Chapter Nineteen
October 11th, 6:05 a.m.
S leeping next to Max was a big deal.
Paloma sat on the balcony with her laptop and a cup of steaming coffee, watching the sunrise, her insides a horny mess. She had to find a hotel for one of them, or she wouldn’t survive the next two weeks.
The cool morning air helped clear her head, but every time she closed her eyes, flashes of the previous night danced behind her eyelids. Max’s warm body next to hers, his scent tempting her. Despite her best efforts, she drifted to the evening before, replaying the events that led to her current state of frustration.
Everything had been fine until he’d stepped from the ensuite bathroom. He’d walked out with wet hair, a worn T-shirt, and gray sweat pants— gray sweat pants .
“Are you kidding me?” she groaned.
He stopped walking. “What?”
“I’m wearing these.” She waved a hand at her loose-fitting, navy cotton sleep pants and tank top. She’d even put on a wireless bra. “And you have on that. I should change into lingerie.”
He grinned. “You won’t hear me complain, but why?”
“Come o n, have you scrolled any social media lately? Gray sweatpants are catnip to women.” And wow, his were doing him all sorts of justice.
His grin widened. “I could take them off.”
She tapped her chin. “Depends. Are you wearing old tighty-whities where the elastic’s shot and there are stains?”
He snorted. “No, sorry. Boxer-briefs.” He wrinkled his nose. “Without stains.”
“Fine, whatever,” she pouted, closing her laptop. “I’m going to shut off the light and pretend you’re in an ugly onesie. Or a set of my dad’s pretentious silk PJ sets.”
She clicked off the light, and his deep chuckle filled the darkened room. Great, she couldn’t see him, but his scent of cedar and man settled over her. What did that man bathe in, pure temptation?
“Damn it, Max. Do you have to smell amazing too?”
He full-out belly laughed. “Would you like me to fart?”
“Yes.” She twisted on her side, pushing him. Her hand stilled on his muscular chest, memories of her pressed against it and kissing him rushed in. She shoved away the thought and said with forced lightness, “I’m kidding. Please don’t fart.”
He grabbed her hand before she could pull it away, and awareness spread through her like wildfire. Electricity seemed to crackle from the point where their skin met.
“Your hands are so soft.” He brushed his thumb over her knuckles. The tender gesture sent shivers down her spine.
“I use a lot of lotion.” She winced at the dumb reply and at how damn breathless she sounded. But, dammit, she was balancing on a knife’s edge, torn between yanking her hand away and pressing herself against him.
“Are you trying to crush my hand?” he asked, his tone amused.
The chang e in atmosphere was so sudden that a startled laugh escaped her, and she released his hand. “Oh! Sorry. I was making sure you wouldn’t try to make any moves on me,” she joked.
“I’d never!” he gasped in mock offense. “I’ll have you know I’m a perfect gentleman.”
She needed him to be a gentleman but didn’t want him to be one.
“Although . . .” He paused dramatically. “I can’t promise I won’t snore.”
She groaned, partly in relief at the broken tension and also in frustration at the lost moment. “I’m not sure that makes up for the gray sweatpants and smelling good.”
“Don’t worry, early tomorrow, I’ll be offering up my impeccable morning breath,” he added helpfully.
“Be still my beating heart,” she deadpanned, then let out a snort of laughter, even as her pulse thrummed with desire.
He chuckled along with her, but there was an undercurrent of something in his voice. “Tell you what,” he said, “if I start snoring, you have my full permission to smother me with a pillow.”
“Tempting,” Paloma mused. She kept her tone light despite the lingering tension. “But then I’d have to explain to the cops why I murdered my business partner. Paperwork would be a bitch.”
“Fair point. How about you give me a good kick instead?”
“That I can do,” she agreed, grinning in the darkness, grateful for the return to their usual banter even as she mourned the loss of their heated moment.
Silence settled around them. She wouldn’t call it comfortable, but it was somehow soothing.
“Hey, Paloma?”
“Yeah?” She held her breath. Would he address the constellation of ‘what-ifs’ twinkling between them?
“Sweet dreams. Try not to fall madly in love with me before morning, okay?”
She grabbed her pillow and smacked him with it, both of them dissolving into laughter that might be a touch too loud, too forced. As their mirth subsided, a confusing mix of relief, disappointment, and anticipation swirled within her, keeping her awake well into the night.
On the other hand, he had rolled to his side and fallen asleep in minutes. He didn’t even have the decency to snore.
In the morning, she woke before the freaking sun with Max and his erection pressing into her ass. She wasn’t a woman known for her impulse control and therefore deserved a damn medal for quietly leaving the bed and settling for a hot cup of coffee instead of the hot man who’d been plastered against her.
She sighed. The sun had nearly risen, painting the sky in soft pinks and golds. Taking a sip of her coffee, she grimaced. It’d gone cold.
“Time for the impossible task of finding a hotel,” she muttered. Setting her mug on the small metal side table, she tapped on her laptop to reawaken it.
“Talking to the seagulls,” Max asked from behind her, making her squeak and nearly drop her computer.
She twisted around, forcing herself to keep her gaze on the throw blanket wrapped around his shoulders and not check if he still had morning wood. “I should kick you,” she joked.
He winced, handing her one of the two mugs of steaming coffee he held. “Shit. Did I snore?”
“No.” She took a cup, wrapping her hands around the warmth and inhaling the scent of rich, dark roasted beans mingled with hints of hazelnut. “But sneaking up like that about gave me a heart attack.”
He chuckl ed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. I’ll work on my stealth mode.” He pointed at her laptop and asked, “Up early for work?”
“No. I have everything in order. I was looking for a hotel.” She stared at the screen, her distress returning. “Turns out fall and wine festivals are a big tourist draw.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “No luck?”
“None.” She sighed heavily, slamming her laptop shut and standing, moving to the balcony but turning to face him.
He took a long sip of his coffee, his gaze steady on her. “So . . . I guess that means we’re sharing a bed for the next two weeks.”
She searched his face. His expression was neutral, but blue hazel eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her skin tingle. “I . . .” she faltered.
The logical part of her brain screamed to find an alternative, to suggest one of them sleep on the too-small couch. But the memory of his body pressed against hers that morning, the lingering scent of his skin silenced her protests.
Max set his mug on the balcony railing and took a step closer. “Unless you have a better idea?” His voice was low, almost challenging.
She swallowed hard, acutely aware of his proximity. “No. I don’t have a better idea.”
A slow smile spread across his face, making her heart skip a beat. “Well then,” he murmured, “I suppose we’ll have to make the best of it.”
She shivered, unsure if it was from the chilly morning or the situation. He shrugged off the throw, wrapping it around her shoulders, closing it tight at her neck, running his knuckles along her jaw before retreating. The touch was featherlight but was like a match struck against her skin, igniting a fire that threatened to consume her. Her eyes fluttered closed, and every nerve tingled. In her desire, a new plan formed.
Her lashe s lifted to find him still there, the space between them electric. He was so close that the heat radiating from his body warmed her, and the narrow space seemed to pulse with possibility.
“Max.” She let his name hang in the air, biting her lip as she wrestled with what to say next—if she should say what she wanted, then cast restraint to the flames. “I want to sleep with you. And I don’t mean next to you.” Her cheeks flushed, her heart pounding. “But we’ve got this job, and it’s important. I don’t want to screw it up because we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Or can’t stop thinking about putting them on each other.”
His eyes darkened, pupils dilating as they fixed on her with an intensity that made her breath catch. He leaned forward slightly as if drawn to her, one hand gripping the balcony, knuckles white.
“So, here’s what I’m thinking.” She shifted to face him more fully. “We enjoy each other physically. But we don’t talk about what this could mean or turn into—until after this job’s done.”
His gaze lingered on her. He leaned back, picked up his mug, and swirled his coffee before meeting her gaze. “You’re saying . . . sleep together but keep it casual until we finish the Sterlings’ house?”
She nodded, searching his face for his reaction, but couldn’t get a read on him, so she continued. “Exactly. Right now, I need space from the constant ‘what ifs’ in my head and the . . . well, you.” She gave a small laugh. “But since I can’t escape you physically, maybe if we keep it simple until we’re done here, I can focus on work during the day.” Taking a deliberate step toward him, she murmured, “And you at night.”
He set his coffee back on the railing, ran a hand through his hair, and rubbed the back of his neck. After a moment, he turned to her, his eyes searching hers. “I hear what you’re saying. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested.” He paused, tapping his fingers against the railing. “But I think we need to be clear about what happens after this project ends.”
She tilte d her head. “What do you mean?”
He leaned against the balcony, crossing his arms. “I mean,” he said, his voice measured, “that once we wrap up here, we need to decide. Either we explore this,” he gestured between them, “for real, or we go our separate ways. I’m not interested in an indefinite casual arrangement.”
“Okay. We’ll talk when we get home. So, you agree to this agreement?”
He leaned closer, his scent of sleep, cedar, and something uniquely him wrapped around her. “God, yes. Because honestly, if I have to sleep next to you for two weeks and not touch you, I might lose my mind.”
She blinked. His words and their decision slowly unwinding the knot in her chest. She stood on the edge of something steep, unsure whether to step forward or back. That was a lie—she was ready to jump and deal with where she landed later.
“Are you telling me what was pressing into my butt this morning when I woke wasn’t run-of-the-mill morning wood?”
He groaned, rubbing his short, trimmed beard roughly. “So, me pressed up to your ass wasn’t a dream?”
“Nope.” She bit her lip, resisting the urge to laugh as warmth bubbled inside her. “That was one-hundred percent real.”
Max shook his head and stepped closer. His hand moved under the blanket and hovered near her waist, his fingers brushing the skin between the fabric of her shirt and pants. Her pulse quickened, and her breath hitched as their gazes met. The desire reflected in his gaze matched hers. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he lowered his head toward hers, their lips mere inches apart.
Right before their mouths met, her phone shrilled, loud and insistent. She jerked back, glancing at her cell on the small table. “My alarm,” she muttered, her heart pounding, and her thoughts scrambled. Cursing, she hit the snooze button.
The alarm meant one thing: work. As much as every part of her wanted to forget everything but Max’s lips on hers, she couldn’t afford to blur the lines they’d barely kept intact.
“We need to get to the Sterlings’,” she said, her voice steadier than her body aching with need. “And speaking of that.” She pulled back slightly, putting just enough space between them to breathe and regain her composure. “One more ground rule.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “Okay, hit me.”
“While we’re working, we’re that: work partners,” she stated, her tone firm but gentle. “Nothing like what happened at the pineapple house can happen while we’re on this job.”
He picked up his mug with both hands and rested his elbows on the balcony railing. The pale light of dawn softened his features, casting a pearlescent sheen on his tousled hair.
His gaze drifted from the awakening city below to meet hers, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward, mirroring the gradual rise of the sun. “And after hours?”
She inhaled slowly, tasting the morning air tinged with the possibility of what might happen between them in the evening. “After work hours, we pick up where we left off.”
Her work alarm went off again, and he reached over, silencing it. “We better get moving. But after work, you’re mine.” He leaned in, kissing her softly, but he pulled back when she tried to deepen it. “Already breaking your rules?” he teased.
Work. Right. She had a job to do and clients to impress. But as she gathered her laptop and empty mug, she couldn’t tell if she’d just made the best decision of her life—or the worst mistake of her career.
She followed him inside, and every step was a battle between desire and duty. Time to be a professional. At least until sunset.