One last thrust and he stilled deep inside her, the base of his cock pulsating against her as he released.
“Damn,” both said simultaneously, then laughed at their similar response.
Damn was right.
He slid to her side and gathered her in his arms.
With the glow of the lowering sun and the afterglow of great sex, Amanda let out a long, contented sigh and stretched like a cat from fingertip to toe. She was full—from dinner and from Max. Her appetizer and her dessert.
Tonight was so different from the barn. They were like two different people. No anger. No frustration. They were relaxed and not arguing. It was weird. They were like oil and water, and Amanda was waiting for the other hunting boot to drop.
* * * *
Max opened the bathroom door to see Amanda practically hidden in his bed. He fought the urge to climb back in bed with her and bury himself deep in her once again. He wanted to make her mew and whimper as he had done earlier. But—
He shook his head, clearing his thoughts.
He carried her now dry running clothes in his arms. He dumped them at the foot of the bed.
“Your clothes are dry enough to put on now.”
Amanda ignored him, snuggling deeper with a sigh.
“Amanda.”
A muffled “what?” came from beneath the sheets.
“What do you mean, what? It’s getting late.”
Amanda pulled the sheet back and shifted herself up. She looked at the digital clock on the nightstand. “It’s only eight o’clock. Why don’t you just call your parents? I’m sure they won’t mind if Greg stayed overnight.”
“No.” There was no way he was calling his mother and telling her to keep Greg overnight. That was the last thing he needed. It was bad enough that Marc now had more fodder to torment him. That was unavoidable. But he did not need his mother knowing his personal business. And she certainly didn’t need to know that they were sleeping together. Which was what she’d assume if he asked them to keep Greg overnight.
Then she’d be asking questions. And pestering. About settling down. About marriage. About children. Max let out a mental groan. No, thanks.
“What do you mean no? No, you don’t want to burden your parents, or no, you don’t want me staying here overnight.”
Max realized that this might be a touchy subject. But there was no way to steer clear of it. No matter what he said, it was going to be misconstrued. Maybe he could just say nothing.
“We talked about this before.”
“So?”
“So? So my mother, that’s the so.”
As good as Amanda looked in his bed… It looked too right, too comfortable. Like she belonged there. His chest tightened. Max wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t ready for permanent. He wasn’t prepared for someone so young…no, not young, youthful. Youthful? Immature, naive, maybe. He scrubbed a hand over his short hair.
It might have been a mistake to bring her into his domain. To let her in. To let her in his home—his privacy, his personal space. Pain shot through his temple.
“I think you need to get dressed and we need to go pick up Greg.”
She rolled out of bed, snagged her clothes, and got dressed quickly. She flung open his bedroom door and took long strides out of the room.
“Seriously, you don’t want her picking out china patterns,” Max called after her, close on her heels. He came up short when he saw Marc standing in front of Amanda, his finger over his lips and a spare key swinging from his finger. Max forgot about the spare key. Damn.
“Marc, can you take me home?”
Marc’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. He looked like a deer caught in headlights. Quite possibly like the deer they had eaten earlier.
“No,” Max answered for him as he came up behind her. “I’ll take you home.”
“No. I don’t want to inconvenience you. Marc, will you take me home?”
Max gave his brother a dirty look, hoping that Marc would be smart enough not to get involved in the conflict between him and Amanda.
“Uh…”
“No. I will do it,” Max insisted, an edge to his voice.
Amanda glared at Max. “No, you won’t.” She turned toward Marc and gave him a pleading look. “Please?”
Marc glanced over her head to his brother. Max gave his head a slight shake.
“Uh, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
That’s his brother! He was getting the hint.
“I don’t care what you guys think is a good idea. Marc, you are taking me home. If you don’t, I’m going to walk.”
There was no way she was walking home. “You can’t—”
Marc pitched in. “It’s too far—”
“Amanda, it’s getting dark—”
“Watch me.” With a determined step she strode out the front door.
“Okay, okay! I’ll drive you home,” Marc called as he quickly followed behind her.
Max threw up his hands and sighed as he watched his brother hurry after Amanda. He stood in the doorway helplessly as they both got into Marc’s truck and left.
“Damn,” he whispered. His stubbornness had screwed things up royally. Once again.
He slammed the front door shut and leaned back against it, cursing himself.
Pushing himself off the door, Max began to pace back and forth. He had to make things right. He was mad that he couldn’t express himself the way he wanted to when he was with her. He didn’t know how to deal with it. He didn’t know if he could deal with it. But he didn’t want her to walk out of his life, either way.
He had to call her.
She had been out running earlier, so he knew she didn’t have her cell phone, plus Max wouldn’t want to have the conversation with her while she was still with Marc anyway. That would be inviting never-ending mocking from his brothers, both family and on the force.
So he dialed her house phone; he would just leave a message for now. As expected, the machine answered, but he hung up quickly. He had to think about what to say. He had to get it right the first time.
He dialed again. This time he let the machine get to the beep.
“’Manda. I’m sorry. I…” He hit the End button with a curse.
He dialed again. Beep. “Amanda, I know you’re angry.” Of course, she’s angry, you stupid ass. He cut the call off.
Beep. “Mandy, can you call me back? I need to talk to you.” He hung up again.
Fuck. He was such an ass.
* * * *
“We’ve got to stop at your parents’ house to pick up Greg,” Amanda said as they headed back toward town.
The surprised look that Marc gave her was his only answer.
They drove in uncomfortable silence to his parents. Amanda sat fuming in the truck while Marc ran in and got Greg. Amanda shifted over to the center of the bench seat to let her brother in.
Amanda couldn’t decide if she was more angry or hurt at Max’s remarks.
Marc made compulsory conversation with Greg on their way back to the Barber house. Once there, Greg slid out and ran to the porch, while Marc grabbed Amanda’s arm.
“Hold on.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t know what happened back there, but I know you are boiling mad.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“Yeah, well, I know my brother. He can be dumb sometimes. Hell, we all can. But I think he…feels something for you. I’ve never seen him act this way before. Never. I mean I’ve seen him date women and…well, you know. But he has never brought anyone back to his house. He has never invited anyone over to our parents’ before. I think he’s feeling scared…no, not scared…trapped? No!” Marc smacked the heel of his hand into his forehead. “I didn’t mean it like that. Can you get the drift on what I am trying to say?”
“And?”
“Well, I just wanted you to know.”
“So now I know. Thank you for the ride.”
Before she could shut the door, he said one more thi
ng.
“Oh, and by the way, he’s right. You don’t want Ma getting wind of anything because she will be picking out china patterns. If you think Max is stubborn, you don’t know my mother.”
Amanda watched Marc drive away before she let Greg into the house with the spare key she had hidden under the mat when she had gone running. She was sure Max wouldn’t like that idea. The officer in him would think it unsafe. Predictable. The spot an intruder would first look.
Who cared what Max would think?
“Can I’s have a snack?” Greg asked her eagerly.
“Sure.”
She followed her brother into the kitchen and poured him a glass of milk. She made him sit at the table, then dug out a container of her homemade brownies. She snapped off the lid and plopped the container in front of Greg, who within a matter of seconds sported a milk mustache.
When she turned away, she noticed the answering machine blinking. The number four flashed at her like a beacon. Who would leave four messages? Neither Carlos nor her mother had the house number. She tapped the Caller ID button on the machine as it scrolled through the last four callers.
Bryson, M.
Bryson, M.
Bryson, M.
Bryson, M.
Amanda located the button she was looking for.
Delete.
Delete.
Delete.
Delete.
She turned back to Greg and sank into the chair across from him. “Can I have a brownie?” Or two?
Chapter Fourteen
Mary Ann glanced over at Amanda, who was doing her best to ignore the insistent ringing of her cell phone in the background. When her cell phone wasn’t ringing, the house phone was.
“Sweetie, you aren’t going to answer that?”
“No, it’ll go to voice mail.” From the living room, the beep of the machine sounded. “Or the answering machine. See?”
With a slight shrug of her shoulders, Mary Ann pulled the cookbook closer. She laid a finger on the page. “This tells you to sift the flour first. Since you don’t have a sifter, this is what you do. Give me a cup of that flour.”
Amanda popped the lid off the Tupperware container and dipped the plastic measuring cup into the flour, creating a puff of white dust. She choked as she involuntarily inhaled some, the force of her cough causing an even greater cloud. She wrinkled her nose, trying not to sneeze.
She gladly handed the cup over to Mary Ann, who shook her head. Amusement twitched the older woman’s lips as she dumped the flour into a strainer. “Now I’ll just hold it over the bowl and tap it gently. You don’t want a cloud. That will shift the flour well enough—”
Her cell phone rang again.
Mary Ann dropped the makeshift sifter to plant her hands on her hips. “Amanda, how do you know that it’s not important? Someone must really want to talk to you.”
She was right. Amanda couldn’t put it off any longer. She was going to have to deal with the caller at some point. It might as well be now. She snatched up her cell from the kitchen table. “I’ll take it in the living room.”
Amanda braced herself as she went into the other room and answered. She didn’t need the caller ID to know who it was. “What?” Right now he didn’t even deserve the courtesy of a “hello.”
For a moment there was silence.
“Hey. Uh, I was surprised you answered.”
“Well, I figured I’d better before you killed my cell phone’s battery.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sure you know I’ve been trying to reach you by all the messages I’ve left.”
“Oh? I haven’t heard any of the messages.”
“’Manda, I know you’re upset, but—”
“But nothing.”
“Just hear me out.”
“I heard you, Max, and I didn’t like how you said it.”
She heard a long sigh through the phone; then Max replied, “I can’t do this on the phone.”
“Me, neither, so stop calling.”
“I’m coming over.” He was clearly determined.
Amanda thought of his mother in the other room. “Now is not a good time.” Wouldn’t he be shocked to find out how much time they’d been spending together?
“It’s as good a time as any. I’ll be over in ten minutes.” He hung up before she could get in another word.
She ended the call and looked toward the kitchen. Let him show up; he was only going to embarrass himself in front of his own mother.
He didn’t want his mother finding out what was going on between them the other night. Well, he wouldn’t be able to avoid it now.
She went back to the kitchen to finish her red velvet cake lesson.
* * * *
Nine minutes and twenty-two seconds later, Max rang the doorbell.
He was nervous; he rubbed his damp palms against his jeans.
He sucked in a breath when Amanda opened the door. She was wearing a pink tank top and skintight black yoga pants. Her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Without a stitch of makeup on, she reminded him of a high school cheerleader. A very perky one at that.
He reached out his index finger to brush white powder off the tip of her nose.
“Are you staying out of trouble?” He rubbed his fingers together and brought it up to his nose to sniff. “What is this?”
Amanda rolled her eyes. “Puh-leez. It’s flour.”
“I knew that.”
“Right.” When Amanda turned away, he followed her inside. “So what do you want, Max?”
“I don’t like the way we left it the other night.”
Once in the living room, she walked over to the antique secretary’s desk and found sudden interest in it. She let out a long, deep sigh. “Neither do I.”
“So what are we going to do about it?”
“Look, you’re the one who had to come over here. What are you going to do about it?”
He swung her around to face him, studying her. An instant later he released her and stepped back. “Apologize. Say that I’m sorry for being such an idiot. Tell you I wanted you to stay; I really did. But…”
“But?”
“But…you heard my mother at Christmas. All she does is nag the three of us to get married and produce children. I just don’t want to give her…false hope.”
“So basically what you’re saying is that you’re not looking for anything permanent.” She straightened, standing a little taller. “Well, maybe neither am I. I don’t know how long I’ll be here in Manning Grove. As soon as I can convince Greg that he’d be happier in Miami, we’re leaving.”
That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. She was just blowing smoke. Because there was no way he was going to let her leave. Ever. This was her home now. This was Greg’s home. She had to stay. He liked spending time with her—when they weren’t rubbing each other the wrong way. He liked when they were rubbing each other the right way.
“No.” He shook his head. “No, I like you, Amanda. I really do. I thought it was obvious. But whatever is going to happen between us…whatever is happening between us, I want to do on my own timeline. Not my mother’s. Can you understand that?”
“Oh yeah. I can understand not wanting someone else to make decisions for you.”
“I deserve that. I get it.” He shifted closer to capture her hips, pulling her just a breath away. “But I do know one thing…” He brushed his lips along her temple, winding his fingers in her ponytail, and tugged gently until her head tilted back, exposing her neck. He nuzzled the little dip at the base of her neck, then moved to capture her lips. She tasted so good—
“Sweetie, we need to finish making the cream-cheese icing for—” Mary Ann stopped. “Oh! Oh, Max! Hi, honey. I thought I heard voices out here.”
“Mom!” He dropped his arms, quickly stepping away from Amanda. Heat crawled up his neck. He cleared his throat. “What are you doing here?”
“Why, I come over here all the time. Amanda didn’t tell you?”
He clo
sed his gaping mouth with a snap. He shot a look at Amanda before replying, “No.”
“I’m teaching her to cook. We are having so much fun together. She’s going to make someone a great wife.”
Max groaned. This was what he was trying to avoid: his mother seeing Amanda as daughter-in-law material. And even worse, his mother thought she was training her to be a good wife. This wasn’t good. This was extremely bad.
“How did you get here? I didn’t see your vehicle out front.”
“Your father dropped me off.”
His father knew what his mother was doing and hadn’t warned him? Max was going to have a talk with him.
Max approached his mother, taking her elbow firmly. “I’ll take you home.”
His mother jerked her arm away. “No, Amanda and I have to finish this red velvet cake.”
“You can finish it another time.”
His mother looked at him with disbelief. “No, Max. Your father will pick me up. But I’ll go back into the kitchen and give you two a couple minutes alone.” She winked knowingly at him.
Max gritted his teeth. His mother went back into the kitchen with the mistaken belief that they needed some privacy.
Max whispered fiercely, “What are you doing?”
“Baking.”
“How long has this been going on? How much does she know?” His voice lifted and then cracked like a teenage boy’s.
Fuck!
“About us?” Amanda shrugged. “She’s not stupid, Max.”
They stood staring at each other in a standoff: ice blue versus emerald green. The seconds ticked by in silence.
“Sweetie, are you coming?” Mary Ann called from the next room.
Keeping a steady, pointed gaze, a wicked smile crossed Amanda’s face. “Yes, Ma. I’ll be right there.”
Max was the first to break eye contact as he grabbed his chest. “Ma?” What was that shooting pain in his chest? He was having a heart attack. “Why are you calling my mother Ma?”
“She said I could. It’s her initials. Mary Ann…Ma, get it?”
The hole in the earth was widening; he might as well just leap in now. His mother was hanging out with the woman he’d been sleeping with. The woman he’d been sleeping with was calling his mother “Ma.”
“That’s screwed up. I’ve—I’ve got to sit down.” He sank onto the nearby couch, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Brothers in Blue: Max Page 15