Max sank onto the cushion beside her knees and braced one arm on the back of the sofa. "If you were perfectly capable of making this decision, you wouldn't have objected to the doctor. You have a head injury. Again. An examination by a professional is the only way to be sure that it's nothing serious."
She was prepared to work herself up into an impressive rage—after all, she did have some energy to burn from last night—but she saw the shadow of worry in Max's expression and felt herself softening. Just a little, mind you.
Kitty rolled her eyes. "For heaven's sake, Max, it's a bump. My skull isn't cracked, my brain isn't bruised, and I don't have any internal bleeding."
"Been to medical school in the last couple of hours, have you?"
She pressed her mouth into a thin line. "Why on earth hasn't some woman killed you by now?"
His grin flashed. "I'm quick on my feet."
"You'd have to be."
Closing her eyes, Kitty sank deeper into the sofa and let her head settle back against the soft pillows piled up against the arm behind her. Now that her muscles were beginning to relax, it felt like every single one of them had been whacked with a stout stick. Which, actually, was pretty much what had happened. She ached from head to toe, but the worst by far was her head. The clog dancers had invited friends over, and a construction team had started using jackhammers to repair the rehearsal space. She'd have sold her left kidney for a painkiller. Or even another blow to the head, one hard enough to knock her out this time.
She closed her eyes and groaned. "Does this doctor you called carry morphine?"
She heard Max chuckle and felt his weight shift. A gentle finger touched her temple, skimming over her skin and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I thought you weren't hurt?"
"I said I'm not hurt. That doesn't mean that I don't hurt."
"Right. Silly me."
She slitted her eyes open and found him leaning over her, his lean, handsome face just inches from hers. He still had one hand braced on the back of the sofa, but the other stroked softly over her face, the backs of his fingers tracing the line of her cheekbone in a gesture that had her stomach clenching and her heart melting.
He was so much bigger than she was that he blocked out the rest of the room completely, his shoulders as wide as her horizon, his chest hard and broad. Last night when he'd kissed her, she'd been so busy worrying about keeping her legs from melting—and then about keeping her clothes on—that his size hadn't really sunk in. She'd known he was tall and heavily muscular, but he moved with such grace and wore his clothes with such elegance that it became easy to overlook. But now every time he got close to her, she suddenly found herself feeling small and vulnerable and intensely feminine. She felt like someone who needed to be taken care of, and that feeling made her more nervous than anything else.
Max Stuart was a dangerous man. At least as far as her heart was concerned.
She moistened her suddenly dry lips. "At least you admit it."
His mouth curved, slow and sensual. "I have a number of things to admit to right now, kitten. Want to hear some more?"
Lord, the man could make her shiver without so much as a touch. There might be more than her heart at stake here.
She swallowed. "I suppose that depends."
"On what?"
Her heart fluttered, and she decided that her plan to ignore last night had a lot of merit. After all, nothing terrible had really happened. She'd stopped things before they got completely out of control.
And that just made her wonder what it would feel like if that control slipped again.
She placed her free hand tentatively on his shoulder, fighting with the urge to knead the hard muscle. Just because she recognized the danger in the situation didn't mean she was smart enough to turn back. "On how you plan to break it to me."
"Gently," he whispered, bending closer until his lips just barely brushed hers, tracing licks of fire over her sensitive skin. "Very… very… gently."
Gently enough, she decided as she strained closer, to qualify as torture. She stretched up, ignoring the pulling in her ribs, craving the fuller taste of him. Lips brushed again, parted, and she made a sound of frustration.
He returned, his lips curving against hers, then sliding away to tickle the corners of her mouth.
Kitty contemplated homicide.
"Gentle," she hissed, opening her eyes to glare up at him, "can be highly overrated. I've had plenty of opportunities to break this weekend, and it hasn't happened yet. So don't strain yourself, okay?"
Max chuckled and nipped softly, leaving her lips plump and tingling, and parted around her quickening breath. "Don't worry. I'm strong. I can take it."
"So can I."
Her hand shifted, cupped the back of his neck, and dragged him down to feast on.
MAX SANK INTO HER MOUTH THE WAY HE WANTED TO sink into her body, slow and deep and dominant, claiming everything she offered and making it his. He heard her moan in satisfaction and stifled the urge to growl his response. She tasted just as sweet as he remembered, sweet and hot, a taste he thought he might already have become addicted to. At this rate, by the time their relationship hit the forty-eight-hour mark he'd probably be dragging her by the hair into an all-night wedding chapel.
Strangely enough, the unaccustomed thought of becoming someone's husband didn't even make him pause. He only sank deeper into the kiss, his hand coming off the back of the sofa to curve around her back and press her closer to him. Beneath the relaxed fabric of her T-shirt, her body felt warm and soft and resilient. He wanted to sink his fingers into her and knead the giving flesh.
He wanted to sink his body into hers.
The urge was familiar; he'd certainly felt it last night, but this time there was less frenzy, less haste. This time he didn't want to frighten her, and he didn't want to repeat his mistakes. He wanted to make up for his impetuosity, wanted not to rush things. He wanted to savor her.
His hand stroked around her side and underneath the hem of her shirt until his fingers whispered over the undersides of her breasts. Her soft, luscious, naked breasts. Again, she was missing a bra and he was too grateful for her oversight to spend much time wondering if she ever wore one. He felt certain he'd come back to that later.
Shifting his hand, he cupped it beneath her soft weight, lifting and plumping the inviting mound. His thumb brushed over her nipple, bringing the skin to tight attention. She moaned softly against his mouth. He could smell her arousal, lush and tempting, and when she pressed her nipple into his hand, he felt his eyes cross. He burned with the need to bare that little bud, to know its color, its shape, its taste.
Maybe being impetuous wasn't always such a bad thing.
Carefully he slid his hand beneath the hem of her cotton top, brushing his fingers teasingly over the tender flesh. He felt it quiver, felt her breath hitch against his lips, but she made no move to pull away. Thank God.
More confident now, his fingers traced the gentle bow of her rib cage, moving slowly and cautiously until the fabric of her shirt was bunched over his wrist and the backs of his fingers brushed the soft underside of her breast.
She jumped a little, a sharp whimper quivering into his mouth, then melted, softening and trembling in his hands.
His fingers cupped her, tested her weight, savored the way the plump curve nestled against his palm as if it had been made to rest there. He rubbed his thumb over the firm tip, felt the crinkled skin of her areola, and swallowed as his mouth began to water.
He couldn't wait any longer.
Shoving her shirt up out of the way, he fixed his gaze on the rose-tipped cream of her skin for a long, fraught moment. Then he dipped his head and took her within him.
Kitty moaned, the sound low and ragged, and her hands clutched at his head, tangled in his hair, and cradled him to her. He drew strongly, teeth rasping, tongue soothing the sensitive peak until he felt her arch beneath him and knew he was once again in danger of losing his mind over this woman.
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Reflexively, he drew his other hand down to pull her to him, his fingers tightening around her rib cage, and she pulled away on a gasp of pain. Max cursed and drew back. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."
Her skin had gone a little pale under a soft flush of arousal, but when he spoke, she blew out her breath in a slow exhalation. Her lips curved. "Neither was I."
Max leaned his forehead very carefully against hers. "I don't want to hurt you."
She tried to tug him back to her. "You won't."
"I'll believe that as soon as the doctor tells me so." Max saw her green eyes narrow; then she released him with a groan and let her head fall back against the cushions.
"I swear to God, you are the stubbornest man I have ever met."
He grinned and tugged her shirt back into place. "And that's why we're so perfect together, kitten. You're stubborn enough to try to go your own way, and I'm stubborn enough to keep you in line."
The pillow she threw at him missed, but only because the doorbell rang at that moment and he rose to answer it. But her grumbling followed him all the way to the door.
SHE HADN'T THOUGHT THOSE BIG, BLACK DOCTOR'S bags existed outside of reruns of Little House on the Prairie, but Walter Reijznik carried one and put it to irritatingly thorough use. By the time he'd poked, prodded, questioned, and examined her to his and Max's satisfaction, Kitty figured Dr. Reijznik probably knew more about her than her grandfather, mother, and childhood sweetheart combined. And he managed it all while wearing a natty plaid bow tie and matching suspenders with his pale, gray suit.
"Well, I'm afraid you're going to be sore for a few more hours, Miss Sugarman," he finally concluded, removing his stethoscope and tucking it safely back into the voluminous bag. "But other than that, everything looks just fine. No permanent damage done and no sign of concussion."
Kitty could hardly be expected to resist an opening like that. "Right, exactly like I've been telling everyone I've seen for the past two hours," she said, sitting up and casting Max a pointed stare. "So there's no need to coddle me or treat me like an invalid, because there's no damage done."
Max simply quirked an eyebrow and stared down at her from his position behind the sofa where he'd been hovering during the entire examination.
"I wouldn't go quite that far," the doctor cautioned her, his expression turning stern. "From the bruising on your rib cage, I suspect you probably gave yourself a couple of hairline fractures, but your Leo metabolism has already begun to knit them back together. That doesn't mean you're not going to experience some serious lingering soreness, as well as some fatigue while your system recovers from the demands placed on it. Unless you're planning a shift, that is."
That had Kitty scowling and Max smiling smugly because the louse knew very well she couldn't force herself to shift on command yet, and he'd probably told Reijznik that, as well. Between Max and the doctor, she couldn't decide who to glare at.
"And given the fact that your last set of extensive injuries was sustained within the past month, I think it would behoove you to take it easy for a few days." The doctor stopped her before she could protest. "I'm not suggesting you should stay in bed, but you don't need to be afraid to sleep. You need to take better care of yourself, young lady. Just stay out of the gym and don't start any wrestling matches and you should be back to normal in another day or two. Do you think you can handle that?"
"She can," Max answered for her. "I'll see to it."
"Because I, of course, have a sign on my forehead that reads 'Incapable of taking care of myself.' You guys are just so perceptive."
They both ignored her.
"Have you been to see Martin today?" Max asked Dr. Reijznik.
"I was with him when I got the call from your manager. He did ask me to give you a message."
Max snorted. "Don't bother. I'm sure I can guess the contents."
"I'm sure you can."
Kitty pushed herself up off the sofa and gave a silent prayer of thanks when her head didn't throb at the movement. The painkiller the doc had given her—not morphine—was apparently working. At least, well enough to keep her skull from splitting open. "I think I'm going to go change my clothes. No, no. Please. I don't want to interrupt your ignoring me. You two carry on."
"You might want to brush your hair, too," Max called after her, his deep voice sounding amused. "Since Dr. Reijznik has said you're good to go, I thought we might as well take a drive out to your father's house. He'd like to see you again."
Kitty paused for a fraction of a second, but she didn't look back. "Great," she called. "That sounds like fun."
Because, really, why let those nice painkillers go to waste?
* * *
Chapter Eighteen
"DID YOU EVER SEE THE MOVIE GROUNDHOG DAY?" SHE whispered, leaning toward Max but keeping her eyes on the rest of the room.
"The one where the guy relives the same day over and over?"
"Yeah. For the first time in my life, I think I completely understand what he was going through."
Before driving her out to the house, Max had called to see if Drusilla and the kids were there. Martin had assured him they weren't and urged max to hurry out. But like some kind of mutant psychic homing pigeons, Olivia and Nadia had arrived less than twenty minutes after Max and Kitty and wasted no time in launched a renewed attack against the interloper.
And to make matters worse, the painkillers were starting to wear off.
"Martin, when I stopped by to check on her, Olivia said the partners are beginning to worry about you," Drusilla was saying, her face wearing a faint look of worry. It made quite a contrast to yesterday, so either the woman had the emotions of a sea anemone or she'd gone overboard on the Botox injections during spa day. "I came out here this afternoon so we could discuss it privately." She shot a glance in Kitty's direction. Her expression, of course, didn't change, but the look in her eyes dripped with venom. "I agreed to bring Nadalie because she's family, but I don't think we should be discussing this in front of anyone else."
Martin scowled. "We're all family here, Dru," he said. "Kitty is my daughter, and Max might as well be my son. There's nothing you can tell me that I'd worry about them hearing."
"But that's the problem," Nadia snapped. "They're not family, Father. Max, at least, is a member of the pride, but the girl is nothing to us!"
Kitty sighed and rolled her eyes. She was too tired to have this conversation again after she'd made herself perfectly clear yesterday. She didn't give a bat's butt how Nadia or anyone else in the family felt about her; she was here for her own reasons and she'd leave when her visit with Martin was over, and that was that.
Of course, it would be nice if her skull didn't split in two before then.
"We talked about this yesterday, Nadia," Martin said, his weak voice firming. "It won't do any good to go over the same ground again. Kitty is as much my daughter as you are, and I'm not going to listen to any arguments to the contrary."
"How can you be so sure?" the blonde demanded, her voice shrill enough to have Kitty wincing. "From what I hear, her mother was such a slut she could be anyone's bastard. She doesn't have to be yours."
Okay, that was enough. Eyes narrowing, Kitty stood, shaking off the restraining hand Max laid on her shoulder. Misty might not have been the best mother a girl could ask for, but by God no one was going to talk about her like that. Not in front of Kitty.
"Since your mother is a stone-cold bitch, Nad, I wouldn't be the first one to cast stones if I were you," Kitty bit out, taking a step forward. "Of course, since you don't seem to have a shred more morals than she does, maybe you should speak freely. There's that 'takes one to know one' principle, after all."
Faster than thought—and a hell of a lot faster than Kitty expected—Nadia sprang across the five feet that separated them and slapped her hard across the face. Hard enough that Kitty's head snapped to the side, and when she turned back to her half sister she knew her eyes would be blazing a sharp, cutting emerald.
Even before the loud crack had faded to an echo, Martin's bellow had the younger woman stepping back and adopting an expression of the wounded party.
"Did you hear what she said about me, Martin?" Drusilla demanded while her daughter sniffed back crocodile tears. "How can you let her talk to me like that? About your own daughter! How can you even stand the sight of her?"
"I can stand it a lot better than I can stand you at the moment," he bit out. His eyes were narrowed slits the same color as Kitty's and he struggled to breathe through the fury that poured off of him in palpable waves. "Apologize to Kitty right now, Nadalie, or so help me I will get out of this bed and show you what it means to respect your pride mates. I don't care if it kills me to do it."
The girl didn't even have time to obey. A shrill beeping had her gaze snapping to Martin's cardiac monitor, and all thoughts of Nadia faded from her mind.
"Martin, lie back down," she urged, moving toward his bedside. "You can't let yourself get all worked up like this. You should be resting. Why, if Ms. Mencina sees us getting you het up this way, she'll skin us alive."
Drusilla had been closer and she was urging her ex-husband back against the mattress before Kitty took more than a couple of steps forward. "Martin, calm down. You'll make yourself even sicker this way. There's nothing to get so upset about. I'm sure Nadia didn't mean to hurt… her. Just—"
"I warned you what would happen if you set those monitors off one more time," a very unhappy voice snapped just before a very unhappy nurse emerged from the next room. Ms. Mencina descended on them like a fury, her hands making shooing motions to clear the visitors away from her patient's bed. "This is the second time I've had to throw you people out. If it happens again, I'm going to stop letting you in! Now get! All of you!"
Kitty felt Max's hand on her shoulder and took a step backward. She noticed that despite her pout, Nadia did the same.
"The partners are worried," Drusilla said, backing away from the bed when Ms. Mencina turned a narrow glare in her direction. "They may be calling on you to see for themselves what—"
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