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Clearing his throat, wishing he could clear his mind of his last thought, he said, “I brought your favorite kind.” He turned the bottle so she could read the label.
She squinted down at the bottle as she continued to work the rice. “We’ll have it next time. I told ya we were having margaritas.”
Yeah, she had. That’s why he brought the wine. Anna always got a little wild when tequila was involved. She tended to get a bit free with her hands. Considering his present state of lust, it was probably not a good idea to test it tonight. The thought of Anna out of control was a little too tempting. Tonight, there were no barriers, no fiancées, and no young men to keep him on his best behavior.
“So, tell me about your big breakup with the writer.” He leaned against the counter as she pulled out her blender.
She rolled her eyes. “Artist, Max. And there isn’t much to tell. He kept talking about moving to Athens, so I gave him a little push.” She set the red KitchenAid blender he’d bought her two Christmases earlier onto the counter next to his hip. “I picked up some strawberries from that little place over in Valdosta where you can pick them right off the plant. Should be wonderful in the margaritas.”
Anna opened the refrigerator and bent at the waist, looking for the strawberries. The outline of her ass held him momentarily speechless. She had the perfect rear end for a woman. Anna didn’t try to starve herself to a size. Her body had no sharp edges, just rounded flesh that a man could enjoy for hours.
Think, Chandler, think. Get some of the blood back to your brain.
“Did you tell your folks?”
She retrieved the strawberries and set them on the counter. “Why would I tell them I found great strawberries for the margaritas?” She padded barefoot as usual to her pantry and pulled out liquor bottles.
He tried not to be irritated by her banter, but he knew she was doing it on purpose. And tonight was not the night to fuck with him. “No, I meant about Brett.”
“Brad, and no, I didn’t. Why would I?”
He watched her as she put the bottles of liquor on the counter. “You broke up with your boyfriend.”
She shot him an exasperated look. “Max, really. Mom and Dad don’t take any of the men I date seriously.”
He snorted. “Neither do you.”
She opened the bottles of margarita mix and liquor and started to work on her margaritas.
“Don’t start on me. I’m only twenty-seven.” She looked at him, one corner of her mouth kicking up into a smirk. “I’m not an old man like you.”
“You’re almost twenty-eight. And I’m only four years older than you.”
She sighed and rolled her eyes. It was a normal reaction from her that never failed to irritate him. She thought he was old-fashioned in his thoughts about women. And he wasn’t, except maybe where Anna was concerned. He knew it was an asshole move, but he couldn’t help it.
“You were born old.” Anna began cutting the strawberries and tossing them into the blender. “Whatcha gonna buy me for my birthday?”
Max thought about the Beatles’ LP he’d paid a small fortune for and smiled.
“It’s a secret.”
This he could handle. The camaraderie was normal for the two of them. From the time she’d turned fourteen and they both discovered their wicked sense of humor, they’d always shared jokes with each other. If he could keep her on this track and his mind off sex, he would be fine. The muscles in his stomach started to relax until she spoke.
“Well, maybe I’ll ply you with liquor and discover your secrets.” Her sultry southern accent danced over the words and in his blood. Her smile turned seductive and went straight to his dick. Every bit of moisture in his mouth dried up.
Jesus, I’m in trouble.
* * *
Anna closed her eyes and took another sip of her margarita, enjoying the sweetness of the strawberries and sharp tequila mingled as it slid down her throat. Opening her eyes, she studied Max over the sugared rim of her glass.
The perfectly dressed, down to the straightened tie, CEO wasn’t the same man sitting across the table from her. The first thing that struck her was that the tie was missing. She had no idea where it had ended up, but it had disappeared. Instead of the flawlessly combed head of hair, golden strands stuck out as if he’d been rolling around in bed. He brushed his hand through it again, and she laughed when the action screwed it up some more.
“Whachew laughing at?”
His sinfully sensuous lips turned down in a frown, and his gaze hardened. She never figured Max would look so delicious pouting. Mainly because she’d never seen him pout before. It was something Maxwell Chandler would never do. This was Max, though. Her best friend made her laugh with his dry wit, and who would always be the man of her dreams.
It’s a good thing he didn’t do it often. It made him too damned tempting. Not that he needed much in that quarter. Breathing apparently was the only requisite he had to have to tempt her.
