Max’s Little Girl (Soldier Daddies #10)

Chapter 1

Max Zion walked into the evening art class with weary muscles and wet hair.

Walking in late on the first day wouldn’t make a good impression and was not how he normally behaved.

Tonight he’d had to choose between arriving five minutes late after a quick shower or getting there on time and knocking everyone out with his stink from the intense workout Caden had run the team through today.

He’d decided the class would prefer him to be late.

Sliding into the last chair at the tables arranged facing a raised dais holding a stool in the center of the room, Max nodded a silent apology at the woman talking.

The instructor shot him a doubtful look.

Yeah, he’d made a poor impression. Chafing at that thought, Max made a determined vow to be early for the Tuesday class and through the end of the semester.

He’d excelled in the military because of his discipline and overachievement drive.

Being judged as lacking didn’t sit well with him.

Driving that concern from his mind, Max focused on what the instructor said.

“…from this introductory class on, late arrivals will find the door locked to protect the privacy of the models. It takes a lot of courage to pose in front of a crowd of artists. Having the door open and close, exposing you to random students clustered at the door, won’t happen.

Does everyone understand? Any questions? ”

Max spoke up. “My apologies for arriving late. It won’t happen again.”

“No, it won’t. As I said before, I will lock the door promptly at seven,” she told him, spearing Max with a sharp look.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“By arriving late today, you’ve volunteered to be our first model. Take off your shirt, pants, and anything else you’re comfortable removing. Sit on the dais in the middle,” she instructed.

From the look on her face, the instructor expected him to say, “Fuck this” and head out the door.

Max didn’t have a shy bone in his body. He’d spent too many years in high-pressure situations in the military with both male-only and mixed-sex teams. Being naked in front of others was definitely less intense than facing a bomb on a final countdown in a padded suit and helmet.

Max leaned over to unlace his boots. After a second’s hesitation, the instructor began speaking again. He could feel the weight of eleven sets of eyes on his back as he pulled off his footwear and socks. Max tuned into the instructions to block that weird feeling out.

The instructor’s voice moved through the room toward the exit, and an audible click of a lock engaging sounded loud. He nodded to himself. Even peeved with him for being late, she upheld her rules of maintaining a safe space for whoever modeled.

“As I announced before, each session we will focus on a different technique or area of the body. Our first class will serve as an example of where each of you is starting. Based on your drawings, I will focus class instruction on techniques that you may find beneficial to reaching your personal goals.”

Max stood and reached over his shoulder to tug off his T-shirt.

The woman next to him gasped loudly. He didn’t react.

She wasn’t in awe of his chiseled muscles.

If he hadn’t been injured, his many healed scars would have drawn attention instead.

He bet none of their pictures would depict the stab wound that had just missed his kidney or the tangled burn scar on his shoulder blade from the fiery shrapnel that had pierced his protective padded suit.

Tonight, the vibrant black and blue bruise already spreading across his ribcage and extending over half his back looked bad—almost as awful as it felt.

He really should have dropped Koa off that cliff instead of grabbing his ankle to stop his teammate’s plummet toward the ground.

Unfortunately, that decision had caused Max to slam onto the rocks.

Mentally, Max shrugged. Koa was a pain in the ass on most days, but he had a Little now.

Max had to make sure Koa made it home to Giana.

From the opposite side of the room, the instructor hadn’t spotted the injury.

She obviously thought the woman was swooning at Max’s powerful body, for the next thing out of her mouth was to censor the woman who’d reacted to the injury.

“Models appear to allow us to study the human body in all its forms. They are not here to titillate or perform in a sexual manner. If you are not mature enough to handle seeing something unclothed, this is not the course for you.”

Max took pity on the student who’d reacted with sympathy and turned to face his desk as he unfastened his jeans. Now his battered side faced the instructor and the other students on the other side of the room. A low whistle came from one of the men who said, “How are you even moving?”

“Part of my day job,” Max answered easily.

“It should make an interesting shading study.” With that, he stepped out of his pants and grabbed his sketchbook and pencil as he walked to the dais nude.

In his rush to get out of the locker room, Max hadn’t bothered with briefs.

He sat down on the stool and opened his pad.

He wouldn’t miss a day of sketching to play model.

“My apologies to Sara. I didn’t realize that she was reacting to an obvious injury. Often people are here for the wrong reason, and I find it best to weed those people out quickly.”

Max glanced at the instructor and nodded, silently thanking her for taking the heat off Sara. He looked around the room, picking out someone to focus on for the evening. This had always challenged him.

Fascinated artistically by only certain people, Max could never have earned money as a commercial artist. He simply didn’t care to draw those he didn’t find interesting.

Max didn’t care if someone was good-looking or not, athletic or full-figured.

Emotions or experiences that shone through their skin from the inside drew his attention.

As he scanned the other artists, his gaze returned three times to the instructor. She had pulled up a chair near his abandoned desk and now worked on capturing his image. With his choice made, Max roughly captured the shape of her face and shoulders before concentrating on the details.

Her blue eyes held shadows in the brightly illuminated classroom.

More intrigued than ever, Max added shading to capture the slightly haunted look hovering in her eyes when she didn’t think anyone was watching.

The faint worry lines between her eyebrows puzzled him.

Had challenging students or her personal life added to those?

To his surprise, his curiosity wasn’t his normal scan to take stock of potential threats.

Intrigued by the woman behind the professional demeanor, Max wanted to learn more about her.

As he added details, he completely forgot his role as the model for the class. Time seemed to freeze and glide by simultaneously in a strange contradiction. When the instructor rose and closed her notebook, Max looked in amazement at the clock. It was five minutes to nine. Class was over.

“Artists, let’s thank our first model. He was a wonderful focus for our first class.

” The instructor led a brief round of applause before asking everyone to write their names legibly on the back of their drawing and to add questions or concerns that they would like her to address during the next class.

He stood and walked back to his chair, quickly redressing before following her instructions.

Looking at his sketch, Max guessed that with more time the image could be one of his best. Unfinished in any way, he found himself reluctant to surrender it.

The expression he’d captured pleased him.

Or is it the subject you’re fascinated with?

A male voice interrupted his self-reflection. “Hey, thank you for going first tonight. We were all sitting here in shock thinking that we’d be the models. You made it look easy.”

Max looked up at the young, slender man standing in front of him. He’d heard him approach but had let his classmate speak first. “You’re welcome. Posing wasn’t the worst thing that happened to me today,” he joked.

“Obviously. I’m Dean,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Max. Nice to meet you.”

The compassionate female nurse from earlier echoed Dean’s words. “Hey, ditto! Thanks for going first. And thanks for taking the heat off me for reacting to your bruising. I’m an ER nurse. That looks bad. Have you gotten them checked to make sure your ribs aren’t broken?”

“Hi, Sara. I figured you were either a mom or in healthcare. Thanks for being concerned. No ribs broken. I know what that feels like,” Max said lightly.

“I bet you do,” Sara said. “And you’re right on both guesses. I have two rambunctious boys—five and seven. Don’t miss picking up a syllabus. She passed those out before you got here.”

“Thanks. I’ll do that when I turn in my work,” Max said.

One by one, he met the rest of the class. Max hadn’t planned to break the ice by getting buck-naked on campus, but it had worked. As everyone cleared out, Max picked up his sketch and walked to the instructor standing at the desk.

“My apologies for arriving late. It won’t happen again, whether or not the door is locked. I’m Max Zion.” He offered her his hand.

She hesitated a moment before setting her slender fingers on his. “Saylor Andrews. I’ll hold you to that.” Saylor withdrew the touch quickly.

“Yes, ma’am. I will let you know that I’m on active duty. If my team is deployed suddenly, I may miss class.”

“Do you have time to alert me?”

“Sometimes. I can try to email or call if I have service and clearance. Can I pick up a syllabus? I bet you’ve included your contact information there.”

“I’d appreciate knowing. Who’s your commander?”

“Jerico Adams is my team leader and Caden McDonald is my team chief. I can provide their contact information if you would like that,” Max replied easily, noting she must have family in the military or military experience.

“Thank you. I’d appreciate that.” Saylor held out her hand for his artwork. “Team? You’re special forces?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Max didn’t give any details. Protecting his team took precedence over impressing anyone. Not that he ever gave a fuck what anyone thought.

“I was interested that you chose to draw while modeling. Many will not choose to do that.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Ah, achieving the objective,” she said, showing insight into a military mindset.

“Yes, ma’am.” He extended his drawing with a nervousness that surprised him. Her opinion mattered to him.

Max saw her eyes widen as she looked at her own portrait. “I thought I was your target. I wondered if you were sketching me as retaliation for asking you to pose first. This is flattering, not the angry characterization of someone unpleasant.”

“Someone had to go first. It made perfect sense to choose the jerk that came late.”

“Perhaps with a reason,” she suggested. “This shows talent. I’ll look forward to seeing more of your work.”

“Thank you. You interest me.” Max saw her face harden and kicked himself mentally. “As an image to capture. Good angles, expression, and all that.”

“Oh, gotcha. What are you looking for out of this class?”

“I destroy a lot of things all the time. Having the chance to create something is important to me. Thank you for teaching the class.” Max looked at the empty classroom around them and asked, “Can I walk you to your car? This is a safe area, but my mother always taught me to be a gentleman.”

The shadows hovering in her eyes darkened with concern. He could tell she wanted to say no, but something made her debate internally. Was she in trouble somehow?

“Thank you. Your mother raised you right. I’ll take you up on that if you’ll give me a couple minutes to gather my things.”

“No rush, Professor.” Max moved slightly away to lounge against the wall.

“Saylor. I don’t stand on titles.”

He nodded. She was a puzzle. Max had gotten a glimpse of her sketch. She was talented. He glanced over the syllabus as he waited and checked for her contact information. Saylor. That wasn’t how he expected her name to be spelled. The uniqueness suited her.

Max turned his attention to the coursework. The different class titles intrigued him. He would learn a lot from her this semester. Hopefully, the team would remain based at home for a few months.

“I’m ready, Max. I’m parked in the lot behind the building.”

Saylor closed her portfolio and hefted it onto her shoulder. Max squashed his first inclination to offer to carry it for her. She wouldn’t interpret that well. He walked quietly by her side. To his surprise, she didn’t talk nervously but accepted his escort quietly.

When they reached her sleek sports car, she put the portfolio in her trunk before turning to face him. “Thank you, Max. I’ll see you next week.”

“See you next week, Saylor.”

Max waited for Saylor to slide behind the driver’s wheel.

When he heard the engine start and the locks engage, he headed toward the sidewalk to jog to his truck.

Each strike of his boots on the concrete sent a jolt of discomfort through his torso.

He’d shower and slather himself with the smelly balm that would tornado through his sinuses but suck the soreness from his injury.

Despite his discomfort, his brain didn’t stop thinking about the art professor.

Why does she have mace and a whistle on her keychain?