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My eyes stray to Max as he comes out, turning around to strip off the towel around his waist and stretch out his back with a sigh, his muscles bunching and relaxing as he does so. I tell myself I’m watching him closely out of suspicion, not attraction.
He’s a Castellani, after all.
A Castellani who saved my life today, and more besides.
I slide into the tub before my body can give me away, leaning back against the edge and closing my eyes as the jets start to pummel me in all the right places.
“Come on, get in,” I say, cracking open my eyes. Max stands there staring at me, but steps in gingerly at my invitation. His body seems rigid with tension as he lowers himself into the water, and I try not to stare at his junk.
It’s hard not to. Guy is packing.
Great. Hot Daddy vibes, check. Saved my life, check. Big dick energy backed up with the real thing…
Bigcheck. Huge.
For a moment, we just sit there in companionable silence. I can feel Max’s eyes on me, but I don’t look at him. I nestle into the jets and let the heat wash over me. Max follows suit, leaning back with a hum as the comfort breaks him down.
Finally, he breaks the silence. “Thanks,” he says, looking over at me.
“For what?” I ask, my voice gruff.
He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “For getting out of there when I suggested it instead of hanging around. It was the right thing to do.”
I shake my head, my shoulders tensing up again right away. “I don’t know about that.”
“It was the right thing to do,” he says again. “Crew first. They need you.”
A heat washes over my chest that has nothing to do with the hot tub. I shrug it off. “Anyway, thanks for staying alive. I wasn’t looking forward to explaining to Alessandro Castellani how I got his security guy killed.”
Max actually chuckles. “It’s not a conversation you would’ve enjoyed,” he admits. “But Sandro knows the risks, just like Anna-Vittoria. Just like we all do. Julian, on the other hand, might be inclined to take it badly.”
I don’t want to think about all that right now. I surge out of the water, tugging over a small drinks cart tray that I keep out here. “Beer?”
“No, thanks. I’ll take some whiskey, if you got it.”
I do, one of those hotel bar-fridge mini-whiskies, so I lean a little further to grab a lowball glass. “No ice,” I say apologetically, glancing over my shoulder.
His eyes snap up to mine within a fraction of a second, but I know where he was looking.
“That’s fine,” he says, his voice rough, and clears his throat after.
I turn back, pour out his whiskey, then hand it to him. He holds up the glass in a silent salute, and I clink my beer against it. He takes a sip, and his shoulders start to relax again.
I try to lighten the mood. “I should’ve known the job would go south when the Pony tripped over his own shoelaces on the way out the door. It was a sign.”
Max doesn’t laugh. “What happened today,” he says, “it wasn’t just bad luck.” He looks into his glass while he continues slowly, “I gotta tell you, Bricker, because I wouldn’t be doing my job right if I didn’t: I think you’ve got yourself a mole.”
“I can’t believe that. I’d trust any one of my crew with my life. We’re Family.” I say it because Ihaveto say it. I know he’s right. But there’s still some part of me that just can’t throw my crew under the bus in front of an outsider. They’re my people. I need to stand up for them.
“Right. Family,” he echoes, but there’s a distance in his voice that tells me he’s not convinced.
“Look, we’re still learning.” I try to sound more confident than I feel. “But we’ve always had each other’s backs. We just need to plan better. Be more careful.”
“Careful.” His gaze is still locked on the whiskey in his hand. “Careful would’ve been calling off the job the second those schedules changed.”
“I thought Iwasbeing careful,” I shoot back. “I took your advice into consideration, but just because I made a call—”
“You did ask for my advice,” he says mildly. “But I can’t give good advice when you spring things on me. And there’s no point me giving advice when you don’t trust the source.”
