Chapter 30
Lexie woke the following morning feeling like something was missing. When she looked around, she discovered that she was alone in the massive bed. Where was Max? Why hadn’t he stayed and woken her up with soft kisses and more mind-blowing sex?
With a sigh, Lexie shoved the bed covers off and padded into the bathroom.
She was actually sad that she was still wearing the huge tee-shirt she’d stolen from Max last night.
She’d chosen it with the intention of taunting him, daring Max to take it off and make love to her.
But he’d only pulled her into his arms and… fallen asleep!
Granted, they’d had sex several times yesterday. She still felt a little tender this morning from yesterday’s marathon.
Still…just because they’d had sex so often yesterday, that didn’t mean she didn’t want more this morning!
Leaving her alone was just…rude!
Or was this the beginning of the end? Lexie couldn’t ignore the nagging doubts creeping into her mind.
Max had always been a voracious lover—his reputation preceded him.
She’d seen the pictures of him with other women, always glamorous, always stunning.
A year ago, it had been one of their biggest arguments.
She’d confronted him about his apparent need for variety, questioning whether she’d ever be enough for a man like him.
He’d promised her then, with an intensity that had shaken her to her core, that he only wanted her. He’d sworn that those women were a distant memory, a past that held no meaning compared to what they had together. And at the time, she’d believed him—or at least, she’d wanted to.
But now, waking up alone in his massive house, doubt gnawed at her. Was that promise still true? Was she really enough to hold his attention? Or had she just been a fleeting conquest? The thought sent a chill through her, and she hugged the plush robe tighter around herself.
Was one day in Max’s bed all she’d get?
Walking into the dressing room Max had mentioned yesterday, Lexie fully intended to find the clothes she’d worn the day before. Her plan was simple: get dressed, drive back to her house, and pick up more clothes. But as soon as she stepped inside, she froze.
The space was enormous, larger than her entire bedroom at home, and filled to the brim with luxury.
Not only was her entire wardrobe neatly hanging on one side, but the rest of the closet was packed with shimmering evening gowns, sparkling cocktail dresses, tailored suits, designer slacks, and silk blouses.
There was even a rainbow of sweaters in every imaginable shade.
Lexie trailed her fingers over the fabrics, each one softer and more exquisite than anything she’d ever owned.
Then she turned and saw the shoes. A whole wall of shelves displayed designer brands she’d only ever seen in magazines, their price tags more than her monthly mortgage. Stilettos, boots, flats, and sneakers—all meticulously arranged by color and style.
“No way!” she whispered, backing away from the overwhelming display of opulence. Her heart raced as she shook her head in disbelief. The cost of these clothes had to be astronomical, and the idea that they were meant for her was overwhelming.
Still, she couldn’t very well walk around naked.
Sighing in defeat, she searched for what looked like the simplest and least expensive outfit: a pair of black leggings, a short-sleeved white T-shirt, and a sweatshirt.
It wasn’t much, but it would do. Seattle weather in the fall was unpredictable, and she’d be ready for either filtered sunshine or the kind of relentless downpour that could soak a person to the bone.
Sliding her feet into her sneakers, Lexie took a deep breath. She needed to talk to Max, to understand what all of this meant. Were these gifts his way of making her feel welcome, or were they something else entirely? Did he expect her to accept this luxury as part of their…whatever this was?
And, most importantly, was it over between them? The thought of being nothing more than a brief affair created a pit in her stomach.
With questions swirling in her mind, she made her way through the house, eventually finding Max on the terrace. He wasn’t alone. Another man sat with him, their heads bent together in quiet conversation. Max looked up as soon as she stepped outside, his dark eyes locking onto hers.
The look in his eyes melted her apprehension. Those eyes—so piercing and molten—held nothing but desire, and the knot in her chest loosened.
She nearly sighed out loud, her worries fading. So, this wasn’t the beginning of the end. Max not being in bed with her this morning wasn’t a sign he was done with her. It was just… Max being Max, whatever that meant.
As she stepped closer, Max stood, the gesture both old-fashioned and inherently him. And then, just as smoothly, he reached out, taking her hand in his. When he lifted her fingers to his lips, his deep, husky voice sent shivers skittering through her body.
“Good morning, mia cara,” he murmured, his lips brushing her knuckles.
“Good morning, Max,” she managed, her voice softer than she’d intended. Her thoughts scrambled in his presence, as they always did. Why couldn’t she think of a nickname for him? Something endearing? But no—her brain stubbornly refused to function properly.
The other man rose from his chair as well, his sharp eyes assessing her. Max, ever the gentleman, pulled out another chair for her before making introductions.
“Lexie,” he said smoothly, “this is Chief Marshall Calloway of the Seattle Police Department. Marshall, this is my fiancée, Lexie Stacias.”
Fiancée. The word made her heart skip, even if she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about the title yet. Still, she managed a polite smile and extended her hand toward the chief.
“It’s nice to meet you, Chief Calloway,” she said, her voice steadier than she’d expected.
“The pleasure’s mine,” the chief replied, his handshake firm but brief. His eyes, sharp and calculating, shifted between her and Max. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Lexie couldn’t help but glance at Max, whose lips twitched subtly, suggesting he knew something she didn’t.
“Well, don’t believe everything you hear,” she joked lightly, trying to keep the mood casual.
Chief Calloway chuckled, but there was a weight in his demeanor, the kind of authority that came from years of wielding power.
Lexie tried to maintain a polite demeanor, smiling faintly at Chief Calloway as she sipped her tea.
But beneath her calm expression, she was frustrated.
Did the man really need to meet with Max this early on a Sunday morning?
It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet! Couldn’t he have waited for normal working hours?
As the three of them settled into their seats, one of the servants appeared, bringing fresh coffee for the men and a carafe of herbal tea for her. Lexie added sweetener and a wedge of lemon, thinking idly that she could definitely get used to having someone make her tea every morning.
She was mid-sip when the conversation caught her attention.
“Chief Calloway and I were going over the crime statistics for the past week, Lexie,” Max said, his tone neutral.
She smiled politely but was confused. Why would the chief of police report to Max? It didn’t make sense, but she kept her questions to herself, choosing to focus on her tea instead of the strange dynamics at play.
That’s when the specifics of their conversation sank in.
“Like I was saying, Max,” Chief Calloway began, leaning back in his chair, “there are inconsistencies in the girls’ stories.”
Lexie’s eyes darted to Max. He picked up his coffee mug, his movements slow and deliberate. His dark gaze settled on the chief, unreadable but charged with something that made Lexie tense. Even she could sense that whatever Max was about to say wasn’t going to be pleasant.
“First of all,” Max began evenly, “the reports I read stated that the three women were in their mid-twenties.”
The chief nodded. “That’s correct.”
“So, why are you referring to them as ‘girls’?” Max’s tone was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to it.
The chief’s brow twitched, and he barely restrained an eyeroll. “Come on, Max,” he said with a chuckle. “You know what I mean. They’re young women.”
Max’s eyes didn’t waver. “Would you refer to your sons as boys?”
Chief Calloway huffed, his face coloring slightly. “They’re in their thirties now,” he admitted. “Hardly boys anymore.”
“Exactly,” Max replied smoothly. “I’d consider eighteen to be the age where someone transitions from a child to an adult, even though they still have a lot to learn.”
“That’s true, legally speaking,” the chief conceded.
“Then why,” Max asked, his voice tightening ever so slightly, “do you keep referring to the survivors as ‘girls’?”
There was a beat of silence. The chief’s expression hardened briefly before he exhaled, setting his cup down onto the saucer with exaggerated care.
He glanced at Lexie, his tone shifting as he spoke.
“You’re right, of course. My apologies.” His voice carried a reluctant edge, as though he’d been forced into admitting a mistake he didn’t agree with.
“The three women,” he emphasized, “have some inconsistencies in their stories.”
“And those inconsistencies are…?” Max prompted, his voice clipped and cool.
The chief hesitated. “Well, one of them said she just laid there and…didn’t fight back.”
Lexie’s stomach turned at his dismissive tone. She set her cup down carefully, trying to suppress the anger rising in her chest.
“And the other two?” Max asked, his tone low but beginning to darken.
“The other two didn’t report the incidents for three and four days, respectively,” the chief replied with a shrug. Then, shockingly, he chuckled. “It’s hard to take a report seriously if the victim doesn’t take it seriously either.”