Squealing with laughter, I grabbed his hands. “What else could I do when it was practically waving at me,” I gasped.
He grinned. “What can I say? It was happy to see you.” He pressed his lips to my belly button. His expression shifted, turned serious. “That actually wasn’t the first time I saw you, only I didn’t know it was you then. You were at the laundromat, and I was on the opposite side of the street, mad at the world. The pain in me was so intense. But there you were, doing a little hippy dance. You know like the one those belly dancers do? You exuded a warmth that drew me. So, yeah, my heart and feet made the decision before my brain connected. I crossed the road to you and then tripped.”
That’s why he calls me dancing girl.
Love flowed through me like a warm wave. “So, you literally fell for me?”
“It was the luckiest damn fall of my life.” He nuzzled my belly, pulling more laughter out of me before he crawled up my body.
“Why did you not come into the laundromat?” I asked him.
“I was so messed up, I didn’t want to drag you into my life. But it seems fate had other ideas and we met again. So…”
“You came after me,” I teased.
“Yes.” He put his mouth on mine in a tender kiss. “I wasn’t letting you go. In a world of lies, Logan, you were my only truth. I found you. You saved me.”
“No, Max,” I whispered, running my fingers through the short strands of his newly cut hair, my heart expanding with love. “We saved each other.”
***
Though the doc had given me a clean bill of health a week later, it had taken a few days before my headaches had eased, too. My wrist, however, would take far longer to heal. Max had insisted that I take the six weeks the doc said would be required for my hand to be one hundred percent, as sick leave.
Nope, Kate wasn’t pleased at all. If she wanted to fire me, well, there were other stores who were clamoring for my services. But now that Max had started work at Sinclair Investments Inc., I missed him.
Tossing my paintbrush into the turps jar, I was so glad Gus’s painting was finally done. Who knew when I’d started his portrait several weeks ago how much my life would change?
Then last night Max had said he was paying Titus back; he didn’t want me working with the guy. Had I just started the painting, I probably would have agreed, considering how much it upset Max whenever I was holed up with Titus. But the painting was almost completed. More, Titus had paid a lot of money, which I’d given to my Dad.
So I’d dragged Max to the almost completed canvas with no penis in sight, since Titus had his one knee raised. And pointed out that I only had the background to finish.
“As long as the bastard’s not naked around you,” was all he said. And that was settled.
I peered through the window again for the umpteenth time, my belly tying itself into a lovely tight knot. Ugh, I was going to give myself an ulcer worrying.
Max had persuaded two galleries to come and see my work despite my doubts. It was almost five, and those people would be here soon. But Max wasn’t here yet. With him starting his new job, I wasn’t sure he could get away from work.
My cell rang. I grabbed it off the table and smiled at the name. “Hey, Dad.”
“Ila, sweetheart, you okay? I just spoke to Ray. She said something about you falling and hurting your face?”
“I’m okay, Dad. I tripped, just a little accident.” I uttered a silent prayer for forgiveness for lying to my father. Ray and I had decided not to tell them anything. Dad had too much to worry about.
“I’m glad you weren’t seriously hurt. Is Max around? I tried calling his cell phone, but he’s not answering.”
“No, he’s not back from work yet. He’s probably in a meeting or something. I’m sure he’ll return your call.”
“Right…okay.”
At the tension in my father’s voice, uneasiness took hold. “Dad, what is it? Can I help with anything?”
A short pause. “Your mom’s hospital bill. The entire thing has been paid,” he said, wariness creeping into his tone. “They wouldn’t say who, and we don’t have rich relatives—that’s over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, Ila.”
My legs trembled. I sank onto the futon. “Max,” I whispered.
“Yes,” Dad said as if I’d asked a question. “He’s the only one I can think of. Sweetheart, I gotta go. I’ll call him later.”
After Dad had rung off, I jumped up and paced around the studio, rubbing my hands down my paint-smeared jeans. I should go change—ugh, what did it matter? I was an artist, not a secretary being interviewed for a job.
Max had paid Mom’s bill.
God. The echo of my father’s words continued to rumble around inside my head.
At the sensation of being watched, I spun around. Relief flowed through me.
Max stood at the entrance of the studio, rocking the hell out of a gray suit, white shirt, and gray tie with tiny red daisies that I’d bought for him on his first day back last week. The tattoos on his neck peeked out from beneath his collar.
He was hot, sexy as hell, and a little dangerous with that scar on his brow. His blond hair retained its neat appearance since it was cut so short, but the look in his striking green eyes made my heart trip. A slow, sexy smile appeared. “Hey.”
“I was so afraid you’d be late.”
He strolled into the room. “I said I’d be here. I know how you get when meeting people, Logan. You like to hide in the background. I’m not letting you do that.”
I scrunched my nose at him. “And here I thought you’d be my support.”
“I always am...” His gaze swept over me in that utterly male way as he loosened his tie and undid the top button on his shirt. “Great, you haven’t changed. I like the artsy look. And stop worrying.” He gave me a slow, sensual kiss with tongue and lips while he shrugged off his jacket. Stepping back, he dropped his coat on the stool.
I rubbed my damp palms down my jeans again. “My dad was looking for you.”
“Yeah? Why? To threaten me for living in sin with his daughter?” he teased, unbuttoning and rolling his sleeves to his elbows.
“No.” I laughed then bit my lip, unsure how to ask him what my father had revealed. The doorbell rang. Ugh. “Never mind, it can keep for later.”
With a nod, Max went off and answered the door. The couple that turned up was all smiles as they shook hands with Max. The thin, tall man sported hair paler than Max’s. He glanced around the studio. The woman with eye-catching spiral locks and brown eyes that were lighter than her skin studied me instead.
“So you’re the artist?” she asked, a slight twang in her tone.
I nodded like a mute.
“Neil, Debra, this is Ila Logan. Logan, Neil Harrison and Debra Taye.”
Introductions over, they wandered around the studio, I remained at the entrance, so glad Max hadn’t said I was his girlfriend or anything. Max looked at me and gave me an encouraging smile.
But I couldn’t return it, my entire body strung too tight as they studied the paintings I’d displayed.
What seemed like hours later, the man, Neil, turned to me. “This shows some potential. We’ll showcase a few pieces, see what response we get and go from there.”
Max frowned. “Neil—”
“It’s the best I can do. You mother was a dear, dear patron.”
My heart tumbled to my feet. He was only doing this because of Max’s mom. I had to rein in the urge to hide all my work. Why had I listened to Max?
After a moment, the woman glanced at me. “This is all you have? Is there anything else?”
At her even tone, I shook my head, wishing this visit were over.
“Okay, I’ll take them all.”
Wait— “What?”
Debra smiled. “I want them. Your work’s unusual. Subtle and yet exudes passion and power. Incredible.”
“Now, wait a minute,” the man protested. “I said I’d take them—”
“Neil
, I gave you a chance. You hesitated and lost out on a rare talent. This girl has a remarkable gift. I can’t wait to get my hands on everything she does.”
I stood there, lost for words, feeling as if they were talking about someone else. Debra’s gaze lit on Gus’s drying portrait. “While those are good, don’t waste your talent on basic painting.”
Max cut me an inscrutable look as he walked them out, the man, Neil, still grumbling.
In a daze, I crossed to my “basic” painting. All the while, I’d thought my own pieces were too dark…undeveloped.
“So?”
I spun around and leaped for Max. He gathered me close. “I’m glad you stepped out from behind those walls. For a moment there, I was worried. I take it you’re happy?”
“Yes-yes!” I held him tightly, tears rushing to my eyes. “Thank you—thank you!”
“C’mon, let’s go drink champagne and celebrate.” He grasped my hand and headed out to the living room. At the sight of a champagne bottle along with two flutes on the coffee table, I stopped.
“How did you know they would want my work? That man—”
“Is an ass, but he’s good. However, Debra’s better. Mom always said she had a good eye. So I knew either way…” He popped the Moët, topped the two crystal flutes, and handed me one. “To my awesome girlfriend.”
Still caught in the surreal moment, I drank half the bubbly liquid. Max sipped his and sat in the armchair, pulling me onto his lap. His cell rang.
Setting his glass on the end table, he shifted a little and retrieved the phone from his pants pocket.
I moved off him—or tried to—to give him a little privacy, but his big palm settled on my hips, keeping me there. The one-sided conversation didn’t reveal much.
Max answered with monosyllabic responses, his thumb drawing distracting little circles on my hips. “Yes…yes…hmm…it’s not necessary…” His gaze settled on me. “She’s my life, I’ll do whatever it takes to make her happy.”
Then I knew. My father was on the line. Setting my glass on the table, I rose to my feet, my stomach roiling, and rubbed my arms.
Ending the call, Max dropped his cell on the end table and looked up at me.
“Why?”
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Because I love you, and I want you to be happy. I want you to pursue your dreams, not give them up. And because you made mine come true.” He tugged me back onto his lap. “Marry me, Logan, so I know you’ll always be mine.”
My mouth opened and shut in shock. “Max—”
“Marry me, so we can spend our nights drinking terrible red wine while watching oldies or slow dancing beneath the stars. I want to spend my life with you, because this heart,”—he tapped his chest—“will always be yours.”
My eyes stung. I could barely see him at the tears crowding them. “I love you, Max, so much,” I whispered, my voice trembling, “but ask me again in two years.”
“Fine.” He said it as if he’d expected my answer. His gaze holding mine, he slid his fingers into his pocket and fished around. Palm closed, he took my hand and slid something on my finger.
“What the—?” I stared at gleaming teardrop-shaped emerald and diamond engagement ring. “Max, I said two years.”
“I know, but this way, the world knows you belong to me now.”
“Then I should get you something, too,” I teased.
He frowned. “I don’t do jewelry, well, except for the ones that bring you pleasure—” My face heated at his smile. “But…” He unbuttoned his dress shirt and shrugged it aside, then grasped the hem of the white t-shirt beneath and hauled it off.
“Max,” I laughed, “I meant something like a ring, which you vetoed—” Then I saw it. The words dried up in my throat.
On his left pec, over his heart, my name was done in dark ink.
My own clocking like a racing horse, I gently traced the old English letters that spelled Logan and included a red heart—the only bit of color on his chest. The skin appeared a little puffy and red around the new tattoo, so I traced it gently.
“It’s beautiful. You never do anything the expected way, do you?”
“Why follow social norm?”
Wasn’t that the truth when it came to him? “When did you get this done?”
“Yesterday. No, you didn’t see it because I made love to you with the lights off against the bedroom window.”
Heat flooded my face. “You deliberately did that, knowing I’d insist the lights be off?”
“Absolutely.” There was no apology in his tone. “Besides, it was better, wasn’t it, at the thought that just maybe someone could see us?”
My face hot, I wrinkled my nose, refusing to say yes, though that edge of danger—of discovery, had heightened my pleasure. And with Max, I was willing to go wherever he took me.
Epilogue
Ila
Max pushed open the bar door to Mulligan’s. A cacophony of sounds—laughter, chatter, along with the soft background music—spilled over me, and I stumbled to a halt.
“You plan on playing doorkeeper?” he teased from behind me, his hands sliding to my waist to move me along.
Inhaling deeply, the aroma of grilled meat and malty beer assaulting my nose, I huffed out a laugh. “It just took me by surprise how full this place is so early in the evening.”
“Guess everyone must be real thirsty.”
Laughing at his droll tone, I glanced around and spied Ray at the bar. Dressed in the bar’s uniform of short, black, pleated skirt, a figure-hugging white top, and black pumps, she hurried over. Her hair was longer now and pulled into a ponytail, and the pink streaks in her bangs were blue. She no longer lived with us after we’d moved from the apartment to a loft in SoMa. Ray preferred being closer to school.
“Table’s at the back,” she informed us with a lisp. Yes, she’d gone and gotten her tongue pierced last week for some reason. “The Players are already here.”
“Doesn’t that hurt?” I asked again.
She grinned. “Nope.”
As we made our way to the back, I cut Max a look over my shoulder. “This is all your doing.”
That bisected eyebrow lifted. “Me?”
“Yep, you and all your hidden jewelry.” I bit my lip to stop from smiling.
He lowered his head, whispered, “You love my cock piercing, admit it.”
Heat blistering my face, I didn’t look at him. His soft laughter tickled my ear. A group of people trailed past us. Max drew me close, hands on my hips. Being in this position, I couldn’t resist. Wearing heels, my hips aligned with his groin, I did a slow hip roll. He stiffened. Yep, that piece of jewelry didn’t only give me more pleasure than I ever believed possible, but it was also highly arousing for him.
His warm breath feathered my neck. “You’re in so much trouble, Logan.”
I smiled, loving when he said my name in that low, growly tone.
At our approach, War jumped up. A fist pound followed. “About time you got here, man. Now that you’re leading a staid, working life, we barely get to see you.”
Grunting, Max pulled out my chair. “You left our loft quite late last night.”
“You kicked us out,” War, seated again next to Jack, groused. “It wasn’t even eleven.”
“Right, I did. I had things to do...” Max cut me a heated look.
“Please. Spare me.” War’s mouth twitched into a smile.
“What’s up, man?” Jack gave him a quick handshake and a quizzical look. Then shut up when Max didn’t answer. I frowned. Had Max called them here? He joined the guys at the bar once a week, so why the surprise?
“How’s the painting biz, Ila?” Jack asked, distracting me.
“Great. Busy.” I’d had to quit my day job with Kate because the gallery wanted more of my work.
Max sat beside me and leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his broad chest. He still wore the charcoal-gray dress pants and shirt—ones he’d worn to work—but he’d gotte
n rid of his coat and tie and had folded his sleeves to his elbows, revealing those strong, sexy, tattooed forearms. The plaited leather bracelet I’d given him two years ago never left his wrist, even when he went to work.
Had it really been two years since we’d met? Felt like it was yesterday at times.
Max slung his arm around my chair, his fingers caressing my bare arm. Since he was still in his work clothes, I was glad I’d listened to Ray and not worn my usual jeans to the pub. Instead, I had put on a vintage, sleeveless, black and white dress a few inches above my knees, and had teamed it with black, sling-back wedges.
“Ila, there you are.”
Frowning, I turned then shot up from my chair, a wide grin on my face. “Charli? What are you doing here? I thought you were in Germany?”
She was flying solo these days. She’d completely sworn off men after Craig. Soon after their breakup, she’d taken a job overseas.
Charli flipped back her spiral hair and laughed, her light brown eyes sparkling. “I just got back, got a new job offer. Ray called, said you guys were all meeting up here, so here I am.”
I hugged her. “I’m glad you came.”
“Me, too.” She leaned across me toward Max. “Hey, Max.”
“Charli. Good to see you again.” Then he said, “Those are my friends. That’s Jack Griffin, and the big guy next to him is Eli Warrick—War to everyone. Guys, Charlotte Jones.”
“Hello.” She gave them an easy smile and sat on the other side of me then turned as my sister brought our drinks to the table. “Ray!” Charli leaped up, her short skirt swaying around her dusky thighs as she squeezed my sister.
Noticing War checking her out, I snorted. “Don’t waste your time. She’s not into players,” I stressed the name Ray had given them.
Jack looked up from his cell and frowned. He didn’t say anything which was strange in itself—usually, he found the title amusing. War said nothing, just watched Charli.
Shaking my head, I accepted the vodka tonic Max handed me. He leaned his arms on the scarred wooden table, his palms wrapped around his Heineken, talking to the guys. Even after all this time, my heart still tripped whenever I looked at him.
Breathless (Players to Men) Page 30