by Scott, Kadie
Again, she shook her head.
“He loves it when you scratch his chest. Watch, he’ll roll over so you can pat his belly.”
Max reached out and scratched at the white patch on T-Bone’s chest. Sure enough, the dog flopped to his side so that his belly could receive some good rubs.
“See?” Max asked.
The little girl giggled and gave his tummy a couple pats.
After a few more minutes, Max glanced at his watch and gave a start. That was twice today his schedule had been thrown off. “Sorry kids, gotta run.”
The kids groaned, reluctant to stop their play. Max scooped T-Bone up, despite the dog hair that would stick to his shirt like cactus needles. “You’ll have to see him again another day,” he said to the protesting kids.
Then he grinned to soften the words and carried T-Bone out of the park.
“Let’s get your water bowl and food,” he chatted conversationally. T-Bone seemed to smile at the idea.
Using Gina’s spy bag, he managed to get upstairs and to her apartment without any trouble. The same colorful chaos as last night reigned, but he ignored it, until he wandered into her bedroom and stopped dead.
In the middle of a bunch of paint-stained clothes sat a large model, of a stage he assumed. Gorgeous and intricate, with moving parts that would slide back to reveal new rooms and scenes. A two-story tall curved wall showed both the outside and inside of a castle, depending on which direction it faced, and could also split in the middle to provide yet another view.
Gina was incredibly talented.
A swell of pride rose inside him—foreign and inexplicable. She wasn’t his to be proud of. Not really.
But that issue took a back seat to a bigger problem staring him in the face.
The woman’s creative process was pure mayhem. She kept her tools in shoeboxes, for heaven’s sake. Max glanced at his watch again, doing some mental math. Luckily the game today was a late afternoon one, so he’d have time before meeting Drew at the bar.
Five hours later, Max pulled up a stool to sit beside Drew, doing his best to hide a frown at there being the third person at the bar with them. Was nothing in his life sacred?
He was off-center enough as it stood. He’d spent half of his damn day fixing his fake girlfriend’s pandemonium, organizing it all in the nicest gesture in the history of fake boyfriends. And every single second he’d been asking himself why he was bothering.
Meeting Drew at the bar was supposed to put him back on schedule, back on the right foot. They had a standing meet-up at one of their favorite sports bars to watch Sunday football, only today, Drew showed up with Brandon.
Not that Max didn’t like Brandon. The guy was decent, funny, and shared interesting stories about being a bomb tech. However, his being here was one more thing not going like it should in Max’s life.
Right now, T-Bone was snuggled down in his palace in Gina’s bathroom and a certain brunette wouldn’t vacate his thoughts. Even sitting there, his dick was ready to go at the slightest thought of her. What bothered him most, however, was not that he had to watch the dog, or even the cleaning, but that he missed Gina.
A situation that passed “problem” status and went straight to DEFCON 5. Missing her meant she was getting too close. Fixing her shit meant she was getting way too close. He couldn’t let her in more than she already had managed to infiltrate his life. He liked his life the way it was, dammit.
“Nate.” He caught the bartender’s attention. “How about we change the figure skating to the game?”
The bartender flicked him an annoyed glance. Damn. He’d let his irritation with himself leak into his voice. Get a grip, Carter.
“What’s up your ass?” Drew asked beside him.
Max ignored him as Nate switched the channel. He picked up his beer and took a long swig instead.
“Gina?” Drew prodded. Trust him to poke at an open wound with a stick.
“No,” Max denied abruptly.
“The woman you brought to the Christmas party?” Brandon asked from Drew’s other side.
Max shot Drew a warning look, which his friend interpreted with ease. The fewer people who knew about Gina and his deception the better.
“Max doesn’t date,” Drew explained. “He hooks up. And Gina’s stuck around longer than most.” He shrugged as if that explained it.
“What’s so special about her?” Brandon asked. “Does she have chocolate-flavored nipples or something?”
“Watch it,” Max growled.
Brandon grinned as he held up a hand. “No offense, but I don’t do relationships, either. Based on how you couldn’t pull your eyes or hands off her at the party and your…ray of sunshine act now, I’d say this girl’s obviously got under your skin.”
Max eyed Brandon. The guy sounded jaded. Still, maybe he had a viewpoint worth considering. “And?” he prompted.
Brandon shrugged. “Until you figure out what’s special about her, and if it’s worth keeping around, I’d say steer clear, cut the ties, or at least keep her at a distance. Otherwise, you’re only setting both of you up for pain.”
Max nodded slowly. A few of the women he’d encountered had wanted more, and it had caused issues. Only his rules had kept things in check, as those ladies never knew much about him, making it harder for them to track him down. Gina, on the other hand, not only knew where he lived, but was situated a few doors down.
Still, the thought of cutting ties or keeping his distance didn’t sit well, even as logic dictated that was his smartest move.
“Whatever the hell special means,” he muttered.
Brandon snorted. “Hell if I know. The one woman I thought was it slept with my brother. Ask Drew, he seems blissfully ignorant.”
“Hey,” Drew grumbled.
“Did I say ignorant? I meant whipped.” Brandon’s good ol’ boy grin took the sting out of his words.
Drew laughed. “I think you owe me a beer for insulting my girl.”
Brandon tipped his glass in Drew’s direction. “Fair enough.”
Sobering, Drew turned back to Max. “Special is you can’t picture your life without her in it. She makes you want to be a better person.”
“Thanks for the Afterschool Special definition,” Max drawled to cover his true reaction. I’m so fucked.
Drew cast him a studious look, seeing more than Max wanted, probably, then frowned. “If it’s gone that far, what’s the problem?”
“The problem is me. No woman is going to stick around for my brand of…” Max shoved his fingers through his hair. Like Max’s family, Drew saw it more than most, but Max still had no intention of labeling himself. His need for control and order was exhausting. Even if he wanted a relationship… “I like my life the way it is.”
Drew considered him. “Then Brandon’s right. End it before you both get hurt…unless you think she’s worth the risk.”
…
Gina dragged herself down the hall to her apartment, her feet protesting each and every step along the way. As soon as she was inside, she dropped her bags by the door and leaned back against the closed door.
Who knew wrapping Christmas presents could be this exhausting?
After her stint as an elf, she’d headed to her gift-wrapping gig. Mid-shift, her boss had asked her to work a double, at time and a half, closing out the store at eleven that night. Of course, she’d jumped at the extra money, but now exhaustion didn’t begin to cover her physical state. Walking dead was closer to how she felt. She’d practically been asleep on her feet as she’d made her way home.
She flexed her fingers, which ached more than her feet, and glanced at the pads, semi-expecting to see massive blisters on the tips, but they only appeared a bit red. At least she’d given Max her spare key so he could let T-Bone out. No need to drag herself downstairs before she fell into bed for a week.
Levering off the door, she intended to do just that. But as soon as she made it into her room, she froze.
She’d left
the place in a bit of a shambles mid-project, her own system that worked for her. Anytime she made physical models, a certain amount of chaos reigned until she was done. This model, more complicated than most, was also taking longer than most.
Except, the huge mess she’d left no longer existed. Her model still sat on a platform in the middle of the cloths she’d laid down to protect Sabrina’s floors and furniture. Everything else that had been scattered about or piled in shoeboxes was now organized into what appeared to be brand new boxes, bins, and containers.
Oh. My. God.
Only one person could have done this.
Max.
She stared at her half-finished model with a sickening lump forming where her stomach was supposed to be.
For someone who hated people fixing his life, Max had done the same thing in a big way. Hell, she’d even told him while decorating his apartment that she had a process. That changing it ruined everything.
She was exhausted, but now she was also teetering between wanting to fall into bed and wanting to punch Max in the face.
Grumbling under her breath, she tried to let it go and get ready for bed instead. A quick check revealed T-Bone snuggly sound asleep in her bathroom. With jerky movements, Gina kicked off her shoes—which had been zero help after that many hours on her feet—and flopped face down onto the bed with a ploof.
Her mind whirled. What Max saw as chaos was her creative process. She’d had everything grouped and laid out the way she needed it for each stage of the project. Now she was just…lost.
Angry heat rolled through her body. So much for letting it go.
A tiny whimper followed by scratching caught her attention. Her voice must’ve woken the dog. With a groan, she heaved herself back up and let T-Bone out of his pen. Then she resumed her spot on the bed. T-Bone jumped up beside her, turned in a circle, and snuggled into her side, content to lay there with her.
“I’m going to kill Max,” she told T-Bone.
He didn’t move, other than to prick his one ear up at Max’s name.
Gina ran her hand over his tufty fur, trying to calm down, sleep moving further and further out of her grasp. It was no use.
Just like every other boyfriend, he couldn’t handle the way she lived her life. He’d seemed cool with the odd jobs, and the dog, and eventually the decorating, sort of, but Gina herself…she was too much. Like always.
T-Bone snuggled closer and gazed at her with those big brown eyes, his doggy senses keying into her spiraling mood.
Seriously, where did Max get off? While she wasn’t a neat and tidy type person, she wasn’t a total slob. Only the way she created got bad, but that worked in her head. She knew where each tool, each paintbrush was. Now she’d have to go through everything to find it, slowing down her progress.
She lay there for a few more moments, getting more and more worked up. Why couldn’t he just leave the dog and ignore her stuff? It’s not like he was her real boyfriend. Unless this was payback for decorating his apartment?
Unfortunately, now she was wide awake. No way could she go knock on Max’s door at midnight to give him a piece of her mind. Resigned to fuming alone, she changed into PJs, got ready for bed, and slipped between the sheets, T-Bone beside her.
Only sleep didn’t come. She lay in her bed, tossing and turning and getting more and more pissed at Max.
When 2 a.m. came, she gave up. According to Sabrina, Max was in the gym by now most nights. Gina debated for a solid fifteen minutes, but she knew she wouldn’t get to sleep until she let him have it. With a hmmph, she threw back the covers and headed down to the gym.
Chapter Thirteen
Max pushed himself hard on the treadmill, the pounding of his feet, the cadence of his breathing, and the whir of the belt the only sounds in the silent gym. Usually his middle-of-the-night workouts were more about insomnia than anything. Tonight, the frustrations piling on sat front and center of his thoughts.
The case at work, boring as he found it, was dragging on much longer than it should. He’d dealt with cases like it before—tracing numbers through complicated accounting processes—but he’d never failed to deliver results in a timely, if not early, manner. When had he ever taken this long to decipher a case? Being able to use his head for numbers and his expertise to put a stop to crime was a fully satisfying career, one he could take pride in.
But instead of doing his damn job, he’d allowed himself to be distracted by his blown-to-shit schedule and the woman who’d invaded his head. He’d been off his routine ever since the night he met Gina. Now, it appeared to be costing him his reputation in the office. He should be worrying about his job, but all he could think about was his unrelenting need to use his spare key and climb into Gina’s bed and work up a sweat with her rather than in the apartment gym…
Max increased the speed on is treadmill, determined to outrun his demons. Namely, a brunette with big doe eyes and a huge heart who’d managed to wind herself into his life and into his very blood.
Like an addiction.
The door creaked, and he scowled. No one ever disturbed his middle of the night workout, and tonight he was in no fucking mood to share the space, that was for damn sure.
The air punched out of his lungs as recognition of his intruder’s identity slammed through him. Gina slipped into the room, sexy as hell. When did she ever not look sexy, even in that ridiculous elf costume? Now she wore a white tank top, thin enough for the darker pink of her areolas to show through like a shadow, and black booty shorts that clung to the curve of her gorgeous ass. An outfit more suitable for sleeping than exercise—one he could image peeling her out of in the middle of the night—but he couldn’t even peel his eyes from her right now.
Without a word, and by some miracle still running without falling on his ass, Max watched her, never breaking eye contact. Leaning back against the door, her hands behind her, she stared back. He caught the soft snick of the lock even over the constant whirring of his machine. Max gulped as blood rushed south, abandoning his brain and leaving his legs lethargic as he continued to run.
Was this his thank-you gift for organizing her tools and things? Hell, yeah!
Turning away, she pulled the blinds covering windows facing the hallway closed, giving him a fantastic view of her ass, so tight. Then she turned and walked toward him, hips and tits both swaying hypnotically. His dick was hard and eager, about to explode in anticipation of whatever she had in mind.
Max lost his concentration and his footing, nearly falling off the treadmill. Only quick reflexes had him grabbing the bar before he landed face down on the thing. The Super would toss them both out of the complex for sure if anyone caught them having sex in the gym…
For once in his life, he didn’t give two shits about the rules.
But, instead of stripping off her clothes like he was picturing, she reached over and yanked on the emergency chord, bringing his machine to a stop.
“Would you like to explain why you touched my things?” she demanded.
Her eyes glittered with anger, lips pressed together. How had he missed that?
Max had no fucking clue what to do with what was happening. She was here to yell at him in the middle of the night?
An answering anger surged past the initial shock, and he stepped down, getting right in her face. “I thought I was doing something nice. Apparently, your mother didn’t teach you appreciation.”
Max cringed inwardly. Even he knew the mother comment was a low blow.
Gina scowled. “Apparently your mother didn’t teach you to keep your control freak hands off other people’s stuff.”
For someone who’d been amused but accepting of his need for order up till now, the rose-colored glasses had certainly been stripped away. “I’m not a freak.”
She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t call you a freak. I called you a control freak.” She held up fingers, ticking off each item. “You wear the same five suits all the time. You get twitchy if anything in your apartment—o
r mine, apparently—is out of place. You have to have your coffee freshly ground at the optimal temperature for that type of bean, and I suspect you have it at scheduled times of the day. I doubt you’ve ever willingly tried anything new. You don’t bring women back to your place or you would’ve had condoms in your drawer and not just your jacket pocket. What would you call it?”
Shit, she had him nailed. The part of Max still fighting the attraction between them wanted to strike back. “You think you know me so well?”
Only he still couldn’t pull his eyes from her body, her nipples puckered so beautifully for him. Max clenched his jaw until it ached. He didn’t know if he wanted to walk away, fight it out, or fuck her.
…
The combination of anger and need written on Max’s face as clearly as a flashing neon billboard would’ve been comical if she wasn’t fighting her own potent mix of the same emotions. She was practically crawling out of her skin with pure, unadulterated need, but Gina was determined to see this through.
She tipped up her chin. “No, Max. That’s part of the point. You’re so focused on controlling everything, you don’t share any part of yourself.”
“I shared a whole lot of myself with you the other night, if I remember correctly.”
“That was just fucking, and you know it.”
But even as she said the words, she knew it had been way more for her. She wouldn’t be fighting for something merely physical. She was falling for Max. Hard.
Don’t give up, Cassie said.
Push his buttons, Sabrina said. Or at least she implied it with her hint about his middle-of-the-night workouts.
Anger with him may have brought her down here, but needing to find a way to get through to him was keeping her here.
His blue eyes smoldered at her. He hadn’t been able to drag his gaze away since she’d walked in. Hell, he’d hardly allowed himself to blink. Mr. In-Control was way out of control…for her.
She stepped close enough that he could touch her if he just leaned a little closer. “Don’t you want to find…a connection with someone?”
“No.”