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For some reason that non-judgemental tone of acceptance made a kind of murderous rage swell up inside Max’s broad chest. His own parents had been appalling in terms of family affection and Tia had not done that much better, yet her parents had not even had the excuse of ignorance, poverty or addiction. He breathed in deep in the silence and swallowed hard, for there was really nothing he could say to her that she hadn’t already worked out for herself. She was shrewder than he had given her credit for, convent-bred or not. He was both disconcerted by that acknowledgement and relieved, for the more intelligent and wary she was, the quicker she would adapt to life as Andrew’s heiress. And as his wife?
Max stiffened, squaring his wide shoulders, his handsome mouth flattening. He refused to even think about that aspect this early in the day. If he did marry Tia as Andrew had urged him to do, no actual wedding would take place for months. Max refused to rush into anything. Max liked structure, order, strategic planning. He didn’t do impulse or invite disruption in any field and would never have scaled the heights he had without serious self-discipline. With Andrew expecting to survive another six months at least, Max planned to utilise a good part of that time to move in unthreatening, measured steps with Tia while she got to know her grandfather.
The limo drew up outside the brightly lit hotel. Max sprang out first and then disconcerted her by peeling off his suit jacket and draping it round her shoulders as she emerged from the car.
‘Is that really necessary?’ Tia enquired, reeling a little and struggling to find her balance in the ridiculous heels as the fresh air engulfed her.
‘Sì...if you can turn me on this hard and fast when I’m striving to stay cool, I imagine other men will stare too, and I am assuming you would prefer not to be stared at and lusted after,’ Max murmured in a raw undertone, astonishing her with that abrupt and unexpected admission. ‘On the other hand, if you enjoy being the centre of male attention, give me my jacket back...it’s entirely your decision.’
She turned him on. Tia was exhilarated by that grated confession and clutched protectively at his jacket, which fell past her knees, revelling in the intimacy of the silk lining still warm from his skin and the faint evocative fragrance of his cologne that still clung to the fabric. She breathed that fragrance in like an addict. Unlike Afonso, Max didn’t drench himself in scent. The attraction was mutual. Of course, she had suspected that after the kiss but Max had been very businesslike and detached when they had been alone after the stylists had departed and she had felt discouraged. Now standing in the lift, wrapped in Max’s jacket, struggling not to study him with lustful eyes lest he instantly recognise her shamelessness, Tia felt transformed, shedding the sense of failure and mortification that events at the party had wakened in her.
If Max wanted her too, could anything else matter to her? In that instant nothing mattered to Tia but the way she was feeling. For so long she had been locked away from all the normal experiences she should have begun enjoying in her teen years. That was when she should’ve enjoyed her first kiss, falling in and out of love, dating, gossiping, learning all the many things that a young woman had to le
arn as she grew up. But Tia had been denied that adult education and now that she had met Max, she was greedy to catch up with everything she had missed out on.
Butterflies were whipping up a storm in her tummy and her heart was beating very fast. Max glanced down at her and swiftly looked away again, his strong jaw line pulling tight to define his superb bone structure even more cleanly.
‘You’ll want to go to bed now. You have an early start in the morning,’ he informed her briskly as he opened the door of their suite and stood back for her to precede him, the courtesy making her feel delightfully feminine.
‘I’m not a child, Max,’ Tia reminded him afresh.
Max gritted his teeth together, for he had not been impervious to the way she had studied him in the lift. But that kind of early intimacy wasn’t on his schedule and he refused to deviate from what his logic told him was the right and proper way to embark on any sort of relationship with Tia Grayson. That one kiss had been dynamite and he didn’t play with dynamite and he didn’t lust uncontrollably after virgins like the creepy little loser who had already tried to lure her into bed that night, he reasoned.
‘I’m twenty-two in three months’ time,’ she reminded him, wriggling her slight shoulders to remove his jacket and settle it on the arm of his chair.
Her golden mane tumbled round her lush little face and that was when he finally nailed her startling resemblance to a poster of a film star his mother had much cherished as a feminine ideal. It was those wide perfect cheekbones, those bright cornflower-blue eyes, that delicate little nose and that wickedly sultry mouth. He was transfixed as she settled down on top of his jacket, long graceful legs stretched out. She angled her head back, the elegant pale line of her throat revealed, and as her spine arched her firm little breasts thrust out below the fine material of the draped top and Max’s rigid controlling schedule went out of his mind so fast she might as well have flipped a switch.
‘Your grandfather expects me to look after you,’ Max reminded her tautly, uneasily conscious of the throbbing ache at his groin while idly wondering whether it would disgust or intrigue her before hastily suppressing the thought as unwise.
‘And you’re doing a terrific job,’ Tia told him sunnily.
Max frowned at that undeserved accolade. ‘Not tonight, I didn’t.’
‘That’s nonsense,’ Tia denied, leaping upright to walk closer to him and reinforce her conviction. ‘You calmed me down and came to pick me up. I feel safe with you—’
Max expelled his breath in a pent-up hiss. ‘But you’re not safe with me. I’m not qualified to be playing a big brother role around a gorgeous woman—’
Tia stood her ground, a slight giggle at his terminology escaping the ripe pink parted lips that were his sole focus while she wondered if he really meant that flattering word he had ascribed to her. ‘I don’t want you as a big brother, Max, and I’m glad you can be so honest because I want to be honest too...’ she began.
Max made a last-ditch effort to save her from him and from herself and disconcerted her by suddenly bending down to scoop her up into his arms and stride at speed towards her bedroom, where he intended to stow her safely out of reach. He burned for her but it wasn’t that simple. He would not allow himself to be tempted beyond the boundaries he had set. He didn’t want her to be honest with him when he couldn’t be honest with her. Andrew had forbidden Max to even tell his granddaughter that he was terminally ill because he wanted to handle that information personally. Andrew wanted Tia kept in the dark about everything: his business empire and her inheritance, his fears, his fiercely protective desire for her to marry Max. Regrettably, Andrew’s rules simply made Max’s role more difficult.
For a heady split second, Tia assumed that Max was taking her into her bedroom for immoral purposes and in the mood she was in she was fully on board with that idea, but when he laid her down on the wide bed he started to straighten and pull back. It occurred to her then that he was actually physically putting her to bed like a misbehaving child and, outraged by that suspicion, she shot out a hand to grab his sleeve and pull him back to her.
‘Max!’ she censured sharply.
Max jerked back another step and hit his head, a crushing blow on the ornate wooden strut of the four-poster bed frame. For an instant he literally saw stars and swayed and, seeing that, Tia succumbed to guilt and regret.
Scrambling up on her knees, she grabbed his hand worriedly. ‘That was my fault. Are you all right? That was quite a thump you got.’
‘Sì...’ Max conceded, blinking rapidly in an effort to clear his fuzzy head and dismiss the pain while slowly turning to look down at her. Her blue eyes were so honest and anxious and the luscious mouth below them so perfectly plump and inviting that the ache at his groin almost made him groan out loud.
‘Sit down for a minute. You’ve gone very pale,’ Tia told him.
‘I don’t need to sit down.’ A shred of sanity remained in Max’s bemused brain and in it the bed loomed large as a trap of catastrophic proportions.
‘Sit down, for goodness’ sake.’ Wondering if he had concussion because he seemed dazed, Tia used her hand on his to yank him down on the mattress beside her. Rising to her knees, she reached up to feather her fingers gently through his tousled black hair to feel the faint swelling beneath. ‘We should go to the hospital.’
‘It’s only a bump, Tia,’ Max groaned, turning his head to look at her in wonderment because after the childhood he had endured bumps and bruises, including broken bones, were nothing new to him.
