“Stay,” she said, her voice fucked out and raw, sending shivers down Max’s spine. He’d done that, made her sound so exhausted and satisfied.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, clicking out the bathroom light and burrowing under the covers. In that moment, he meant it completely.
He pulled her into his arms, heart thumping at the way she pushed her head into the curve of his neck, her breath warm and sweet against his skin.
Counting the slowing beats of her heart lulled Max into a sleepy contentment. And the last thought he had before he closed his eyes was that he’d stay forever, if she asked him to.
Chapter 19
Jules stretched, feeling twinges of pleasant soreness in places that made her frown in confusion for a long moment before she opened her eyes and remembered.
The large furnace of a masculine body lying next to her in the bed was a major memory jogger.
Holding her breath, she sat up very slowly, trying not to jostle him. She didn’t want to wake him up, not until she got a minute to think, now that her head was more or less clear. Not that she could blame last night on the alcohol—no, it usually took way more booze than that to lacquer over her bad memories and allow her to let go.
Everything was different with Max, though … and that was the problem. She wasn’t drunk on beer last night. She was drunk on Max.
Even now, with the harsh morning light streaming in through the open curtains—because who had the presence of mind to close the blinds when getting the daylights kissed out of them?—she still shivered at the memory of what she and Max had done together.
The way he’d let her take the lead … nothing in her life had ever been quite so devastatingly seductive. To have all the charm, vibrant life, and deep-running waters that made up Max Lunden stretched out on her bed, spread and yielding under her hand—it had been a revelation. Heat rushed into her belly, her skin prickling with awareness, and Jules tore her gaze away from Max’s long, lean form to raise her eyes to his face.
She caught the hint of a smile curling up one corner of his mouth, and the quick flutter of his lashes.
“Busted,” she said, unable to curtail her own smile. “I know you’re awake.”
Max sighed, his eyes still innocently closed, and turned over in the bed. He nestled his face deeper into the pillow and threw his near arm out, catching Jules around the waist.
She squeaked as he pulled her in tight, snuggling her like a teddy bear. “Max! Come on. You’re not fooling anyone.”
“Shhh…” He exhaled a sleepy whisper. “S’nighttime. Sleepy.”
Jules lost the fight against melting and allowed herself to be nuzzled, Max’s deep breaths warm and even against her temple.
Judging by the angle of the sunlight turning the dust motes by the window into sparkling flecks of gold, Jules decided it couldn’t be later than seven o’clock. They probably could afford another hour of sleep; before they left the bar last night, Gus had called a meeting for nine at the restaurant to go over the next challenge.
But despite the beguiling warmth and safety of Max’s hard arm clamped around her, Jules lay blinking up at the ceiling, more awake than she could ever remember being.
Max groaned, the vibration carrying through his chest and into hers. “I can hear you thinking,” he said accusingly. “Stop that.”
“Can’t,” Jules whispered, watching the gold dust shift and dance on the currents of air from her window-mounted air-conditioning unit.
They’d had sex. And he was still here. Worse, she wanted him here.
Without opening his eyes, Max lifted his hand and petted blindly at her hair. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Not especially.”
That seemed to wake him up a little. He raised his head an inch or so off the pillow; Jules could feel his gaze, sleepy and intent, on the side of her face.
“No. You never want to talk, do you? I’m thinking maybe I shouldn’t let you get away with that anymore.”
Jules felt herself begin to stiffen, and deliberately relaxed. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Go back to sleep. We’ve got time.”
“Hmm. Let me think. Time for me to snooze while you think over what happened last night and wind yourself into knots I’ll just have to untangle later … or time to finally get to the bottom of what’s keeping you from being happy here with me, in this really freaking rare, nearly perfect moment.”
“Is that a choice for me?” Jules asked grumpily. “Or have you already decided?”
“Now, now. It was your turn to do the choosing last night. This morning, I get to be the bossy one. And I say we talk. For once and finally, let’s get it all out there.” He sat up, mauling the pillows behind him until they were plumped to his satisfaction. Leaning back against the wooden slats of her simple headboard, he gave her a wide-eyed, earnest look. “You can tell me anything; this is a judgment-free zone.”
Still flat on her back, Jules debated pulling the covers over her head and hiding. That probably wouldn’t do much good. Max had his determined face on.
“Jules,” he said softly, pushing one big hand through the tangled snarls of her unbraided hair. “Let me in. Just a little bit. I swear it won’t hurt.”
The tenderness in his touch released a valve in her chest, and an aching torrent of emotion flowed in. She had to tell him.
“You can’t promise that.” Not wanting to be lying down for this conversation, Jules hauled herself up and turned to face him, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. The AC wasn’t spectacularly effective against the muggy heat of a New York City summer, and the room was warm enough that her nakedness didn’t matter. Except that it made her feel more vulnerable, but with a sudden surge of determination, Jules welcomed it.
Max deserved this. After how open and real he’d been with her, the least she could do was bare herself, body and soul, and let him decide what to do once he knew it all.
“What do you mean?” Concern darkened his eyes.
“Pain is part of life,” she said. “You can’t escape it, so it’s pointless to make promises about it.”
He didn’t exactly frown, but by the way his brows drew down a little, she could tell he wanted to. “Now you sound like Harukai-sensei. He used to say ‘Life is suffering, Maxwell-kun. All Buddhist know this.’”
Jules felt her mouth twist. “All Buddhists know it, and so do all the women in my family.”
Now Max did scowl. “I didn’t like it when Harukai-sensei said it, but I like it even less from you.” He paused, his voice going careful and quiet. “Is this about your mom?”
She tensed. “I guess you could say that. But really, I was talking about the sex thing. And, you know. Relationships.” She couldn’t help it; her mouth sneered a little without her even meaning to.
And of course, Max caught it. His gaze sharp on her face, he said, “I know I’m not exactly the poster boy for the r-word. But somehow … I’m getting the feeling this is about more than just me.”
Uncomfortable, Jules shifted her weight, hunching forward to rest her chin on her crossed arms. “Look. You don’t have to let me down easily or anything. I know how this stuff works; I’m not an idiot.”
“No you’re not.” His voice was quiet, and she shot him a swift glance. “But that doesn’t mean you know how this works. As far as I can tell, you don’t have a clue.”
* * *
“Fuck you,” she told him, lips tight.
Max breathed in through his nose, as deeply and slowly as he could, and pushed the air out again. Calm, he had to stay calm and relaxed here against the headboard, because he could tell by looking at her that Jules was poised to leap off the bed at the first sudden movement.
He didn’t want that, not now, when his gut told him if he could just be patient, she’d open up to him.
Moderating his tone, he said, “Come on, Jules. Give me something.”
Her head came up as if he’d goosed her. “I’m trying,”
she gritted out, her fingers clenching so hard he could see the half-moon indentations her nails marked into her elbows.
Max frowned. They were both trying, so hard, and yet sometimes it seemed that for every step forward (and he’d tend to categorize the glorious clashing heat of the night before as more of a giant leap than a step) they skidded to a halt, danced sideways, then fell back. It was beyond frustrating.
Calling on all his meditation techniques, Max willed calm acceptance to flow into his lungs with his next mouthful of air.
“I can see that you’re trying,” he said. “But I can’t help it; I’m greedy. I want more of you than I’ve had yet, and it’s not really in my nature to sit around twiddling my thumbs and hoping.”
“You don’t like to wait,” she said, with the ghost of a smile. “You like to make things happen.”
It was no more than the truth—his truth, and one that had gotten him in plenty of trouble throughout his life. “Not fun to be on the receiving end, I’m told.”
She shrugged again, her honey-blond hair a shiny silken veil whispering over her shoulders and back. “I can think of worse things than being pushed by you.”
Her tiny smile made it abruptly easier to fill his lungs with serene, easy breaths. “So talk to me, gorgeous. Tell me what you think you know about how this is going to go.”
She sighed, digging her toes into the bedding. Cute little pink toes, and Max was momentarily distracted by the urge to nibble on them to see if they were as delicious as the rest of her, but then she started talking.
“I don’t mean to act like I think you’re going to screw me over. I’ve known from the start, this is a temporary thing. You’ve never promised me forever, and that’s important. It makes a difference. Because too many people think nothing of swearing eternal devotion one minute, and running out on everything the next.”
And there went his serene calm. He twisted his fingers in the sheets to stop himself from making fists. “Someone ran out on you. Shit, Jules. You deserve better.”
She shook her head, but before he could protest that, hell, yeah, she deserved better, she said, “No. I mean, it wasn’t really me they ran out on.”
Max subsided, confusion sucking him under like a whirlpool. “Then who—”
Biting her lip until the plump flesh reddened painfully, she said, “I don’t mean to be so mysterious. It’s just hard to talk about it.”
“Hard to talk about what?” It exploded out of him before he could stop it.
She hugged her knees tightly to her chest, but her face was cool and composed when she replied, “My mother.”
Trying to fit the puzzle pieces together, he said, “Your mother … she had bad luck with guys?”
Jules laughed, but it came out more like a sigh. “I don’t think you could call it luck, but it was certainly bad. Her judgment maybe? I don’t know. All I know is that from the time I was old enough to walk to the day I left home, I must have had a hundred new ‘dads.’ According to Mom, every new guy was ‘the one,’ her true love at last. Which was funny, because not a single guy lasted longer than three months.”
“Jesus.” Max wasn’t sure how to absorb this new piece of information, how to make it fit in with the puzzle that was Jules. “And you met all of these men?”
“Met them? I adored them.” She didn’t look happy at the memory, though. The look on her face was scornful at best. “At least at first. My mother’s boyfriends … they made her so happy. For a few weeks, anyway, and I loved that. She’d sing in the shower, and we’d all go to the park together, or out to dinner. The guy would move in, and there’d be all this excitement, this sense of potential. Possibilities. But it was all a lie, a fairy tale my mother told herself.”
“And you,” Max said, aching for the little girl she’d been, who’d found out way too early that not all fairy tales ended with happily ever after. Where the hell had her father been while this was going on?
“And me,” she agreed. “But after a while, I stopped believing her when she’d tell me this time, this guy—he was going to go the distance. Mom, though. She never stopped believing it, no matter how many times her heart got stomped on.”
The puzzle pieces slotted into place, flawlessly, as if they’d always been there. “You don’t want to be like her,” Max said, pushing away from the headboard and prowling toward Jules.
She tensed at his approach, but didn’t run. Max decided to count that as a win. “I’m nothing like her,” Jules swore, eyes flashing. “I don’t want the same things she wanted from life—some man to come along and make everything perfect for me, take care of me. Thanks, but no thanks.”
Max knelt beside her huddled form and lifted a slow, cautious hand to the tangled silk of her hair. “I don’t know what drove your mother,” he said, “but it doesn’t make you guilty of her same mistakes if you admit to wanting something for yourself.”
“Like what?” she asked suspiciously, even as she leaned into his gentle touch.
Max hid a smile. “Like friendship. Hot sex. A guy who’d die before he let you down.”
Like love.
The thought came to him unbidden, and once it was in his mind, he couldn’t unthink it. Blinking rapidly, he pushed through the earthquake of his emotions and continued. “You know, regular relationship stuff. Good ones do exist; my parents are proof of that.”
The line of her shoulders, which had tensed for a moment, relaxed at that. She turned her face into his palm, the skin of her cheek warm and satiny against his fingers. “Your parents. I’ve never met anyone like them. The way they took me in…” She trailed off, shoulders folding in again, and Max frowned. They needed to get past this.
Sitting down and pulling her unresisting body to rest against his chest, between his spread legs, Max gave himself one heartbeat to enjoy the trusting way she flowed into him before he started talking.
“I went to Japan to learn about ramen. They’re nuts for noodles over there, and I’d eaten so many amazing bowls of ramen that I couldn’t wait to find out how to make it.” He laughed a little, remembering. “Turns out, ramen isn’t so much a dish as it is a way of life, intimately tied to the Japanese culture. Most of the masters I spoke to laughed in my face—they thought it was hilarious that a Westerner would even attempt to learn the ways of ramen. Then finally, at a tiny noodle shop in Tokyo, I found a man willing to teach me his art. I’ve lived there for eight months, and Harukai-sensei taught me as much about life as he did about noodles. He’s a Zen master.”
Jules stirred against his chest. “I love hearing about your adventures abroad,” she said. “But I’m not getting the connection…”
“Yeah. See, the thing about Zen is, it’s all about the now. Being truly present in the moment, living that moment as if you’ll never get another one—and as if it’s the first you’ve ever had. When I got to Harukai-sensei’s shop almost a year ago, I was still carrying around so much anger and bitterness, it was like a second backpack clinging to my shoulders, stuffed with bricks and cement instead of spare jeans and a toothbrush.” Max swallowed. She knew some of this already, so why should it be this hard to say it now? “I’d fought with my father, you see. After graduation. I wanted more responsibility at Lunden’s, more say in what we served and more opportunities to test out my newly minted culinary credentials. But Dad wasn’t into that, and I—well, you know what I did. I took off.”
She pulled away, making his heart clench hard in his chest, but it was only so she could turn enough to face him. Her eyes were serious, deep pools of aged Scotch. “I understand why you left. And I know it wasn’t easy for you. We don’t have to talk about this again, if you don’t want.”
“No, I need to explain,” Max said, gratitude for her understanding rushing through him. “Because all that resentment and anger I was dragging behind me, it was warping me. Changing me into someone I didn’t even recognize. And Harukai-sensei, a complete stranger, saw that. He refused to teach me about ramen until I learned about
Zen. Once I knew enough to be able to accept the suffering of the past and live in the moment, that’s when the lessons started.”
Max tilted his head back, the taste of the hot, salty dashi, redolent of sea brine and rich with melted pork fat, as real in his mouth as his teeth and tongue. “God, that first bowl of ramen I made with my own hands,” he whispered. “It was incredible. Not because it was so perfect—it wasn’t, the noodles clumped and I overcooked the strips of pork in the broth—but it tasted like freedom. For the first time since I left home, I found what I’d been looking for. And it wasn’t freedom from my dad and his stubborn insistence on clinging to the old ways. It was freedom from myself, from my own anger at him.”
Jules moved back into his arms, throwing her legs over his to wrap around his hips. “And now that you’re home again?”
Max laughed. The back of his head itched where Harukai-sensei used to thwap him with a wooden spoon to get his attention. “Being home—it may have strained my Zen poise a bit. I’m working on that, and I wasn’t finished with my training when Mom called me back here. That’s part of what made it so tough to leave Japan. But Harukai-sensei was all for it—he wanted me to go home. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point of all this is—”
“Live in the now,” Jules interrupted, her eyes shining as she touched her nose to his and twined her arms around his neck. “Enjoy the present.”
Max sucked in a breath at the way her soft, round breasts swayed against his chest, the tight buds of her nipples drawing up hard and pointed.
“Experience the moment fully,” he said thickly, gripping the curve of her hips and pulling her even closer.
“And to do that, you have to let go of the past … and the future,” Jules said, determination firming her mouth into a rosebud he just had to kiss.
She opened for him at once, slick and sweet and fresh as spring water. The last thing Max remembered thinking before desire tugged him down and had its way with him was that Jules was beautiful when she’d made up her mind to be happy.
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