“Max?”
Frowning, he peered closer at me. “Hey, Ila.” He stuck his thumb out behind him. “Through that door. Upstairs, second door on the left.”
Then he lumbered back and collapsed on the couch again. Two guys I’d never seen before were knocked out, snoring on the other couches. One had a girl wearing only a t-shirt draped over him.
Pizza boxes lay scattered on the coffee table. Bottles and glasses lined every surface. The place reeked of spilled beer and stale food.
Grimacing, I gingerly picked my way over the littered wooden floor to the entrance War had pointed out, and as I entered a slightly cleaner and much smaller living room, I saw the black baby grand. With my churning emotions, I wasn’t in the mood to admire it. I headed straight for the stairs I spied through the archway and ran up, then stopped, warily eyeing the dark passage. Two doors on the right, two on the left. I didn’t want to inadvertently end up in the wrong room. Second door on the left, I repeated, and knocked. It opened it into a darkened room. “Max?”
Moans and grunts had me freezing. My eyes adjusted to the darkness. Dammit, I must have opened the wrong door. Maybe it was the right?
A girl whimpered. A deep male groan followed. Shit.
“Harder—harder,” she moaned. “I missed you, Max…”
I froze.
“What the fuck, Anabel?” a gravelly voice hissed. A flash of blond hair. Tattooed arms grabbed her.
No—no! Oh, God—please... I stumbled back, an agonized moan caught in my throat. This can’t be happening, not again.
My entire being fracturing, feeling as if someone had stomped on my chest, I spun and ran down the stairs, tears blurring my eyes, and slammed out the front door. The sight of Max’s Jeep only intensified the pain splintering my heart. I tore down the silent street. Had no idea where to go, what to do, I only knew if I stopped running, I’d shatter and fall and doubted I would ever find myself again.
“Logan!”
I didn’t stop—didn’t want to hear his excuses. He’d probably seen me, why he came sprinting after me. But he’d just proven me right. He was just like Devyn, ready to screw around the second I did or said something he didn’t like.
The next minute, hands grabbed me around my waist, dragging me to a halt.
“Dammit, Logan—”
“How could you?” I shoved him hard, tears falling hot and messy down my cheeks. “How could you? Knowing what Devyn did to me? I suppose I should be grateful at least she didn’t laugh in my face at what a fool I am.” Only because I hadn’t remained to give her that pleasure.
I pivoted and darted onto the middle of the road, flagging the cab crawling toward me. Footsteps thundered in the darkened street. Growling, Max grabbed my arms and yanked me back, his fingers biting into my biceps, trying to keep me there. His expression fierce. “Dammit, Logan—wait just one minute—”
“Let me go!” I kicked his shin. “I should have never trusted you!”
“Logan—stop!” He hauled me close, his arms banding around me. “You’re hurting us both. Come on, dancing girl, please stop. I would never do that to you.”
“Liar!” I hit him hard on the chest, pain spreading up my wrists. “I saw you. War said the second bedroom was yours. I saw you with her! She called your name.”
“What?” Confusion edged his tone, but he continued keeping me trapped against him, despite my struggles. “I promised you I would never cheat. I didn’t. Logan—” he grasped my face in one of his huge palm, making me look at him. “That was probably a friend of Jack’s using my old room. When I got here, the party was in full swing. I didn’t feel like going inside, so I just sat in my Jeep. Hurting, because of the way I left you, and I’m only guilty for that dick move, only that—”
“Stop!” I glared at him, not wanting to hear any more. “Your Jeep was empty. You weren’t in there.”
“Because I had my seat in a reclining position. God, Logan, I’m crazy about you—don’t you get that? When the house door slammed, I jerked upright and thought I was dreaming you. I called out, but you didn’t hear me. You ran past so fast, I realized what must have happened and came after you.”
I looked behind him, the house was silent, no one was stirring. The Jeep door was flung open. And through the pain fog clouding my mind, I realized he was fully dressed. No way could he have hauled on his clothes, boots included, and followed me this fast. And the tears started to fall again. “I thought—I thought…I hit you.”
“I hardly felt it.” He cupped my face with both palms now. Darkened green eyes held mine. “I would never intentionally hurt you, Logan. You are embedded so deep in here”—he slapped his chest—“it would mean destroying myself, too.”
He wiped away my tears with his thumb, and I swiped my nose with my shirt hem.
“C’mon.” He dropped his arm around my shoulders and led me back to the Jeep. As we neared the house, the door opened, and a guy with short, light blond hair, and colorfully inked sleeves, stormed out. He shot Max a malevolent glare and got on a bike.
A redhead stumbled to the door wearing only a long t-shirt, cried out, “Ryan, wait—” Then she glanced at us and froze as the guy ignored her and tore off up the street.
“She’s the one who called your name,” I whispered. “Who is she?”
Max barely spared her a look. “Honestly, I don’t recall.”
On the ride back, I brooded, the pieces finally connecting. That girl was probably an old hookup and, even if Max didn’t recall who she was, the biker guy’s resemblance to him said it all. She was still hung-up on Max.
I understood it was his past, and it was over, but still, it left a gaping hole inside me—brought back painful memories of my shattered experience.
Max took my hand from my lap to rest on his thigh. “I’m right here, Logan, don’t shut me out because of a misassumption.”
I dragged my gaze from staring out the side window to him. His mouth tightened when I remained silent.
A short while later, we arrived at the apartment. I made my way to the kitchen, my head pounding from my crying jag. I switched on the light and blinked at the sudden brightness.
Max, who followed quietly behind me, spun me to him and held me so tightly the air rushed out of my lungs. He buried his face in my nape. “I’m sorry, Logan. I’m sorry about this morning, for being such a bastard when I know you only wanted to help, and for what you went through at Jack’s.”
A wobbly breath escaped me, and I put my arms around him. I didn’t want to think about the horrible fight or what happened after, and worse, my own insecurities. “I didn’t mean to push so hard, I was scared and worried about you.”
He remained silent, his chest rising and falling, and when I thought he wouldn’t speak, he said, “The headaches started soon after the accident. …” He let me go and leaned against the counter to stare out through the darkened window. “As the months passed and with the lack of sleep, the headaches grew worse, and that’s when I started taking the pills.”
Trying to ignore the hammering in my own head, I asked, “It doesn’t help you sleep?”
He shook his head. “No, nothing does. If I do, it’s in snatches. They’re just really strong pain meds,” he admitted.
My gaze drifted over his haggard features and realized the truth. It wasn’t just the accident or not remembering that was taking a toll, it was him not sleeping, too. “Did the doc not say what causes the headaches?”
He shrugged. “Except for slicing this open”—he rubbed the scar on his eyebrow—“they couldn’t find anything medically wrong. Said I needed to learn to relax and sleep, it should help ease the pain. They prescribed sleeping pills, but those just held me trapped in my nightmares. My mind wide awake. Hated that shit…”
The strain lines etched around his mouth were pronounced. Fatigue and pain had dulled his gorgeous eyes to a murky green. He continued to rub his brow.
Max didn’t know how to relax, not mentally anyway…because he c
ouldn’t, not with his tragic past haunting him. Maybe there was something I could do for him.
“Come, let’s go upstairs.”
“Let me have a quick shower first, ‘kay?” He straightened from the counter. “Cold water soothes me.”
And I wasn’t much help with my breakdown, was I?
“Okay.”
After Max had left, I retrieved the Advil from the cupboard, took two and swallowed them with water. Back in the bedroom, I straightened the sheets and the covers. Bed tidied, I shut the windows then changed into sleep shorts and a tee and sat down to wait for Max.
A few minutes later, he walked in, a towel draped low around his waist. Raking his fingers through his damp hair, he sat beside me. “You okay?”
I pressed my face against his biceps and nodded. His cool skin felt good against my heated cheek.
“I think I’m gonna lie down for a bit.” His lips brushed my hair. He lowered to the mattress and reached for me.
“No, wait. Roll over. I want to try something.”
His scarred eyebrow lifted. “Getting kinky with me, Logan?”
“Yes, I have plans to use a dildo on you—” The words shot out before I could stop them. But what the heck, it would lighten the heaviness that had settled between us. “This is a practice run with my fingers.” Keeping the smile off my face, I reached into the bedside drawer. I got out the small bottle of my special blend of lavender and chamomile oil and met his narrowed stare.
My expression serious, I said, “It’s lube. You’re not scared are you?” Unable to contain myself, shaky laughter spilled free. “I’m just gonna give you a massage, okay?”
He grasped me by the neck, yanked me down, and bit my lower lip. I squeaked. “Ouch, that hurt.”
“Good…” Then tenderly, he sucked my abused lip, his hand drifting down my body to caress my butt. “When I do eventually take you there, I’ll show you exactly how lube works.”
My cheeks blazed, and my tummy dipped at the thought of him inside me there. Refusing to show him how much the thought intrigued me, I merely said, “Not happening. Turn over.”
A knowing smirk lifted his mouth. He pulled the towel and tossed it aside, and at the sight of his semi-erect sex, I had some misgivings. “No—no way—” I shook my head. “You’re hung like a horse and I’m not having that in me there.”
He laughed and settled on his tummy. “By the time I’m done with you, baby, you will take all of me.”
With those stomach-churning words ringing in my head, I straddled his hips, then poured a little oil in my palms, and rubbed the mixture over the tatt on his back—a kneeling angel whose wings were caught in the web design on his biceps—in one sweeping motion, right down over his tight, sexy butt. And up again. The tension in his wide shoulders startled me, the muscles like steel cables about to snap.
When I’d fallen apart after my break-up, sleep had been rare. Aunt Mary had gotten the blend of oils for me. She was big on natural healing and didn’t believe in medicating unless it was absolutely necessary. Strangely enough, the soothing oils had helped me sleep even if for a short while. I prayed it would help Max, too, at least to sleep a little.
“Turn over,” I said quietly, shifting off him.
With a soft grunt, he did. His eyes remained closed. I sat beside him, slid my hands to his temples, and slowly pressed my thumbs in a circular motion.
A groan left him. “God, Logan, your hands are incredible.”
“Shh, no talking, just relax.” I continued working on his brow and temples then swept my hands down his neck and biceps, to his fingertips, and back up to his shoulders again, kneading the knots I found there. Fifteen minutes later, his breathing evened, I slowed.
“No, don’t leave...” a husky, sleep-infused whisper. His hand reached for me.
“I’m right here.” Recapping the oil, I set it down, slid in beside him and pulled the duvet over us. Max didn’t stir, I slid my arm over his chest and held him. But I didn’t sleep.
***
The day at work dragged. Max had been asleep for a solid two hours when I left him. Since he so rarely slept, I didn’t want to wake him up. He did call, but I didn’t answer, being in the middle of trying to hold my cool with Kate, who wanted the entire design concept I’d done for her new store trashed and reworked. It had been a shitty morning.
I stared wearily at the half-finished design on the desk.
With the added weight of a sleepless night pressing down on me, along with an achy head, I was back to experiencing the pain of my past, the trauma, because what I’d walked in on last night at Jack’s was so much like what I’d experienced with Devyn.
Even though my brain knew Max hadn’t cheated on me, I couldn’t shake the PTSD symptoms—reliving the old nightmare, the feeling of distress. My ingrained insecurities bombarded me like stabbing fingers of darkness and were a struggle to push away.
I rubbed a shaky hand over my face.
“Miss Logan?”
I lifted my head, and in a daze, I met the pale blue stare of the icy blonde in the doorway. “Yes?”
The woman, dressed in a charcoal gray skirt suit, appeared to be in her late thirties. Her hair was held in a topknot. She was the epitome of cool, elegant. Beautiful. She glided into the office and shut the door. Her gaze swept over me in such cold appraisal, it took me by surprise that I didn’t hear her low words at first.
“…I’m forced to seek you out. Max needs stability and you cannot give it to him,” she said.
What? I looked her over again. “Who are you?”
Her angular jaw tightened. “I’m his…psychiatrist.”
This was Max’s shrink? The vise in my stomach intensified.
“He needs to heal. He comes to me because he cannot cope with what he’s going through, and now you—” she said the word like I was something repugnant. “You are destroying him.”
“Me? How do I do that? I help him.”
“Max needs me. You set him back. I’m the only one that can give him everything he requires.”
At the furious flicker in her pale eyes, then I knew.
Max had been intimate with this woman. And he continued to see her.
Feeling as if I couldn’t breathe, as if I was drowning and there was nothing to anchor me, I shoved past her and walked out.
Chapter Seventeen
Max
Sunlight drenched the bedroom when I woke. But I was alone. Logan’s side of the bed was empty. I squinted at the brightness, and out of habit, rubbed my brow. Then stilled. There was no pain, no pounding head this morning. My gaze lit on the digital clock in shock. Three hours—I’d slept for just over three hours straight.
She’d helped me. She’d done that for me.
Emotions overwhelmed me. No one had cared enough to push me like she had. Yeah, I’m not the easiest bastard to get on with, but Logan saw through to the heart of me. She understood me.
I grabbed my cell and called her. But it went unanswered. Damn, she must be busy.
Deciding to call her later, I made my way to the bathroom, a lightness inside me I hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
Ten minutes later, I stepped out of the shower, hitched a towel around my waist, and headed for the bedroom when my cell rang. I snatched it off the nightstand.
Jack. “Let’s hit the beach. I need the waves.”
Still worried about him, Jack was worse than me when in the dumps, I agreed, deciding to call Logan when I got back. “On my way.”
It was nearly twelve when I got back from an exhausting, but exhilarating few hours of surfing, Jack’s poison of choice when he was pissing mad. He liked fighting the waves. He hadn’t spoken much but had seemed in a better frame of mind when we parted. It was a deal we’d made, if he needed to surf, he would call me. Because Jack did dangerous things when angry. I didn’t trust him alone while riding the turbulent waves. But then, we were two of a kind. He’d kept my ass safe one too many times with my proclivity for fighting.
>
Showered and changed, I called Logan. Still no answer.
Frowning, I rang the store, and immediately recognized the cool tones of her boss, Kate. “I need to speak with Lo—Ila.”
“Me, too. I want to know where the heck she is, and what was she thinking walking out, without a word, in the middle of a work day.”
She walked out of her job? Why would she do that?
With no clue where she could have gone to, I paced the living room, ending at the window, searching the street. I called her again. She answered.
Relief smashed my worry. “Dammit, Logan, you don’t answer your cell—you walk out of your job—what’s going on? Where are you?”
“I-I’m okay.”
At the huskiness in her voice, a vise fisted my belly. She sounded upset. “Is this because of what happened at Jack’s? I thought everything between us had been settled this morning.” Silence. “Logan, what the hell’s going on? Tell me,” I demanded.
“Max, please. I can’t do this now. I…I need time.” The line went dead. I clenched my fingers around the device so I wouldn’t fling it across the room. Need time for what?
As time crawled by like a snail on a fucking cruise, my thoughts continued fluctuating between worried and pissed off.
Ray flew through the front door and dumped her bag and books on the dining table. “Hey, Maximus, where’s Ila?”
I remained silent and stared uninterestedly at a ballgame on TV. The digital time on the DVD player continued to mock me. It was nearly four, and I had no idea if she planned to come back today, tomorrow, or if she’d fucking called it quits on me.
My mood had now passed pissed-off and entered cold fury. I replayed everything in my mind that had occurred early this morning until the last phone call between us hours ago. A thought struck me like a spear in my chest. Something must have happened for her to seek solace on her own. She’d hidden from life when that fucking moron ex had broken her heart—shit! I had to find her, find out what the hell was going on.
Breathless (Players to Men) Page 24