by Lila Monroe
He points to a massive tombstone topped with an angelic statue. Even in the dim light, I can see the envelope clutched in the angel’s hand.
“Yes!” I cry. “We were right!”
“You were right,” Max corrects me. He grabs me by the waist and swings me around. “We did it!”
His victory is infectious, and I laugh, suddenly weightless. “Watch it!” I warn him. “The mud!”
Max sets me down gently, and brushes a strand of wet hair from my face. His eyes are stormy blue in the darkness, and his fingertips hot against my face.
My breath catches. My eyes drift to his mouth, and then just like that, he’s pulling me close again, into a hot, reckless kiss.
Ahhh.
God, I’ve been dying to taste him again. His mouth is hard and possessive, claiming mine, and a shudder of lust rolls through me at the feel of him. His hands are all over me, molding me against him as the fire between us blazes hotter, and I forget everything. Like my rules, and our arrangement, and the fact I’ve sworn off men like him . . . None of it matters, not with Max’s tongue doing wicked things to mine, and his body so hard against me.
Very hard.
Hello.
Max releases me, looking bashful. “I, uh . . .”
“That’s one way to say thank you,” I blurt, trying to keep things light.
He relaxes, running his hand through his tawny hair. The rain has left it roguishly rumpled again. His gaze drops to my mouth as if he’s thinking of planting another one on me, and I’m tempted to beat him to it. But out of his embrace, I’m getting soaked—and cold. “We should, umm, the clue . . .” I manage, still flustered.
“Right.” Max reaches up to grab the envelope. We huddle in the shelter of a nearby tree to squint at the words on the card.
Our fortune is built on words, and the words were built here/
Pressed into paper to be read far and near
“Is he talking about the publishing business?” I ask. “The words were built here?”
Max pauses. “Maybe he means the place where the first Carlisle newspaper got off the ground. Harperville. That’s where it all started.” He pulls out his phone, and a few clicks later, nods. “It’s just a few hours’ drive from here.”
I can’t help but let out a yawn. He glances over. “Tired?”
“No,” I lie. Then I yawn again. He laughs.
“You’re right, it’s been a long day.”
“A long couple of days.” I think back. New York, to Palm Beach, to Virginia . . . in less than forty-eight hours. No wonder I feel like I could curl up right here and sleep.
“The clue can wait until morning.” Max takes a photo, and tucks it back in its hiding place. “Let’s see if we can find someplace to sleep for the night.”
We squish back down the muddy path to the waiting car. I can’t imagine Artie and Parker having to clamber through all the muck—if they ever make it out here. “I wonder if they’re all still racing around Boston.”
“Here’s hoping,” Max agrees.
Back in the car, Max turns the heater on full-blast, and I snuggle deeper in his jacket. There’s something cozy and intimate about wearing a guy’s clothes. From the look he gives me before he starts the ignition, I have the feeling he’s thinking the same thing. Well, maybe not the cozy part. The heat in his eyes practically ignites me.
Can we get back to the kissing part of this adventure again?
Down, girl. My voice of reason pipes up, reminding me of all the reasons we’re supposed to stay platonic. Still, as the miles drift past, I can’t help sinking deeper into this quiet, sensual haze we’re in, with just the noise of the rain on the windscreen, and Max’s steady breath, beside me at the wheel, making me imagine just what I would do if there were no stakes here, no contracts or consequences . . .
Suddenly, Max wrenches the wheel, jolting me awake. Before I can even say a word, I see a shape looming on the road right in front of us.
A deer.
Max slams on the brakes. The car swerves, and my heart lurches into my throat. We hit the side of the highway hard, then bump over the incline—and straight down, into a ditch.
13
Hallie
“Hallie? Are you OK?”
Max’s voice is panicked. I groan, and then stretch, testing my limbs, my neck. Aside from the pain where my seatbelt is cutting into my chest, I’m fine.
“It’s all good,” I manage. The only part out of whack is my heart thumping away at five times its usual speed.
I drag in a deep breath. “Did we miss the deer?”
“I think so.”
“Well, at least we don’t have to deal with Bambi’s untimely death on our conscience.” I start to laugh, as much out of shock as anything. “This day just wasn’t exciting enough. You had to throw a car crash into the mix.”
Max exhales, then chuckles. “Believe me, I’m done with excitement now. Give me a nice, boring, warm bed.”
“And a cup of cocoa,” I agree.
I ease open the door and step out. The whole front half of the car is tipped into the ditch, its rear up in the air. Max braces his hands against the hood and shoves, but I’m not at all surprised when it doesn’t budge. He pulls out his cellphone, then grimaces. “And of course there’s no reception in the backwoods of Virginia.”
I look around, but the road is empty. “So what do we do now?”
“Now, we walk,” Max sighs.
I glance up and down the dreary road. The rain has faded to a drizzle, but it’s still spitting on my face. “Walk to where?”
“There’s a town farther down this road. And maybe someone will come by who’ll let us hitch a ride.”
I look at him in his tux and me in my cutoffs, and have to laugh again. “Good thing we dressed for a hike.”
We grab our bags out of the back and set off down the road. I figure we’ll be walking for hours before someone comes along, but it’s only ten minutes before the sound of an engine arrives. “Score!” I exclaim, turning to look for the car.
Except it’s not a car. It’s a massive eighteen-wheeler truck, fender rusty and hood dented, rumbling up the road like a prowling monster.
Max waves it down, and the truck pulls to a stop beside us. The driver shoves the door open and narrows his eyes at us.
If this were a horror movie, this is the part where we’d get chopped up by the homicidal lumberjack.
“Need a ride?” the trucker-lumberjack asks in a friendly voice.
I think I might prefer walking, but Max apparently knows no fear. “That’d be great, if you’ve got room,” Max says. “Just into town. We had a little encounter with a deer.” He waves toward the crashed car.
The guy nods as if this is par for the course out here in the Virginia wilds. Which maybe it is. “Squeeze on in, then. It’s about half an hour down the road.”
To my relief, Max gets in first, so it won’t be me squished right up against the giant. As I clamber in after him, the trucker twists to offer his hand. “I’m Carl, by the way.”
His half-buttoned lumberjack shirt falls open over a T-shirt that’s . . . pastel pink. And sparkly. A couple of winged horses are frolicking across the chest.
“Um, hi, Carl. I’m Hallie,” I say. I can’t help staring at the shirt. Carl glances down and chuckles.
“I’ve got a five-year-old daughter back home,” he says. “HUGE My Little Pony fanatic. She insisted we get father-daughter T-shirts.”
Okay, maybe he’s not a terrifying serial killer after all.
Carl plays the My Little Pony soundtrack for us all the way into town. “I know it’s a kids show,” he says, “but some of the lyrics are actually really deep.”
Max and I exchange a look, and I try not to laugh.
Five songs later—complete with sing-along from Carl—I’m just about ready to howl. Luckily, we pull into a parking lot at a bar with a run-down motel next door.
“This is your best bet to crash for the night around
here,” Carl says, waving goodbye. “Safe travels tomorrow to you. And don’t forget that friendship is magic.”
The truck pulls away, and finally, I can let out the laughter I’ve been holding back for forty miles. “My little ponies?” I snort, shaking.
“Friendship is magic!” Max howls.
Finally, my hysterics fade, and I can take in the run-down, puke-green lobby of the motel. “Um, Max? Did we take a detour to the Bates Motel?”
He turns. “Drink first?”
“Yes, please.”
We head to the bar, instead. Inside, it’s divey as hell—but warm and dry. The lighting casts an amber glow over the beat-up wooden tables, and the whole place smells like beer and peanuts. But I’m hungry enough that even the peanut smell gets my mouth watering.
The bartender gives our clothes an amused look. “Take a wrong turn, did you?”
“Something like that,” Max agrees. We order burgers and extra fries, and a couple of beers, and settle in at a corner booth. For the first few minutes, all I can do is inhale charred beef and toasted bun. It’s actually one of the best hamburgers I’ve ever had. One point to Wherever The Hell We Are, Virginia.
When I come up for air, Max is grinning at me. “What? A girl’s gotta eat.”
“And you do know how to eat,” he says teasingly. “Don’t worry. I like a woman who isn’t afraid to satisfy herself.”
My eyebrows jump higher. “Interesting. Most men are intimidated by that. You know, afraid of not measuring up.”
Max’s grin grows. “I like a challenge.”
I flush. Suddenly all I want to do is grab him and haul him next door to that sketchy motel. As long as the door locks, I’m good.
I look around, trying to ignore the heat pooling low in my belly. My eyes land on the pool table across the bar. “Want to play?” I blurt. “Pool, I mean,” I add quickly.
“Is that a challenge?” Max looks amused.
“Take it any way you want.”
And take me, too. Ahem.
We head across the room, and I shrug off Max’s jacket. When I turn around, Max’s eyes linger on my neckline for a moment before jerking back to my face. He reaches for a pool cue, the muscles in his arms flexing against his dress shirt.
Okay, forget hot. I’m outright scorching now.
I know I should call it a night before things get out of control, but that itch of curiosity is burning and I don’t want to back off yet. Every moment with Max has turned into a madcap adventure, the kind I’ll probably never have again.
I want him. He’s made it pretty damn clear he wants me. And way out here in the middle of nowhere, nobody has to know if maybe, just maybe, we let things go a little too far . . .
I reach for a pool cue, sliding my fingers up and down its length. “Cue up?”
“My pleasure,” Max says in a voice that sends a shiver up my spine.
I lean low over the table when I take my first shot. Lower than I really need to, let’s be honest. Even a modest tank top can show off plenty of cleavage if you know how to work it right.
“Clean break.” Max sounds impressed. “You’ve played before.”
“Just a little,” I lie. I hustled my way through college, but he doesn’t have to know. Yet.
Max approaches the table, rolling up his cuffs over his lean forearms and unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. I’m not sure I’ve ever found anything more tempting than that V of sculpted tan chest.
Then he sinks three balls in quick succession, and I realize I need to pay attention to the table if I don’t want to crash out of this game.
I’m trying to line up a tricky shot when Max comes up beside me. He sets a hand on my waist, its heat seeping through the cotton, and leans close.
“Let me help you out with this one.”
I want to tell him I’m just fine on my own, thanks, but I want him to stay right there even more. “Please, go ahead.”
He slides his hand up my side and adjusts the position of my arm. My breath catches in my throat. He lets his fingers rest there on my bare shoulder, his thumb tracing a blazing line over my skin. “The right position is so important.”
“At least as much as the size of your stick?” I suggest sweetly.
He laughs. “Take the shot.”
God, how can I concentrate with him so there? I inhale and line up the cue. I shift my hips a little to the left so my ass grazes the fly of Max’s pants. This time it’s his breath that catches. I smile and smack the ball.
It sinks cleanly into the pocket.
“You’re a tough competitor,” Max says as we straighten up. If there was a spark in his eyes earlier, it’s spread into a full-out blaze.
“I play to win,” I say, chalking up my tip of my stick. “And winner takes all.”
“My kind of game.”
I run the table until I miss a tough angle, and then Max takes over, until there are just a couple of stripes left on the table. A sensible player would attack them each in turn, but I should have guessed, nothing about Max Carlisle is sensible. He lines up a shot to sink both of the remaining balls in one—and misses by a millimeter. Leaving the table in the perfect arrangement for me. I sent my last balls slamming into the pockets and then give him a smile.
He laughs. “So, winner. What are you going to take?”
Damn, is he trying to turn me on? My gaze travels down his body. Lust flips my stomach. And maybe it’s the pneumonia, or the three beers talking, or maybe it’s just the sexual tension between us finally at a boiling point, but I don’t care about the rules anymore.
“You,” I answer, meeting his eyes. “I’m taking you, over to that motel for the night.”
14
Hallie
Every time I kiss Max Carlisle I think it can’t get any better than this. Every time so far, I’ve been wrong. We burst through the door of the motel room, barely pausing for air long enough to slam it closed behind us. Luckily, they had a vacancy, and even luckier, the clerk on duty didn’t bother making small talk, he just slid us a key, and pointed us down the hall to get down to business.
The business of tearing this man’s clothes off, right this second.
I grasp the front of his shirt, yank him back to me, and Max crushes his mouth against mine.
Yes, yes, yes. This is exactly what I needed. I kiss him back with everything I’ve got, trailing my hands down his chest. Max groans, pressing his body against mine. His fingers skim my hip, the side of my chest. His tongue delves between my lips, and I sink into him, losing my mind.
I’m tired of waiting. I want to devour this man.
Max seems equally keen on devouring me. He angles his head to kiss me even more deeply, gripping my waist and pushing me back flush against the wall. And I’m flushed, all right, from head to toe. Burning up everywhere his body touches mine. I’m surprised my skin doesn’t sizzle when he slips those hands up beneath my shirt. He hasn’t even touched anywhere all that exciting yet, and I’m already whimpering into his mouth.
He tears away from my mouth and trails his lips down the side of my neck. I gasp at the contact. At the same time an annoying part of my brain pipes up right then with an unwanted PSA. I’ve been running around all night in the rain and the graveyard muck, and I haven’t exactly had any time to freshen up.
I catch Max’s hand as he reaches for the zipper on my shorts. “Bathroom?” I ask breathlessly.
He looks confused.
“Shower,” I clarify, and his mouth spreads in a smile.
He leans close, nipping my earlobe. “I like the way you think.”
“Oh, I’m all full of excellent ideas,” I say, leading him to the tiny bathroom and turning the water on. I tap the front of his shirt. “This, for example, should really be on the floor. And everything else you’re wearing while you’re at it.”
“As the lady desires,” Max agrees. “Although it’ll go faster if you help.”
Fuck yes, as if I need to be asked. I start wrenching at
the buttons as he untucks the hem. I’ve only gotten three open before he seems to think that’s good enough and pulls it right off. Suddenly I’m faced with a chest so solidly sculpted it’d fit right in with those Greek relics in his family estate’s garden.
Mine.
I run my hands over the planes of those muscles. They flex, his skin hot against my hands. Max pulls me into another kiss, one so long and passionate I pretty much forget what the hell I was doing. The hiss of falling water finally penetrates my mind.
Right. Shower. Getting naked. I’m still into that.
Max clearly is too. He strips off my clothes in record time, I should feel awkward and exposed, standing there in nothing but a strapless bra and panties. But the appreciation on his face is worth the pause.
“You are fucking beautiful.”
I blush, grabbing the waist of his pants. “You are still wearing too much.”
He dips his head to my shoulder, kissing the crook of my neck, then my collarbone. My breath catches. I fumble with his fly. I’ve just tugged his pants down when he unclasps the back of the bra. It falls away in the wake of the hot, wet slide of his mouth.
I moan as his lips close around my pebbled nipple. His tongue slicks over the tip of my breast and I grip his hair, my hips arching toward him of their own accord. He slides a hand lightly across the front of my panties, and I moan aloud from the touch.
More. I want more of him. Everywhere.
I reach lower, and Max makes a choked, wanting sound as my fingers close around the hard, thick length of him. Just touching him makes me so fucking wet. We stumble back into the shower stall, and the second we’re under the steaming hot water, he pushes me against the wall. His mouth slides against mine even more hotly than before. His fingers trace every curve of my body, gliding over my skin. The slick friction is the most blissful torture I’ve ever felt. I clutch his shoulders, pulling him in for another kiss. His palms circle my nipples with teasing strokes and then drift lower. When he cups my sex, I can’t help bucking against his hand.