by Layla Hagen
“I promise to take care of both your precious girls, make them happy for as long as I can.”
It’s a good thing that neither Grams nor Max addresses me, because I couldn’t bring up any words. I focus on blinking back my tears and keeping my smile in place.
“You have a wonderful boy, here, Violet,” she says. “Take good care of him. I’ll keep an eye on you, young boy.”
“As you should,” Max replies.
Standing up, Grams says, “Now, I’ll leave you two lovebirds here.”
“I’ll help—”
“No need,” she cuts me off. “I might be an old woman, but I don’t need to be babysat. I’m going to watch some TV in my bedroom.”
She enters the house, and I let out a long, shaky breath.
***
Max
“That was rough,” I say, moving next to her on the couch.
“Yeah.” Her voice is small—damn it, she seems to have shrunk in the span of a few minutes. It kills me to know she’s hurting.
“If it was hard for me, I can’t imagine what it must be like for you.”
She purses her lips, as if trying to swallow her words, hide her feelings.
“Talk to me, Emilia. You don’t have to hide from me, or pretend.”
“I—” She takes a deep breath before finally opening up. “It’s an emotional roller coaster every day. I never know when she’s going to have a good moment or a bad one. Even though she’s been sick for a while, I can’t get used to it. I can’t accept it.”
I pull her into my arms, and she tucks her feet under her, molding the side of her upper body against my chest, not even attempting to move away. I kiss the top of her head, inhaling her floral scent, brainstorming for a way to calm her down. Cracking a joke doesn’t seem right, and I’m at a loss for what to say. How can I be so clueless? Maybe I should listen more to Sebastian and Logan when they talk about their women. I’ve never been in this position before, because I never got close enough to a woman for her to show me her vulnerable side.
Hand me any situation at the office, I can handle it. Emilia hurting in my arms? Zero solutions come to my mind, and that better change fast. My girl is a mess, trembling in my arms. Her pain is so raw I can almost feel it.
“Thank you for telling her that you’ll take care of….” Her words fade as small sobs take over. “It calmed her down.”
One of her hands is on my chest, and I clasp my fingers around her wrist.
“Now I need you to calm down, Emilia. You’re so brave.”
“Doing what you have to do isn’t brave.”
I pull her even closer to me, running my hand up and down her back, but it’s not helping. Her next words tumble out unintelligibly. “I’m so afraid of losing her, and—”
“Emilia!” With my thumb, I tip her chin up until she has no choice but to look at me. She inhales sharply, and I slide my thumb over her lower lip, tracing the contour of her mouth from one end to the other.
Feeling her soft, plump lip under the pad of my thumb sends a jolt right through my groin. She opens her mouth infinitesimally. For a split second, both of us stay stock-still. And then I kiss her. Jesus. Her mouth is exquisite. Her lips are full and sweet, and she opens them up for me without reservation. She lets out a low, delicious moan when I slip my tongue inside, claiming her warm, sweet mouth, exploring it. Our tongues intertwine, and I take control, commanding the kiss. In this moment, nothing else exists except this woman. I need more of her. I want more—everything. I move my hand, which was on her waist, up to her chest and groan when I discover she’s not wearing a bra. I cup one breast over the fabric, and her nipple turns to a pebble in my hand. She rewards me with the most delicious moan. I instantly turn rock-hard for her, and pull her closer to me, needing to touch every part of her. She shifts around, hiking one leg over me, straddling me, and putting both her breasts right where I can touch them. Like a man possessed, I lightly twist one of her nipples through the material of her dress. A crazy thought takes shape into my mind. This woman is mine, and I won’t let her go.
She moans against my mouth, fisting my shirt, pressing her center against my erection. We groan in each other’s mouths. It takes every fiber in my body not to push the dress up her waist and rip away her panties. I pull away from her just before losing my last shreds of decency. Emilia buries her head in my neck, and feeling her hot breath on my skin isn’t helping. At all. She fists my shirt with both her hands. I thread my fingers in her hair, not ready to let her go, to let the moment end.
“Tell me one thing,” I say in her ear, enjoying the way goose bumps form on her arms. “Just one.”
“What?”
“Are you wet for me?”
“Oh.” She tightens her fists, pulling at my shirt. “Yes. I am, Max. I really am.”
My control damn near snaps, but she smartly pulls away, moving to my left on the couch.
“This was the only thing that occurred to me to calm you down,” I say honestly.
She chuckles. “Funny, I thought the same in the elevator. Dirty minds think alike.”
I can’t take my eyes off her lips. They’re swollen from the kiss, and all I can think about is kissing them again. As if sensing danger, she shifts further away from me.
“You think this space is enough to keep me from you?”
She sighs, her expression growing serious. Guilt gnaws at me.
“I’m sorry,” I offer.
“I know you,” she says lightly. “You’re not sorry at all.”
“Damn you, Jonesie, I was trying to say the right thing.” After a brief but charged pause, I add, “Are you sorry?”
“I don’t want to lose you as a friend, Max. I—”
“I crossed the line.”
“I didn’t exactly stop you.” She smiles, but my insides constrict because I want this, and at the same time, I don’t want to want this. I try to read her body language. Her shoulders are straight and tense, and desire glints in her eyes. A slight tremor still runs through her body. “I’m not good with romantic relationships.”
“That makes two of us,” I say. The thing is, I’ve never made an effort to make relationships work. I hadn’t felt the need for more than a good time. But now, looking at this amazing woman in front of me, hell. I do want to make things work. Shit. I’m in deep shit, or shitty shit as Alice would say.
“Friendship is different. It runs deeper, it’s more constant, it’s forever,” she continues. “You know what I have stuffed in my closet?”
I grin. “A battery-operated friend?”
“That too. Next to my unused wedding dress.”
Sucker punched. “Why do you keep it? Are you still in love with him?”
She shakes her head. “Nah, it’s been more than six months. I was this close”—she holds her thumb and forefinger a fraction of an inch apart—“to throwing eggs at his car when he dumped me. I was angry, still am, I think. But I’m not in love with him.”
“If you ever feel the need to make good on the eggs part, I can help you. I have excellent aim.”
“I know. You were the one who introduced me to the world of throwing eggs when Johnson bailed on me.”
“That’s right.” Shit, I’d better come clean. “In the interest of honesty, Johnson didn’t bail on you. I might have scared him off.”
“What? I was about to sign us up as dance partners for the end of year dance.”
“Yeah, and I had it on good authority that he was a lousy dancer. He just wanted to kiss you.”
“We were twelve,” she exclaims.
“Yeah. Boys lose their brain to their penis about one year earlier.”
“I can’t believe this.” She shakes her head, but smiles, elbowing me. “You’re such an ass.”
“Was protecting you. I’m not even going to say I was sorry.”
“Any other times you protected me?” She shoots daggers with her eyes at me.
“Now that you mention it, remember Smith?”
<
br /> She groans. “The guy I was working with on the chemistry project, who mysteriously dropped out and found another teammate?”
“That’s the one. He’d made a bet with his friends that he’d be your first kiss.”
“What if I wanted him to be?”
Sucker punched for the second time in less than ten minutes. “He wasn’t good enough for you. None of them were.”
“I see. It’s a good thing I moved, then, or I would have never dated.”
I’m about to remark that she wouldn’t have gotten engaged or hurt if that was the case, but I sound too much like a caveman even to my own mind. She looks at me with a mix of amusement and annoyance.
“So why are you keeping the wedding dress?” I ask.
“Trying to sell it, haven’t found a buyer yet. I had some interest right when you arrived at the clinic, but she ended up not buying it. It’s weird having it in my closet though. It symbolized a big chunk of my hopes and dreams, and now it’s just the reminder of another failure.”
I lean over to her, tilting her head up.
“You’re not going to kiss me again, are you?” she whispers, licking her lips.
“No. Just wanted to say, don’t think of it as failure, Jonesie. It was experience. He wasn’t man enough to fight for a woman like you.”
The more time I spend with her, the more I want to be that man who fights for her. So what if I don’t have a great record with women? I never wanted to make an effort before, and damn it, I want to now. Emilia makes me want things I never wanted before, and I don’t want them with anyone else. I want them with her. But I’ll take it slow. If she needs me to be her friend for now, that’s what I’ll be.
I rise to my feet, stretching my back. “I’ll go now.”
“Oh.” She’s evidently disappointed.
We leave the porch, and as we make our way through the house toward the front door, I say, “I’ll send a company driver on Monday morning to get you to the clinic.”
“What? Oh, my car. I’ll just take the bus.”
I cock an eyebrow. “You’ll need at least twice as long with a bus.”
“True, but it doesn’t matter.”
“Emilia—”
“Max!”
“I’ll send a car for you, and that’s that.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I just promised Grams I’ll take care of you.”
“And now you’re playing dirty.”
“I’ve been known to do that to get my way. I’m just looking out for you.” I push a strand of her hair behind her ear and her entire body hums at the skin-on-skin contact. She licks her lower lip, noticing too late that I’m eyeing her mouth.
“Don’t fight me,” I insist.
“Okay. Thank you. I hoped you’ll stay a while longer.” She stands awkwardly in front of the open front door.
“I can go back to being just your friend on Monday, Jonesie. If I stay any longer today, I’ll kiss you again, no questions asked.”
“See you on Monday.” Her eyes widen, and she gnaws at that delicious lip of hers. How the hell am I supposed to spend time with this strong, sweet, all-around amazing woman and not kiss her again?
Chapter Twelve
Emilia
I sleep badly on Saturday night and even worse on Sunday. I toss and turn the entire night, the memory of Max’s lips on mine giving me hot flashes. Damn that man can kiss. Dragging my hands down my face, I turn to look at the clock. It’s five in the morning. Giving up on the idea of sleep, I leave my bed, hop into shorts, put on my gym bra and a shirt, and go for a run. It usually helps me clear my head, but now, the longer I run the more I think about Max. With a jolt, I realize I’m about to see him in a few hours. With another jolt, I remember we’ll be doing water exercises today. Me and Max alone in a swimming pool. This will be interesting. I realize I haven’t seen him shirtless until now, even though his soaked shirt on Saturday highlighted his toned, delicious body. A small voice at the back of my head says This will be a disaster, but I do my best to ignore it.
The driver arrives at seven o’clock sharp, as promised. When I start telling him the address of the clinic, he politely informs me Max already gave him all the details.
He nods curtly, opening the door for me. After I slide inside the car, I find a brown bag with my name on it. Immediately, I pry the bag open, revealing the contents. A book! Not just any book, but the first volume in the Chronicles of Narnia series, which was my favorite book as a kid.
I’m about to ask the driver about it, then decide to ask the source directly. Grinning, I fish out my phone from my bag and text him.
Emilia: You just made this book junkie happy. I’d lost my copy of the book and never got around to buying another one.
His reply is almost instant.
Max: I know, saw all the other volumes in your library except this one.
Licking my lips, I hover my thumbs above the screen, wondering if I should bring up Saturday’s kiss. Maybe it would help clear the air. Then I remember our second session together—the last time we attempted to clear the air—and I decide to take a much less straightforward way.
Emilia: So is this a talking book?
He doesn’t answer. Stomach in knots, I peer out the window, resting my forehead against the cool glass. As I watch the gray clouds hanging low on the sky, adrenaline strums through my veins. I’m so lost in the beautiful view that I jump in my seat when my phone finally vibrates.
Max: What’s that supposed to mean?
I type back as fast as I can, my fingers prickling with excitement.
Emilia: When you want to tell me something, but don’t know how, so you send a message through things.
As soon as I press Send the little dots indicating he’s writing appear, and I hold my breath.
Max: All books have messages in them. That’s the point.
Emilia: Smartass. You know what I mean.
Max: Ah, not really. But if it would say something, it would be along the lines of Sorry, I’m not sorry.
What the heck?
Emilia: You are confusing me.
Max: Ha! That was my goal.
Emilia: Care to elaborate?
Max: Saturday you said all men were easy to figure out. I thought I’d raise that bar of yours a little. I’m going to a meeting now. See you in a few hours.
Pushing my phone to one side and grinning from ear to ear, I mull over his words. When the driver drops me in front of the clinic, I have a weird pep in my step as I walk inside. From this day on, I will call it the Max Effect.
I have two patients before my scheduled session with the man of the day, and for the first time in a long time, I can’t fully concentrate on my patients. I go through the motions, keeping an eye on them, but my mind is elsewhere, reliving that all-consuming kiss from Saturday.
After I finish with the last patient before Max, I head to the hall adjacent to the clinic, where the swimming pool is. Unlike the many training rooms, we only have one pool, but we make sure to only book one patient at a time to ensure intimacy. The word is strangely ironic in this case.
Since I still have a few minutes until our session begins, I do a few laps in the water. Swimming usually has a calming effect on me. The touch of the water usually cools my head, but all it does today is remind me of Saturday morning, of the two of us in the ocean.
Something shifted between Max and me, and it has as much to do with the kiss as with the way he spoke to Grams. He was gentle and kind, and I didn’t think he could possibly get deeper under my skin, but he did. Pushing myself out of the water, I stand on the cold tile and rearrange my hair, pulling it tighter into a bun.
“If this is how I get to see you from now on, sign me up for lifelong therapy, Jonesie.”
I swirl around, and holy smokes and fire. Max is wearing nothing but swim shorts, and he is hotter than anyone has the right to be. I knew from the first time I saw him that the man works out. But seeing him almost naked…. Yummy.
He is ripped. He has a stomach that is all but perfect, and I try—and fail—not to gawk at the light trail of hair starting from under his navel and descending further down until it disappears in his shorts.
“I get that you like what you see.” Max wiggles his eyebrows, sliding into the water. He leans on his back, floating, giving me a perfect view of his sculpted abs. My fantasy is running wild conjuring images of his package.
Slowly I lower myself in the water and then swim until I’m right next to him, but careful enough not to touch him. His presence in the pool unnerves me. The pool is too small, I tell myself. But I have the suspicion that even an Olympic-sized pool would still appear too small. Max has the kind of presence that feels too much, no matter where he is.
“You’re okay,” I tell him.
Far from appearing offended by my non-compliment, Max chuckles. He’s now standing in the pool. “You can try to play it cool all you want, Emilia. I know what you’re thinking.”
I put my hands on my hips. “And what’s that?”
“That I’ll be starring in your dirty dreams,” he says confidently.
“You already are.”
The second the words are out, I clap my hand over my mouth. My entire body feels aflame. I’m surprised the water around me isn’t boiling. I don’t dare look at Max, instead keeping my eyes on the edge of the pool. His uncontrolled rumbles of laughter fill the room. And they are damn addictive. A chuckle bubbles out of my throat, and before long, I’m laughing so hard, I’m in danger of cracking a rib.
“Please, forget I ever said anything,” I say once I’ve calmed down somewhat.
Far from obliging me, Max asks, “Are you having a dirty daydream right now?”
“No.” My answer would be more believable if it weren’t accompanied by a grin, damn it. But being around this man makes me smile. His easygoing, fun way is addictive.
“Yes, you are,” he insists. “Difficulty speaking, heavy breathing, I get it. My naked body usually causes this reaction.”
Caught.
“Let’s start the session,” I say in a serious tone. “You are wasting your hard-earned money talking.”