Finally, he gave up and did what he always did when he was at loose ends—he headed back into the office. At least there, he could spend some productive hours. Friday would blur into Saturday before Max even noticed. He told himself that if he could just get from here to Valentine’s Day, to the day he proposed to Becky, then his world would be set to rights again, and he wouldn’t feel this…
Need.
No, not need, a craving. It went beyond sex, and into a part of Max that was deep inside his brain and heart, the part that had been touched by Angie’s friendship, yet still cried out for more.
Insane thoughts. He was just nervous about proposing, that was all.
The light in the office across the hall was still on, and Max beelined for that space first. "I see I’m not the only one working after hours."
Todd Hawking, Max’s partner, looked up from the pile of papers on his desk. Todd was tall and lean, with dark hair and a ready smile. "It’s the only time I can get anything done. No phone ringing, no one stopping in my office to ask me a question, no meetings. Just me and all this fun."
Max settled into the dark brown leather chair across from Todd’s desk. "Working Friday nights is counterproductive to having a life, you know. And didn’t you say that having more free time was your New Year’s resolution?"
Todd took off his glasses, leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples. "Did I say that at the company Christmas party again? You gotta stop serving bourbon, Max. It makes me maudlin."
"Yup. Just like you said it last year, too. And I think the year before."
"If I remember right, we both made that promise. Last year. And the year before."
"I’m the one with an engagement ring already bought."
"Bought, not given yet." Todd arched a brow. "Waiting to be sure?"
"Becky’s out of town. She’ll be home on Valentine’s Day. I’ve got a whole romantic evening planned."
"You’re really going to do it? Propose to someone you’ve only known for three months?"
"She fits all the parameters of the right woman for me—"
"There’s a romantic statement if I ever heard one." Todd chuckled. "God, you sound like an accountant."
"Or a financial advisor?" Max grinned.
"Takes one to know one."
"True." Max had known Todd for ten years. They’d met in college, joined the same study group, and found that their personalities and approach to investing meshed. When they graduated and Max threw out the idea of going into business together, Todd jumped at the idea. Within a year, the pair had taken the company from a drafty two-room office in Southie to their present location a block from Government Center. A staff of forty managed the day-to-day in the Boston office, and plans were in place to open a second location in Manhattan next year. The business had surpassed all their expectations and made both of them very, very rich men. But at a cost, they both knew. A cost of having a wife, children, a life outside the demands of entrepreneurship.
"You know what we’d say to a client that did that?" Todd asked, pushing his work to one side. "Someone who made a checklist of pros and cons and tried to make a financial decision based solely on a spreadsheet?"
"We’d tell them to trust their gut, to go with what they felt deep inside was the right choice."
Todd steepled his fingers and leaned forward. "And why would picking a wife be any different?"
"Are you comparing investing to getting married?" Max snorted. "They’re not even close to the same thing."
"Then why are you treating them that way?"
The words hit Max hard. A hundred justifications leapt to mind, but he knew that’s all they were—justifications. For a man who spent his life in a risk-filled industry, he’d become risk-averse in everything else. "It just made sense to do it that way," Max said.
Todd laughed. "If there’s one thing that never makes sense, it’s love. I may not be married, but even I know that. The happiest people I know got married for all the wrong reasons. You might try that for yourself."
Max got to his feet. "If there’s one thing I’m not taking a risk on, it’s marriage. Thinking with your dick instead of your brain just leads to bad decisions."
"Maybe. But don’t you want to be with a woman who makes you think with both?"
Max didn’t have an answer for that. So instead, he did what he did best—retreated to the comfort zone of work.
*~*~*
He told himself he should turn around. That the way he was feeling right now, he wasn’t going to make a smart decision. But when Max tried to think of the right choice to make, nothing came to mind. Nothing but raising his hand and knocking on Angie’s door.
He’d spent the entire evening at work, pausing only to order some takeout. It wasn’t until the delivery guy showed up that Max realized he’d ordered all the dishes Angie liked. A clear sign he’d spent way too many Fridays with her, calling for Moo Shu Pork and General Tso’s Chicken so they could work their way through her Netflix queue without interruption. They’d been doing that ever since he was nine and heading to her grandmother’s house instead of staying in his silent, tense home. Even as an adult, nine times out of ten, he opted to hang out at Angie’s cozy apartment, so much warmer and more welcoming than the sterile, ordered environment of his own. Around eleven-thirty, he gave up on working and headed out of the office—ending up here, outside Angie’s apartment. He glanced at the door and realized this destination had always been a foregone conclusion.
Light glowed from under the door and music played from inside. Max raised his hand to knock, and realized he wasn’t choosing one environment over another. He was opting for her, for Angie.
For as long as he’d known her, Angie had had this way of making his world feel right. Of calming his worries, smoothing his troubles. She could read his moods in an instant and transform the worst day into one that had him laughing so hard tears streamed down his cheeks. She knew him, in ways no one else ever had, and he suspected, ever would.
She pulled open the door and he thought she’d never looked sexier, with her hair tumbling around her shoulders, an old T-shirt of his knotted at her waist, and a pair of baggy pale pink sweats that dipped to expose her bellybutton. Her mouth opened in a little O of surprise and something flipped deep inside him. "Max."
He started to speak, to try to explain why he was here in the middle of the night, and why he thought they shouldn’t kiss again. But all those reasons disappeared when he opened his mouth. "I, uh, wanted to—"
She raised her hand, and leaned forward, no, swayed really, which told him she’d been drinking. She placed a finger on his lips and her eyes met his with a devilish gleam. A gleam he knew well. Rum. Probably mixed with Coke. "Shhh. Don’t say anything. I promised myself that I would say this to you. As soon, as soon as…as possible."
All her s sounds came out with a sh. Okay, drinking a lot. "Angie—"
She pressed harder on his lips, then her gaze sharpened, and she drew in a deep breath. "Max Blackwell, I am in love with you."
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/3 cup butter
3/4 cup sugar
2 tablespoons water
1 (12 ounce) package semi-sweet chocolate chips, divided
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 eggs
1/2 cup nuts, chopped, optional
You need some serious chocolate fortitude right now, especially after just spilling your heart to the man you love. Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. In a medium sized bowl, mix the flour, baking soda and salt. In a saucepan, melt the butter, add the sugar and water and half of the package of chocolate chips. Stir until melted and combined. Remove from stove, and beat in the eggs, one at a time, then gradually add the flour mixture and remaining chocolate chips. If you like nuts in your brownies, add those. If not, hey, don’t.
Pour into a greased 9-inch square pan and bake for 30-35 minutes, or until a knife
inserted in the center comes out clean. Put on a really sad and sappy romantic comedy and eat the whole pan of brownies, or as many as it takes to stop feeling like you just made the hugest mistake in the world.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The wall clock chimed midnight, and somewhere in the back of Angie’s head, a little warning bell sounded, but the message had been muted by the alcohol and the overwhelming need that had been brimming inside her ever since that kiss. She’d needed to tell him this, needed to tell him quick, before her fear got in the way again and he married the pretty little dental hygienist who was all wrong for him.
"You’re drunk," he said, laughing, taking her arm, and leading her into the room.
"Tipsy," she corrected, waving her finger.
"Whatever you say, Ang. Here, let’s get you on the couch. And I’ll make some coffee." He lowered her to the puffy loveseat in the corner of her living room and started to turn away. She grabbed at his arm. He wasn’t getting this, wasn’t believing her.
"Max, I’m not kidding. It’s not the Bacardi’s talking, well, it is, but only as liquid courage." She met his gaze, held it. "I’m in love with you. I have been for…well, forever."
"Angie—"
"And I think if you marry Becky, you’re making a major mistake. She’s…she’s all wrong for you."
"Let me get you some coffee." He broke away from her, and headed into the kitchen. Damn it.
She heard the water running, then a few minutes later, the quiet gurgling of the coffeepot. Max returned to the room, and grabbed an afghan off the armchair. "Here, why don’t you lay down and I’ll—"
"Max, stop." She sprang to her feet, her head clearing a bit with the movement. "Will you quit ignoring me?"
Max sighed, and dropped the blanket onto the arm of the loveseat. Chewie watched the entire exchange from the soft comfort of his doggy bed in the corner. "You aren’t in love with me, Angie. You’re—"
"If you say drunk one more time, I’ll punch you."
"Okay. You’re…not thinking straight. We’ve been friends a long time and—"
"Shut up, Max."
He sputtered to a stop. "Oh…okay."
"Shut up, before I lose my nerve." Then she took two steps forward, grabbed the lapels of his jacket, raised onto her tiptoes, and kissed him.
Electricity jerked through Angie’s body when her lips met his. Hot, sizzling, demanding, twice as strong as when he’d kissed her the other day, because now she knew how amazing a kiss with Max could be. To hell with playing it safe. To hell with caution and waiting and worrying about losing him as a friend. She wanted Max, and if she didn’t hurry the hell up and show him, she was going to lose him forever to a flower wearing perky dental hygienist.
She reached for his head, pulled him closer, and then darted her tongue into his mouth. He resisted for a split second, then his arms went around her body and she was so close she wasn’t sure where he ended or where she began. She did, however, notice the hard, long erection he was sporting between them. That alone gave her the courage to reach between them and slide a hand over his length.
He groaned. "Angie, what are you doing?"
"If you have to ask, then maybe you should repeat Health class."
He laughed, then drew back and cupped her face with his hands. "If we do this—"
"When we do this." She swallowed hard, and forced back the fear that still hung on the edges of her thoughts. Take a risk, she told herself. Take a risk. "I think that’s always been a chapter we knew was coming someday, don’t you?"
Their eyes met, and in that way that came from knowing someone for two decades, the knowledge that she was right, that this was a moment that had been coming ever since that first fumbled kiss, curled a tight grip around them. Max nodded. "There’s no going back, you know that, right? It’ll forever change things between us."
"Good," she said, running her hand over his erection again. "Because it’s about damned time things changed."
He held her gaze for one more long second, then leaned in and kissed her again, this time, hard, hot, fast. His hands worked at her shirt and hers worked at his belt and fly. A few seconds of fumbling, and his jeans were on the floor, followed by her T-shirt. He slid her sweats down to the floor, and she pushed his jacket off, then tugged his sweater over his head. She stood there, wearing nothing more than a pair of lacy panties, and thinking that even though Max had seen her a hundred times in a bikini, she had never felt more naked or sexy in her life.
A slow smile curved across his face. "You are….amazing."
She flicked a glance toward the bulge in his boxers. "I could say the same about you."
He chuckled. "I definitely think you…" he raised his hand to her shoulder, then let it slide slowly, oh so slowly, down her chest, slipping over her breast, then along the hollow of her waist, and around to the curve of her hips, "are the more amazing one."
She cocked a grin at him. "Well, I might need a close up view to properly vote." She reached for his boxers, bolder than she had ever been in her life with any man, and pulled them down. His erection sprang forward, and her pelvis tightened. "Oh. Yeah. Uh, you win."
"Yeah, I did. The day I met you." Max bent down, scooped Angie into his arms, then crossed to her bedroom. He lowered her to the bed, then looked down at her with a look of such tenderness, Angie almost cried. "Last chance to back out."
The moonlight coming in the windows kissed his strong features, and glinted in his eyes. Angie’s heart clenched, and she thought she had never loved anyone the way she loved Max. And maybe never would. Even if he did marry someone else, she would have this night.
It would be enough.
She hoped.
"I’m not going anywhere," Angie said. She reached for him, and Max lowered his muscular frame onto the bed. Her double, which seemed so vast when she was alone, shrank in size, bringing her chest to chest with him.
He ran a hand down her waist, slipping a finger under the lace waistband of her panties. His eyes seemed to darken, and the humor dropped from his features. "Oh God, Angie. If you only knew how much I’ve wanted you."
"Then stop wanting and start doing."
He smiled, then moved into position over her. She lifted her hips, he slid off her panties, and instead of plunging into her, he took his sweet time, kissing her, stoking a fire that was already roaring. His fingers worked magic between her legs, and before he slid into her, she was panting and gasping. She clawed at his back, clutched his tight ass, and begged him with her legs, her hands, her mouth, to make this an unforgettable night.
Because it might be the only one she ever had with the only man she’d ever loved.
1/3 cup quick cooking oatmeal
2/3 cup water or skim milk
½ teaspoon vanilla extract
¼ cup peanut butter
¼ cup jelly
You need a fast, easy breakfast that offers nutrition and an apology for last night. Mix oatmeal and water or milk in a bowl, microwave for 90 seconds, then stir in remaining ingredients. Leave on her bedside table with a note. Yeah, it’s taking the easy way out, but you’ve just screwed up the best thing you had going in your life and the repercussions are going to be huge. Oatmeal is, at least, a start, at setting the world back to rights.
CHAPTER NINE
Max woke up with Angie curled into a warm, naked ball beside him. Sunlight washed her body with gold, danced light in her hair, the dark tendrils spread across the pillow in a dark tangle, just as he’d pictured it in his fantasy a few days ago. His first thought was how could he get so lucky to have a woman like her in his life?
His second thought? How could he be such an idiot to screw up his relationship with her?
Already, he wanted her again. Even after making love to her twice last night—okay, the first time was sex, the second time, slower, longer, definitely making love—his body wanted more. He reached out toward her, then drew his hand back.
This was Angie. His best friend. What had his fat
her always told him? Never muddy the sheets where you sleep. When he was sober, Max’s father was given to long lectures about things like keeping business and pleasure separate, about being smart in every decision, an irony that seemed to escape the elder Blackwell when he mixed himself a martini.
Maybe Max’s father had sought out the drinks because his life was more of a slow death. His parents had been friends who married, and after the first blush of the wedding faded, they’d found themselves locked in a relationship devoid of passion. They’d been roommates, people who exchanged pleasant conversation over the newspaper each morning. There’d been no fights, no raised voices. Nothing but this quiet, dull existence that laid a suffocating pall over the house. His mother had spent every spare minute cleaning while his father poured himself into work. And when his father drank, Max’s mother sat to the side, her lips pursed in disapproval. Max often wondered if that’s where all that unspent, unanswered passion went—to the sterile worlds of work and home they could control.
Max slid out of her bed, and padded out to the living room to retrieve his clothes. Chewie danced at Max’s feet, eager to eat, go out and play all at the same time. Max threw on some clothes, took the dog for a quick walk, then headed inside to feed him. Angie was still sleeping, and Max debated waking her or just slipping out the door. Yeah, it was the coward’s way out, but he didn’t know how to tell her the truth.
That if he so much as looked at her right now, he’d be back in that bed with her, and whatever friendship they had left would be a casualty to his inability to control his desires. Far smarter to marry Becky, and not get swept up in a bonfire that would destroy everything that mattered to him.
"Were you planning to say goodbye?"
He started to reach for his coat, but Angie’s voice drew him up short. He jerked away from his jacket and spun around. She stood in the doorway, a short pink robe tied around her body, her hair rumpled and sexy. "I thought it was best."
The Millionaire Tempted Fate (A Novella) (Sweet and Savory Romances) Page 6