Chapter 12 #2
“You’re scaring me, Bear,” I whisper. “But you’re doing a good job of making me curious.”
He almost smiles again. But the tension in him doesn’t break.
“I need you to understand, Max,” he murmurs, voice roughening. “I want to bury myself in you.” A beat. “And something’s telling me that is exactly why I shouldn’t.”
Then he steps closer, and this time, I’m the one who backs away. The look in his eyes isn’t just intense. It’s raw. Bare. Dangerous in a way that has nothing to do with harm and everything to do with desire.
“I don’t want you here,” he says, his voice gritty.
“What?” My back hits the counter.
He takes another step. “I don’t need you in my space. Not in my kitchen. Not wearing my flannel, making fucking pancakes while I’m trying to be the kind of man who says no when everything inside me is screaming yes.”
He closes the distance, stopping right in front of me, and I can see it clearly now. This man is fighting himself.
And he’s losing.
Two points for me and this flannel.
I lift a brow. “Is that why the perfect gentleman act last night? Why you didn’t even try anything?”
Shameless, I know. But I need to know if I’ve lost my touch and need to start doing more squats.
He frowns. “We just met, Max. While I’m accustomed to certain types of entanglements, this situation is different.”
“How so?”
“For starters, you were a guest in my home after being stranded on the road. I don’t care how cute you are—I needed to make sure you weren’t crazy.”
“Well,” I smile. “The day is still young.”
He smiles back. “Also, there are no agreements here. Nothing to get tangled up in. Taking liberties like that would be a bit presumptuous, wouldn’t it? Besides, I thought that’s what you liked about those book men. They’re respectful, right?”
“Book boyfriends,” I correct, smiling despite myself. “And what I like about them has nothing to do with being gentlemen or respectful. Even still, sometimes being a gentleman is giving a woman something she’s never had before,” I add, letting the suggestion sit where he can’t ignore it.
Because something tells me there’s a lot to discover with this man.
“You really don’t understand what you’re asking for, Max,” he says. “Most women who can handle certain kinds of experiences don’t have to announce it. It’s an aura.”
“And I don’t have that aura?”
He shakes his head, frowning. “I don’t know. And that’s what fucks with me. I have no business playing with whatever this is between us if I’m not sure.”
I look into his eyes, searching for what he’s not saying. For the parts he’s holding back. The meaning tucked between the words.
My broody bear looks tortured now. Not defiant. Off center. And while it feels like self-preservation, like he’s trying to keep himself intact, there’s something else there too.
It feels like he’s trying to protect me.
From the fallout. Even though I don’t yet understand what that fallout is—or what it could cost us both.
“So, self-preservation is why you called the tow truck so early?”
“Yes.”
“And why you need me gone?”
His throat works before he answers. “Yes. Exactly.”
I glance down. Then back up into his beautiful black eyes. “And that’s also why your dick is rock hard right now?”
He doesn’t answer.
He doesn’t need to.
Then, like he can’t hold it in anymore, he grabs the edge of his shirt I’m wearing and rips it open. Buttons fly. Muscles tense. Chest rising. “Fucking, Max,” he growls.
And immediately, I’m grateful I decided to not wear panties underneath.
He grabs the back of my neck, rough and possessive, his other hand sliding straight to my center, finding me wet. Ready because my body has been waiting for this exact moment since I saw him.
My Bear.
Eli swipes through my wetness like he’s tasting dessert, then brings his fingers to his lips. A slow suck. A filthy groan.
Before I can process what’s happening, he lifts me, plants me on the kitchen island like I weigh nothing and prepares to bring another one of my fantasies to life. His shirt that I’m wearing hangs open. I’m exposed. The house is open, windows wide, nothing to shield us from the world.
But I don’t care.
Not when he’s the one standing between my thighs.
He leans in, eyes dark. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Max.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
Please don’t hiccup.
“I’m going to lay you down on this island and lick you dry.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“Then, I’m going to send you on your way. Because if you stay here any longer, I won’t let you leave. And we can’t have that.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. Because honestly? I could get on board with anything this man wants.
He grins, and my knees go weak. Then his mouth disappears between my thighs, answering every question and silencing my every plea.
His hands grip my hips, pulling me to the edge, holding me in place as his tongue works me with fierce, focused intent. Relentless. Consuming. Devastating.
I see stars. Real ones. Maybe heaven. Maybe the afterlife. Whatever he’s doing, my body is hovering right on the edge of the most mind-bending release I’ve ever felt.
No, seriously. It’s unreal.
My hands grip his hair and legs lock around his broad shoulders as my back arches. I fist his hair as he traces my folds with slow, torturous strokes, then returns to my clit, determined to make good on his promise…to take every last drop from me.
Lick me dry.
I’m right there. So close.
I’ve never had counter sex before, but the second I fall apart, the second I come, I’m letting this man have his way with me all over this kitchen. Forget the pancakes. I don’t even like blueberries like that.
Ding dong.
Eli lifts his head, mouth and beard glistening.
“Fuck!” He curses, forehead dropping against my thigh.
“Who would be at your door at this time of the morning?” I pant. Frustrated.
“No clue.”
He pulls himself together with a string of hushed expletives, adjusting his jeans and wiping his mouth. I scramble to get my shirt closed, hopping off the counter like it hasn’t just been the scene of a near spiritual experience.
Eli swings the door open, and I hear his voice carry down the hall. “Drake, what the fuck, man?”
I hurry back to the bedroom to find a pair of leggings to throw on. Drake’s voice follows, fast and excited. “Listen. Big idea. Huge idea for the pitch. What if we flipped the whole thing?”
Eli groans. “Drake…”
“No, hear me out,” Drake insists. “You know how everyone loves a love story?”
“No,” Eli snaps.
Drake isn’t deterred one bit. “And how public interest in all that mushy love stuff can really drive engagement?”
“No,” Eli repeats.
“So, after Max’s little declaration to Vanessa last night, I started thinking.”
“Drake,” Eli warns, his voice dropping an octave.
“What if we played up the fake girlfriend thing and used it for more publicity?”
“I thought that magazine profile you planted was supposed to be the publicity.”
Drake waves him off dismissively. “I mean, it’s fine. But nothing gets people talking like love.”
Eli shifts on his feet, his brow furrowing. "I'm failing to see the correlation between a fake relationship and a business pitch.”
“Because you’re not a marketing genius like me,” Drake says, grinning. “Relationships—the happy ones, the sad ones—they have a way of capturing everyone’s interest. Even the business community. It’s the kind of good press that will pave the way long before you even start the pitch.”
I swallow hard, finally interjecting. “Umm—”
Eli turns to me, expression hardening. “It’s a bad idea.”
“It’s a terrible idea,” I agree, forcing a smile. “And I really do need to get going. Too messy, remember?” I widen my eyes letting the implication scream at him, loud and unmissable.
Because after just a few minutes of his hands and his mouth on me, I know exactly what kind of mess I’d be stepping into if I stayed.
And I can’t stay.
These few hours with him have told me everything I need to realize I can’t stay.
Eli is too heavy for me, and I won’t be able to resist the inevitable if I linger.
Staying means softening. Staying means opening up.
And the last time I let myself soften for a man, he broke my heart, stole my tech, and sold it to an egomaniac billionaire.
I swallow again. “But…” I hesitate, because something in my gut won’t shut up. Because something about Eli feels different. “What’s the pitch for?”
Drake jumps right in. “To win a major investment. We’re expanding to bigger properties, wider reach. Housing for people who actually need it. That kind of impact takes millions, and this summit is our shot.”
My chest tightens. Then softens. Of course it’s something like that. Noble.
I bite the inside of my cheek. “So I’d be…a strategic distraction.”
Eli groans again, running a hand through his hair. “Operative word being distraction! No. Absolutely not. Max, don’t encourage him.”
But Drake’s already nodding. “It’s perfect. You’ll be brilliant. Just say yes and I’ll fly you to meet any romance author in the country once this is all done.”
There’s a beat.
Eli says, “No.”
I say, “Yes.”
“Max,” Eli snaps. “You need to get to your conference.”
I shrug, unfazed. “You also need me. And what if I could actually help? What if what you need to win is a tech angle? I can offer a lot more than arm candy, Bear.”
Drake frowns. “Bear?”
“Shut up,” Eli barks.
Eli doesn’t say anything else right away. Just looks at me. Like he’s finally lining up the pieces he’s been deliberately ignoring. His gaze drops for half a second as if he’s running the numbers in his head.
Drake, smug as hell, claps his hands once. “Then it’s settled. You can’t leave.”
Eli exhales slowly, like the weight of an entire decade just landed on his shoulders.
I grin. “Looks like I’ve been captured by the Canadians.”