Chapter 19
“I like your hair up like that,” Max remarks, reaching across the table to gently tug the end of Lila’s long ponytail, which has fallen over her shoulder.
They’re sitting adjacent to one another in a small, upscale restaurant in London, having just finished their last dinner course. “You should wear it up more often.”
He likes the bright red velvet ribbon threaded through her hair, holding up her thick, silky mane.
It exposes the delicate nape of her neck, which is one of his favorite places to kiss and bite.
She looks like a beautiful doll, dressed in dark stiletto ankle boots and a white silk mini dress.
He had chosen the outfit from the wardrobe Sophie’s crew had packed for her, zipping it up before they left.
Dinner conversation has been light and pleasant as they talk about her day.
Hearing her joyfully recount exploring the city with Sergei gives Max a quiet sense of satisfaction.
Yet throughout the evening, he has noticed how antsy she becomes, her eyes frequently flicking down at her phone in her lap, a habit that displeases him greatly.
“You’re always on your phone,” he says, his voice icy as he catches her peeking at it again.
“You too?” she responds, lifting her gaze from the glowing screen, a puzzled expression and a hint of indignation in her tone.
“Yeah. Working.”
“There’s nothing wrong with keeping up with a social life,” she says dismissively, earning a disapproving, narrowed gaze from him. “You should try it sometime.”
It irritates her that she’s contractually obligated to treat him like a real boyfriend. As if blackmailing her and dragging her overseas weren’t enough, he also expects her full attention. Jake’s last message will have to wait until they’re back at Max’s home in Mayfair.
Meanwhile, Max watches as she slides the phone into her new lambskin handbag, the quilted leather shimmering as her fingers brush over it.
The gold chain straps shift softly with each movement.
The purse, a light-blue Chanel 25, had been a replacement for her old crossbody, which had barely held together.
She had squealed when she first saw it, bouncing on her heels before throwing her arms around him.
He has been trying to recreate that moment ever since, obsessing over ways to pull her focus back to him and away from that phone.
“I don’t like sharing, Lila,” he warns, his voice low and stern.
She rolls her hazel eyes. “What are you even talking about?”
She looks at him with barely concealed annoyance.
She has no interest in hearing lectures about sharing from this man.
After all, he had hired his ex’s stylist to dress her.
Andy’s slip-up has been gnawing at her. Even though Andy had begged her to forget it, the irritation refuses to fade, and Lila can’t explain why it bothers her so much.
Max’s frown deepens at her response. He has given her so much, trying to be gentle and thoughtful in the ways he knows she prefers, yet she still looks displeased. He can’t understand why.
She sighs and turns her gaze toward the restaurant windows. The entire upper floor has been reserved for the night so Max can have his date.
“Oh, it’s raining,” she murmurs.
He follows her gaze and, to his dismay, sees heavy rain flooding the street below.
“I’ll have Sergei bring an umbrella,” he says, pulling out his phone to call his driver.
“Oh, it was a short walk. I think we can make a run for it.”
“It’s pouring,” he replies sourly.
“Did I just find your weakness?” she teases with a grin. “Is the great Max Anthony Cooper allergic to the rain?”
A sharp twinge twists inside him at her sudden smile, and he realizes with uneasy weight that he’s beginning to yearn for something he shouldn’t want.
“No.”
“Then?” she probes, but he doesn’t respond.
Taking his hand, she leads him downstairs to collect their coats, enjoying the warmth of his large hand against her soft skin as their fingers intertwine.
“Ready to rock and roll?” she asks, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
Leading the way, she dashes through the glass doors and across the street toward where Sergei has parked the car. Looking back, she notices Max’s discomfort in his drenched suit and coat and can’t help but laugh. Her sweet laughter rings out, cutting through the roar of rain and thunder.
With more water than expected, they splash through deep puddles on the empty, freezing cobblestone street, lit only by dim streetlamps.
Sergei looks astonished as he spots them. He hurriedly exits the car, fumbling with the door handle before quickly opening it for them.
“You didn’t have to get out, Sergei. We could’ve done it ourselves. Now you’re soaked too,” Lila says, alarmed and tinged with guilt at the sight of the older man standing beside the open door.
“I’m all right, Miss Thorne,” he replies as they slide inside, dripping rain onto the clean leather seats. “I’ll get you both home right away. The forecast didn’t mention this much rain.”
Sergei softly closes the door behind them and swiftly returns to the driver’s side.
Max presses the partition button, rolling it up.
“Sorry. I didn’t think that through,” she says sheepishly.
Glancing over, she sees Max sitting rigidly, disheveled and uncomfortable in his soaked clothes. He looks like a different person. The usual mask of stoicism has slipped, revealing misery beneath, his jaw clenched tight.
Surprising herself, she leans back against the plush leather and pulls his face toward her, kissing him at his twitching jawline. His skin feels ice-cold, and the stubble pricks at her fingertips and soft lips.
“Maybe it’s the alcohol,” she murmurs against his cheek, “but you’re kinda cute when you’re all drenched. Drenched and annoyed.”
“Thanks,” he says dryly, though she notices a small smile beginning to form. The tension in his shoulders melts as she holds him close.
“Don’t be mad,” she chides lightly, feeling a strange giddiness, not just from running in the rain, but from making him uncomfortable.
“I’m not,” he claims, before pulling her into a straddling position on his lap. “Or I won’t be if you’d kiss me again.”
“Naughty,” she scolds playfully, planting a kiss on his lips. “Everything’s like a transaction with you.”
“I am a businessman,” he replies, deepening their kiss. Water droplets trickle down her forehead, landing on his cheeks as she parts her lips for his tongue.
He’d hoped for perfection tonight. Somehow, it has exceeded even that.
She is finally sweet to him.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against her lips. “I’m so glad you’re here with me.”
His words make her suddenly shy, her cheeks flushing with warmth. She feels his hands moving up her thighs, sliding beneath the short hem of her dress.
“Wait. Not here,” she says, tensing beneath his touch.
“Sergei doesn’t care—”
She quickly covers his mouth with her hand. “You’re embarrassing me!” she says, her voice strained.
He removes her hand, revealing that captivating smile that never fails to steal her breath away. “He can’t hear us,” he says huskily, his eyes darkening with desire.
“I’m sure he can,” she insists in a hushed voice, shaking her head.
But he continues sliding his cold hands across her damp skin, gripping her hips to keep her fixed in place. She whimpers at his touch, heating up despite having just run through the rainstorm.
“Max…” she whines as she feels his hardening cock pressing against her from beneath.
“It’s okay. Just enjoy it,” he urges, guiding her hips to grind against him. “If you’re worried, just be quiet.”
Soon, thanks to the light traffic brought on by the heavy rain, they arrive at his family’s home, a Georgian mansion near Mount Street Gardens. Gripping her wrist tightly, he drags her out of the car. She trails behind him, her trembling legs unsteady from the effects of alcohol and their grinding.
“Max, you’re walking too fast,” she cries, struggling to keep up as he strides ahead to open the front door.
Once inside, she drapes her new coat over the velvet settee and awkwardly steps out of her wet boots, her heartbeat quickening with anticipation for what comes next.
Suddenly, he grips her shoulder firmly, spins her around, and presses her back against the door. He leans down to kiss her deeply, his hand sliding beneath her chin to tilt her face upward. She moans softly against his lips, breathing in his heady cologne mingled with the scent of rain.
He undoes the zipper at the back of her dress, and she lets it slip from her shoulders, the fabric pooling on the gleaming marble floor.
She returns the favor, helping him out of his soaked coat and unbuttoning the top of his shirt, but he gently pushes her hands away before hoisting her up. Her legs immediately lock around his waist as she wraps her arms around his broad shoulders.
“Put me down! Max! I’m going to fall!” she exclaims, the dizzying effects of the alcohol taking hold. The light from the crystal chandelier above feels too bright, scattering like stars.
“I’m not going to let you fall, sweetheart,” he breathes raggedly into her ear as he hurries up the steps, one arm cradling her while the other grips the railing. Her bare breasts and hardened nipples press against his damp shirt, driving him over the edge.
“We’re almost there.”
Once inside the master suite, he sets her down gently, then swiftly strips off his soaked clothing.
She watches, mesmerized, as he peels off his wet shirt, revealing his muscular torso.
Dropping his pants and underwear, he finally frees his erect length, the thick, veined shaft jutting upward with a slight, curious curve.
“Kneel for me, sweetheart,” he commands in a low voice.