Chapter Twenty-Three Max
Chapter Twenty-Three
Max
That last rule slipped out. As soon it leaves my mouth, her eyes widen. I hadn’t planned to be so direct. But I want her again. Every delicious inch of her until she’s breathless and begging.
These rules aren’t just for her—they’re for me too.
The more time I spend with her, the further I slip.
It’s infuriating and intoxicating. Her innocent glasses, her wavy blond hair, the confident way she carries herself through the office clouds my judgment and makes my fingers itch to touch her.
I haven’t even been inside her yet, but the thought of her with another man infuriates me.
I understand Anna’s feelings are at stake here, but I don’t think either Gemma or I can deny whatever this thing is.
My sister would have my head if she knew I was constantly thinking about sleeping with her best friend.
If she knew what I’ve already done with her best friend.
But every time I’m in Gemma’s presence, resistance is futile.
Noah had a point yesterday—I’m only here for two months. Then it’s back to New York and my usual life. But while I’m here, the idea of something casual but consistent sounds pretty bloody appealing.
No strings, no promises, no disappointments. And because we’re working together, it makes sense that we don’t sleep with other people.
I haven’t been exclusive with anyone since my marriage fell apart.
Seeing Gemma with Henry this morning, watching her smile at something he said, stirred green-eyed fury within me.
It’s not rational, but the moment I saw her step out of the elevator in those high-waisted trousers and that sheer excuse for a shirt, I turned feral.
I need to take back some control after she walked out last night.
After she left me so hard I could’ve shattered glass.
Don’t get me wrong—I like that she left me wanting.
I like that she has the power to affect me this way.
Ever since my divorce, the women I’ve bedded have been so agreeable, so eager to please they’d take whatever I gave them without question.
Gemma makes me work for it, and I love the chase.
After last night and knowing we have no option but to work closely together, I know neither of us will be able to resist the urge again.
So, if we agree to continue messing around on the guise of something fleeting but exclusive, we can have our fun and nail this hotel launch without the worries of a relationship.
When I return to New York, that’ll be it. We both walk away unscathed
At least, that’s what I tell myself as I look into her sage-green eyes swimming with questions.
“I don’t do exclusive. Sorry,” she says.
“Neither do I,” I say. “But seeing as I’m only here for a short while and we’re going to be in proximity, I think it’s best to avoid any possible conflict.
This way we can be available to each other whenever we need to be.
If we’re doing this, it’s exclusive. There won’t be anyone else.
Not while you’re in my bed.” The words come out rough.
“Not even Tim?” she asks, a smile playing at the corner of her lips.
Hellcat.
I laugh. “Especially not fucking Tim. There will be no visit to Ruby Lounge unless we go together.”
“I have some conditions.”
“Oh?” I ask, lowering the hand splayed across her back, pulling her into my groin where she can feel exactly what she does to me. I groan at the same time she gasps. “And what would they be?”
Her hands come up to rest on my chest. “If I agree to this arrangement, then we need to establish clear limits around work. No displays of affection. No lingering stares. I work too damn hard to put my job on the line.”
“Done. What else?”
“You’re here for two months, right?”
“Right.”
“I want a clean break when you go back to New York. No texts, no calls, no attachments.”
I nod. “I can do that.”
“And Anna?” she prompts, a flicker of guilt crossing her features.
I exhale slowly. This is the trickiest part. What we’re doing doesn’t just blur the lines, it distinctly crosses them. Our relationships with Anna run deep, and this would feel like betrayal if she ever found out—especially after the shitstorm with Nicole.
“Anna complicates things,” I admit. “But if this is to remain casual and not go further than the time I’m here, then I don’t think there’s much harm in keeping it from her.”
Her eyes close momentarily, and for the first time I see a flicker of vulnerability. “I hate lying to my best friend… but…” Her voice trails off.
I take her hand in mine, rubbing my thumb over her knuckles in a soothing circle. “I understand. I don’t either. But I think, for now, it’s what’s best for everyone.”
She looks down where our hands join, deep in thought, her brow furrowed. The touch is intimate, but she isn’t pulling away.
“Are you all right?” I ask, capturing her eyes with my own.
She nods. “Yes. Maybe one more thing.”
“And what’s that?” I ask.
She takes a measured breath before speaking. “Don’t fall in love with me, Max.”
I almost laugh.
“That won’t be an issue,” I say.
“I mean it.” She pulls her hand from mine.
“I’m not the kind of woman who will fawn over you and cater to your every whim.
I won’t be sitting up at night waiting for your call or text—I have my own life, one I’m perfectly content with, and I plan to keep it that way.
I don’t do feelings—I fuck.” She adjusts her stance. “If we do this, that’s all it will be.”
Her bluntness shouldn’t catch me off guard, but it almost does. The corner of my mouth twitches upward.
“Thank you for elaborating,” I say.
“Don’t mock me.”
“I’m not.” I pull her closer. “Believe me, you continue to impress me. Most people dance around what they want. Your directness is…” I search for the right word. “Refreshing.”
“I’m not most people.”
“I’m discovering that.” I run a hand over my jaw, studying her. “For what it’s worth, I don’t do feelings either. This is merely a convenient, consensual arrangement.”
“Good. So, we’re clear then?”
“We are,” I agree.
“Excellent. When do we start?”
“Tonight,” I say without hesitation. “My apartment. Nine o’clock. Don’t be late.”
She runs a red painted fingernail down the front of my shirt at a torturous pace, watching my reaction through those deceivingly innocent glasses. When she reaches my belt, she keeps going. Her palm cups my hard cock over my trousers and my breath hitches.
“I have work to do,” she says with a ghost of a grin, snatching her hand back abruptly. She spins on her heels and marches toward the door.
“Gemma. See you tonight,” I call after her. “Don’t leave me waiting. You won’t like the consequences.”
She pauses in the doorway to glance over her shoulder.
“You might want to do something about that,” she says, nodding toward the obvious tent in my pants.
And then she’s gone, leaving me impossibly hard, frustrated, and already counting down the hours until I can make her scream my name.
There’s a chance this could blow up in our faces. But as I watch Gemma’s hips sway out of my office, I squash that internal voice of reason.
I can’t wait to have my wicked way with her.
Again.