moved through her welcoming body.
“I don’t want this,” she whispered. Still, as if working independently from her brain, her body leaned toward him. She could almost feel the hard heat of his chest against her aching nipples, welcomed the imagined pressure, hoped it’d ease the aching heaviness.
“Do you want me to talk you into it?” he asked, his words teasing, but his tone making it clear all it’d take was a nod from her and he’d get to work on the convincing.
Wouldn’t it be incredible? All she had to do was let him take control and she’d have what was sure to be the best, most incendiary, sex of her life. And she didn’t even have to make the choice. She could just stand here, breathing heavily, and let him take that as complicity.
Talk about seductive.
“Don’t mean to interrupt, but did one of you call the police?”
It was like taking an ice-cold public shower. Her lust vaporized in a blast of searing embarrassment. She wanted to kick and scream and throw something almost as much as she wanted to give the cop a hug for his timing.
Max looked like he just wanted to scream and throw things, though. Then he blinked and the look of frustration was gone.
“We’ve had a break-in,” Max offered, stating the obvious as he strode forward to shake hands with the officer. “It appears to be confined to this room, but I’m sure you’ll want to check the rest of the building.”
Still trying to corral her raging libido, Sophia watched Max handle the cops. He identified himself as a concerned bystander, introducing her as the owner with a wave of his hand. Then he and the cop proceeded to ignore her while they discussed the vandalism. A part of her wanted to scurry off to her office, sink into her couch and let him fix it all.
But she couldn’t. She wanted independence, which meant handling things like this herself.
“Officer, I’m the one you need to talk to,” she said, stepping forward to interrupt them. “Sergeant St. James was just leaving.”
“Sergeant?”
And there they went, off on their male bonding bonanza. Sophia spent the next ten minutes feeling like an interloper as she tried to interject answers, only to have the cop ignore her in favor of Max. Finally, she’d had enough.
“Officer, do you have any further questions for me? No? Then I’m sure you have a lot of serving and protecting to do elsewhere. Me,” she said with a stiff smile as she jerked a thumb toward her chest, “I have to clean up my gallery, check the photos closer for damage and get them all rematted and reframed. So if you’ll both excuse me.”
The policeman nodded, apparently so used to rudeness that he didn’t even blink at the abrupt dismissal. He started jotting down a few more notes on his report, then pulled out his card to write something on the back of it.
“Sophia—” Judging by the concern etched on his face, Sophia knew Max was the kind of guy who took helping others seriously. So seriously that he was happy to step right in and take over. Which she didn’t need.
“Max, it was wonderful to meet you. Thanks so much for letting me know about Rico.” She rushed through her words, suddenly realizing that once the cop left, she wouldn’t be safe. From herself, that was. So she needed Max out, too.
“Ma’am, here’s my card. The case number is on the back, if you need to contact us.”
She took the card and risked her body’s rebellion by taking Max’s arm with the other hand. Smiling, she pulled Max along as she escorted the cop to the door. It took five minutes and all her powers of persuasion and charm to shoo them both out.
“I’ll be in touch,” Max said, digging in his heels at the threshold. He gave her a long look, then let his gaze slide over to the side of the building where he’d kissed her. “Soon.”
Torn between wanting to make him promise and needing to tell him to stay away, Sophia just shook her head and murmured thanks for the drink before shutting and locking the door.
She’d have sagged against it, but she knew he’d see her clearly through the beveled glass. So she set the broom aside and headed down the hallway.
“Mmm-mmm, you’ll have a great time jumping his bones,” Gina said, following her into the office.
“Not in this lifetime,” Sophia shot back, crossing her office to the little refrigerator in the corner and getting a bottle of water. Then she shook two Advil out of the bottle in her desk drawer.
“Why the hell not?” Gina asked, her tone hitting a new high note. “He’s freaking hot.”
“Hot or not, I’m not dating him.”
Gina crossed her arms over her chest, shifted her hip to one side and gave Sophia her patented are-you-insane? look.
“Look, he was appealing while we were munching on cheese-covered tortilla chips. He’s a nice guy and a friend of my brother’s. But that’s it.”
“Nice enough that you let him borrow your lipstick, hmm?” Gina arched her brow.
Heat raced up Sophia’s cheeks.
“Okay, fine. So I gave in to the urge to taste.” And oh, God, he’d tasted so good. So, so good. “But one taste was enough. Will there ever be another? No way. Did you see the way he just took over? This is my gallery and he wouldn’t even let me decide when to call the police.”
“In his defense, he wasn’t the one who called them,” Gina said around the thumbnail she was nibbling.
“It doesn’t matter who called. What matters is how Max stepped in and took over. The man didn’t listen to a word I said.”
“He sure looked like he was listening,” Gina said. “He hardly ever took his eyes off you.”
Sophia had to force herself not to blush like a schoolgirl. He had stared. A lot. He’d made her feel wanted and sexy and special. He’d also made her feel incompetent and frustrated and useless.
“No,” she said, as much for herself as for Gina. “He’s too bossy. Sexy charm and a gorgeous body aren’t enough to make up for the simple fact that dating him would be a disaster.”
“It doesn’t have to be forever, Sophia,” Gina said in exasperation. “You’re not required to hand over your spine along with your underpants.”
“Easy for you to say,” Sophia muttered. Gina was the kind of girl who put her own needs—especially sexual—front and center in everything she did. Sophia didn’t know if it was because of or despite that attitude that she and Gina had become such good friends.
Giving in to the multitude of frustrations that’d been her day, she threw herself on the tapestry couch and pulled a pillow comfortingly against her chest.
“I’m saying just date the guy. Have a good time. Enjoy life. Maybe get a little.”
Sophia rolled her eyes as if the idea of getting a little, or a lot, with Max didn’t make her thighs melt. Even if he hadn’t been brother-approved—which would only give Rico all sorts of pro-interfering ideas—he had too much in common with Joseph. Rich, bossy, charming. Three strikes.
“He’s a soldier, isn’t he?” Gina asked in a suggestive tone.
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Sophia gave in to the lure of comfort and kicked off her heels, tucking her feet up. “I’m not checking the size of his weapon.”
“Ha ha. What I’m saying is he’s home now on leave, right? That means he’s only here for a little while. Temporarily.”
Sophia wasn’t so tired she didn’t immediately get Gina’s point. Temporary.
Could she put up with Max’s bossiness in exchange for his sexy company if she knew their time together was limited?
Or was that just an excuse to let herself visualize them naked together. His body hard and strong, poised over hers while she trailed one hand over his shoulders and the other down the flat planes of his six-pack.
Naked was good. Finding out what all the fuss about sex was would be even better. But Max St. James? That man was purely bad news for a woman searching for independence.
“Just think about it,” Gina ordered. “I’m going to clean the showroom, then head home. I’ll check the locks on my way out, though.”
Sophia waved her friend away and gave herself another minute to pout.
Then, calling herself a whiner, she rose and went to her computer. She moved her mouse and clicked, pulling up her goal board. Yes, a fabulous and gratifying sexual relationship was typed right there in its purple box. Right next to the box labeled vacation in Greece and the one marked meet Wayne Dyer. All of them were in the uncontrollable column. Dreams, wishes, someday possibilities. The only three purple boxes on a goal board filled with yellow boxes. Yellow boxes were career, business, security. Yellow boxes were things she could control. Purple boxes were things she had no control over.
She sighed, dropping her head against the cushioned leather back of her chair.
So what did she focus on here? Control? Or a man who not only made her forget all of her lessons, but was so bossy he made her brothers look like pushovers?
Nope. There was no choice to make. And since her body was used to being denied pleasure, it shouldn’t be too difficult to forgo the promise of passion. It was just a matter of control.
Besides, there was no way he was as good as she was imagining.
“HOME SO SOON, MAXIMILIAN?”
“What? No brass band and confetti?” Max returned, stepping around the chilly disapproval of his mother’s question at the same time he stepped across the threshold into the world according to St. James.
He handed his duffel bag over to Sterling, the St. James’s butler, and returned the man’s welcoming smile. He swept his gaze over the opulent foyer, noting that it looked exactly the same as it had a year ago when he’d shipped out. The same as it had ten years ago when he’d graduated high school. The same as it probably had almost three decades ago when his nanny had brought him home from the hospital.
Some things never changed. Speaking of which, he took a deep breath and turned to face the woman standing in the arched dining room doorway.
“Hello, Mother. You look wonderful.”
“Do I? It must be the evening light. If you’d bothered to come home directly from the airport, you’d have easily seen all of my worry lines.” She didn’t step toward him, but did lift her chin so he could kiss her smooth cheek.
“I had some things to take care of.” Things that apparently didn’t want to be taken care of. Max told himself he’d be crazy to let himself get hurt because he’d been brushed off by a woman he’d only known a few hours. “But I’m home now and you can stop worrying. I’ll take care of everything.”
“I didn’t say I needed anything taken care of, Maximilian. I’m handling my life just fine. I just wish I heard from you more often, even if you only bother to come home once a year.”
And yet, it felt as if he’d never left. Max wanted to do an about-face and march right back out the door, then he looked more closely at his mother. She’d aged since he’d last seen her. Tabby St. James’s blond hair was still a smooth fall to her chin. As usual, her evening suit was Chanel, her perfume the same and the pearls at her throat and ears heirloom. But there was worry in her dark eyes, a hint of fear and relief as she did a visual inventory. As if she couldn’t trust his, or the Army’s, assurance that he’d been fine overseas.
It was that look that extinguished Max’s ire. She might be the queen of guilt trips, but she did love him. In her way. Since she’d think a hug forward and inappropriate, he laid his hand on her shoulder and gave a light squeeze.
“I had an obligation to attend to,” he said, wincing at both the side step and at terming the delicious time he’d spent with Sophia as an obligation. But from the look on her face when he’d left, he was pretty sure she’d use the same term. Or worse. “My cell phone was dead or I’d have called to let you know.”
“Well, no matter now.” Tabby fluttered her hands in a way that some might take as dismissing the issue, but Max knew it meant she was only shifting it aside for later. “Let’s eat before dinner is cold.”
And God forbid Tabitha St. James serve anything that was less than perfect. Her dinner rules were etched in granite.
He followed his mother’s elegant steps into the dining room, offering the man seated at the head of the table a nod of greeting.
Max took
his seat, noting the familiar gleam of his mother’s best crystal and china. The food served might change, but the tradition remained the same. He knew the table had been set and waiting since that morning, ready for whenever he arrived. Formality was the rule of thumb for the first meal home. It had been the same when his father was alive.
Max waited until the gazpacho was served before greeting his uncle, the four-star general.
“Sir.”
“Sergeant. Eat up, then you can tell me all about your latest adventures.”
Yet another tradition. Ever since his father had died nine years back, when the General visited, he sat at the head of the table, taking charge. The man directed the meal like a military campaign. Everyone had a role, with him in charge.
Something Max wouldn’t question in the field. But here at his mother’s table? He didn’t mind stirring things up a little here.
“Not many adventures to share, sir,” Max told him, since the ones he knew the General wanted to hear would only give his mom more of those worry lines she liked to complain about.
For the next few minutes, Max shared an upbeat version of his current tour, downplaying the dangers and focusing on the friends and time he spent on base instead of in the field.
“Don’t you think it’s about time you transfer to a higher profile outfit?” his uncle asked. “I’ve got connections, some pull with certain people. You can start working your way into a more politically strategic position.”
“I prefer to stay with my current assignment, sir. I want to be on the front line doing what I was trained to do. I’m making a difference.” Max looked at his soup instead of into his uncle’s steely gray eyes and admitted, “What I’m doing matters. One day we save a kid, another a village. The war is ugly. I feel like I’m doing my part to keep it from getting any uglier.”
The General leaned back so Sterling could replace his soup with salad, waiting until all the plates had been served before shaking his head.
Uniformly Hot! Volume 1 from Harlequin: Letters from HomeBreaking the RulesComing Up for Air Page 20