Chapter Nineteen Gemma
Chapter Nineteen
Gemma
It’s been a productive week, and I’m relieved Max and I didn’t ruin it by kissing yesterday. Anna’s name flashing on my screen in that moment was like standing barefoot in snow. A damn cold reality check.
After leaving the office with my tail between my legs, I was buzzing to start fresh this morning.
By day’s end, it seemed Max was impressed with everything I sent through—I even contacted London’s newest Gallery of Contemporary Art to see if they would be interested in collaborating with Gray Hotel, which he seemed pleased with.
I was so proud of my idea that Henry and I decided to treat ourselves to some well-deserved vino at our usual haunt around the corner from work.
Henry’s busy telling me all about his partner Nate’s latest work fiasco, which has me howling, when his face suddenly drops. He plants his palms on the tabletop before leaning in.
“Gemma, Max is here.”
“What?” Confusion cuts through my wine buzz. He jerks his chin, and I follow his gaze, only to land on the very man who’s been haunting my every thought.
My mouth dries instantly.
Crap.
Max looks good. I mean, really good.
Damn it.
He’s more laid-back and at ease, forgoing his usual tailored suit for simple trousers and a button-down that fit him way too well.
I swear I hear Celine Dion, see wisps of smoke, and watch as doves burst into flight behind him as he makes his way over. The man looks like some kind of Adonis carved specifically to torture me. Honestly, he could have stepped out of GQ.
My vagina develops its own heartbeat, thudding harder with every step he takes.
“What’s he doing here? He wasn’t even in the bloody office today!” I hiss at Henry.
I straighten my posture and take a desperate sip of my chilled Chardonnay, hoping the cool liquid reduces the heat flushing my cheeks. I can feel his eyes on me, like cool water lapping the shoreline, and suddenly, I am bare and exposed.
I know what this means. He knows what this means. For Christ’s sake, even Henry knows what this means, which is precisely why he’s pressing his lips together to hide his amusement.
Rejecting Max at Ruby Lounge on Friday took every ounce of willpower I could scrape together from my traitorous body. I don’t think I can turn him away a second time. Not when he looks like this. Not when this French Chardonnay tastes so good and I’ve already helped myself to two large glasses.
Shite.
Anna is going to murder me.
I can smell Max’s cologne before he says a word.
“Hello, Gemma,” he says.
God, that voice. It’s like melted chocolate. Dark, rich, and delicious.
“Henry.” His voice shifts into something rougher, colder as he addresses Henry.
“Max, great to see you, mate,” Henry says, extending his hand for a shake. Max accepts but says nothing. Instead, he throws his coat over an empty stool’s back, pulls it out, and settles in. I watch his large hands as he taps his knuckles against the hard wooden tabletop.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, directing his question at me.
Henry shoots me a confused what the hell look from across the table before I respond.
I lift my wine glass, saluting Max before I take a long pull. “After-work drinks.”
“Is this something you do often, just the two of you?”
His focus remains fixed on me.
“Um. Often enough.” My brows pinch together.
Why do I feel like I’m justifying myself? Am I being scolded?
Henry clears his throat. “Can I get you something to drink, Max?” His tone is friendly, and I can tell he’s attempting to lighten the mood.
Max’s jaw tightens. “No. Thank you.”
Henry wets his lips, clearly unsure of what to do next. After a beat, he stands to shrug his coat on, and I immediately sit up straighter.
“What are you doing?” I ask, almost desperately.
Henry offers a small, tired smile. “I think I’m going to call it a night. It’s late and I’m exhausted.” He turns to Max. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Max gives a curt nod in acknowledgment, and I track Henry as he leaves. Turning back to Max, I slam my palms down on the table. “What the fuck was that?”
“Excuse me?” Max asks, his lips curling up ever so slightly.
The arrogant prick.
“You might as well have been beating your chest like a bloody gorilla,” I snap. “You were so rude to him. What the hell is your problem?”
“Me?” he asks, smirking. “I don’t have a problem.”
Liar.
I shake my head, resigned. “Whatever.” I lift my glass to my lips, taking a sip. I watch him over the rim, and it happens again. That relentless riptide, dragging us toward each other.
Sighing, I lower my glass, deciding to take the high road and steer us back to a safer conversation.
“Thank you for choosing Henry and me. We won’t let you down.
” I tap my fingers against the stem of my wine glass.
“We both really wanted this, and we’ll do whatever it takes to prove that Prestige Partners is the right company for Gray Hotel.
We can make this launch extremely successful.
I promise, Gray Hotel will be the ‘it’ destination. It’ll be on everyone’s Instagram.”
He clasps his hands. “I have absolutely no doubts about your capabilities,” he says, his voice dropping half an octave. “Anna has told me how clever you are.”
I swallow. His eyes track my movements.
“Well, she’s not often wrong,” I say.
“She’s wrong about some things.”
“Such as?” I ask.
He leans forward, crossing his arms over the table, his expression turning curious. “You never told me why she warned you against me.”
I shoot him an incredulous look. “I’m sure you can put two and two together. You aren’t a complete moron.”
He chuckles. “I have my theories.” His eyes darken. “Tell me, Gemma. Do you always do what my sister tells you to?”
Oh God.
“No. I make my own decisions,” I say finally.
“I was hoping you’d say that.” His smile is subtle but unmistakable, and I feel my professional mask slipping.
“This is a business relationship, Max. Nothing more.” I remind him and myself.
“What if we made it more?” he asks.
I fidget with the stem of my glass, feeling cornered in the most delicious way. This is risky territory—the exact thing I’ve been trying to avoid, because I know that once I give in, I’ll only want more.
“I don’t think either of us want to complicate things,” I say.
“I think we’re both mature enough to ensure things remain uncomplicated.”
The way he says it is so matter of fact, like it’s that easy.
I shake my head. “It’s a bad idea.”
He leans in slightly, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I think it’s a very good idea.”
I pause. “And why would you think that?”
He shrugs. “Because we want each other.”
“I do not want you.” I grip my glass tighter.
“You do. And you know what I think?”
I tilt my head. “Enlighten me.”
“I think my sister warned you against me because she knew that there would be something between us. And I think we both know she was right. But I also think it’s pointless putting off the inevitable.”
“The inevitable?” I raise my eyebrows.
“Yes.”
“And what exactly is inevitable?” I take another sip of wine, my heart already racing.
He scoots his stool closer, gaze locking onto mine. “By the time I board my plane back home to New York, I’ll know what you smell like. What you taste like. How you sound when you moan my name as I’m fucking you.”
I freeze. His words produce the most intoxicating, provocative image, and fire ignites in my core.
“You’re delusional,” I snap.
“And you’re denying yourself.”
“Of what, exactly? You? I hardly think so.” My words sound hollow, even to me.
He rests his elbow on the table. “Of the opportunity to come.”
A sharp breath catches in my throat. We’ve overstepped—I know it. My body betrays me once more as my insides liquify at how feral the word come sounds leaving his mouth.
“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of that myself,” I say, crossing one leg over the other.
“What if you didn’t have to,” he replies.
“I don’t have to,” I bite back. “I’ll have you know, I have no trouble finding a man to satisfy my needs when they arise.”
His lips curve slightly. “I can’t imagine you would.” He studies me with those infuriating blue eyes. “Speaking of, we haven’t had a chance to speak privately since last Friday.”
I gulp. Last Friday—Ruby Lounge. The mention of that night sends heat rushing through me and my carefully constructed walls begin to crumble. “There wasn’t much to discuss.”
“No?” He tilts his head. “How was it?”
He’s relentless.
“How was what?” I ask, playing dumb.
“Tim.” His voice is almost a growl.
I avert my gaze, unable to look at him. Unable to admit that I couldn’t go through with Tim after Max left me so unbelievably hot and needy for him.
“Ah,” he says. “Things didn’t go to plan, then?”
I force myself to hold his gaze, even though every instinct tells me to look away.
“Things were left… unfinished,” I say, irritated.
His eyes light up.
I release a huff. “Max—”
“Were you thinking about me, Gemma?” he asks, his voice dangerously low.
I’m determined not to let him see how much he affects me. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
He leans in. “You really are a terrible liar.”
“And you’re unbearable.”
His eyebrows lift. “Unbearable? Is that why you’re flushed? Why your chest is red and the pulse in your…” He reaches to brush a finger against my neck, and my breath hitches. “Right here, is fluttering? Because I’m unbearable?”
I swallow hard, fighting the rush his touch sends through me. This close, I can see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes, the slight stubble along his jaw that would be rough against my skin.
“Anna already lost a friend because of you. I have no interest in jeopardizing our friendship,” I say.
“That was different. Nicole and I were just two twenty-somethings having fun, it was never a serious relationship. I chose to move to the States for further study. Nicole took it badly because I didn’t ask her to join me, so she made Anna pay for it.
You and I are nothing like that situation, Clarke,” he says.
I grind my teeth together, fighting the urge to give in.
“Will it be easier for you to admit that you want me if I tell you I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind?”
His admission hangs in the silence. This thing between us defies all logic and sensible boundaries. I’ve never had a man challenge me the way Max does, and honestly, it’s thrilling. But I don’t know what to do with it.
“We work together. You’re Anna’s brother,” I whisper, but my words lack conviction.
“Is that why you said no at Ruby Lounge?” He tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear, softly trailing his fingertips down the side of my throat. “Or is it because you knew if you stayed, we wouldn’t have been able to stop?”
His words hit me like a physical blow. I feel defenseless. My body reacts as if it’s been waiting for his touch—as if he’s a drug I’m already addicted to. Anna’s face flashes in my mind, and a cloud of guilt forms over me for entertaining any thoughts of Max.
“This isn’t appropriate,” I say, glancing around, as if an excuse to leave will materialize, but I’m rooted to the spot.
“Very little about what I want to do to you is appropriate, Gemma.”
Christ. The way he says my name—like he’s tasting it—tightens my stomach.
I should move away. I should leave. I should do anything except sit here and drown in his eyes, because right now, I’m imagining exactly what those inappropriate things might be.
“When I look at you, I have one thing on my mind. And I can’t stop thinking about it. I’ve tried to control myself when it comes to you, but I can’t. And I don’t think I can fight it anymore,” he says.
I’m not sure I can hold out much longer either.
“So, tell me, Gemma. Have. You. Thought. About. Me?”
I exhale a long breath. “Fine. If it’ll make you stop, yes. I have thought about you.”
A Cheshire cat smile stretches across his perfect face. He knows he’s won.
“I suppose the question now, smart-arse, is what do you propose we do about it?” I ask.
“Come home with me.”
Four words. Fourteen letters. That’s all it takes for Max Fucking Browne to eviscerate my resolve.