her hygiene.
“It’s clean,” he said, as if that was the cause of her hesitation. He smiled and toggled his hand from side to side. “Mostly.” And then he turned and walked into the kitchen, whistling for the dogs. Like this was no big deal. Like it was perfectly natural for a woman to ask him to have sex with her.
Well, here went nothing. Carly turned on her heel and walked down the hall.
There were three bedrooms, two of them connected by a bathroom. But at the end of the hall she could see a queen-size bed, covered neatly with a dark blue spread. On a dresser was a tray that held a lot of guy things: loose change, a wristwatch, some receipts. There was a picture on the wall, too, an impressionist painting of a sunset over an ocean. She leaned over to have a look at the artist’s name. Jamie. The painting was gorgeous. He really was very talented. A stray thought popped into her head—she could get these paintings noticed, unlike Gordon’s dumb circles. There was definitely a market for this kind of art.
She moved to the windows and looked through the blinds. Max’s view was of a lush backyard with raised beds. It faced east, and she imagined how the morning sun streamed in through the windows.
Carly turned back to the room. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself. She shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it on top of some joggers he’d draped across a chair. She kicked off her shoes, then climbed on top of the bed.
Her instinct told her to arrange herself to look appealing. She tried a couple of poses, but she didn’t have the skill or the personality to pull off a wanton look. Knowing her luck, she would probably appear to have indigestion rather than sex appeal. So she ended up cross-legged, her hands digging into her thighs to quell her nerves.
She heard him walking down the hall toward her and her heart began to pound in time to his footfalls.
Max walked into the room and paused at the threshold, looking at her on the bed.
“I’m supposed to look sexy,” she said, gesturing to herself.
“Mission accomplished.” He shoved his hand through his hair. “You’re kind of gorgeous, actually.”
The heat of his compliment scorched her cheeks. “That’s flattery,” she said, pointing at him. “And it works great.”
He grinned. “Not flattery. Just truth.” He shut the door behind him.
“What about the dogs?”
“They are comfortably arranged on the couch with Dog TV and some peanut butter bones,” he said as he moved to the foot of the bed.
“Treats on the couch?” She gave a playful grimace.
“Let it go, Carly,” he said with a grin.
“Can I ask you something?” she asked as he leaned over and braced both hands against the foot of the bed.
“I have protection.” His eyes moved over her body.
Carly hadn’t even gotten that far—that’s how awkward she was with this sort of thing, her initial proposition notwithstanding. “I . . . I was going to ask if you’re nervous.”
Max lifted his gaze to consider her. “A little. Are you?”
“I am. But not because I’m not raring to go.” She smiled but realized that sounded like she wanted it fast and furious. She didn’t want it fast and furious, she wanted it all. “I mean, after a suitable buildup.” And that sounded like she was going to judge his buildup. “Wait. This is coming out all wrong. I mean, I am not usually asking guys to, um . . .” Fuck her? Because that was exactly what she’d asked. But this felt so different from that. This felt like it could truly be the beginning of something. Like it went beyond a physical need. “I mean, you know, building to the big . . .” She tried frantically to think of how to end that sentence without making this less sexy than she already had.
“O,” Max mercifully finished for her.
“Something like that,” she muttered.
He crawled on all fours onto the end of the bed, his gaze locked on hers. “I have to thank you for working yourself into a lather about this, Carly. It’s made me less nervous.” He grinned. “If you were superconfident, I’d probably be a wreck.”
“Right?” she said, nodding fervently. “I’m really bad at this. I mean, not this,” she said, patting the bed. “But this,” she said, gesturing between them.
“Are you sure? Because you seem pretty damn good at this to me,” he said, gesturing