He clears his throat, and I watch as pink creeps up his neck. “I, uh, didn’t want to find out, so I shipped it here in one piece.”
“God, that must have been ridiculously expensive,” I comment.
“It was. But it’s basically my most prized possession, so it was worth it.”
“How much does something like this run?” I ask, thinking a beautiful artwork like this would bring me peace as well.
“Depends on how big you want it,” he comments. “This cost around two grand to make, then a lot more to ship.”
My mouth drops open incredulously. “Two. Two grand? Like two thousand dollars? For a bunch of pieces of wood?”
Max’s gaze narrows. “It’s not just about the material, Layla. It’s about how much time is spent on the labor, and dyeing the wood in the ombré pattern. Since it’s not your money, I don’t think you should judge me for how I spend mine.”
Crud. Vehemently shaking my head, I step toward Max, grabbing his other hand to anchor him to me. I felt him begin to pull away, and knew I had to stop him. “No. You’re misunderstanding. I think it’s amazing. It’s beautiful. I can absolutely see why you have this here, why it’s important to you, and why your friend charges what he does. I’m only realizing I’m absolutely in the wrong field,because I’d love to be able to create something like this and get paid for it.”
Max exhales, relief evident on his face. “You don’t think you’re in the right field?”
I shrug as I yawn. “I don’t know. I love my job. I love getting to help you guys be the best, teaching you how to fuel your body. But the pay sucks. And the hours aren’t much better.”
Max nods. “I understand. It’s been a tumultuous couple of days for you. Let’s get you into bed.” He leads me to the far side of the bed, pulling back the duvet, and urges me to climb in. As soon as my feet touch the sheets, I moan. Cool and silky, I immediately want to know the make and manufacturer of the bedding, because this is fantastic. Max clears his throat. “Listen, baby, I’m gonna need you to not moan like that, or neither one of us is sleeping tonight.”
I sigh as I burrow further into the bed. “I make no promises. I need to know if this bedding is as expensive as your wall art, because I need some. But maybe just lie to me if you’re about to break my heart by telling me it’s five hundred bucks, okay?”
Max chuckles as he rounds the bed. “I doubt it was that expensive, but I can also guarantee it isn’t from a regular store. My interior designer sent me a duplicate from my house in California. She knew how much I loved this set, and how important sleep is to me.”
I peek out from under the duvet to watch Max open a door, and I’m glad he can’t see me. Who is the interior designer? How close is he with her? If she knew he liked his bedding, did she know that from personal experience? How can I get her name from him without sounding like a complete psycho, and will I be able to claw her eyes out without her recognizing me?
Okay, so maybe it’s already a lost cause for not sounding like a psycho.
Max has a past. So do I. Hell, he’s met an unfortunate part of mine. I don’t have the right to be angry that a woman from his past might know what kind of sheets he likes. For some reason,however, it really pisses me off that he so nonchalantly mentioned a woman like this.
“Why are you glaring at me?” Max asks, and I refocus my attention as he turns off the light behind him. I realize I have been staring in the direction in which he left, zoning out as I plotted the demise of some woman in California who is undoubtedly bleach blonde, tiny, and has fake boobs to go with her fake hair color. “Seriously, Peaches. You’re looking like you might chop off my dick in my sleep.”
An interesting thought.
“What’s back there?” I ask, removing an arm to point into the room he came from.
“Bathroom and closet,” he answers. “There’s an extra cup and toothbrush if you need one.”
“I can just go back to your guest room,” I snap, though the statement doesn’t have the heat behind it, since I make no move to leave his bed.
Max smiles easily as he saunters over to the bed. My eyes immediately dip from his face, dragging along his clavicle, pecs, and onto his ridiculous abs. Every inch of him is tanned perfection, right down to the shorts riding low on his hips. “You should know I’m being one hell of a respectful man right now, Lay.”
“How so?” I ask, my gaze locked on that beautiful trail of hair leading under the waistband of his shorts.
“Well,” he says softly, as he slips beneath the bedding, immediately sliding over to lean over me. My heart leaps into my throat as a hand cups the back of my head, the other grabbing my hip. “I usually sleep naked. I’m wearing clothes, Layla. This is obviously me being respectful.”
“Respectful, huh?” I tease, and he nods. “Not even a goodnight kiss?”
The smirk he’d been wearing slips away. “Do you want a goodnight kiss?”
I shouldn’t. He’s already too close. We’re back and forth withwhat we’re doing, and I should put a stop to this right now. But I don’t. Instead, I nod.
Max leans down to touch my lips with his. It’s soft. Chaste. Slow but meaningful. It’s sensual and sexy and so fucking perfect it almost makes me cry.
When he ends the kiss, he leans his forehead against mine. “I shouldn’t want to kiss you, but I feel like if I don’t, I’ll regret it forever.”
“You shouldn’t say things like that, Max,” I whisper.
