Oh, yeah. He was definitely amazing.
Ten minutes later, sated and starving, Sophia wrapped herself in one of the blankets they’d kicked to the floor and headed for the kitchen.
“Toast, dry cereal or toaster waffles?” she asked as she skirted around the short counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the apartment.
“Breakfast of Champions,” he teased.
Her shoulders tightened and her stomach tightened. Self-doubts she’d worked hard to overcome suddenly wagged their judging fingers. She should have good food to offer a guest. She should have man food. She should know how to cook it, or at least have thought to get up and have it delivered.
An apology on her lips, Sophia glanced back at Max, who hadn’t bothered with a blanket, but lounged on the bed, half sitting with his arms behind his head and with a look of total satisfaction on his face.
That was not a man who was looking for an apology. Unable to help herself, she grabbed her camera off the counter and snapped a picture before Max could react.
“I also have fat-free yogurt, a spotty banana and some leftover chocolate cake,” she offered with a grin.
He gave a good-natured grimace.
“Sweetheart, I spent the past year on MREs—meals ready-to-eat. I’m not picky. If you want a fancy breakfast, we can get dressed and I’ll take you out,” he offered. “Or we can stay naked and lick toast crumbs off each other. Totally your call.”
She wordlessly dropped bread in the toaster. Then, feeling adventurous—who wouldn’t after eight, count ’em, baby, orgasms and a whole new understanding of the number sixty-nine—she scooped yogurt into two bowls and sliced the banana over them. She opened the cupboard and pulled out a can of almonds and sprinkled a few over the bananas.
“This’d probably be better if I’d chopped the almonds,” she told Max as she loaded the bowls and toasted bread onto the tray she usually ate dinner on. “But I don’t have a sharp knife.”
He shifted so she could set the tray in the middle of the bed. “Can I ask a personal question?” he asked around a mouthful of toast.
“You had me bent over the bathroom sink last night,” Sophia teased, spooning up some yogurt. “I think we’re way beyond personal, don’t you think?”
“Why do you live so spartanly? You have a low-end apartment furnished with less than most college kids move out with, and a ten-year-old car.”
Her teasing smile fell away. Sophia looked around the apartment. It wasn’t as luxurious as the estate in which she’d spent her married life, or as comfortable as the home she’d grown up in. But it was hers. Her very first place of her own.
“I like it here,” she said, her tone a little defensive.
He just arched a brow.
“And it’s all I can afford,” she admitted. There was no shame in being poor, Sophia knew. She’d grown up borderline poor. The cantina and raising seven kids had gobbled up every penny her father made.
“I thought Castillo was pretty well off,” Max asked with a frown. “And the gallery isn’t chump change.”
He winced after he’d asked, as if he was a little worried he’d stepped over a line. Sophia considered that for a second. He’d seen her naked. He’d had her every way there was, at least in her limited knowledge, to have a body. He’d held her after the nightmare that was supposed to be a showing at the gallery. And he’d let her call all the shots the previous night, from talking to the cops to handling the help to who cleaned up what. He understood her enough to know she needed that. A man had to really, really care to understand a woman that well.
Nope. No lines between them.
“Joseph’s daughter contested the will. She’s laid claim to everything except the gallery, which is in my name outright.”
“And you let her?” he asked incredulously.
Maybe there were lines after all. Sophia lifted her chin and tightened the blanket, suddenly very aware and very irritated by her nakedness.
“It’s not so much a matter of letting her as not being able to stop her.”
He frowned, sliding from the bed to tug on his jeans, commando-style, and carried the tray across to the kitchen counter. Her mouth drooled. She’d just seen him in his full glory and the sight of the man in unzipped jeans and a bare chest made her wish she knew what really kinky sex was so she could do it to him.
It took her a few seconds to realize he’d returned to the side of the bed and was staring at her, one brow raised and a questioning look on his face.
“I take it you don’t get along with your stepdaughter?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“Did you ever consider that she might be the one behind all of your problems?”
Sophia rolled her eyes. “Are you trying to piss me off?”
Max stared for a second, then nodded. “Of course you’ve considered it.”
“Lynn is an indulged, selfish, spoiled brat with major entitlement issues. But she’s also very confident that she’ll win the lawsuit. Why would she bother to mess with the gallery?”
“Maybe to hurt you?”
Sophia shrugged. “Lynn wouldn’t think twice about trying to hurt me. And ruin the gallery? She’d love nothing more.”
“Have you told the police?”
“The police. My lawyer. Gina,” Sophia confirmed. “But suspecting, even wanting, it to be her doesn’t make it fact. As far as I know, as anyone knows, she hasn’t done anything.”
“This is why you should have hired the P.I.’s,” Max murmured.
Sophia clenched her jaw. Then Max smoothed his hand along her shoulder. Down her arm, then back up, so his fingers brushed the insides of her breast where the sheet didn’t cover them.
Irritation at his suggestion melted under the onslaught of lust. She sighed.
“I can’t afford to hire an investigator,” she admitted. “Maybe, if last night’s show had done well, I could have considered it. But now? It’s out of the question.”
She tensed a little, waiting for him to offer money or some other humiliating resolution to her woes. She couldn’t accept, and he’d argue and push, then they’d fight. Then everything would be ruined. She had to force herself not to climb off the bed and prepare to stand her ground.
“Have you considered a compromise?” he asked absently, his eyes focused on her body and the amount of skin he was systematically revealing with his sneaky fingers.
That wasn’t an offer. Nor was it pushy. She blinked a couple of times, trying to figure out what he was up to.
But she couldn’t think when he was touching her like that.
“Huh?” she asked, barely following his words now that the sheet had been teased aside to expose one breast. He was barely touching her, his finger a whisper. But his eyes caressed, enticed. Wet heat pooled between her legs and she swallowed hard.
“Compromise,” he said, leaning forward to blow gently, making her nipple pucker in response. “You want the gallery to focus on photographs. The kink drew a big audience and made money. Show erotic photos.”
“Like von Schilling’s?” she murmured, her breath coming in short little pants.
“The guy sounded like he really wanted to show here,” Max pointed out. He flicked her nipple with his tongue, making desire spear through her body like lightning.
“No,” she said, lying back and drawing him with her. She held his head to her breast, loving the feeling of his mouth working her nipple. She wrapped one leg around his thigh, the abrasive feel of denim against her swollen bud making her whimper. “That’d be a step backward.”
Max skimmed his hand beneath the sheet, teasing little trails of fire everywhere he touched. His fingers dipped into her wet heat, soothing and enticing with each stroke.
He shifted his weight, sucking her other nipple through the sheet, the wet fabric adding another layer of delight. Then he slid down, his breath sending shivers through her as he skimmed his tongue along her torso and belly.
“Compromise, sweethea
rt. Sometimes you gotta pull out a little before you drive it home,” he said before he settled between her legs and took her into his mouth and exploded all thoughts of the gallery into tiny pieces.
“I STILL THINK YOU SHOULD call von Schilling,” Max advised for the hundredth time as he pulled into his mother’s driveway.
He and Sophia had spent the past week together, in and out of bed. The in-bed Sophia was great. She was amazing. Sweet, sexy and adventurous. The out-of-bed woman was a little more challenging. She was smart, sexy and adventurous there, too. But unlike in bed, she wasn’t willing to let him be on top.
Ever.
It was enough to give a guy a complex.
The only thing—besides the incredible sex—keeping his ego propped up was playing secret investigator when Sophia wasn’t paying attention. He hadn’t found anything, but he was pretty sure he’d tapped the vandal. He hadn’t made the guy’s face, but that motorcycle had been back three times, its license plate covered in mud. He’d slow down, notice Max, then speed off.
“And I think we should have a naked lunch at my apartment,” Sophia decided after a quick glance at the fancy-ass Nob Hill property. Max wasn’t sure, but he thought she gave a little shudder. Probably she wasn’t comfy with the snobby upper crust. He could relate.
“How about naked dessert?” he compromised, offering his most charming smile. His ego, among other things, swelled a little when she got that dazed do-me look in her eyes.
“I can’t do naked dessert if lunch gives me a nervous stomach,” Sophia warned, her smile a little shaky. “I shouldn’t have taken the afternoon off, anyway. The gallery needs me.”
“I need you,” Max said as he reached over and took her hand, lifting it to his mouth and brushing a kiss over her softly scented, silky skin. “And I already told you, pull in von Schilling, a couple other photographers that specialize in sexy and do a show. Voilà, all your problems are solved.”
When she tugged her hands from his and offered an impatient roll of her pretty blue eyes, Max briefly wished he were back in Afghanistan where people actually obeyed his orders without question or argument.
“I told you, it’s in the gallery’s best interest that I stick with the plan,” she said for the hundredth time. What she’d never explained, though, was why it was in the gallery’s best interest. “Now change the subject, please and tell me why I have to have lunch with you.”
“You’re here to protect me,” he said, only partially teasing.
“I’m here to protect the big bad bomb defuser from his mama?”
Max grinned, flicking off the engine and leaning over to give her a kiss. “Exactly.”
Her smile faded as fast as it came. He recognized the look on her face when she glanced at the house. Dread.
“What’s wrong? You lived in similar overblown luxury when you were married, right?” he teased, wanting—needing—to put her at ease. After all, things would be tense enough inside. No point in her being all stressed out before the soup course.
“I did, but as I was often reminded, I never quite fit in,” she said with a one-shouldered shrug and a half smile.
Not for the first time, Max wished her ex-husband had lived long enough for her to divorce him. Then he’d still be around to get his sorry ass kicked like he deserved. Over the course of the past week, Sophia had told him enough—and not told him even more—to let him know that the old guy had been a first-class jerk, emotionally abusive and totally unappreciative.
When he’d asked Sophia why she’d married him, she’d given this sad sort of smile and said he was her Prince Charming.
Whatever the hell that meant.
“I probably should have warned you,” he started. “My family is…difficult.”
“I have six overprotective brothers and a hardheaded father. You don’t think I can handle this?” she asked, one brow arched. The look in her beautiful blue eyes was both confident and vulnerable.
Max didn’t know how to answer. He wasn’t even sure he could handle this. But it was the only way to stem the flow of his mother’s nagging him to date Tabby-approved women. Under normal circumstances, his mother was interfering and pushy, but she still loved her son and wanted him to be happy. Lately, though, she’d been antsy and snappy. She was obsessed with her historical society vendetta against that building.
He glanced at the wide doors and had his hand on the ignition key before he realized it.
“Running away?” Sophia asked. Her words were teasing, but her look was hopeful.
He really wanted to.
But years of training, from both the military and his family—not that there was really much difference—came to the forefront. Max sighed, then offered her a smile as he pulled the keys from the steering column and opened the driver’s door.
He was around the car and opening Sophia’s door before she’d gathered her purse.
“Remember this morning?” he asked as she took his hand to exit the car.
An appealing blush washed her cheeks and she gave him a questioning glance. “You mean this morning on my desk?”
“Exactly.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his and held it there, as much to force himself up the stairs as to keep her from running. “If you stick it out through this meal, I promise that again for dessert.”
Her eyes glowed with wicked amusement and her mouth made an oh. Before she could respond, though, Sterling opened the door.
“Sergeant,” the butler greeted.
Max greeted the older man with a smile, noting the questioning look Sophia slanted his way. He probably should have warned her that while it looked like a home, in reality they were eating at a very fancy, very upscale military base.
He could only hope the brass skipped this particular meal.
“Your mother and uncle are entertaining the rest of the guests in the parlor,” Sterling instructed.
So much for that wish. God, he hoped his mother and uncle didn’t act like snobs with Sophia. They were so obsessed with status and connections, sometimes they could come off as…well, as assholes if they didn’t think someone measured up.
As usual, though, Max kept his feelings to himself and, taking Sophia’s hand in his, drew her down the hallway.
Thirty minutes later, they all sat down to eat. Max assured himself that the afternoon wasn’t any different than approaching a live bomb with a civilian to protect.
He was courageous, skilled and unwavering in his determination to defuse the potential explosion.
Which meant they had an eighty-percent chance of survival.
“I’m sorry the Gaskins and the Lorimars couldn’t stay to eat,” Tabby said as she took her seat and waved a hand at Sterling to begin serving. “They are off to the Museum of Modern Art for the afternoon. I think it’d be fun to join them at the ballet this evening, though, don’t you?”
“Waste of time,” the General muttered as he stabbed a forkful of the salad that’d just been set in front of him. “Ballet is second only to opera in things I’d rather be shot than do.”
Silently echoing an agreement, Max noticed Sophia pressing her lips together to keep from smiling.
“But you like art, right, General?” Max prodded. He figured the old man could be an ally in his campaign to save Sophia’s business. If Max played it right, the General would do all the convincing he, himself, hadn’t been able to.
“Some art can be good.”
“Photography?”
“Pictures are better than that crap they call art. Twisted metal, splashes of paint on a wall. Who comes up with that crap?”
Sophia had said very little all afternoon, mostly smiling, nodding and staying unobtrusive. He saw her fingers twitch a few times, though. The same way they often did right before she grabbed a camera. He wondered if it was artistic curiosity or simply a defense mechanism.
“Weren’t you and Dad pretty tight with a photographer once upon a time?” Max asked his mom. He knew the answer already, but the game had to b
e played the right way if he was going to win.
“No,” Tabby snapped. Everyone stopped eating to stare. Max frowned as a hint of color seeped into his mother’s face, but before he could figure out what’d bothered her, the General cleared his throat.
“Marshall and I knew one,” he offered, frowning at the past as if he were trying to gather the memory together. “Not sure if Tabby here ever met him, though. Van something.”
Max’s mother opened her mouth as if to correct her brother-in-law, then closed it and viciously stabbed a piece of arugula. Sophia frowned, giving Max an arch look. Confused by the undercurrents, but still undaunted, he sipped his lemon water and smiled.
“Right,” Max said. “I remember Dad buying a few of his photos. Aren’t they hanging in the library or something?”
Max wasn’t sure why his mother was glaring at her plate. Sophia’s glare was easy to understand, though. And it didn’t bode well for his naked dessert plans.
Maybe it was time to change the subject. Before he could, though, his uncle leaned back from his empty plate so it could be cleared and tapped his fingers on the table.
“If I recall, he was pretty damn famous,” the General mused. “Eccentric, too. Those artist types always are. He sold pictures all over the world, traveled more than I did in my first tour of duty, and refused to show at any place except this obscure little hole in the wall here in the city. I went to a few shows with Marshall. He was a…what do you call it, Tabby? Patron or something.”
Sophia’s frown had faded. She smiled her thanks when Sterling cleared her plate and asked, “He didn’t show anywhere else? I’d think with that level of fame, he could command top showings anywhere in the country.”
“Right, he could,” the General agreed, his gaze fixed on his plate as he carved into his steak. “He had a thing with the owner. Signed a lifelong exclusive.”
“Lifelong?” Sophia asked. “Doesn’t that mean as long as the owner has the gallery?”
“Nah. As long as the picture place is still at that location.” The General laughed, shaking his head. “Guy must’ve signed that contract in the seventies. All that free love and freer dope got to him, if you ask me. Nothing a stint in the service wouldn’t have fixed. But he never served.”
Uniformly Hot! Volume 1 from Harlequin: Letters from HomeBreaking the RulesComing Up for Air Page 27