Page 49 of What Doesn't Kill You…

She let out a huff and closed the final millimeters between them. Heart thumping loudly, she pressed her lips to his as her hands curled into the front of his rumpled gray shirt. Slowly, she slid her mouth over his, feeling the soft firm shape of his lips and the rough unshaven skin around his mouth. Any more of this and she'd have beard burn.

Eyes still open, still locked on his, she poked out her tongue to taste him and got a hit of salted caramel. Delicious. She sucked in a breath and, against her will, her eyes drifted closed. Max made a little groaning sound and his arms came up around her, one pressing against her lower back as the other clasped the back of her head. He angled his mouth over hers, and suddenly it wasn't clear who was kissing whom. Lips and tongues tangled in a dance Violet could finally understand. One without rhythm or beat. One where instinct was more important than learned steps.

Their breaths mingled as they explored each other. Max knew how to kiss. No, Max could have taught a class on how to kiss. He teased her mouth, nipping at lips and tongue, torturing her with tiny kisses one moment and long, sensual ones the next. Just when she thought she'd lose herself in him entirely, he'd pull back, making her whine in protest. Her tongue chased after his as his taste fast became an addiction. One she feared she would never be able to quit. She pressed into him, wanting more, needing more. The world around them spun and swirled, turning into a tornado, but they were at its center, silent and protected in the eye of the storm. Heady with need, she slid her hands under his shirt, feeling muscle ripple. She wanted the shirt off. She wanted everything off. And she wanted it now.

Suddenly she was two feet away, breathless and cold and wondering what the hell had happened.

Max ran a hand through his hair, making it worse. Cheeks flushed, breathless, and looking slightly dazed, he faced her. "Before we go any further, I think we should talk about this," he said.

Violet's heart was racing. Her hands tingled with the need to touch. She felt disorientated, like she'd suddenly been thrown from a rollercoaster and desperately wanted to chase it to get back onboard.

"Talk?" she said, as though the word was foreign to her.

"Yeah, talk." He stood, looked around as though searching for something. He nodded. "In the dining area. At the table."

He headed through the living room, expecting her to follow.

Confusion meant she did. Max sat in one of the chairs and smiled at her. Not the same drugging smile he'd given her moments earlier, but the open, welcoming smile an interviewer might employ to put a job seeker at ease. Although there was a brittle tension to him, and his breathing still seemed a little ragged.

"What's going on?" Violet said as her heart returned to its normal rhythm.

"I think we should talk about what we're doing so we're on the same page. We're in a complicated situation here, under a lot of pressure, and I don't want there to be any confusion about what's happening between us." He sounded reasonable. He looked reasonable. But he was clearly insane.

"You want to talk?" Violet said again.

He seemed relieved she understood. "Yes. I know we're supposed to be in this fake relationship, but what happened between us just now was very real. I mean, I feel that it's real. Do you feel the same way?" He looked at her expectantly.

"You want to talk," Violet said, rage bubbling inside of her.

"That's what I've been saying," Max said clearly perplexed.

Violet narrowed her eyes at him, and he swallowed hard. For a second, it seemed to register that he may have misstepped and a different approach might have been wiser. Unfortunately for Max, his realization came a little too late.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"Uh, Violet," Rodrigo said once she'd let him and Katrina into her bungalow, about an hour after Max's desire to talk. "Why is Max gagged and handcuffed to a chair?"

Katrina looked horrified and rushed toward Max, where he was sitting at the dining table.

Violet stepped in front of her. "Do not free him. He won't shut up and I need some quiet time to think."

To her disgust, Katrina was nowhere near as intimidated as she should have been. Violet worried she was losing her edge.

"You can't leave him like that," Katrina said. "He's the client." She said the last word like he was the messiah.

"I know who he is." She glared at Max, who rolled his eyes above the makeshift gag—a pair of clean sports socks. "But Max needs to learn that talking isn't the answer to every situation."

"Oh, for goodness sake." Katrina pushed past her and unfastened the gag from Max's mouth. "I'm so sorry," she said. "Benson Security doesn't usually treat their clients like this."

Violet snorted; how little she knew.

Katrina carried on. "Please don't put this in any article you may write about us."

It was Violet's turn to roll her eyes. "He won't give us bad press," she informed her teammate. "I told him I'd shoot off his little toes if he did."

"Violet!" Katrina rooted around in her handbag and came out with a key for the cuffs. Traitor.

"Don't worry," Max said as he rubbed his wrists. "This is between Violet and me. I promise nothing she does will affect how I view Benson Security." He gave her a dark look full of sensual promise. "This is personal."