Nothing else. Just Natasha.
Rational thoughts trickled in. Like how he was going to collapse soon.
Slowly, he pulled out and rested his forehead against the door. He pressed his lips against her damp hair and took a deep breath of her salty scent. She unwrapped her legs from his hips in shaky movements, and he kept one hand on her ass to make sure she didn’t fall.
She said nothing.
He shifted and slid his hand to the back of her neck. But when he looked down for a kiss, her eyes were wide. Her lips parted, but nothing came out. Like this was all too much. Like her well-ordered life wouldn’t survive this kind of shake-up. Like she had no idea what to do with what had just happened.
Well, neither did he.
He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers.
She stared at him for another beat. Then, slowly, she closed her mouth, and the shock dissolved from her face. A hint of a smile tugged at her lips.
“That was a pretty good reminder,” she said.
He chuckled. “Did I convince you?”
“I guess,” she said with a shrug, her voice teasing. Then she kissed him. “I’ll be there for you tomorrow night.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
NATASHA STEPPED OUT of the sleek black town car, and the driver shut the door behind her.
“Mr. Jensen will be out to meet you in a moment,” the man said before heading back for the driver’s door. He climbed in, started the car again and rolled away, leaving Natasha in front of the Prince Henry Centre.
More cars pulled in, and well-dressed couples were making their way into the building. Floor-length gowns, tuxedos, the works. Natasha pushed her glasses up her nose and frowned. She had chosen the dress, gauzy sea-green and flowing, because it was her favorite. It was supposed to be a this is the real me statement, but standing next to the red carpet entrance, she was clearly underdressed. Probably an accurate this is the real me statement, actually.
Natasha fiddled with her wrap. She had spent most of the fifteen-minute car ride trying not to overanalyze Max’s last-minute switch in plans. His reason for sending a car instead of picking her up himself didn’t change anything.
Because he wanted her here with him. This past week had only added to her curiosity about Max’s relationship with his family, but today wasn’t about her.
The warm ocean breeze curled around her bare skin. Natasha tugged at her wrap again, and when she looked up, he was there, walking out the door. And he was looking for her—Natasha Petrova, lover of fish and logic and rules, the plain Jane to the breathtaking beauty of both her sister and her mother. Max Jensen, the most spectacular man in the world, was looking for her. Her heart beat with giddy hope, and this time, instead of tamping it down, she let that hope flow through her.
Her sister’s words came back to her. You just have to decide whether Max is worth the risk. Yes, he was. That decision was easier than she’d thought it would be. The other question—how would she handle being next to Max as he took the spotlight?—that was harder.
Please trust me...
His plea had stayed with her. Whatever happened tonight, she did trust him. But he couldn’t control everything.
Max continued to scan the area, and his face lit up when he saw her coming toward him. Natasha’s stomach flipped, and her heart pattered faster.
She bit that man yesterday. Bit him. Coming down after that mind-blowing orgasm, she had stared at the red teeth marks on his shoulder. Not that Max seemed to mind her teeth on him.
But the man in front of her tonight was a different Max Jensen. As he closed the space between them, it was clear he wasn’t at ease. Not even close. Lines creased his forehead, and his whole body radiated tension, as if he were on full alert. He didn’t even say hello. He came straight for her and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly against him. He kissed her head and stroked her hair.
“Thank you for coming, Natasha,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t pick you up. I needed to talk to Francesca and some other donors about you and me, about why I needed to be careful about photos today.”
He kissed her again and then let her go, his hands lingering on her bare skin.
“You okay, Max?”
He nodded. “Much better now that you’re here.”
The lines across his forehead eased as he looked down at her. He rested a large, warm hand on her cheek as his eyes blazed into hers.
“I wish I could have stayed at your place longer yesterday,” he said. “If it wasn’t for tonight, I would have.”
“It’s okay,” she said.
His fingers trailed down her neck, over her shoulders, down her arm until he found her hand. He laced his fingers with hers.
Now that he was touching her again, looking at her, into her with those clear blue eyes, the longing of this week hit her hard. He was reminding her of all the things she had tried to put behind her since they’d left Green Island. That warm, open smile that came so easily. His voice, low and intimate. The weight of his body as he moved against her. Her cheeks flushed as this last image flashed through her in graphic detail.
Later.
Because they were no longer alone on a tropical island. They were outside a high-profile fundraiser for the Jensen Family Foundation.
Max’s smiled faded, and he bent down to brush his lips over hers. Once. Twice. Then he looked into her eyes with an intensity that made her breath catch.
“You look beautiful.” He ran his fingers over the strap of her dress. “Ocean green. I love it.”
These last words came out soft and slow. He opened his mouth again, and she was almost sure he was on the verge of saying something momentous. But then he sighed and muttered something to himself that sounded a lot like, bad timing, asshole.
Then, for the first time that day, he gave her that familiar, playful grin. “You ready to meet the illustrious Deacon Jensen, Jr. and his better-behaved son, TJ?”
She took a deep breath. “Probably not. But I’m ready to walk in there with you.”
“That’s enough.” He kissed her again. “Just having you here is enough.”
Then he tugged her hand, starting toward the central courtyard between two buildings. Her heart sped up as they came closer. Natasha attended high-profile functions with Alya, but this was different. It was personal, Max’s world.
Her heels clacked against the stone, echoing between the buildings. The structures were angular and modern, and the courtyard was unadorned except for a few benches with a view of the dunes and the ocean in the distance, the water was quiet, peaceful.
She didn’t even realize she’d slowed to a stop until Max’s lips brushed her cheek. “You like this place? There’s a great view from the windows inside.”
He tipped his chin to indicate where another couple was entering through heavy wooden doors. From inside, a slow, sexy jazz number played.
His mother’s music. Natasha looked up at Max’s clenched jaw. It must be. Even without the conflicts between him and his father, hearing his mother’s voice today, on the anniversary of her death, would be painful.
“Is this your—?”
He nodded before she could finish the question, so she squeezed his hand, and they walked in. The stage and dance floor came first, with the setup for a band in the corner. Glass balls of all sizes hung everywhere from the ceiling, glittering in the light of the dozens of candles on each of the round tables. The sun sparkled over the ocean at the far end, through the groups of guests talking, drinking from champagne flutes.
But she couldn’t properly take in any of the details because her attention was fixed on Deacon Jensen, Jr., just a few feet ahead, who was currently staring her down.
Natasha had seen photos of Max’s father before—everyone in Australia had. And Deacon Jensen, through his clashes with the press, had made it known he did
n’t like that. Though, to be fair, Natasha wasn’t sure she’d do well with the kinds of privacy invasions the Jensen family endured.
She had seen Max’s father’s scowl on the front pages often enough, and yet until this moment it had never once crossed her mind just how similar father and son were. Same height, same light blue eyes, same jaw, same golden skin, though Deacon Jensen, Jr.’s had clearly seen more days in the unrelenting sun. The two probably had had the same build at some point, but Max’s father was wirier, his hair a little grayer.
The man stared at Natasha with the kind of intensity that she had seen glimpses of in Max. But where Max’s eyes sparkled with attraction and warmth, Deacon Jensen’s gaze ran cold.
Max released her hand. Natasha’s breath caught in a moment of panic. Was Max leaving her alone with this man? He had promised. She grabbed for him again, but as her hand brushed against him, his arm slipped around her waist, bringing her in closer. She found her breath. Natasha was here to support Max, not to impress his notoriously surly father.
Deacon Jensen’s eyes flicked back to Max as they came closer.
“Your welcome speech begins in ten minutes, Maxwell,” he said, his voice sharp. “You just walked out.”
To Max’s credit, he showed no signs of distress.
“Natasha, meet Deacon Jensen,” he said smoothly, then turned to his father. “This is Natasha Petrova.”
His father’s stare lingered on Max for an extra beat, and then he turned to Natasha. He studied her, his face betraying no emotion. What would it be like to have this man as a father? A fierce defensiveness for Max grew as she met his father’s gaze and held it.
Then, Deacon Jensen defied all her expectations. The man smiled at her. A real smile. His whole face lit up, much in the way Max’s did, and he extended his hand.
“I apologize, Natasha,” he said. “Clearly, my manners have deteriorated since my wife passed, and even before that I was a little rough around the edges. But I’m happy to meet you.”
She shook his hand. “Thank you. This is a beautiful tribute to your wife.”
Deacon Jensen looked from Max to her and back to Max. There was a glimmer of emotion in his eyes. “She would have loved to be here right now.”
Natasha looked up at Max, getting his attention. He blinked down at her, shaking off whatever thoughts were behind his hostile stare.
“Let me show you to our table and introduce you to my brother,” he said gruffly. “I want to make sure you’re comfortable before I speak.”
* * *
The evening had surpassed all Max’s expectations, though, admittedly, they were low, as always, when his father was in attendance. The crowd seemed receptive to his speech, and Natasha was actually enjoying herself.
His father had given him hell all day about bringing a date, clearly expecting Max to have invited some just-for-fun woman to get under his father’s skin. True, Max had pulled that kind of shit in the past, but the fact that Deacon assumed he’d do that at an event for his deceased mother had made him mad as hell. But the moment his father met Natasha, everything shifted. Well, that was how Max felt about her, too. Now he just needed to figure out a way to convince her to trust him further, trust in what they had together.
Most of his public duties had ended for the evening. He had spoken about his mother’s battle with breast cancer and laid out the priorities of the hospital’s new research and treatment center. He and Natasha had made their way around the room, shaking hands and thanking friends and donors. She looked surprisingly comfortable in this role. He had sent a car at the last minute instead of going himself so that he could double-check that everyone—photographers, organizers, and his family—understood she was off-limits. But she’d insisted on staying by his side for most of the night.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, watching her from across the room as she talked to TJ. They were standing by the windows that looked out over the ocean, and she was pointing at something along the coast. Her hair covered some of the open back of her dress, but not all, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her bare, creamy skin. Back on Green Island, he had kissed her there, run his hand down her naked back while his cock was buried deep inside her. Max checked his watch. When the hell was this evening over?
This woman could even make conversation with his brother, which was saying a lot, considering how little came out of his brother’s mouth under any circumstances. In fact, TJ looked very interested in whatever she was saying right now. Max gritted his teeth, biting back the urge to go over there and remind his brother that Natasha was here with him—and was going home with him, if Max had any say in the matter.
“She cares about you, Max. I could see it right away.”
Max hadn’t noticed his father approach, and now it was too late to dodge him completely.
“Yeah, well, the feeling’s mutual,” Max grumbled.
His father gave him a look that said, So don’t fuck it up. But then his expression softened. “I can see that, too. Your mother would have liked her.”
Max said nothing. Instead, he focused his gaze on the way Natasha’s hair glittered in the candlelight.
“Your speech was compelling,” said his father. “Thank you.”
“You pushed me into this position,” said Max dryly. “I’m not sure a thanks is in order.”
Max pulled his gaze away from Natasha, and to his complete surprise, his father’s mouth twitched up into a crooked smile. A new record of two smiles in one day.
“I was giving you a good reason to step up and take your place,” he said.
“I’m doing it for Mum’s sake.”
Across the room, Natasha was still talking to TJ. Was his brother making a move on her? Hell, no.
“I need to check on Natasha,” he said, not even glancing in his father’s direction.
“Son, hear me out.” Something about the word son kept Max in place. How many years had it been since his father had used that term? Not since he had been a boy had he felt like Deacon Jensen, Jr.’s son, and he had been pretty sure the feeling was mutual. But the way his father said it put a crack in the wall that had stood between them.
Max shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his pants. “I’m listening.”
“From the beginning, this was for you, Max,” he said, gesturing to the room. “The cancer center, everything. Your mother wanted you to be the one to carry on her legacy. She was afraid—” His father’s voice broke, startling Max out of his Natasha-induced stupor. His gaze jerked over to his father, and he froze. There were so few times in his life that Deacon Jensen, Jr. had ever showed visible emotion. His father’s jaw twitched as he opened his mouth to speak again. “Your mother was afraid you’d split from the family forever. I promised her I wouldn’t let that happen.”
Max took an unsteady breath. His mother hadn’t asked him to promise that, but she had asked his father.
“Why didn’t you do more for her in the end?” said Max.
His father flinched. “Maybe it wasn’t enough, and Lord knows I’m not an easy man. But I tried to help her the best way I knew how.”
“How can you say that? She left everything for you. She left her career and Sydney for a station in the middle of Western Australia,” said Max, not hiding any of his bitterness. “I know, she always said she wanted to leave Sydney, too, but even at the end? The best place for another round of chemo was here.”
Pain shattered the stoic composure of his father’s face. He opened his mouth, hesitating, as if he were debating whether or not to speak. His father, who never hesitated. Finally, he took a deep breath. “Max, your mother absolutely insisted on staying at the station. It wasn’t my choice.”
Max blinked, taking in his father’s words.
“I respected her wishes,” he said softly. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, Max. But the chances the doctors gave her w
eren’t worth it for her. Not compared to the trade-offs.”
“You could have begged her,” Max said, shaking his head slowly.
“I could have.” The loss was written all over his father’s face, but he continued. “Max, your mother didn’t want to spend her last months feeling so awful that she couldn’t spend time with her family. She wanted us to spend the time together, not focusing on false hope.”
“She never said that to me,” said Max.
“Because she didn’t want to spend the time she had left debating it. And the truth is that her last month, when you came home, was one of the best of our lives. Both of ours. Even though you barely spoke to me.” The affection in his father’s gaze was surprising.
“How the hell can you say that? All those years you rode me so hard, like I was the fuck-up of the family. Like you couldn’t wait for me to move far away.”
His father blinked at him, and then his face broke out into a smile, warm and genuine. “Max, you were a fucking pain in the ass as a teenager. You didn’t listen for shit to me and you fought with your brother nonstop. Of course I rode you hard.”
Then his father had the nerve to laugh. “If I hadn’t taken your car away, you would have gotten half the town pregnant. Instead, you got yourself into Princeton.”
“We both know that I got into Princeton because of the library you donated,” muttered Max. “No one on campus missed that.”
The amusement on his father’s face disappeared.
“No, Max. I didn’t make that donation until after you were admitted,” he said slowly. “Look, I know our family name carries weight, and it’s impossible to know how much just being a Jensen influenced your ticket in the door, at Princeton or anywhere else. But it’s what you do with that ticket that counts. And you proved that you belonged there beyond a doubt.”
Baring It All Page 15