Page 56 of Playing for Keeps

“Polite?” Max’s voice went from shocked to dangerous. “Emma, that guy doesn’t need polite. He needs a very clear ‘back off.’ You don’t owe him any courtesy when he’s crossed a line. Or I can come down there and set the record straight myself. But I promise you it won’t be polite or subtle.” His eyes burned, but I could tell he was waiting for me to say something.

I grabbed his shirt again and pulled him closer, not to kiss him this time, but to keep that bristling impulse still. “No, I’ll deal with it. He’s my colleague. That makes it complicated, but it doesn’t make it impossible. He’ll get the message from me.”

Max’s jaw tightened and relaxed, the fight in him looking for a way out. At last, he nodded. When he spoke again, his voice was lower and the roughness had turned into something calmer. “Emma, it’s time you go on a date with me.”

I looked up at him, still a bit out of breath, still afraid to say yes.

He didn’t flinch. “Go on a date with me,” he repeated, this time softer, almost pleading. “I know you think you shouldn’t start something because you might move. I get it. Hell, I’m scared as well. But I would be gutted if we don’t at least explore where this could go. It already feels so good.”

I didn’t say anything.

My head was spinning with a dozen thoughts at once – be careful, don’t get hurt, don’t mess this up. I could hear myself saying, ‘Starting something now will only hurt you.’ But there he stood, eyes steady, waiting, not demanding, just waiting. And the air felt different because of the way he’d said it, confident and soft. It made me stop second-guessing everything for once.

I wanted to be careful. I wanted to be smart.

But mostly, I just wanted him.

So I stared at him, swallowed, and nodded. “Okay.”

He smiled so big that I couldn’t help smiling back. Then he looked down, properly taking me in – the bathrobe, hanging dangerously loose; damp hair.

“You know, baby,” he said, the corner of his mouth tipping wickedly, “you really shouldn’t be opening doors in just a bathrobe. You look ridiculously hot like that. Someone might take advantage.”

I laughed, half flustered, half exasperated. “Max.”

“All right, all right.” He took a step back, though his hand stayed on my hip like it hadn’t quite got the message. “I’ll let you get dressed. I’ve got practice anyway. I’ll text you the details.”

He leaned in like he was going to kiss me again, and every cell in my body rose to meet him. But he didn’t. His hand came up instead, fingers pushing my hair back from my face. His thumb traced my cheekbone once, slow and careful – and somehow more intense than the kiss.

Then he left and I stayed where I was, trying to calm my breathing and slow down my heart. The truth was, I’d known for a while now I didn’t want to keep saying no to him. And today I finally admitted it.

30

MAX

I was early. Too early.

The restaurant had become a second home over the last few months, but for all the wrong reasons. Now here I was back at the bar again, nursing a soda I wasn’t drinking, drumming my fingers, and trying not to look like a guy who was about to lose his mind waiting.

This wasn’t just another date. This was her.

A small group came in through the door; a blast of cold air followed them. And then… Emma.

She pulled off her scarf and unbuttoned her coat. My breath stopped. She wasn’t dressed to kill; she didn’t have to be. She was wearing dark jeans, boots, and a blouse that caught the light just right so I could see the line of her collarbone.

She scanned the room, spotted me, and her whole face lit up in a smile that hit me like a punch to the chest.

Christ. I was screwed.

I stood up without meaning to.

“Hi,” she said when she reached me, her voice warm, faintly teasing, like she knew damn well I had been staring.

“Emma.” My smile was too wide, but I didn’t care. “You look… wow.”

Her eyebrow quirked. “Wow. A very technical Canadian expression, I see.”

“You’re making fun of me already?”