Page 11 of Maximum Risk (The Andrades 3)
“I’m not going anywhere.” Max avoided drama as a rule. On any other night, with any other woman, he would have written the evening off and happily left. But there was no way in hell he was leaving Tara with the half-dressed Neanderthal.
The sound of running water was followed by Tara saying, “If you two are done with your pissing contest, could one of you get me a glass of water?”
Dyson stepped away from the doorway and said, “I’ll be right back.” He lowered his voice and repeated to Max, “Right back.”
Tara swished then spit mouthwash into the sink. She met Max’s eyes in the mirror. “You don’t have to stay, Max.”
He stood behind her, close enough to catch her if she stumbled again. “I’m not leaving you like this.”
Still holding his eyes, Tara steadied herself by holding on to the sink. “You should before I make even more of a fool of myself.”
He put a comforting hand on her back. “You’re not the first to exceed your limit and pay the price for it.”
She closed her eyes but didn’t answer. A moment later she turned and looked up at Max. “Be nice to Dyson. He’s only trying to protect me.”
“I don’t like him.”
“You don’t have to. He’s Brigitte’s.”
As if on cue, Dyson returned and handed Tara a glass of water with two aspirin. Tara took a grateful sip, downed the pills then said, “My head is spinning. I’m going to bed.” She looked suddenly tearful. “Good night, Max.”
She walked out of the room and down the hall. Max and Dyson stood in the bathroom in somewhat of a standoff.
Dyson spoke first. “You have nothing to worry about. She’s like a sister to me.”
“I’m not leaving until I’m sure she’s okay.”
Dyson shrugged. “You’re welcome to the couch. But just so you know, Brigitte’s room is across the hall from Tara’s, and the doors are staying open.”
Max swore beneath his breath all the way to the couch. What was it about Tara that had set his life upside down? He was about to spend the night on the couch of a woman he hadn’t even slept with. Why?
He roughly adjusted the couch cushions into something marginally more comfortable and sat down angrily. Because that blond ape was in Tara’s apartment.
The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him. For someone who didn’t like personal involvement or emotional clutter, this evening was a high dose of both.
But I’ll be damned if I’m leaving. He sent a text for his driver to take the rest of the night off.
He wanted to throw Dyson out of the apartment or haul Tara back to his hotel. Both were out of character for him, but he was having a difficult time recognizing himself since he’d met Tara. For her, he was in his least favorite city. For her, he was doing something he rarely did—reflecting on how he could have handled himself better. He felt guilty that, although she’d said she was a lightweight, he’d let her overindulge. He never should have kissed her. If she hadn’t gotten sick . . . if Dyson hadn’t been there . . .
He didn’t second-guess his decisions or wonder why most people behaved as they did. He assessed his options, threw the dice, and moved on regardless of the outcome.
So, what’s keeping me here?
And why is walking away from a woman, who hasn’t even agreed to a date, an outcome I’m unable to accept?
Chapter Six
Tara woke up wondering why whoever was beating on her head with a sledgehammer had also made the sun painfully brighter than normal. She rolled over in the bed and pulled her blanket over her head.
Sleep had given her the chance to rewrite the night’s ending. She couldn’t remember every dream, but more than one had consisted of her losing herself in Max’s kiss, giving herself over to him again and again.
Damn you, Max Andrade. You and your sad eyes and your sexy smile. Why couldn’t you stay the arrogant, cocky man I thought you were? Why did you have to be so wonderful last night?
Not that last night was supposed to be fun at all. I was supposed to be working.
Oh, God.
I have to give Maddy’s money back. I am the world’s worst private investigator.
She hadn’t expected to enjoy her meal with Max, but she had. It had been easy, too easy, to get caught up in his gorgeous dark eyes and his playful grin. The wine had flowed, and Tara remembered laughing until her sides hurt. Max had laughed right along with her.
She held the pillow tightly over her face as she remembered how she’d offered herself to Max. Every touch they’d exchanged that night, every lingering glance, had increased the need within her until she’d ached for him—until she’d thrown all caution to the wind and practically begged him to sleep with her.
And why didn’t he?
Could it have been because of the outrageously personal stories I gushed throughout the evening?
No, it was probably the vomiting. Yes, that was not my best moment.
At least I won’t have to worry about him calling me again. She tried to tell herself it was for the best, but she couldn’t help wondering what being with him would have been like. She didn’t consider herself inexperienced. She’d slept with more than one boyfriend. She couldn’t even say she was holding out for love. She wasn’t sure she believed in it anymore.
But she had to admit Max brought a part of her back to life that had been dying. She’d forgotten what it was like to want a man, to crave someone. That her desire for him came at the least convenient time didn’t make it less intense.
Sleeping with Max would have been wrong for more reasons than Tara could list. She tossed the pillow aside, threw back the covers, and groaned when she saw she’d slept in the dress from the night before. So, stop thinking about what didn’t and what never should have almost happened.
Barely looking around, Tara stumbled to the bathroom. Yesterday’s makeup was smeared down her cheeks. Her hair was in a wild tangle on her head. She looked exactly as she felt. She turned on the shower, quickly relieved herself, stripped naked, and stepped beneath the blissfully hot spray of the shower with a toothbrush in hand. She lathered, scrubbed, brushed, flossed, and lathered again until she felt less like the walking dead.
She stepped out of the shower, toweled off her hair, and then secured another towel around her. If the sun was up, Dyson would already have left for work. Confident that she was alone, Tara sought coffee before clothing.
She was halfway through the living room when she saw Max, in his dress shirt and trousers, lying on his back on her couch. She almost turned and fled, but he was still sleeping, and she was curious. She stepped closer, expecting him to stir, but he didn’t.
She allowed herself the luxury of standing above him for a moment. He was handsome even in his sleep. His family had not only been blessed financially, but also genetically. He had a strong jaw most men would kill for. Classical high cheekbones. And, although they were closed at the moment, the most beautiful dark brown, almost black, eyes she’d ever seen.
She remembered the photo Maddy had shown her of him with his brothers. It ha
d been those eyes that had drawn her to him. When she’d met him in person she’d thought she’d been wrong. The arrogant, cocky man who had offered her a few hours in a hotel couldn’t have been the same sad man from the photo. Had she imagined a side of him that didn’t exist?
Last night Max had been yet another man. Down to earth. Self-effacing. And surprisingly funny. It was difficult to reconcile her very different impressions of him.
Which one was the real him, and why was he sleeping on her couch?
Tara reached out to touch his cheek, but stopped herself. I should get dressed and ask whoever the hell he is today to leave. Doing anything else is asking for trouble.
Her eyes dropped to the crotch of his pants and noted the size of his early morning boner. Impressively large trouble.
She nearly screamed when his hand shot out and pulled her down onto him. Her towel opened, remaining across her back, but doing nothing to separate her exposed front from sliding intimately against him. His arousal nudged against her inner thigh. Tara shifted to move off him. He held her in place easily with a hand on her bare hip.
“Good morning,” he said as if there was nothing unusual about waking up to her strewn across him.
“Let me up,” she said, struggling to sit up. Her legs fell to either side of him, which put her directly on his rock-hard shaft. The material of his trousers was rough against her parted sex and she couldn’t deny how good it felt. She wanted to rub herself up and down along him. Her breasts bounced above him, nipples puckered with excitement.
He placed a hand on her other hip and held her to him, moving his hips so the connection between them was its own caress. “Why deny what you want, Tara? You were brave enough to go this far. Why pull back now?”
He continued to move his hips beneath her with mind-scrambling skill. Even while her breathing betrayed how excited she was becoming, Tara fought for control. “Go this far? I didn’t go anywhere. I didn’t even know you were here.”
