CHAPTER FOUR
Max
The walk back to the lodge was a slow torture of wet denim and sharp, jagged need.
Every time Frankie stumbled, I was there, my hand locking onto her arm or the small of her back.
She was soaked through, her emerald blouse clinging to the heavy, perfect swell of her breasts.
I could see the lace of her bra and the dark, stubborn peak of her nipples through the wet fabric.
I wanted to toss her over my shoulder and run back to the lodge. Better yet, put her in my truck and drive to my house up on the ridge, far away from the polished vultures waiting for us.
We managed to slip into the side entrance and almost made it to the elevators before Tiffany spotted us. The sound of her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. Frankie stiffened beside me.
“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.”
We turned around slowly and I cursed as I saw others move forward, gathering around us.
“Look who survived.” Leo joined Tiffany, a glass of dark liquid in his hand. “Though, barely, judging by the way Frankie looks.”
I wanted to put my fist through his face as his gaze raked her up and down. I quickly stepped in front of her, my big body shielding her.
Of course, she didn’t stay behind me. Her small brown head popped out. “I like to commit fully to traumatic experiences, Leo.”
A couple of people laughed. Leo’s smile tightened.
Tiffany’s gaze swept over Frankie slowly. “You’re wet.”
Before I could say anything, Frankie stepped completely from behind me, her small hand sliding into the back pocket of my jeans. “I am, Tiffany. That’s what usually happens when someone… falls into the water.”
The look she gave me, all sultry fire, suggested she was wet for an entirely different reason.
Tiffany got an outraged look on her face, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. One of the groomsmen snorted into his drink.
Frankie just grinned and leaned in closer.
“Maxwell Wilder, you get the girl straight into a shower.”
Before anything else could be said, my mother appeared. Ruth Wilder never fit into the polished image my aunt and cousins tried to project. She wore practical boots, handled her own business, and saw through bullshit faster than a chainsaw through pine.
Frankie made a choking sound beside me.
“Well? Off with the both of you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I smiled at her and grabbed Frankie’s hand, pulling her quickly to the elevators.
As the doors closed behind us, Frankie dropped her forehead against the wall. “Oh my God.”
I leaned back against the railing, watching her. “You did fine.”
“Your family is terrifying.”
“I warned you.”
She straightened, pointing a finger at me accusingly. “I accidentally flirted with you in front of your mother and it’s all your fault.”
“I like it when you flirt with me.” That brought another blush of red to her cheeks.
The elevator dinged and I ushered her out, still grinning. The suite door shut behind us with a heavy click and just like that, the playful energy vanished.
Because now we were alone.
Again.
Frankie swallowed hard before grabbing her overnight bag. “I’m going to change.”
Then she practically sprinted into the bathroom.
It didn’t take long for both of us to shower and change into dry clothing.
I wore a pair of dress slacks and a button-down shirt that I’d left opened at the throat.
Frankie emerged from the bathroom wearing a pair of black form-fitting slacks and a dark blue blouse that flowed over her curves.
The slacks hugged her hips and thighs showing off the solid, honest strength of her build that drive me absolutely crazy.
When we walked into the private dining room, the silence was instantaneous. My grip tightened on Frankie’s hand, my protective instincts flaring. It was the silence of a group of people trying to figure out where to place a woman who refused to play by their rules.
“Max.” My Aunt Claire, Leo’s mother, called out. Her voice dripped with artificial sweetness as she looked Frankie up and down. “You’ve certainly come... prepared, haven’t you dear? Are we expecting a plumbing emergency during dessert?”
Leo let out a chuckle. “Give her a break, Mother. She probably hasn’t ever been to a dinner like this before. It’s a bit different from the Friday night special at the diner, isn’t it, Frankie?”
A few of the bridesmaids let out a tinkle of laughter — that thin, glass-shattering sound that women make when they think they’ve found someone they can look down on.
I pulled out Frankie’s chair, and she sank down with a fluid grace that made the women around her look stiff and brittle. She looked at Claire with a level of boredom that let me know everyone in the room had underestimated her, including myself.
“I didn’t realize the goal was to look decorative with no substance.” She picked up her napkin and shook out with a flourish.
A few people around the table shifted uncomfortably.
“It’s about the occasion, Frankie. It’s about showing a little refinement. But I guess that’s a hard concept to grasp when you spend your days counting screws.”
Frankie didn’t even blink. “At least I’m not spending my days counting money I haven’t earned for myself.”
The silence around the table now was deafening. My mother let out a small chuckle, a tiny smile playing on her lips before she addressed Frankie. “You must be the woman finally making my son look happy again.”
Frankie made a choking sound beside me. “I—what?”
“He’s been stomping around glaring at trees for months now.”
“Mom,” I warned. My mother saw entirely too much sometimes.
Frankie looked up at me with wide eyes.
I looked away first.
Because the worst part?
My mother wasn’t wrong.
Across the table, Leo drained his whiskey with obvious annoyance. “Amazing what a rebound relationship can do for a man.”
Frankie stiffened. Before I could speak, she tilted her head thoughtfully toward Leo. “You know,” she said conversationally, “for a groom, you spend a weird amount of time thinking about your cousin’s dating life.”
Somebody coughed violently trying not to laugh.
Fuck. The woman had walked into a room full of vipers and started juggling knives.
Tiffany stepped smoothly into the silence. “Frankie’s very… confident, isn’t she?”
“That’s one word for it,” Frankie replied brightly.
Tiffany’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I just think weddings can be overwhelming if you’re not used to this kind of environment.”
Frankie smiled slowly. “And what environment is that, Tiffany? A knockoff scene from Frozen? All frosty with no real emotion?”
My mother laughed.
Tiffany looked horrified.
And I smiled. Frankie wasn’t intimidated by these people.
She was having fun.
The rest of the dinner went smoothly with Tiffany and Leo ignoring us. Which was exactly what I wanted.
By the time we got back to the suite, the sun was long gone.
We walked slowly down the hallway as if we were both afraid of entering the room.
I knew why I was hesitating. My control had been tested by Frankie’s response to my family.
I’d wanted to haul her into my arms and kiss her every time she made a snarky remark.
Once inside the suite, Frankie grabbed her bag and bolted for the bathroom. “I’m going to change.”
I stood by the window, staring out at the dark silhouette of the mountain, my skin feeling too tight for my body. When the door finally opened, I turned around and to choke back a laugh.
She wasn’t wearing silk like I’d actually hoped.
She wasn’t wearing anything even remotely provocative.
Frankie had emerged looking like she was preparing for an expedition to the North Pole.
She had on a pair of thick, baggy gray sweatpants, an oversized hoodie that swallowed her curves, and, to complete the picture, a pair of thick wool socks.
She was so bundled up I couldn’t see a single inch of skin below her chin.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, leaning against the wall, a genuine grin tugging at my mouth.
Frankie looked at me, her face defiant. “It gets cold in the mountains at night, Max. I don’t want to catch a chill.”
“It’s seventy-two degrees in this room, Frankie. You look like a damn marshmallow.”
I walked toward her, my pace slow and predatory. She didn’t move, but her eyes went wide as I came to a stop right in front of her. I reached out, my fingers catching the hem of her hoodie.
“I’m not letting you pass out from heat stroke, Frankie,” I rumbled, my voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that always made her breath hitch. “Take some of this off. Or I’ll do it for you.”
I gave the hem a sharp tug, warning her I meant business.
“Max...” she squeaked.
“You’re trying to hide from me and it’s not going to work. I know what’s under there. I’ve felt it.” I stepped closer, my chest brushing against her. “Undress. Now.”
She looked at me for a long, silent moment, searching my eyes for a joke she wasn’t going to find. Slowly, with shaking hands, she pulled the hoodie over her head. Underneath, she had a t-shirt that was just as baggy.
“The socks and the sweatpants, too,” I ordered.
“Max.”
“I’m not asking, Frankie. You want to pretend we’re a couple? Couples don’t sleep in winter gear in the middle of spring. You’re going to get into that bed in your shirt and your underwear, or I’m going to spend the next ten minutes peeling you like an orange. One. Layer. At a time.”
She let out a frustrated little huff, but the shyness was back, making her look so incredibly vulnerable I wanted to wrap my arms around her and never let go.
She stepped out of the sweatpants then leaned down to take off her socks, giving me an unfiltered view of her ass in a pair of simple black cotton panties.
“Better,” I rasped, my gaze raking over her legs. They were perfect—creamy skin and soft curves I wanted wrapped around my waist.
Or my head.
Fuck.
I had to stifle a groan as that image popped into my head, right along with my cock trying to tent the front of my trousers. “Now get in the bed.”
I didn’t wait for her to comply. I stripped down to my boxers and climbed into the bed, the silk sheets cool against my heated skin. I willed my body to behave. I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, waiting.
I heard her climb in on the far side, staying as close to the edge as humanly possible. I barely managed not to reach for her. Tonight, I wanted her to realize that even with the layers gone, she was safe.
“Goodnight, Frankie,” I said into the dark.
“Goodnight, Max,” she whispered back.
It took hours for my heart to stop racing and even longer for the ache in my groin to subside. But eventually, the soft sound of her breathing pulled me under.