The words had fallen from her lips before she had a second to think. “Uh-huh…”
“Good. I like that.” A wicked grin emerged on his lips, and he leaned just a little closer. “Thought you were leaving earlier?”
“Just wanted to see…the view…”
“And what a stunning one it is…” he mused, his eyes following her slowly from head to toe. If she were sober and not so scared of him at that moment, Maxine might have thought that he was actually flirting. “So where are you from?”
“A...s-small town—right outside Pittsburgh,” she managed. She had to gather her thoughts. She couldn't stutter her way through an entire conversation with this man all night. Already, she could sense that he was the type who would remind her of her jitters later, and Maxine certainly didn't want this silly evening to haunt her at work.
“What brought you to the big city?” he questioned her.
Purposefully, she stopped herself before she answered him and took in a deep breath. “I’ve always been in love with New York,” she explained, thoughtfully choosing her words. “The theater…the vibrancy…the never ending sense that there’s always something to do or someone to see…”
“Quite a culture shock for a small-town girl, isn’t it?” he asked, his tone softening a bit.
“I’ve been visiting for well over a decade,” she continued and flashed him a weak smile. “I knew what I was getting into.”
“You sure about that?” Now his eyes were teasing. “There’s always some element of surprise living here.”
“You grew up here?” she asked, knowing he had. She could recite his entire Wikipedia entry, which didn't say much about his personal life other than he was born and raised in Manhattan to an exceedingly wealthy family of Scotch-Irish immigrants. His ancestors built their fortune as early merchants in New York and went on to create one of the longest-standing, upscale department store chains in the United States.
One significant detail that the press always glossed over was the fact that he’d been kidnapped as an infant, then returned to his parents when he was six. Not much mention had ever been made of his early childhood. Drew and his family kept a tight lock on all discussions of those missing years of his life. However, Maxine imagined that he bore the brunt of the experience and carried it with him to that very day.
Perhaps that was part of what fueled Maxine's fascination with him—that enigmatic persona that he'd exhibited to the public, giving just enough of himself without revealing all. Perhaps, too, it was the fact that in her own hurt and turmoil, she felt oddly akin to him. She felt sorry for Drew for the hurt he suffered, but he inspired her all the same. He was one of the lucky few abducted children to be found. With his second chance at life, he gave back tenfold. He volunteered much of his free time in assisting his mother with her foundation that supported families of other missing children with funds to assist in their investigations.
Behind the scenes, which no one but those in his immediate family knew, Drew also spent time working with kids who had also been returned to their families. He spent his own time and money to fly wherever he needed to go to offer some comfort in their struggles to return to normalcy. Through his work, he hoped to find a sense of peace, but nearly thirty years couldn't erase the nightmares that continued to haunt him each and every day. To the world, he flashed that famous Drew McKenzie smile…in private, his soul continued to bleed.
Even in the dim light, she thought she caught him wince, and he seemed a little too cautious about what he might reveal to her. He was decidedly a man who enjoyed being in complete control.
“I did,” he said so very simply. “The city is under my skin an in my blood. And just like everyone else, I bitch and complain…but I couldn’t live anywhere else.”
All the while, as they carried on with an air of civility, Maxine couldn't ignore those burgeoning feelings—those sensations—that seemed to set her senses fluttering. The intake of his breath and the gentle patter of his voice soothed her. That fresh scent of him, bathed in Clive Christian cologne, tickled her nose, intoxicating her with a blend of citrus and spice—even though she didn't know Clive Christian from Christian Slater. While he stood so close, he managed to refrain from touching her—even with the slightest of movements—and she tingled…shocked by her ache for his caress.
Maxine couldn't even recall their conversation as it was happening. Drew had managed to send her off to some surreal spot from which she really wasn't too keen to return. Although she attempted to remind herself that she wasn't the only woman he'd engaged with that evening, she enjoyed this stilted repartee between them.
As they stood alone together against the backdrop of Manhattan's brilliance, it remained questionable whether he would even remember her in the morning, and she knew the chances were slim to none. However, she decided to indulge in these unexpected seconds of undivided attention in which he indulged her fully.
“So, she’s a transplant from Pittsburgh, and now she’s living on the posh Upper East Side,” he said. “Aside from going to the theater, what does Maxine like to do with her spare time?”
There was something about his use of the third person that accentuated this—dare she think it—arousal.
But she played right into his hand. “Maxine loves to get lost in museums,” she began. “Her mother was an art major, and her father is a master craftsman.”
“Favorite era?” he pressed her, that wicked smile tasking her once again.
“Impressionism,” she said rather flatly. “However, I can also appreciate the modern works of Rockwell…Hopper…”
Lobbing his head from side to side, Drew shrugged. “A little boring…for my tastes…”
“Keith Haring?”
His brows raised as his eyes widened. Drew was now amused. “Now we’re talking,” he said with an air of commendation. “How about Banksy?”
Maxine blushed and giggled, feeling the long-lasting effects of that damn champagne. Now he was playing a game to attempt to stump her. “I love Banksy.”
“Good,” he nodded. “He’s one of my favorites.”
“I’ll…” she whispered “…make note of that…”
Releasing his hands from the bannister, he took a step back but then dared to reach out and stroke the backs of his fingers to her cheek. Maxine was certain that he could feel the heat rising from her skin, but she chuckled softly over the tickle of his touch. Again, he seemed to be surveying her, interviewing her for the next round of she knew not what.
“You have all the basics down,” he began. “Smart, well-rounded. Pretty…”
“Pretty?” she nearly choked. No one—aside from her parents and Ben—ever complimented her in such a way.
“Are you arguing with me?” he inquired with an air of displeasure.
Hold it together here, Maxine, she coached herself. “It’s in the eye of the beholder, I suppose.”
“We can discuss that a little later…” he said, just as Maxine felt one huge drop of rain plunk down upon her, right in the middle of her forehead, as she looked up into Drew’s eyes.
Just her damn luck, the rain poured forth from the sky!
“Um…I think it’s time to…”
Lunging forward and surreptitiously slipping his arms around her waist, he pulled her close to him. Maxine didn't have time to think—to react—to his quick and sleek move. All the while, she reveled in the slight knock of his knees, the strength of his thighs, the feel of his chest pressed against hers…
“It’s time to kiss you, Maxine…”
Just before she closed her eyes, she could see those waiting, open lips ready to claim hers as his head dipped and descended. As his arduous kiss claimed her, manipulating her puckered lips in a sweeping caress, the rain pelleted from the sky, drenching them both with stinging drops. She could feel his hands crawling slowly up her back, urging her forward while she stood on her tip-toes to feather her fingers into the thick curls of his hair. Oh, those curls—she’d only fanta
sized for what seemed forever about playing with those wavy locks. That certainly wasn't something she'd had an inkling to do that evening. But Drew didn't need to know the silly truth behind her actions.
He was so tall that Maxine could barely reach his neck, but his arms wrapped tighter around her and prompted a squeal against his lips as he lifted her from the ground.
There were kisses…and there were kisses…and after that intense lip-lock with Drew, Maxine was certain that she never wanted to kiss anyone else ever again.
“Kisses…” she cooed when he’d released her, settling her delicately upon the ground. How she managed to stand in those heels at that point was simply a miracle as far as Maxine was concerned.
“Kisses…” he repeated.
“Raining…” she sighed.
“You don’t seem to mind,” he observed, watching the wide drops bead upon her face, blotching her make-up. “And neither do I…”
“I need to…”
“Need to what, darling?” he asked.
“Home,” she said suddenly and pointed toward the sliding glass doors. Looking at him, now drenched, she sobered a bit and had to resist her desire to run her fingers through those wet blond ringlets one last time. It might be her very last chance. “Need to go home…”
“You want to go home?” his voice gentled as his fingers delicately wiped the raindrops away from her forehead and brushed her bangs aside. “Well, you’re not about to play Cinderella with me here again. I can take you…”
“Uh…roommate…” Oh, she was back to flubbing her lines again! Why did just the mere sight of him turn her brains to jelly? She just couldn’t concentrate.
“She’s probably sleeping…”
“He…” Maxine corrected him.
“Oh…” Taking his hands away, he stepped back and glowered at that curveball she’d just pitched his way. “Well, then…he’s probably sleeping…”
“He’s…gay…”
“Maxine…?”
“Yes…Drew?” His name didn’t fall easily from her tongue. She felt that she should still be calling him “Mr. McKenzie.”
“Let’s get your coat—I’m taking you home.”
Chapter Four
Maxine was never one to dwell upon sexual fantasies. However, as she and Drew meandered through the two-story lobby of the SoHo Grand—with its industrial fixtures and steel staircase blended with traditional touches of antique chandeliers and velvet draperies—she suddenly began to ponder the possibilities of a little petting in the back seat of the cab that they were waiting to hail.
At that moment, Maxine began to wonder what the hell was happening to her. Hanging out with Drew McKenzie—on a Friday night, of all times—brought its own sense of hilarity to her otherwise dull little world. He had to have something better to do than spend an evening with a so-called “newbie” in the middle of a rainstorm. Likely, he just felt sorry for her and wanted to assuage her chagrin from their horrendous introduction.
But then again…there was the matter of that smoldering kiss that kindled her longing, even under a heavy waterfall like the one that befell the city that night.
Those naughty, racing desires, though, were suddenly dashed as Jillian stepped out of the elevator. For the last twenty minutes, Maxine had been praying that she could just slip out and away with Drew without notice. She’d even texted Jillian to say that she was sneaking out early. That was just so unlike Maxine. Karma clearly had a damn good reason to bite her on the ass that night. Maxine couldn’t escape folly.
That had to be the final straw—unfathomable and unforgivable. As much as Jillian liked Maxine, she still had to maintain some sense of professionalism as her direct supervisor. Certainly, she’d return to Jeffrey and insist that they rescind their offer to Maxine since she was—rather obviously—fraternizing with the agency’s clientele.
“Hey guys…” Jillian called out in her approach. Maxine was certain there was an air of dismay in her tone. Then, as she leaned in toward Maxine, she lowered her voice. “He's not the dog he appeared to be upstairs. I trust him to get you home safely. Have some fun…”
“Jill, would you like to share a cab with us?” Drew asked, oblivious to their conversation, or so Maxine hoped.
“Heading to Brooklyn,” she explained. “But thank you…”
“Cut our place in line,” Drew suggested. “We seem to be next—and last—here.”
“Aw, Drew, I can’t do that…”
“Go…” he insisted. That man just loved to tell people what to do! “There’s one now. And have a good weekend…”
“Well…” Jillian hesitated for a moment, looking out into the pouring rain. “Thank you, Drew. And you both have a splendid weekend—Max, I’ll be in touch next week!”
“That was a lovely gesture,” Maxine noted as Jillian headed out and into the storm with the bellman leading the way. Thunder boomed, and lightening danced all about the façade of the hotel. It was a rather wild night of weather.
“She’s by herself tonight,” Drew said. “Didn’t want her to have to wait around here alone…”
“Jillian’s a good person…” Maxine smiled up at him but laughed to herself. Fantasies forgotten for a moment, she mused over her range of emotions that evening. This sense of calm snuck up on her rather suddenly, just as her new boss did moments before. Drew certainly had a way of manipulating her. Oh, if he only knew…
“And a damn good publicist,” he added. “You’ll learn everything you need to know from her.”
“Looks like our ride is here…” she observed as a taxi pulled up in front of the hotel right beneath the awning, letting one couple out as they waited to make their own mad dash for the car.
“Why did I give my driver the night off? Damn…” he muttered, pulling her close. Maxine still wore Drew’s sopping wet jacket, while she carried her own. There was no point in putting on dry clothes, only to get soaked again.
Lucky for them, the bellman led them into the downpour with a huge umbrella that rivaled that of the Morton’s Salt Girl. As he shielded them from the rain while they climbed into the backseat, Maxine thought for certain she saw Drew slip the young man a fifty dollar bill for his gallant efforts in the rain.
Before she could even settle herself, though, Drew reached over and around her. “What are…?”
Looking up from his task at hand, he said, “Don’t ever question my intentions, Maxine.”
Pouting like a scolded child, she watched as he carefully fit the seatbelt buckle together, tightening it just enough. Sitting back, he smiled, almost as if he were surveying his work.
“Nice…” he whispered.
Maxine thought that an odd word choice for a seatbelt, but she let it go when the driver asked for her address. Calling out the cross streets, she wondered if, perhaps, she should exhibit some fear here. After all, Drew was a complete stranger, and she just decided that it was perfectly fine for him to escort her home. On the surface, he oozed chivalry…yet there was this other obscure, if not slightly ominous, side to his personality that simply enticed her further into his thrall.
“You’re all wet,” he said suddenly, as if she didn’t know. “And cold. We’ll have to do something about that.”
Now…? she wondered and hoped she hadn't said it out loud. Her thoughts seemed to echo within her head since she tripped over him earlier. However, he had her pondering the possibilities of that backseat again…
If Judy were alive, she would have reminded Maxine that caution was of the utmost importance and that her career came before all men. Ben would encourage her to move forward, full-steam ahead. And her father would just kill Drew.
“You’re awfully quiet, Maxine,” he perceived. “Must have a lot on your mind this evening…or you’re just exceedingly shy…”
An underlying, taunting tone resonated through his words.
“It’s just…”
“You can’t even think, can you, little one?” he teased her with a smile.
Shaking her head in resignation, she finally admitted, “No…I can’t…”
“Good—leave that to me.”
All the while, as the cab raced along FDR Drive, nearly hydroplaning in the downpour, Maxine waited with impatience for Drew to make his next move. However, he sat beside her—quietly ignoring her—and stared out the window toward the diminutive skyline of Queens. Now she wanted to know what thoughts rolled through his mind.
Veering off the exit at East Sixty-First Street, Maxine felt the pull of her seatbelt, low upon her hips and biting into the bone a bit. All the while, the rush of an electric current lingered between them. Even in this silence, there was an element of magnetism that made her feel uncomfortable. She simply didn't know what to do with these burgeoning feelings. Of course, she'd been attracted to him for years, but now, after having kissed him, the floodgates to her suppressed sexuality opened.
If he only knew about that little flutter in her tummy each time she dared to glance his way—or that little twitch between her legs that made it extremely impossible to sit still, even while strapped in—he’d likely hop out of that cab and run for his dear life!
Oh, this was just insane—this…this…she knew not what! With the state into which she'd fallen, literally and figuratively, she couldn't even express her arousal. Matters worsened when he stretched out ever so casually, brushing his knee against her. That move—even in Maxine's somewhat green assessment—was no accident.
“Are we there yet?” he finally broke the silence as the driver headed down her block.
“Almost…” she whispered.
Taking her hand in his, he brought it to his lips but didn't kiss those delicate fingers. “I know, Maxine,” he said. “My parents don’t live far from here. I was kidding…”
For all she knew, his parents owned the entire block, but he’d smacked her down again. What a peculiar, yet so very alluring, man that Drew McKenzie was turning out to be.
“Right here…” he said, directing the driver to the curb in front of the tumbledown townhouse. Immediately, Maxine felt she needed to step in and explain.
WEAKENED: The Manhattan Bound Series Book One Page 6