Chapter 16
PAIGE
I’m relieved he’s here because if he weren’t, I know I’d be on the ground, broken and crumpled in a heap of grief and despair.
I can feel the scream rising in my chest, but it chokes itself into sobs instead.
He doesn’t say much, but what he does say is soft and steady and it wraps around me like a warm blanket even as I tremble and shake and fall apart.
He tells me he’s not letting go and somehow, I believe him.
I hate that it’s Max Hart holding me together.
I hate it because he’s just a colleague, and he’s smug and frustrating and everything about him makes my skin itch with irritation, but right now, he’s everything I need.
I never wanted him to be the one I’d fall into, but here I am pressing my face into his chest and clinging so tightly to the front of his suit that my fingers ache.
I sob like I did the day my grandmother died.
Loud, raw, aching cries that pull from somewhere too deep to understand.
But this is worse. So much worse. I’m mourning my sister like she’s already gone.
Like she died. But she didn’t. She’s still here and that’s what makes it so unbearable.
She’s breathing. Walking. Existing in the world.
But she left me long before this moment.
The sister I knew has been slipping away for years, and now with those final words, with that promise she gave Max, I know she’s really gone.
She meant every word. She’s not coming back. She won’t ask for help.
My tears soak the open neckline of his shirt. My chest heaves and I feel like I’m falling through space with nothing to grab but him. I don’t want it to be him. I don’t want to need him. But I bury myself in him anyway because I have no choice. He’s the only thing holding me upright.
Silently, we stay like this, him and me on the street, outside the front of my house as I lament until I have no tears left to cry.
“Let’s get you inside.” Max finally breaks our stillness and kisses the top of my head. He must realize what he did when he goes stiller than a statue.
The way he’s holding me, keeping me safe, is the best feeling in the world.
That night at The Velvet Rooms was the first time in years that I had felt the warmth of a man’s touch, and now that I’ve experienced it, it’s sparked a need within me to have that feeling again.
I miss it. Crave it and want more of it.
Need it like my lungs need oxygen. I feel like precious cargo in his arms, and I’m not sure I want to leave.
And the kiss on my head? It was an accident, a spontaneous reaction.
It meant nothing. But still, it was nice, and it serves as more proof that Max Hart isn’t the big, insensitive brute I made him out to be in my mind.
“You smell nice.” I inhale another whiff of his aftershave before arching my neck back and looking up at him. The notes remind me of the scent my date in the dark was wearing. Amber, black pepper; it’s woodsy and citrusy.
Flashbacks of that night shutter through my mind like a cinematic carousel. The pieces unfolding, whizzing around, sliding together in fragments that don’t make any sense.
There’s no mistaking it; he smells like Mr. Fox.
It can’t possibly be him.
He’s the last person I would want it to be.
You’re lying to yourself, Paige. Admit that you’re attracted to him.
My inner hussy winks at me as any sensible reasoning I have left packs up and leaves, while the bad girl within gives me a virtual high five and is already picturing our wedding.
Max gazes down at me, our eyes locked in a quiet intensity.
He isn’t just handsome, he’s the kind of man who makes my brain pause, like time itself forgets to tick forward when he enters a room.
He’s intense, powerful, and ridiculously infuriating in equal measure, and he’s more than just his looks.
He carries himself with a weightless confidence only he’s capable of. Even today he was unshakable.
My eyebrows dip as I recall it’s the same word the mysterious Mr. Fox used to describe himself. This is getting out of hand and I’m being ridiculous. It’s not him.
Although I could do with someone like him in my life. Someone calm and steadfast.
What the hell am I thinking? Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.
“You smell nice too,” he counters, keeping his tone soft and low.
“It’s called Vanilla Sex,” I reveal. Maybe I’m testing my theory to see if he reacts.
Max’s eyes twitch at the corners, highlighting the faint lines there.
I’m not sure if what I said made his brows dip, but they do, low in confusion, maybe, or something close to concern, recognition perhaps.
Whatever it is, I ignore it and shake my head at the absurdity of our conversation and my stupid thoughts, but I’m grateful for the move away from talking about Marin.
“My perfume name sounds better than my actual sex life. If I had to give that a name, it would be called non-existent.” I try joking to lighten the tense atmosphere around us. Also, I didn’t have sex with the guy from The Velvet Rooms, and it’s partly true.
My run-in with Marin has definitely made me a bit of a blabbermouth.
The last thing I want him to find out is how lacking my sex life is.
Talking to Max about my sex life isn’t just inappropriate; it’s completely out of character.
Sure, we play our little games, bantering with words like we always do, and we’re good at it.
We tease each other, push buttons, and wind each other up.
And yes, we make assumptions. But we never get into the details.
Not when it comes to our personal lives.
“I don’t believe that for a minute. I bet guys are beating down your door, begging you to go out on a date with them.”
“You’d be wrong about the beating down the door part.” Cat tells me I’m too fussy. I think she’s right and the only reason I managed to let myself go with a stranger was because I was in the dark and couldn’t make any judgments about what he looked like.
I felt him, though. His broadness, how huge he was. Similar to Max’s build now I come to think about it. And the things he said and the way he made me feel, he seemed perfect, which Max is not. Far from. He’s a player. A Casanova in the flesh. Isn’t he?
“Have they been beating down your new gate then?” he suggests.
“Not that either.” Compelled, I rest my hand on his chest, my fingers grazing the soft hairs that are peeking out of his unbuttoned shirt.
His pec flexes from my delicate touch. The athleticism in his body is admirable and he must spend hours in the gym defining his solid muscles.
He feels a lot like… Mr.… It’s not him… Stop it.
“How long has it been?” He goads me into sharing specifics about my sex life.
He doesn’t seem surprised when I tell him, “Four years.” I have no idea how we went from crying my eyes out to talking about my dead sex life.
I think I should stop talking now. “Thank you for today.” I realize Max is still holding on to me as I stare into his blue-gray eyes that feel warm and inviting instead of their usual “fuck off, Paige” look about them.
There’s a shift in the air, something unexplainable that feels almost tangible as he lifts his hand and runs his fingers down my face, wiping away the last of my tears with the pad of his thumb.
It’s too much and yet not enough all at once.
I could stay—I want to—but I need to break whatever this unexplainable energy that’s whirling around us like a cyclone is. “I should go.” Neither of us moves.
“I’ve never told you this before, but I think you’re really beautiful.”
My cheeks flush with heat from his weighted stare and unexpected compliment, my heart fluttering in my chest like a hummingbird.
He adds more heartfelt praise. “And you’re the smartest woman I know. Just don’t tell my mother I said that.”
A nervous laugh breaks free from my lips.
I hope he’s not throwing words of admiration around like confetti because he thinks I’m desperate for sex and that I would ask him to tear off my clothes and beg him to break my dry spell.
Surely not. I park that thought and convince myself that he’s simply trying to make me feel better.
What Max doesn’t know is that my secret tryst at The Velvet Rooms is enough to keep me going for another four years.
It has to. Yes, more time with Mr. Fox would have been nice but I didn’t fill out the Hook Me Up form the club sent me because Alfie needs me more than I need sex.
Companionship would be nice though. Someone to share my nights with.
Weekend walks would be great too, and sex would be a bonus—the icing on the cake—but an actual relationship?
Let’s just call it what it is and say there aren’t many men out there looking for single women with a baby. I’ve accepted that. It is what it is.
“You have pretty lips, Paige.”
I welcome that feeling of familiarity again, the one I thought I could touch earlier. It feels like a living, breathing thing, it’s so real.
What is that?
“Nothing can happen between us, Max,” I tell him when all I want to do is press my lips against his, to feel his lush lips on mine and experience what it’s like to spend the night with the infamous Max Hart. To kill my curiosity. That’s all.
“I know that, but it doesn’t make me want you any less, Paige.”
Under my hand, his heart beats strong and steady beneath the fabric of his dress shirt.
He wants me.
Don’t fool yourself, Paige. The man’s a walking horndog in heat. He wants every woman he lays eyes on.
I remove myself from his arms, my hand sliding down and off his hairy chest that’s peeking through the open neckline of his unbuttoned shirt as I walk quickly toward his car to grab my workbag.
I need to get out of here before I do something I’ll regret, like lose my job, though I would never actually let that happen.
I care too much about my career to risk it, and screwing Max Hart for one night of passion isn’t worth it.
Although, maybe that already happened and I just don’t know it.
Or maybe I’m wrong.
Stop confusing yourself. Move faster, Paige.
As I lift my bag off the floor of the car, the strong scent of his aftershave hits me all at once again as I dip my head inside the car. The strong waft of it invades my nostrils, sparking even more memories from that night in The Velvet Rooms.
My hand stills on the handle of my bag as I inhale another deep breath. It’s not just similar to Mr. Fox’s aftershave, it’s the exact same scent.
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
I glance up through the windshield to find him looking straight at me while my brain works at double speed making a list of all the things Mr. Fox told me.
Has his own business. Desk job. Tick. Another tick.
Has a brother. Max has three. Tick.
Same age as me. Tick.
Unshakable. Confident. Tick. Tick.
I help people end things so they can start a new beginning. That’s code for divorce lawyer, there’s no question in my mind. Tick.
He said he’d been with more women than he’d care to admit and that he keeps things casual. Max is a walking red flag when it comes to relationships. Double tick.
Hairy chest. Tick. I’m looking at it right now with my own eyes, and I felt it too.
Six foot three. Tick.
Oh no. It can’t be him. It just can’t be.
I lift my bag off the floor, clumsily banging it against the seat and center console.
Closing the door of the car much harder than I intended, I flee toward the security pad on the wall to gain access to my house as my mind begins to unravel, recalling every tiny detail from that night.
My heartbeat kicks up a notch and shifts into overtime.
It can’t be him. It can’t be him. It just can’t be him, I chant inwardly, keeping my head down, unable to make eye contact with him because his “you have pretty lips” and “you’re beautiful” comments combined with all the facts I pieced together thirty seconds ago have me spiraling more than I appreciate.
I rub my nose nervously and throw him a finger wave from over my shoulder.
“I’ll see you soon. And, eh, thanks for the, you know, ride, and giving Marin money. ”
It can’t be him. It can’t be him.
“Paige,” he calls out to me.
My trembling fingers stop midair as I’m about to press the first digit of my security code. “Yeah?” My voice sounds three octaves higher than it was before.
“Do you have a tattoo on your ankle?”
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
I hesitate. “Um…”
I don’t get a chance to answer when he asks another question. “Have you ever been to The Velvet Rooms?”
Holy hell.
I clench my eyes shut, scrunch up my face, and lie through my teeth. “No. See you at the next meeting with the Youngs. And thanks again.” My words come out in a rush, high-pitched and panicky. I need to get out of here. Stat.
Snapping my eyes open, I lunge for the security pad, jabbing at the numbers with a trembling hand, once, twice, each wrong code fueling the rising panic clawing up my throat. On the third attempt, the gates groan open, and I run out.
Relief crashes over me like a wave, but it doesn’t slow me down. The sharp echo of my heels pounding against the asphalt is the only sound chasing me up the driveway; well, that and the chaotic storm of my thoughts.
I feel him watching. His gaze burns into my back as I get closer to home. I don’t dare look back, not yet, but when I finally do, he’s still there. Unmoving. Eyes narrowed. Hands buried in his pockets. Legs spread wide as if he owns the whole damn neighborhood.
He knows.
Yet another piece of the puzzle snaps into place. Nathan said he and his brothers were discussing a case, Hunter versus Hare. The fox and the bunny.
Mr. Fox is Max Hart.
And I’m the bunny that got caught in his trap.