Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Natalie
It was no surprise that Max insisted on waiting outside in the hall, so I dashed through the living space of the suite, now empty, thank God, to my bedroom.
It only took a second to strip down to nothing since all I had on was the dress, panties, and sandals.
Now that I stood naked in front of the big unused bed I realized what a shameful waste it was that Max hadn’t come inside with me.
A big sigh escaped while I went to my luggage and rummaged through to find something I could wear on a run along the beach.
Let me be clear, I was not a runner. I had no gym clothes and no sneakers.
Finding a casual white cotton skirt and a hot pink tank top, I pulled them on.
I should really wear panties, but I was feeling so horny.
“Hell,” I said aloud to no one and pulled the pink thong on as a compromise. Then, sliding into flip-flops, I grabbed my room card and sunglasses, leaving my bag behind, and ran back out of my room through the still empty living room and out the door as if I were escaping from jail.
Closing the door gently behind me, I claimed his arm and said, “We have to stop meeting this way.”
“It does feel rather odd to be sneaking around hotel hallways like we’re having an illicit affair,” he mock whispered as we headed for the elevator. The door opened as soon as he pressed the button. “No one else is up at this hour but us chickens.”
We got in the elevator and I said, “Why isn’t the rest of the team up and going for a run to keep in shape like you?”
“Because the rest of the team isn’t as old as I am.”
His words slammed me. He wasn’t old, but compared to the rest of the team, I could see why he felt that way. I didn’t know what to say to him. So I reverted to my usual brash when-in-doubt ways.
“None of them are as hot as you either.” I moved in close, wanting a repeat of the kisses we shared on the beach last night, making my invitation clear as a blue diamond.
He didn’t look surprised or startled, like he was half expecting my bold behavior, becoming familiar with it.
But before he could say anything, before I could wrap my arms around him, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open to the lobby.
I bounced back to a respectable distance and he chuckled. He leaned down and whispered, his breath moving the hair near my ear, making me shiver.
“You’re doing a very convincing job of acting the part of the illicit lover.”
Turning to him, I gave rein to my devilish, boldest self because time was short.
We’d already wasted one night and one morning when we could have become intimate, closer, gotten to know those kinds of things about each other that hot sex lays bare.
I could have given him a night he would never forget and I was certain he would have rocked my world just on the basis of how his kisses, his touch made me feel.
We walked through the lobby and I didn’t hold his arm, mindful of Coach’s issue with Max and me.
Even though it was none of his business, the last thing I wanted to do was make Max feel uncomfortable or get him into trouble, though truly I doubted he would.
Based on how things turned out with Cat and Hunter getting married in spite of Coach’s dire warning against it, him flipping his position about marriage to an NFL player not being good enough for his daughter, I knew Coach’s bark was worse than his bite.
Making sure no one heard me, I whispered back as we strode through the patio doors to the path that led to the beach, “Maybe it’s because you’re doing a good job of acting like you’re still married.”
He stopped dead and turned to me. “Is that what you think?” His words weren’t whispered, but they were strained, as if some truth had dawned. Maybe I should have taken it easier on him.
I nodded. The stage was his. He took my elbow and walked me to the sand where the wind blew salt and seagulls around and the surf cleared the air.
“You think I would have kissed you that way if I’d still been married?” he asked when we got to the hard sand.
“Maybe.”
“Not.” He stopped, pushed his hand through his hair, and stood in front of me, towering and hunky in his skin tight T-shirt, no evidence of impending middle age showing.
“Okay then” I said, hands on my hips, jutting my braless boobs at him. “Suppose you tell me what’s holding you back—and don’t tell me it’s your age because it’s not like I’m a skinny, pimple-faced teenybopper.”
His scowl, as cute as it had been, gave way to a sexy lift to one side of his mouth as if he were grudgingly amused.
“No, but you’re more innocent than you pretend to be, vulnerable underneath the splashy show and I—”
“What? No, no, no, don’t hold that against me. I have an iron constitution when it comes to men.” I half lied in desperation, trying not to feel metaphorically pinned to the wall and wishing I was in actuality pinned to the wall, or the sand, or most of all a bed, by him.
There was no room in my desperation to think about why I was so obsessed, what about him made me want him unconditionally, why it was that with every new kernel of his essence that popped I got a newer, bigger thrill and wedged deeper into the vortex of need.
No room for the truth that I’d withstood all the men I’d had flings with since 7th grade because none of them were meant for me, none of them touched me, none of them had me obsessed the way Max had.
Maybe it was because I was ready now, but the way my heart stormed and my stomach agitated like a Maytag, I didn’t feel ready.
It was something else entirely. Kismet? Karma?
Was it plain old good luck that I ran into Max Devon, man of my dreams, on this weekend when I’d vowed to find someone who would be worthy of a real relationship, something that could turn into permanent, like a lease-to-own deal on a man when all I’d ever had, ever wanted before was a vacation rental?
It would start with chemistry, but there needed to be so much more.
He looked half convinced by my half-lie.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, Red.
” He tugged on my hand, giving up on the conversation as the wind tossed my hair in my face and the waves crashed near my feet.
I jumped, squealing at the cold water, needing the shock to make me move on.
This was not the kind of war that would be won with words.
“You ready to run?” His eyes aimed skeptically at my flip-flops.
“As long as you go slow.”
He trotted and I took off the flip-flops and tossed them where the waves wouldn’t catch them, figuring I could come back for them later.
Then I jogged next to him, splashing in the puddles left by the surf.
He turned to me and raised his brows as his eyes were unmistakably following my bouncing boobs. Vigorously bouncing.
“You’re not a runner, are you?”
I laughed. “Let me guess what gave me away.” I was already starting to get winded.
“No woman runner I ever saw went for a jog without a sports bra. But don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining.” He double-pumped his brows and that half smile and one dimple made me breathless for a reason having nothing to do with the running.
I shimmied for him. He shook his head.
“How about if we make a deal, Red? I’m going to take off for a real run and you walk along at your leisure until I come back to you?”
I nodded and stopped, unable to even talk at this point because I was shamefully out of condition—for running.
Give me acrobatics in the bedroom and I could handle whatever he threw at me.
In fact, I couldn’t wait to handle him, to touch every square inch of his hot muscled body, to feel his hands and mouth on mine.
Watching him run away faster than I could sprint a forty, I kicked at the water and ventured deeper. What the hell are you doing?
Even if I had always been bold, I’d never sunk to this level of begging for a man’s attention.
Sure I’d flirted and offered obvious hints, but I’d never quite thrown myself at a man like this, repeatedly.
I don’t remember the last time I was turned down by someone I was interested in.
Partly because I could always read when a guy was interested in me. Had I been wrong about Max?
Not in a million years. He was holding back for his reasons. Because I was vulnerable?
Vulnerable to what? To a man who only wanted a fling when I wanted more.
“F, F, F.” I yelled into the surf. Maybe he was right.
Which meant I might need to rethink this.
Rethink Max? I didn’t see how I could. The heart wanted what the heart wanted.
And I was experienced enough to know that there was more than mere sexual chemistry driving me and aiming me straight at Max.
There was so much more to him than hard muscles and bedroom blue eyes.
Rethink my strategy? Maybe. What if we didn’t jump into bed first and then go from there as I’d planned? Maybe we’d get to know each other, until we couldn’t wait any longer and then jump into bed. But we couldn’t wait any longer than Sunday because we’d both turn into pumpkins then.
The thing was, I was already there at the breaking point.
I knew. Deep down we had a connection beyond the physical.
And no age difference or ex-spouse baggage or especially not his twin girls, were in the least daunting to me.
All those things made him who he was, a smart, hardworking, giving, complicated hunk of a man with so much to offer.
A romantic with dimples who was a sucker for his daughters, the kind of man who took the blame for a girl running him down in the parking lot.
Who did that? A gracious man, a true gentleman far beyond the surface trappings of good manners, though he had those too.
The kind of man who wanted to protect me from myself. That was the Catch-22 I’d need to find my way out of and I had two days to do it.