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“Oh shucks, I always thought that you asking me to take off my clothes would sound sexier than this.”
He groans, and that’s when I realize what I just said.
“You thought about me telling you to take off your clothes? You’re killing me, Emilia.”
Well, the cat’s out of the bag now. Still, I try to turn the tide around. “No, I’m just blabbering, I—”
“Well, I have.”
“Of course you did.”
“Yeah. Since I saw you the first time again. I’m a man, and you’re beautiful. But you’re Emilia. My Jonesie.”
“Max….”
He is inches away from me, and our lips are so close I would only have to lean in a little to touch them.
“I need to take you home. If you get sick, it’ll just give Grams another reason to hate me.”
“She doesn’t hate you. Just thinks you were a bad influence. She caught us smoking on the roof. We were eleven.”
“Attempting to smoke,” Max corrects. “And she chased me out of your house with a broomstick. She hates me.”
Once we’re both inside the car, Max guns the engine and turns on the heat, and things feel infinitely better within seconds. I have his towel covering my shoulders and chest, but since it’s wet too, I pry it away, tossing it in the back. Max tightens his hands on the wheel, suddenly very focused on the road.
“Max?”
“You’re not wearing a bra,” he says in a gruff voice.
Oh shit. The towel was covering me before, but now…. My nipples usually behave themselves, but obviously the combination of cold water and Max is too powerful a cocktail for them. I cross my arms over my chest, embarrassed.
“Things are more complicated when you have a dirty mind,” he says, more to himself than to me.
“You’re the complication,” I inform him.
“Just so you know, you’re the only one who can call me a complication and get away with it.”
“Get over yourself, Max.” Turning my head to look out the window, I can’t help giggling.
Chapter Eleven
Emilia
“This is a beautiful house,” Max says as we arrive.
“Thank you. Grams loves it too.” As we step inside, I ask, “Mrs. Wilson?”
“Emilia,” she exclaims when she sees me. “What happened to you?”
Max answers for me. “Got in the ocean, didn’t see the wave coming. Afraid it’s all my fault. I’m Max.” He holds out the hand, and Mrs. Wilson shakes it, eyeing him shamelessly.
“Since you returned, I’ll be going,” she says. “Grams is in the backyard.”
After she leaves, I turn to Max. “I’ll go take a hot shower and change quickly. Make yourself at home.”
After taking a hot shower, I put on a dress made out of wool—and I’m still cold. I think it seeped into my bones.
I find Max inspecting my mini library—four shelves the size of my arm—as if searching for something.
