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“Why were you outside my place tonight?” I asked, peeking up at him through my lashes. I was suddenly anxious for his answer, and my insides coiled tight in the few seconds it took him to respond.
“Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he finally admitted, his voice an intimate rumble that rolled through my body like deep thunder in a warm summer storm.
“I was thinking about you too.” Was that my breathy whisper? He leaned into me, and I swayed toward him. The table separated us, but I could feel his body heat pulsing against mine.
I jolted when the server clicked down our wine glasses. Embarrassment seared my cheeks. I’d totally forgotten we were in public.
Before I could pull away, Max’s hand tightened on mine, holding me captive. His strong fingers were iron bands, holding me in a careful but unbreakable cage. I relaxed in his grip. I didn’t want him to let me go.
The server set down a huge wooden platter featuring a mouthwatering spread of my favorite cured meats and aged cheeses. My stomach rumbled with a painful ache, reminding me of my intense hunger. Keeping one hand in Max’s, I reached out and plucked up a slice of Iberico ham to alleviate my sudden ravenousness. I moaned at the rich, decadent flavor. God, my fancy comfort food had never tasted so good.
Max’s nostrils flared, and his eyes sparked, keen on every nuance of my rapturous expression.
I squirmed beneath his scrutiny, a little embarrassed at my enthusiastic response. I would’ve made that little sound of delight in front of my friends, but Max was looking at me like I’d just moaned into his mouth while he was kissing me. The memory of the wanton, animal sounds we’d made as we exchanged ragged breaths played through my mind, and that molten honey sensation slid down my spine.
I was too hot and weirdly tingly. I took a gulp of my wine to calm my jittery nerves.
“Water,” Max said, that stern, masculine tone stoking the heat inside me. “You need to hydrate, not get drunk.”
“I won’t get drunk,” I replied defensively. Was I pouting? I hastily reached for my water and gulped that instead.
“Good.” His deep, satisfied tone caressed my skin like an intimate touch. The achy pulse between my legs that I’d experienced for the first time when he’d kissed me started to thrum once again.
I drank more water to cool down. It didn’t help.
“Don’t you want to eat some?” My voice was strangely high pitched as I gestured at the spread, trying to distract myself with some normal conversation.
He tipped his head at the platter. “You finish what you want first. This isn’t exactly a meal.” A small frown creased his brow.
“And what would you prefer?” I countered, still slightly defensive. Max had me totally off balance.
“I’d prefer if you ate something more substantial. You’re rattled after what that asshole tried to do to you.” His frown twisted into his most fearsome scowl.
I squeezed his hand, drawn to comfort him rather than fear him. “Thank you for pulling him off me. I don’t know what he would’ve done if you hadn’t been there.”
Max’s scowl remained fixed in place, but it wasn’t directed at me. “If I’d realized he was a threat to you, I would’ve punched him sooner. I thought you might be together when he first showed up. Then you shouted at him to let you go.” His eyes flashed. “I never should’ve let him touch you.”
His gaze remained dark and distant, and his hold on my hand shifted so that his fingertips brushed over my wrist. I followed the direction of his glower and saw that my skin was red where Gavin had grabbed me. Max traced the tender spot, the light rasp of his callouses making my flesh tingle.
“How do you know that bastard?” he growled.
“I’ve known Gavin since high school,” I replied with a sigh, spilling out my pain without hesitation. I didn’t experience even a flicker of worry that Max would use the knowledge of my vulnerability against me. “He was a bully then, and he’s a bully now. We work at the same internship, and I have to see him almost every day. We had a networking event tonight, and I guess he got his cab to follow mine home.” The tingling sensation on my wrist intensified, making me hyperaware of Max’s touch. “He’s never done anything like that before.”
Max’s jaw ticked, but his fingers remained gentle on my skin. “I’m sorry I called you Freckles,” he said tightly. “I heard that fucker call you that. I’m not a bully, and I didn’t say it to be cruel.”
“I know.” My skin pebbled, and I wasn’t sure if it was in response to his intimate touch or because we were both remembering that awful night in his basement. I’d called Max a bully then. He seemed to have made the connection to Gavin’s history of cruelty.
