American man.
“Love it.”
“There was a time when you loved me.” He pulled his lips between his teeth like he did in high school, and her heart took off like a stallion free on the plains.
“I don’t have time for love anymore. Let’s see the next outfit.”
He frowned but went back inside the dressing room only to return wearing a black blazer. He looked like James Bond, a man of incomparable skill and style, a force to be reckoned with. Next was a cozy wool sweater, and he was a warm and welcoming presence.
Whatever outfit he presented, it fit him perfectly, as if the clothes enjoyed the nearness of his incredible body, glad to be seen on such a perfect specimen.
Max was the mover and shaker his father had no doubt envisioned, certain in his determination and intimidating in his assuredness. He could reflect any number of attitudes, but he was still Max underneath it all, and that unmistakable power was not lost on Lauren one bit.
He paid for his things without seeming to give it any thought by pulling out his black card. He was a man of means, that much was clear, and he didn’t seem worried about the rift with his father.
She had no idea about his personal finances or his own business dealings, but he seemed untroubled for his economic future.
She put the ideas away, not ready to sell herself to him anymore than she was ready to turn herself over to Sam. Her affection, her love, her heart, her life, were not on the auction block, and they never would be. But he was good company, and it was reassuring to be around a man of confidence and capability. A tinge of doubt rang in the back of her head and heart. It was one she could not ignore.
Why isn’t he more worried about that mess with his father? What is really going on here?
She buried those thoughts because he had been sincere and well-intentioned. But was he really?
Can a man be as charming and decent as Max pretends to be, or am I just falling for the oldest trick in the book?
She had to give him a chance, and since he was staying at the lodge, she could watch him to see what he was up to, if anything.
“I’m hungry,” he said with eyes that spoke to a different hunger. “Let’s go eat.”
Chapter Seventeen
Max
Elvis Presley promised to be home for Christmas in that sultry baritone, playing softly above the clink of their utensils, and the crackle of the fireplace.
The lemon chicken was tender and zesty, perfect with a crisp chardonnay. Lauren had chosen the salmon, which she seemed to enjoy.
For Max, the meal paled compared to the company.
Lauren sat there looking beautiful and so tempting, but he tried not to think about it because of the dangers that falling for her could mean for both of them. But it was impossible for him not to look at her and imagine his hands on her skin, breathing in her delicate perfume, and kissing her red lips.
He forced a smile and took another bite of chicken but couldn’t block the fantasies from entering his head. He would lean in to kiss her, and she would throw her head back, that mane of hair falling as she offered him the smooth column of her neck. He’d bury his face in the nape, while her fingers splayed across the back of his head, pulling at his hair until the pinch was a cross between pain and pleasure.
He took a sip of wine, hoping to disguise his simmering lust.
Oh, this is ridiculous. She knows how I feel; she has to know, and she must feel the same. I mean, she invited me to stay in her house, why should I be so worried?
He looked longingly at her but said nothing. In his experience, silence was always a prudent course. As a battle raged inside of himself, he finished his dinner.
We’re both adults, and there’s nothing wrong with a romance between us. But there was still a matter of perception and perspective; hers, not mine. I’d marry her yesterday if I could.
“How’s your chicken?”
“Very good,” he said, “thanks. Your fish?”
“Delicious.”
He had to fight back the urge to throw himself across the table and take her in his arms.
Don’t even think it. Just put it all away for now. After the New Year, we’ll see how things shake out with the lodge. Things will take their natural course, they always do.
“It’s nice