by Belle Aurora
And for the first time since I’ve been in New York, Ceecee smiles. “Cool.” Sure, she smiles down at her hands, but it’s still something.
I may not have wanted to be here before, but at that small response, I want to be here now. I smile down at her. “Let’s see if we can get some chunky monkey while we’re down there too.”
Ceecee looks up at me in awe, eyes wide. “I love chunky monkey.”
I’m so shocked at this change of behavior that I balk. I recover quickly with, “I think we just became best friends.”
Her smile is so wide, so beautiful, that I want to cry. I’m getting through to her.
And somehow, Max knew I would.
***
Max
Nuh uh. I don’t like this. Not one bit.
Why does she have to be so damn beautiful? I’m having a hard time controlling myself around her. When I saw her bent over in front of the fridge, I couldn’t stop myself. I had to feel her body against mine. So I did what I did. Worse decision I’ve ever made in my life. As soon as my front pressed into her back, images of Helena moaning and gasping as I hold her long brown hair in my fisted palm and drive into her assaulted me. Of course I started to get hard. I had to back away.
I want her. What’s worse is she’s not here for me. She’s here for Ceecee. So I’ll do what I’ve been doing for years, doing what I do best.
I’ll hold back.
***
Helena
Ceecee and I walk out the front door to the fancy black SUV parked out front. The car flashes its lights then chirps, letting us know it’s unlocked. Ceecee wheels ahead. My brows narrow as she wheels to the side of the vehicle and opens the sliding door. She presses a button on the inside, and a ramp is lowered.
I can’t help myself. “Holy crap, this is awesome!”
Max opens the front door and slides into the driver’s seat. “Yeah, we like it.”
This is the coolest, most sporty looking wheelchair-accessible vehicle I’ve ever seen. “What is this?”
As Ceecee makes her way up the ramp and secures herself, Max explains, “It’s called an MV-1.”
I shake my head. “Never heard of it.”
He nods. “It’s only been out a month or so. Thankfully, I signed up early and we got one of the first sixty made. The manufacturer is here in New York, so that probably made it easier. That, and the fact I was willing to pay in cash.”
Looking around the vehicle, I whisper, “I love it.” Then I say out loud, “I am so glad you’re not one of those tools who owns a fast car.”
Max stiffens, and then stutters, “W-why?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I just don’t like ‘em. They’re stupid, and so unnecessary.”
Ceecee giggles from the backseat. “Daddy has a Jag.”
I turn in my seat. “A what?”
She giggles some more. “A Jaguar.”
I look back at her and groan. She giggles louder. I look over at Max and bite my lip to hold in my laugh. “Not that you’re a tool, Max. I only meant all the other tool-ish people who have stupid cars for no good reason.”
He pulls out of the driveway and he looks to be pouting. We drive in silence for a few minutes before he explodes in a rush of words, “A Jag isn’t just a car, m’kay? It’s power under your feet. It’s speed and sheer excellence, all right? It’s—”
I cut in with, “A crappy way to spend a hundred grand.”
And Ceecee loses it again. She laughs so hard I fear she may wet herself. So she likes her dad being made fun of? I hate myself a little right now that I like Max being made fun of as long as she’s smiling. I’ll have to apologize to him later.
Max sighs. “You’re a girl. You don’t get it. If I were having this conversation with a guy, he’d get it. You need testicles for this conversation. Do you have testicles, cupcake?”
I fight my smile. “I don’t thin—”
But he cuts me off by placing his hand up. “I asked you a question. Do you have testicles, Helena?”
My lips thin. Ass. “No. I do not have testicles, Max.”
He nods. “Firstly, thank fuck for that.” Ceecee accidentally lets out a giggle at her dad’s silliness and we both still, side-eyeing each other in shock. He quickly adds, “Secondly, because of your lack of male parts, what you say doesn’t count, babe.” He shrugs. “That’s just the way it is.”
I discreetly reach over and squeeze his thigh in a secret hi-five. His hand covers mine and squeezes back in what I’m sure would be a cheer. We finally pull up to the grocery store and step out of the car. Ceecee does everything she needs to lower herself out of the down the ramp. As I move to help her out, Max holds me back and mutters under his breath, “Yeah, no. That’s a great way to piss her off. Let her do it.”
We wait a minute longer and I watch Ceecee closely. Steel determination is worn apparent on her face.
Hmmm. Interesting.
An idea strikes me, and I suddenly can’t wait to get back to the house. I have to talk to my client in private.
Max moves to stand next to Ceecee, but wraps an arm around me. “So what’s for dinner, guys? We can order in or I can cook.”
Ceecee mumbles defiantly, “I don’t want you to cook.”
And for no reason whatsoever, I butt in where I’m not needed, making a spectacle of myself, when I usually prefer to blend into the background. Go me! “I can cook.”
Max starts to protest, when Ceecee asks curiously, “What can you cook?”
My shoulder jumps. “Just about anything, really. I was always in the kitchen with my mom, even when I didn’t want to be. She just pulled us girls in there and hoped something would stick. Lucky for her, all of us like cooking. Mostly because we love eating.” Ceecee wheels herself forward, brows creased in concentration. She looks to be thinking hard when I ask, “What do you want to eat, honey?”
“I don’t really care.” Darn. And I thought I was onto something there. Then she asks quietly, “But can I help you cook?”
Bingo!
I narrow my eyes at her. “Can you chop?” She nods, wide-eyed. “Can you grate?” She nods once more. I finally ask, “Can you add seasoning?” Her heads jerks up and down. I move from Max’s hold to stand in between them and place a hand on Ceecee’s shoulder. “Then I guess you’re making Nachos tonight. From scratch.”
She looks up at me in shock. “Me?”
I nod as if it’s no big deal. “Sure. Of course, I’ll be supervising, but you’re making dinner tonight. On your own.” I wait a moment before I ask, “Is that okay with you?”
We enter the store when she utters, “I just don’t want to ruin it.”
At the very same time, Max and I both respond with complete confidence, “You won’t.”
She nods then, and I feel relief flow through my body with a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. She looks around the store. “What do I need?”
I look over at Max and raise my brows. “If your dad doesn’t mind, you can go get two packets of Taco seasoning while I get the vegetables and meat organized.”
Max says, “I don’t mind,” but she’s already off, getting things on her own like a grown-up.
As soon as she’s out of sight, my shoulders droop in relief. “Holy shitballs, that was like pulling teeth.”
I squeak when I’m swooped off of my feet, both literally and figuratively. Max lifts me as if I weigh nothing at all. I grip his shoulders tight as he spins me around, laughing. “You’re amazing. That was amazing. You…” he places me back on my feet, still holding me around the waist, “are amazing.”
“Okay,” I mutter, kind of confused.
He looks me in the eye, grinning from ear to ear, dimple cutting into his cheek. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
What? No!
I shake my head. “No, don’t do that!”
He makes a duh face. “I have to kiss you. Those are the rules.”
“Max! Don’t!”
He pulls me close. “What’s
a little kiss between friends? I’ve kissed Nat a hundred times before. Now it’s your turn. Don’t be such a baby.”
Heart racing, I swallow hard and state weakly, “I’m not kissing you.”
Lowering his face to mine, he orders, “Pucker up, cupcake. I’m coming in.”
I open my mouth to argue, but my argument dies in my throat as Max’s lips cover mine in a warm, sweet, tame kiss.
Damn it to heck. So this is what this feels like, huh?
My eyes flutter closed and my foot lifts off the ground, toes curling. I feel this kiss. I feel it from head to toe. Warmth spreads throughout my suddenly weak body, and this kiss is nothing. I know the difference between this kiss and a hot kiss, and my insides die a little at the simple fact that if this were a tame kiss, his real kisses would be explosive.
It lasts no more than a few seconds, although from the way my head becomes woozy, it feels like hours. When he pulls away smiling, I have to hold his tank tight to stop myself from falling over. He wraps an arm around my waist and walks me forward, sighing as though the kiss was no big deal. “It’s a good day to be alive, cupcake. I told you you’d be perfect.”
Mouth drier than the Sahara, I mutter a hoarse, “I need water.”
He walks me along. “Whatever you want, it’s yours. Hell, I’d just about give you whatever you asked for right now. I owe you big time.”
My mind still offline, I lift my fingertips to my mouth, absently muttering, “You shouldn’t have kissed me.”
His arm tightens around my waist, pulling me flush against his side. Lips to my temple, he states, “You better get used to affection, Lena. I’m an affectionate guy, and when I want to give it, I give it good.” His warm lips gently kiss my temple, and without meaning to, I lean into it. He adds, “We’re friends now. I’m going to hug you and I’m going to kiss you. Don’t worry,” he utters confidently. “You’ll get used to it.”
That’s what I’m afraid of, dipshit.
Suddenly, Max stops mid-step. “Oh shit.”
His arms go rigid around me. I lift a hand to his chest. “What’s wrong?”
Wrapping me in a bear hug, he whispers into my ear, “See that chick over there, in the red?” When I go to move my entire body, he whispers a rushed, “Don’t look!”
I hiss, “You told me to look!”
I feel the panic come off of him. “Okay. Look discreetly.”
So I do, from the very corner of my eye. A tall, slim redhead stands there in the fruit and vegetable section, holding a stick of celery. She’s glaring at us.
Uh oh. My body droops into his. “Max, she’s pissed.”
He pulls me closer, hands roaming over my body. His face falls into my neck. “I know. I told her I didn’t want to go out with her and she got mad.”
My body stiffens. “Are you using me right now to put on a show?”
He presses his nose to my throat and breathes me in. The dirtbag. “You smell good.”
Not in the mood for games, I turn and bite his earlobe. He yelps then sighs, “Okay, okay. She may have said I led her on.”
I lift my head and bark a humorless laugh. “Let me guess. The flirting?”
He pulls back and his golden eyes flash as he fiercely glares down at me. “I’m single. I’m allowed to flirt, so sue me. I like to flirt.”
Rolling my eyes, I mutter under my breath, “With everyone but me.”
His large hands grip my waist tight, his eyes now pleading. “Help. Please.”
In my peripheral vision, I see the redhead come closer. I whisper, “She’s coming.”
His lips hit my cheek. His sweet, minty breath warms me as he whispers against my skin, “Please, please, please, please, please.”
I rush out, “Okay, but I swear if you kiss me again I will bite off your tongue.”
Max smiles down at me with a smile that would be worthy of dental advertisements, his dimple out for the world to see, and I wonder what the hell I’m doing.
Chapter Twenty-One
Helena
The redhead saunters over to us, saucily swaying her hips from side to side. And my mind rolls its eyes. I already know what type of woman this is. I hate these types of women. This is the type of woman I assumed Felicity was when we first met. I’m suddenly reminded I was wrong about Felicity. I should probably give this woman a chance before I judge her.
Max keeps his arm around me as he turns, smiling coolly at the woman. “Hey, Portia, how you doin’?”
Without even looking at him, she looks me up and down. “Fine, Max. I didn’t know you have a girlfriend.”
Oh, yeah. I was not wrong this time. She’s a flaming bitch.
Not stooping to her level, I introduce myself. “Hi, I’m Helena.” She looks over to Max with her brows raised and mouth set in a firm line before holding out a hand to me. I normally would not have an issue with this. The fact is, she’s holding out her hand as if I’m going to kiss the back of it. The asshole. Bitchiness not being one to stop me, I take hold of her awkwardly presented fingertips and shake ‘em like a man. Portia almost loses her balance and I stifle my laugh. “Nice to meet you.”
She doesn’t bother making nice. “I haven’t seen you at the club before.”
I eye her good. “I was there last weekend. And I’ll be there this weekend too.” Wanting to play the part, I snuggle deeper into Max, wrapping an arm around his stomach. I look up at him. “But I don’t need to be there every weekend. We see each other all the time.” Standing on my tiptoes, I kiss the side of his jaw in a very real display of affection.
Portia suddenly looks behind me, eyes wide. “Hello,” she bristles, “little one.”
Ceecee stops by my side. My heart races.
Shit. We’re so totally busted.
My arm falls from Max’s stomach and I expect him to come clean, but he doesn’t. I move to back away, but he holds me tight. “Portia, this is my daughter, Ceecee.”
Her eyes widen. “Really? I had no idea.” No shit, Sherlock. My mind scoffs and laughs humorlessly. If she had spent a single moment getting to know Max, it would have been the first thing he’d have told her. I don’t like this woman. Portia bends at the waist, into Ceecee’s face. “Oh my.” She lifts a hand and touches her hair as if she has the right. “You are a pretty one.”
My jaw set, my stomach coils violently. Did I mention I don’t like this woman?
It’s not your place. It’s not your place. It’s not your place.
Fuck it. “I’m sorry, Portia, but we need to get going. It was nice meeting you. We might see you this weekend.” Her eyes flash. She knows what I’m doing. I’m dismissing her.
And she doesn’t like it. “Nice meeting you too, Helen.”
My mouth opens to correct her when Max and Ceecee both utter icily, “It’s Helena.”
My heart smiles while my mind pokes its tongue out at her. The arm I have around Max tightens, and I lower my other hand by the free side, palm open. I feel Ceecee place her hand in mine. I like that. I like it so much that I stupidly feel like this is where I’m meant to be. So I want to slap a bitch when she leans into Max and kisses his cheek with her red-glossed lips.
As she pulls away, she utters quietly, almost as if she’s telling him a secret, “See you Saturday night.” Then she laughs softly, lifting a hand to his cheek, wiping at it. “Oops. These lips of mine.” Her eyes focus on me. “They leave a mark.” A challenge.
Bring it, bitch.
We linger a moment. Max clears his throat. “I’m hungry. You guys hungry?”
Ceecee nods, but keeps her eyes firmly on Portia’s retreating back. “Yeah.”
“Me too,” I add in a much-too-chipper way. “I’m just going to grab a couple of things. Why don’t you guys head over to the checkout? I’ll just be a minute.” Ignoring Portia’s presence in the fruit and veggie section, I move around the store in record time, grabbing the last of what we need before meeting Max and Ceecee at the checkout. Max buys the groceries in silence.
She looks over at me and it almost looks as if her eyes turn sad. “I know.”
He looks across to me and smiles. “But we are friends. So Helena will be here a lot more, if that’s okay with you.”
She answers immediately without a trace of uncertainty in her voice. “That’s okay with me.”
I quell my sudden need to smile. Ceecee likes me.
Yay, me!
We exit the car and head inside. As soon as we’re in, I start barking orders, “Ceecee, I need you to take two carrots out of the bag and grate them. Max, I need you to find a pan and colander. I’ll start chopping the onion,” I look over to Ceecee and smile, but then it’s all on you, young grasshopper.”
Uncertainty shines bright in her eyes. I step towards her and take her small hands in mine. “I will be here every second. If you need help, all you need to do is ask. And I hope you will ask, or this won’t work.”
Max puts a pan on the stove, a colander on the counter, and comes up behind us. “You guys good? I need to catch up on some paperwork.”
I turn and shoo him away. “Away with you! Now, it’s girl time.” I turn back to Ceecee and wink. When I’m rewarded with a wide smile, for a split second, I think I would do just about anything to see that smile, and I pray I see it again and again.
With my hands to his back, I push him out of the kitchen while he utters, “I’ll be at the dining table if you need me.”
I make a pffft sound. “We don’t need you. We’re golden.”
While Ceecee grates the carrots, I strain a can of lentils, chop an onion, and take the ground beef out of the plastic. As soon as she’s done, I point to her then crook my finger at her. She wheels herself over to my place at the stove and I’m suddenly aware that this kitchen has been designed around Ceecee and her chair. The stove is shorter than it would be for anyone else, and has a gap underneath so Ceecee can wheel herself right in there, as does the sink. The countertops are just the right height for her.