Page 67 of Maxwell

“Let. Me. Try.”

He hid his amusement with an exaggerated sigh. She was so competitive. “Fine. Go ahead. Let me hear what you have.” He folded his arms over his chest.

“Ready? Why don’t scientists trust atoms?”

“You have got to be kidding me. Don’t,” Maxwell groaned.

“Because they make up everything.” Jasmine waited expectantly.

He dropped his head back and stared up at the sky. “That was terrible, and I’ve heard it before.”

Jasmine shoved his chest. “Come on, it’s a pretty solid joke.”

“Your joke telling is about as good as my sister’s.”

“So she’s hilarious?”

“Corny as hell.”

“You’re such a hater,” she said, folding her arms over her chest and cutting her eyes at him.

“I’m a hater, so you say. You suck at telling jokes. We both have our flaws.” Maxwell leaned in, trapping her against the Range Rover. “Lower your arms.”

“No.”

“I said, lower your arms.”

Pouting, she stared up at him defiantly. “Why should I?”

“Because I said so.”

She didn’t move right away, purposely obstinate. Then slowly, she lowered her arms.

“Better,” Maxwell said quietly, dipping his head.

He tasted her soft lips, and her tongue slipped out to tap the tip of his. He groaned, his right hand moving under her thick hair to cradle the back of her neck. As she melted into him, one hand lifted to fist in his black shirt, and he experienced that tug all the way down his spine.

He angled his head to deepen the kiss. Matching his ardor, her free hand slid up his chest, palm flat over his heart, and he wondered if she could feel how hard it was working.

Kissing her was an experience. An event. Unfairly intoxicating considering how many kisses he’d had in his lifetime. None of them compared to this. It was downright criminal the way she used her mouth.

Keeping one hand at her nape, fingers tangled in her thick curls, his other hand lowered to her side, and his thumb traced the curve of her waist in the loose dress.

She raised up on tiptoe, closing the last centimeter of space between them. Her mouth opened to take him in, and he slipped his tongue inside, listening to the small catch in her breath as his mouth glided over hers with firmer, more demanding pressure. Her fingers, curled in his shirt, tightened as she anchored herself to him.

Maxwell pressed her against the hard vehicle, hips grinding, his body coming alive with hunger.

Jasmine pulled back and looked up at him, her naturally full lips swollen from his kisses. He gently traced the curve of her jawline with his thumb.

“Come home with me,” he breathed.

Her hand slid from his chest to the back of his neck, her nails lightly grazing his skin under the shirt’s collar. Every nerve in his body came alive and was attuned to the pressure of her touch.

She didn’t respond to his statement with words. Instead, she turned and opened the car door. Then she looked over her shoulder, a soft, flirtatious smile on her lips before she climbed in.

* * *

“Entrez, mademoiselle,” Maxwell said with a sweeping arm gesture.