Chapter Fifteen
Rhys
“Wow.” I give a slow clap that echoes through the lobby. “I’ve never met a man so eager to announce he’s inadequate in bed.”
Max scrunches her face, her shoulders practically hitting the earlobes. Her expressive face says, Shit.
But she’s not the problem, Slick is. Him, and the guy who had the honor of fathering my amazing assistant, only to toss her aside. If I were him, I’d be kicking myself, but he honestly seems too stupid and self-absorbed to realize his mistake.
I thought I knew some shameless people, but Slick and this so-called father are showing me what’s truly possible.
“If you want ‘wham, bam, thank you, ma’am,’ you get a sex doll, not a girlfriend. You’re in the right city for it, too,” I say.
Slick turns a red bright enough to replace Rudolph on Santa’s sleigh. “This doesn’t concern you.”
Behind him, Max’s father starts slinking away. Loser. Can’t handle it when the fight’s more balanced. “Normally it wouldn’t, except you’re actually flaunting your stupidity and ineptitude. It’s offensive. In fact, your very existence is offensive.”
“Look, if she hadn’t lied that she’d be in Toronto, this wouldn’t have become a problem.”
I let out a cold laugh. “Are you trying to claim that you weren’t planning to cheat if she’d just gone to Toronto? So you aren’t embarrassed about being a piece of trash, just that you got found out. Does your date know? You should come clean if you have nothing to hide.”
He starts gnawing on his lip, unable to say anything.
I don’t approve of my parents’ antics, but at least they’re aboveboard about their life choices.
There’s never been any deception about what they want.
For that, I can almost applaud them, unlike this piece of shit who does things behind Max’s back because he knows she’d never agree to them.
“When a man does something, he should own up to it. That way, he earns a little respect, rather than just contempt.”
Slick gives up facing me. Instead, he turns to Max and gazes at her with tenderness, like some kind of innocent Bambi. He’s so engrossed in his performance, he seems to miss the disgust flashing in her eyes.
“Babe, you know Samantha is just temporary.” The words tumble out of his mealy mouth, which I’d love to punch. Except Japan is probably too civilized to tolerate public violence, even when the other party really deserves it.
Max’s eyes shoot ninja stars at him. “I don’t care what she is. We’re done.”
“Come on, baby. Don’t be so harsh. We’re going to get married. This was just a kind of…of a quickie that I didn’t want to bother you with. I was trying to be considerate, taking care of it myself.”
Taking a deep breath, she turns to face me. “I think we’ve wasted enough time here.”
“Agreed. Let’s go. The concierge ought to be around soon to take out the trash. Man, it stinks in here.”
“Now that you mention it, it does smell terrible.” Wrinkling her nose, she shoots Slick an icy glare before leaving with me. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out.
“Sorry you had to see that,” she says when we’re in the elevator. Her eyebrow is pulsing, which means she’s through-the-roof furious.
“Never apologize for something that wasn’t your fault.” I search her face. It’s paler than usual, with flushed cheeks and dark eyes. Her hands are still clenched tight—she doesn’t seem aware of that, though.
She lets out a sigh. “Just…not what I was expecting tonight.”
“Assholes never do warn you beforehand.”
She mutters something that sounds like “bastard” before clamping her mouth shut. The elevator door opens to our floor.
The suite has a vase full of fresh white and pink roses and a bottle of Billecart-Salmon Brut Rosé sticking out of a bucket of ice on the table in front of the uber-uncomfortable couch.
A box of German chocolates and two spotless flutes stand next to the sweating silver bucket.
I raise an eyebrow. I don’t remember ordering any of this, but ending the day with a decent bubbly isn’t a bad idea.
And chocolate might cheer Max up a little.
She walks straight past the flowers, champagne and chocolate as though they’re invisible, then flops onto the bed. She lets out what would be an ear-piercing shriek if her face weren’t buried in a pillow. After a minute or so of muffled screaming, she quiets down, breathing hard.
Guess she’s done. Hopefully she’s feeling better—
Nope. She starts again, this time sounding positively feral.
She even pounds the mattress with her fists and kicks her legs.
I take the Billecart-Salmon, two glasses and chocolate to the bedside table, then pop the bottle and pour the fizzy wine.
That done, I settle comfortably on my side of the bed, legs stretched out.
I wait until she’s done with the second shrieking. This time doesn’t take quite as long before she stops.
“Here,” I say, pushing the flute toward her before she starts a third round. Given how red her face is, it wouldn’t be good for the blood pressure. “A little champagne?”
She lifts her head, taking in the tiny, fizzing bubbles, then looks up at me.
Her eyes are slightly bloodshot and dark with fury, embarrassment and something else.
Maybe frustration? Confusion? She’s hard to read right now.
To be honest, I’ve never seen her like this—out of control and full of raw emotion.
This undisguised side feels overly intimate.
I cough lightly, trying to clear a sudden tightness in my chest.
“Thanks,” she says hoarsely. “That’s the free champagne I asked the concierge to send, so we could celebrate closing the deal.”
“We can still celebrate. Not just Ohimesama, but you dumping your cheating asshole of a boyfriend.”
She sags like a broken accordion. “Go ahead. Say it. ‘I told you so,’ right?”
“No.”
She shoots me a sharp look, not buying it, since she’s witnessed my telling people that I told them so countless times over the years.
“Okay, maybe a little. I enjoy being right.” I push the champagne at her again.
She shifts slowly, eventually sitting up, then takes the sparkling rosé. “Even if it hurts me?”
“If you put it that way, maybe not…?” I say tentatively.
Comforting women isn’t my forte. Max’s situation leaves me angry and frustrated, because she was so happy and mellow after dinner.
I can’t even offer to pay for a decent attorney to fuck that idiot up in a divorce, since all they did was date.
A corner of her mouth curls into a reluctant smile.
“Here’s to a new start,” I say.
She clinks her glass with mine, then downs the entire champagne in one long swig.
I pour her more before continuing with my clumsy attempt at consolation. “Could’ve been worse. You could’ve found out what kind of man he was after marriage.”
“Or after I got pregnant.” She shudders, then chugs half the glass.
“Exactly. Besides, it’s not much of a loss. He doesn’t seem to have much going for him.” I place the chocolate in her lap. “Here. Have some.”
She looks down, then gives me a wan smile that reaches into my chest and squeezes something vital and helpless inside me. “Thanks. You thought of everything.”
I clear my throat. “Came with the champagne.”
She takes a small bite of the dark truffle and washes it down with her sparkling wine. “You know what’s really weird, though? When he said I take too long, my first reaction was ‘Is it me?’”
I shake my head, wishing Slick were here right now so I could punch him. If Max were mine, she’d never doubt how hot she was. Even with slightly red eyes and sagging shoulders, she’s gorgeous. “Don’t waste emotion on a man who was never worthy. Write him off.”
“He’s probably getting laid right now.” She glares at nothing in particular, probably imagining the scene. Why does she torture herself like this?
I pop another truffle into her mouth to distract her.
“I thought he was the best I could do,” she says quietly.
“What?” I stare at her—from the vulnerability lurking in her green eyes, to the soft trembling of her lips, to those cute freckles peeking out from under the makeup she must’ve smudged against the pillow. “Max, you’re the best he could ever aspire to, and he fucked it up.”
She frowns at me for a bit. “Is that a compliment?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” Her forehead relaxes. “Well…still. My life goals are ruined.”
I laugh at her dramatic tone. “You aren’t even thirty.”
“But why?” she moans, obviously not paying attention. “I’ve been so careful.”
“Goals don’t always work out.”
“No. They don’t.” She shakes her head. “All my effort…” Her eyes darken with determination and something else.
A feeling of danger—or a warning—crackles in the air between us. My gut says I’m standing on a precipice, about to fall. Be careful.
Tension winds around me. I reach for the chocolate, and so does she.
Our fingers brush. An electric jolt shoots through me. I manage to pull away without looking like I’m avoiding her touch. Awareness flares in her eyes as she takes another piece and bites into it.
My mouth dries. I sip the champagne, my eyes tracing her wet lips.
She pushes her empty flute at me, and I pour her another and raise my gaze.
Her eyes on mine, she finishes it in one go, albeit slower this time.
Her throat works as she swallows, and an abrupt urge to press my lips to her neck rips through me.
I clear my throat. “More?”
She considers for a moment, then shifts and stretches past me to place her flute next to the champagne on the nightstand.
This close, her soft, feminine scent teases, heating my blood.
Her leg glides over me as she braces herself over me, the gesture arousing all my senses until every nerve ending in my body prickles with anticipation.
I look up at her, taking in the soft flush of her cheek and the deep pools of her eyes. A small tendril escapes her bun, falling down on her face. I reach out slowly, then curl the silky strand around my finger. Her eyes follow, her breathing shallow.
I let the hair unfurl and tuck it behind her ear. My fingertips trace the gentle curve of her earlobe. Heat flickers in her eyes and a sizzling charge runs between us. Something solidifies on her face and then she slowly pulls my glasses off my nose and drops them in the empty glass.
My heartbeat picks up. I can’t look away. She cradles my face firmly, the touch a searing shock. Her mouth gently descends over mine.
My lips instantly soften. She slips her tongue inside, the motion aggressive and fearless.
I pull her in, tasting the champagne and honeyed sweetness.
Our mouths fuse, tongues tangling as her hands tighten around my face.
She strokes my tongue like she possesses me.
I’ve never been kissed like this—and it’s hot as hell.
Dangerous. Very, very dangerous, an instinct warns, but I don’t care. I know this is only sex—she just broke up and needs something to get over the shock of betrayal. But I’m not going to fight it when she’s offering something I’ve been dreaming about for so long.
I pull her down on top of me. She’s warm, and her weight is just right—soft as spun sugar and solid enough to trap a very willing prey.
Finally, she pulls away and drags in desperate air, her hands resting on my shoulders. The shift in position presses the soft flesh between her legs against my steely cock. Her eyes are so dilated, they appear black in the dim light.
My pulse thrums in my head, but I hold still, waiting to see if she has second thoughts. She swipes her tongue over her moist, swollen lips as though to savor the aftertaste of the kiss. When her eyes come up they lock on to mine, and there isn’t a sliver of doubt in their depths.
I plunge a hand into her hair, messing it up, then wrap my other arm around her and roll us over. She gasps, her fingers digging into my shoulders. I seal my mouth over hers, plundering her the way she plundered me.
She glides her fingers through my hair as she sucks my tongue and rubs her legs along mine.
Her hands slide lower; she tugs at my tie, undoing the knot and tossing the thin, silky strip somewhere on the floor.
Her impatience stokes my lust. I feel unleashed, finding and lowering the zipper on the side of her dress.
Her breathing shallows in anticipation. I pull away the fabric covering her torso and unhook the bra, eager to see that pretty nipple again.
I put my hand around the soft mound to push it up, and my mouth closes around the rosy tip.