Chapter Twenty-Five
October 18th, 9:10 p.m.
M ax stood at the island counter in the condo, making drinks for himself and Paloma. Water from his wet hair trickled down the side of his neck, a reminder of the recent shower fun.
Grabbing bourbon, he poured two shots into each of their glasses. He was unable to wipe the grin off of his face. The last week was fantastic. Their first time together and all the days that followed.
Like last night. They’d driven separately because her to-do list had her working outside the Sterling house. He’d missed her but had been greeted with the most glorious surprise—Paloma at the door completely naked. She’d removed his clothes in under a minute, and in less time, he had her bent over that stupid couch he was starting to love.
Today was just as fun. He’d kept it professional during the working hours, but barely. And who could blame him? She might have looked professional and proper in her ankle-length tweed skirt and camel-colored ankle boots. However, on the way to work, she’d told him she’d selected the outfit in case things got too hot in his truck again and they couldn’t make it inside the condo.
Her husky voice repeated that declaration in his brain all day. He’d barely gotten anything done and kept having to correct his mistakes.
Then, finally, they were in his truck. She’d taken his hand, placing it under her skirt. He’d moved up her thighs to where her panties should have been, but instead of lace and cotton, there was her warm, wet flesh. Lust had exploded through him, and he’d pulled over the truck, determined to have her right then and there at the side of the road.
“Not yet,” she chastised, her throaty laugh filled the cab, going straight to his dick. “What happened to that anticipation you love?”
“It’s disappeared, alongside your panties,” he grumbled but returned to the road. He’d kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other between her legs, teasing her until she was rocking against his palm.
They hadn’t made it inside. When he pulled into the condo’s covered lot and had the truck in park, she was on his lap, unzipping his jeans. Then they had an encore in the shower.
Glancing toward the bedroom where Paloma sat with her laptop, heat spread through his veins. Both encounters had been amazing, but that last time in the shower, when they had taken more time to explore each other . . .
He capped the bourbon and closed his eyes, recalling how the steam kissed her skin. The way after, they’d kissed for an eternity, exploring with their hands and lips. Then she went down onto her knees and took him into her mouth. She looked up at him with water dripping from her lashes and hair, and he’d damn near come. He’d silently praised all that was unholy that he hadn’t because the way she had teased him with her tongue and lips until he’d come all over her chest had been a nearly divine experience.
After, he ’d brought her under the water and cleaned her slowly. Then he’d turned off the shower and carried her to the bed. There, he’d feasted on her until she was shaking and gasping his name.
He shook his head; too much of his blood was rushing south. He focused on finishing their drinks. He poured Vernor’s into hers. In his, a splash of water, half a lemon, and a bit of honey. With both glasses in hand, he carried them to the bedroom.
He paused in the doorway. Paloma’s long, smooth legs rested on the blue comforter. And he really liked the way she looked in his gray sweatshirt. He wished they could stay forever in this bubble.
Her gaze met his, and her smile stirred something more than desire—a glimpse of possibility.
“You’re staring,” she said, her voice low and teasing, shifting her attention from the laptop to him to the drinks. “Oh, those looking as temping as you.”
He handed her a drink and scooted next to her. Adjusting a pillow behind him, he rested against the headboard. “Working?” he asked.
“Catching up on emails.” She closed her laptop and turned to him. “You like to cook, but what are your other hobbies?”
“My hobbies?” he echoed. “Why are you asking?”
“Well, you’ve been inside me, and you’re my friend. I don’t know much about you outside of work.” She grinned. “Besides that you like swinging.”
“One time . . .” He shook his head, pretending to be exasperated, but was touched by her interest in him.
She tsked. “That’s more than ninety percent of the population.”
“If you’d seen how many people were there, you might have to lower that percentage.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
He nodded . “Yeah. I’m glad that party was in Chicago. It’s less likely I’ll run into any of them. I’m sure they’re nice people, but it’d be awkward for everyone.”
“I feel like maybe I’m missing something.” He pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, then let it go. “Should we…”
“No,” he said. An unexpected possessiveness held him in this grip. “I can’t tell you what to do, but there’d be no ‘we.’ If I saw another person touch you—” His mouth pressed into a thin line. “I couldn’t stand idly by. Or join in. Not with you.”
“Not with you,” she echoed softly. Then she looked at him and grinned. “Okay, swinging is out. So, what do you do when you have free time?”
Free time? Since taking on the Paloma Projects, there hadn’t been much of it. Not that he was complaining. He might be exhausted, but he loved his time with her.
“Besides cooking?” He took a sip of his drink, loving the way she settled against him. “I ride motorcycles. I have the Pan Am you saw, as well as an older Bonneville.”
“Not one, but two,” she said with that same warmth she’d shown when first discovering she rode.
“You still surprised I’m a nice guy with a motorcycle?” he teased.
Her lips curved into a smile. “I’m learning there’s a lot more to you than first impressions. Have you taken either on any long trips?”
“A few. Last summer, I rode with my brother in Nova Scotia. There’s something about being on the open road, just you and the machine.” He chuckled. “Though sometimes the maintenance can be a challenge. During that trip, all that salt air from the coast started messing with the electronics. We stopped at this little café in Peggy’s Cove, and my display screen went on the fritz—numbers jumping everywhere like it was possessed. W e had to backtrack to the Harley in Halifax to clean out all the connections.”
“Even with the issues, it sounds like such a fun adventure,” she said wistfully. “Learning to ride’s always been on my bucket list.”
“I’ll teach you next summer.” Had that come off as too presumptuous that they’d be together next year? He wouldn’t mind, and maybe by then, she’d be convinced he wanted more than her body.
“Don’t I have to be endorsed?” She either didn’t notice the significance or was choosing to ignore it.
He rolled with it. “Yes, but they teach the basics. You’ll need more practice before hitting the busy roads. I think you’ll love riding. It’s a great stress reliever.”
“Is that your subtle way of saying I seem stressed?”
“No, that’s my not-so-subtle way of trying to spend more time with you.”
The admission slipped out before he could catch it, but her slow smile made him glad for the honesty. That smile did things to him, made him imagine possibilities he hadn’t considered in a long time.
Her phone dinged from the nightstand, the sound sharp in their quiet bubble. Her brows furrowed as she read the text.
“What’s up?” he asked. An unease he couldn’t explain filled him.
“Roy Sterling wants a few changes. He asked for me to check my email.” Her voice had shifted from warm to professional in seconds.
She slid her laptop back on her legs and opened it, the blue glow washing over her face. Her gaze scanned back and forth, and with each passing second, more of their intimate moment slipped away. “Are you kidding me?”
He scooted closer, a knot forming in his stomach. “What?”
“His ‘little change’ is to change the entire color scheme for the second floor. And they’re discussing possibly expanding the project to include the guest house.”
His fingers tightened around his glass. The news settled over him like a weight, and tension crept into his shoulders. “That’s . . . a lot of changes. And it would mean completely revamping your timeline.”
She nodded, running a hand through her hair. “I know. I’ll have to start from scratch on so many elements. And finishing it by the end of next week won’t be possible.”
“We can do this.” He wrapped an arm around her. “We’re a great team.”
Their gazes met, and he could’ve melted into her soft, blue eyes. Then she looked away. “This doesn’t affect your end much. Or really at all. It’s all mine.”
“I’ll work on my stuff, then help you.” He was nearly finished with his tasks for this visit. He could leave, catch up with his other clients, and not return to Traverse City until it was time for planting and system setup. But he couldn’t. He had to wipe away the stress painting her beautiful face.
She briefly rested her head on his shoulder but straightened, putting a small but deliberate distance between them. “Thank you, Max, but even with your help, I won’t be finished by the time we’re supposed to leave.”
“Then I’ll stay and help.” But could he? The weight of his workload was almost too heavy to hold.
As if reading his worries, she said, “What about your other projects at home? They need your attention.”
“I’ll have my second, Grace, help.” If she wouldn’t kill him at the suggestion.
She shook her head. “You mentioned the other day how your business is stretched thin because you took these projects with me.”
He dug in his heels. Not sure why, but he was certain that going home without her wouldn’t be good. “Well, that’s why Grace is my second. She can handle it.”
“But do you want her to? Tell me honestly.”
He sighed. “No. I’ve already put so much on her.”
“Then go home as we planned. And I’ll meet you there.”
That tightening in his chest, which he couldn’t quite explain, squeezed him tighter. He wanted to argue, to insist on staying, but the rational part of his brain knew she was right. Still, the thought of leaving her behind twisted something inside him.
“I don’t like it,” he said, his voice low. “The idea of going back without you . . . it doesn’t sit right.”
She looked at him, her expression impossible to read. “I don’t like it either, but it’s the sensible thing to do.”
He set his drink aside and pulled her into his embrace. “Sensible sucks.”
She laughed. “I agree.” Their gazes met, and that familiar tug pulled at him—the one growing stronger each day.
Another shrill ring cut between them. This time his damn phone rang. It was after ten. Don’t people sleep? Grace’s name flashed on the screen, a reminder of the real world waiting for them beyond this room.
He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, Paloma was already reaching for her laptop, the professional mask slipping back into place. “You should get that,” she said, not quite meeting his gaze. “I need to start replanning anyway.”
He nodded, unable to shake the feeling that something pivotal had just slipped through his fingers. The bubble had burst, and reality was rushing in, bringing with it questions he wasn’t ready to ask—or maybe wasn’t ready to hear the answers to.