Against the Ropes

by Sarah Castille

  seating for six complete with wall-mounted television is surrounded

  by potted palms.

  My heels click over giant, cream marble tiles, and I run my hand

  over the smooth, shiny surface of the giant mahogany dining table. The

  gray leather dining chairs have low backs and wide padded seats. As with

  the rest of the room the furniture is masculine but inviting. A modern

  man cave.

  “The top level is essentially a complete home.” Colton smiles when

  I spin slowly around. “Although there are three levels, the master suite,

  kitchen, breakfast room, living room, dining room, and library are all

  on this one floor.”

  “There’s more?” Just the space I can see is about ten times bigger

  than my entire house.

  “Oh, yes,” Colton gestures down a wide hallway ending in double

  doors. “The master suite is about the same size as the main living space.

  Upstairs you’ll find the en suite guest bedrooms, and downstairs we have

  the media room, gym, home theater, staff quarters, and wine cellar.”

  “Wow.” I can’t think of anything else to say.

  Max settles me at the bar and excuses himself to make a call. Colton

  offers me a drink but I decline alcohol in favor of diet soda. I don’t want

  to embarrass myself in Max’s fancy home.

  We chat about the house, Colton’s living quarters downstairs and

  the five bridge views from the wraparound patio. I chase down the diet

  soda with an entire bowl of nuts.

  Max has still not returned by the time I finish plundering the snack

  tray, and I talk Colton into letting me join him in the kitchen while he

  puts the finishing touches on the meal.

  “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes,” Colton says, as we leave

  the bar. “Tonight we’re having lobster cocktail, tomato salad, grilled

  free-range chicken with roast field mushrooms and asparagus, and

  chocolate mousse for dessert.”

  My mouth waters. And to think I had planned a dinner of cereal

  and skim milk before Max texted me this morning. “You cook, too?”

  “A butler takes on whatever duties are required. Mr. Huntington

  travels a great deal and did not wish to employ a full-time cook. I enjoy

  being in the kitchen. It works out very well.”

  I follow Colton through the house. Although the man cave is cozy

  and comfortable, I don’t see any personal objects. No photos. No maga-

  zines. No coffee cups, slippers, or blankets. Everything is pristine and

  perfect. Definitely not the kind of place to relax after work with a good

  book and a pint of Chunky Monkey.

  The kitchen is the size of the entire living area of my new apartment.

  The walnut island could easily fit six stools, and there is still plenty of

  cupboard space in the ceiling-high white lacquer cabinets despite the

  east and west walls being almost all windows. Antique industrial lights

  and a stainless steel accents give the kitchen an artsy feel.

  Dream kitchen. And I don’t even like to cook.

  I sit at the island while Colton stirs the contents of a large pot on

  the stove. Tantalizing aromas waft my way and my stomach gurgles.

  “Can I help you with anything?”

  “No, thank you, Miss Makayla. We don’t make our guests work

  when they come to visit.”

  “It’s not work.” I join him at the stove. “I would feel more comfort-

  able if I had something to do.”

  “I don’t know if Mr. Huntington would approve.”

  “Please, Colton. I’m used to a house filled with people, a floor piled

  with pizza boxes, and crumbs on every surface. Silence and sitting make

  me nervous.”

  A reluctant grin spreads across his face. “The lettuce needs a wash.

  There’s a spare apron in the cupboard beside the fridge.”

  My shoulders drop into a relaxed slump. “Lettuce washing sounds

  perfect.” I grab the blue and white checkered apron from the cupboard

  and head to the sink.

  “Have you worked for Max very long?” I cannot find any way to

  turn on the tap. It looks like a giant swan neck with a cage attached to

  its beak. Maybe I should honk.

  “About six years. I was in service to a family in Yorkshire and he

  enticed me away.” Colton waves his hand in front of the tap and water

  shoots out the swan’s nose. Classy.

  “I have not regretted the move for a second,” he continues.

  “America is indeed a land of opportunity, and Mr. Huntington is a

  very generous employer.”

  We chat about Colton’s work while I rinse the lettuce. Colton

  hands me a pink, plastic lettuce knife and a cutting board and entertains

  me with stories of butler school while I chop. Butler school. How cool

  is that?

  “Colton.” The sharp crack of Max’s voice slices through our cama-

  raderie like a lettuce knife through lettuce.

  Colton’s head jerks up and he pales.

  “What is Makayla doing in the kitchen?”

  I position myself between a shaken Colton and a fuming Max, and

  plant my hands on my hips. “I asked if I could help out. Colton said no.

  I insisted. I wanted to do something to keep busy while you were on the

  phone. I’m not good at being idle.”

  “Learn.”

  My breath catches in my throat. “What did you just say?”

  His eyes narrow. “I said learn. You are a guest in my home. Guests

  relax. I don’t want you working. That’s Colton’s job.”

  “I want to be here.” I keep my voice low but my tone firm.

  Max ignores me and glares at Colton. “I’ll speak to you outside.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. It was my mistake.” Colton puts down his spoon

  and removes his apron.

  “No. It wasn’t your mistake.” I walk up to Max and fold my arms.

  “It was my decision.”

  “Makayla! This is a staff matter. It doesn’t concern you.”

  “It does if Colton is reprimanded for something I did. If you want

  to fire someone, fire me. I’ve never been a good lettuce chopper.”

  Max huffs out a breath. “I’m not going to fire anyone.”

  “Good.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other as we stare

  at each other. Now what? I’ve never done drama queen before. Should

  I leave? No. He needs to listen and understand. That won’t happen if

  I run away.

  I clench my teeth and exhale loudly. “I like that you want to look

  after me but not if it means you’re going to be all bossy and controlling.

  I can’t handle it. Sometimes you need to back off and trust that I can

  make my own decisions.”

  Max frowns. “This is my house.”

  I slide my hands up his chest and around his neck, pulling him

  down until I can feel the heat of his breath on my lips. “This is your girl.

  And if you want your girl to stay in your house, you’d better apologize

  to Colton.”

  His eyes darken and he wraps his arms around me. A low rumble

  starts deep in his chest. “My girl.”

  I brush my lips lightly over his. “Yours,” I whisper. “And you

  are mine.”

  “I apologize, Colton,” Max says abruptly. “I was out of line.”

  “Much obliged, sir.” Colton unties his apro
n and hangs it

  on the peg. “The meal is ready at your convenience. I’ll go and set

  the table.”

  “He’s very discrete,” I murmur against Max’s lips.

  Max lifts me up and settles me on the island. He trails his fingers

  along the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, pressing them gently apart

  to accommodate his hips. “He likes you.”

  “How do you know? His fingers trace lazy circles closer and closer

  to my center. I put a hand on his shoulder to steady myself as desire

  spirals through me.

  “You’re in his kitchen. He never lets anyone in his kitchen. But

  I’m not surprised. You have a way of making people feel comfortable.

  You listen to them. Really listen. I’ll bet you know as much about

  Colton after your short time with him as I do. It’s one of the things I

  like about you.”

  “He’s had an interesting life.”

  Max chortles. “And you’re an interesting girl.”

  “I’m a hungry girl.” I point to the pots on the stove. “I would hate

  for his meal to get wasted. He put a lot of time and effort into it.”

  Max wraps his arms around me and kisses me long and deep.

  “Food is about the last thing on my mind, but you’ll need your energy

  for later.”

  My breath catches in my throat. “What happens later?”

  He gives me a wicked grin. “You’ll have to wait to find out.”

  I run my finger along the top edge of his belt, stopping at the center

  of his belt buckle. “What if I don’t want to wait?”

  Half an hour later the Agusta glides to a stop at the top of San Francisco’s

  most famous peak. The city twinkles below us and the stars are so close

  in the dark night sky, I could almost reach up and touch them.

  Max gently pulls my helmet over my head and places it on the stone

  retaining wall.

  I look around and snort a laugh. “I can’t believe you brought me

  to Twin Peaks.”

  “Why?” He takes off his own helmet and places it beside mine.

  “This is the makeout spot in Oakland. No one comes to Twin

  Peaks at night for the view.”

  “I didn’t bring you here for the view,” Max rumbles. He pats the

  seat in front of him, and my legs turn to jelly.

  Wary of the hot exhaust pipes, I climb onto the seat facing him.

  The space is so narrow I can barely squeeze in front of him and Max has

  to ease himself back along the pillion seat. My heart pounds against my

  ribs when I meet his smoldering gaze. “Max Huntington. Did you take

  me up here to make out?”

  He cups my face between his hands. “Dinner first. Then dessert.”

  My stomach flutters at his words, and a shiver wracks my body. My

  need escapes with the softest moan.

  “God, Makayla.” He leans down and slants his mouth over mine.

  Everything inside me softens. His tongue parts my lips and sweeps inside

  my mouth, stroking, touching, tasting. Even better than last time.

  “Don’t tempt me,” he murmurs against my lips, “or you’ll never

  get your dinner.”

  “Don’t want dinner.”

  “You’ll need the energy.” His voice drips with sensual promise and

  I only just manage to restrain myself from ripping my new leathers off

  my body and begging him to take me right on his motorcycle.

  He unhooks the saddlebag and pulls out two tall tin containers

  divided into sections. Each section swings out to reveal a different part

  of the meal. Delightful. I need one of these for my lunch bag. Charlie

  would be so jealous.

  We eat our meal facing each other and only occasionally glancing

  over at the view. Although the food is delicious, my body thrums with

  anticipation. I want the promised dessert. I want more kisses. I want

  more fondling. I want more Max.

  “What did you think of the house?” He spears a piece of roast

  chicken with a small silver fork.

  “It’s…um…modern and masculine. Cozy. And…nice. Well-decorated.”

  Max raises an eyebrow. “Be honest with me.”

  “I love it, but it doesn’t seem like you. Not that you’ve told me a

  lot about yourself, but I didn’t see you anywhere. I saw Max you but not

  Torment you. I don’t know if that makes any sense.”

  From the smile creasing his face, I assume that was the right answer.

  “I use it mostly for entertaining. I meet a lot of potential clients,

  and I usually have them stay with me so I can get a better feel for the

  people I’m dealing with. I couldn’t do it without Colton. He handles

  everything so I can talk business.”

  “Where do you go if you just want to kick back and relax?” I spear

  another vegetable. I don’t know what kind of vegetable it is, but its

  deliciousness changes my mind about vegetables forever.

  “I’m building a suite on the second floor at the club. It’s still a work

  in progress, but I’ve got all the basics in place. I go there when I want

  to get away.”

  “I’d like to see it,” I say quietly. “I’d like to see something that

  is you.”

  His jaw tightens. “I don’t take anyone up there.”

  Although his tone is gentle, his rejection stings. “Sure. Sorry. Forget

  I asked.”

  No longer hungry, I close up my little container and tuck it in

  Max’s saddlebag. He follows suit and for a moment we just stare at each

  other in awkward silence.

  “Fuck.” Max slides one arm around my waist and hauls me up

  against him. He bends down and teases my mouth open, then runs his

  tongue in a sensual slide over my lips. My body flames in response.

  He pulls away and rubs his thumb over my cheek. “That both-

  ered you.”

  “No. Really. I totally understand. We all need our privacy.”

  “Not you. Not from me.” He dips his tongue in my mouth, and

  then plunges deep. His hand threads through my hair, and he tugs my

  head back, exposing my neck to the sensual caress of his lips. “Are you

  hiding something from me?” he murmurs.

  My lungs seize up, and I fall back on the tried and true deflection

  technique. “Your tongue was just halfway down my throat. Does that

  seem to you like I’m hiding anything?”

  “Always with the smart mouth.” He runs his thumb over my lip and

  when my mouth opens he covers it with his own. This time he takes

  everything I give and demands more. My body melts into his. My back

  arches over his arm. My breasts press against his chest, begging to be freed.

  “Every time I see you, I want to kiss your smart little mouth,” he

  rasps in my ear.

  I wrap my arms around his neck and draw him down. “Consider

  this an open invitation.” I kiss him back, drinking him in. Our tongues

  tease and touch; our mouths meld. My fingers curl into his jacket, and

  I moan into his mouth.

  “Need to touch you.” He doesn’t wait for my response. Instead, his

  hand finds my zipper and in one swift movement he has the jacket off

  my shoulders.

  I shiver at the rush of cool, night air. My nipples pebble against the

  thin cotton of my tank top, and I arch toward his hand.

  “You are so damn hot.”
He cups my breasts, one in each palm and

  rubs his thumbs over my nipples, drawing them into tight peaks. His

  tongue plunges in and out of my mouth—a teasing promise of what

  better damn well be coming soon.

  Max slips his fingers under the spaghetti straps of my tank top

  and peels it down. The built-in bra means I am instantly bared for his

  viewing pleasure. He stares, but doesn’t move.

  “Max?”

  “So beautiful.” He bends down and draws my right nipple into his

  mouth sucking and nibbling until I am clinging to him for dear life and

  panting like I’ve just run a marathon.

  Too much. Too many sensations. His mouth on my breasts. His

  thumb circling my nipples. The soft brush of his hair over my chest.

  The beauty of the night sky and the breathtaking view of San Francisco

  spread below us like a blanket of stars.

  “Ahhhh.” I lean backward, arching uncomfortably over the gas

  tank, and away from too much sensation. My hair falls down along the

  fairing, my breasts thrust upward and my peaked nipples reach up for

  the stars. Max’s hands freeze mid-caress.

  “Christ. You are beyond tempting. If you don’t get up now I won’t

  be able to stop.”

  “I’m not getting up.”

  “Then I’m not stopping, baby.” He leans over, plants tiny kisses

  down my stomach, and teases my naval with his tongue. Heat pours off

  my body. His teeth nip my belly, and then his mouth dips lower.

  My body tightens as need ratchets through me. Max slides one

  finger inside the waistband of my leather trousers and I wiggle to give

  him more room. The world shifts and tilts upside down.

  “Whoa there.” Max grabs my arm and saves me from a humiliating,

  half-naked gravel nose dive.

  My cheeks flame. “I’m afraid I haven’t kept up my making-out-on-

  a-motorcycle skills.”

  Max studies me, his eyes thoughtful. “I have an idea.”

  Five minutes later I am back in position, but now the rear wheel

  is secured with some kind of collapsible swing arm stand and Max is

  standing beside the motorcycle with a coil of rope in his hand.

  “Are you going to pull a rabbit out of that pack next?” I ask as he

  tugs my tank top over my head..

  “You like rabbits?” he murmurs.

  Do I ever. But not the fuzzy kind. Not that I would ever let him know.

  I am too hot to be cold, but when he eases me back over the gas