Against the Ropes (10 page)

Brad nods and I examine his ankle. “It’s not broken. Just slightly sprained,” I tell him. “You need to rest, elevate, and ice it.”

The manager arrives at the scene of the crime. He and Max have a hushed conversation, and then he helps Brad to his feet. He obsequiously assures us no one is at fault and he will call a cab and send Brad home with his full pay for the evening.

Max holds out his hand to help me up. I rise from the floor, and my throat thickens. My beautiful dress is stained red with beet juice and covered in mashed potatoes. My shoes have fared no better.

“I’m so sorry.” I stare down at the disaster that is my dress. “I’ve ruined everything. I’ll pay you back—”

“I don’t care about the dress.” Max cuts me off and wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his chest, stained clothes and all. “If you like it, I’ll buy you another one. And you don’t have to worry about Brad. I’ve taken care of everything.”

He pays the bill and walks me to the limo, his hand firm on my lower back. I stare straight ahead so I don’t have to see anyone laughing.

When we reach the limo, Lewis looks me up and down and frowns. “Are you okay, Ms. Delaney?”

Hmm. Maybe I was too harsh in my initial assessment of Lewis. “Yeah, I just look pretty bad.”

Max strokes my hair. “You couldn’t look bad if you tried.”

“I just tried pretty hard.”

Lewis starts up the limo and we pull away from the curb. The city lights blur as we purr down the street away from the site of my latest humiliation.

“I’m not good with first dates,” I say to Max. “I always screw them up.”

Max winds his fingers through mine and squeezes my hand. “This isn’t a first date.”

My heart sinks. Did I totally misinterpret this evening? The dress? The compliments? Did I botch it up so badly he wants to pretend it was something else? “Um. Yeah. Sure. I didn’t really think—”

“Makayla, look at me.”

His voice compels me to obey. I look up and an amused Max enters my line of vision. His lips twitch into the semblance of a smile. “This is our third date.”

My brain kicks into gear and my face heats with a rush of blood. “Third date?”

“First we had a picnic. Then we had pizza. This time we almost had mashed potatoes.”

“We seem to do a lot of eating together.” Three dates? He thinks we’ve had three dates. Except for today, the time we spent together was more like two friends hanging out than fingernail-biting, heart-stressing dates.

“We’ll have to do something else for date number four—or even tonight.”

“Not tonight.”

Max’s face falls and he gives me a sideways glance. “Not tonight?”

“I just…today wasn’t so good, and now I’m covered in potatoes and beets. I’m not really feeling my best. I just want to go home, take a shower, and go to bed.”

“We’ll go to your place, you can shower, and then—”

“No, Max.” I pat his warm, broad hand. “Another time.”

“But—”

Does he never give up? “Please. Just let me go home and wallow in my misery. If you change your mind about date four, that’s okay. I get it. I’m sure that was just as humiliating for you as it was for me. You need to be with someone classy and sophisticated. Someone who doesn’t throw beets around fancy restaurants.”

“Actually, it was pretty damn funny.”

“Seeing Brad fall?”

“Your German accent.”

Snorting a laugh, I twist my hands in the shawl I’ve used to cover my stained dress. “You have to stop me when I do things like that. Amanda says my sense of humor gets a little quirky when I have too much to drink.”

Max slides one hand under my hair and strokes my cheek. “I think your sense of humor is very refreshing. You are very refreshing. You have no guile. You put it all out there. What you see is what you get with Makayla, with a big dose of compassion thrown in.”

All too soon, Lewis stops outside my apartment building and I step out of the limo and onto the sidewalk. “I’m sorry I ruined the evening. Like I said, I’ll understand if you don’t—”

“Is that what you want?” Max follows me out and walks me to the front entrance.

“I…don’t know,” I admit in a whisper. “The whole money thing makes me uncomfortable. I don’t fit in.”

Max smoothes my hair from my temple and tilts my head back with a finger under my chin. His warm, brown eyes study me until my cheeks burn, and I am forced to look away.

“If I’d taken you for pizza on the Agusta, and we were standing here in our leathers, would your answer be different?”

“Yes.” I give him an honest answer. “You would have been more relaxed. I would have been more relaxed. I also wouldn’t be covered in food.”

“You don’t like me this way?” His voice is hoarse, barely audible.

“Of course I do. It’s just—” I stroke my hand down the cool, silk of his tie. “You’re different in your suit. More focused and businesslike. You fired questions at me like I was a potential investment, and you gave me almost nothing back. When you’re at the club, you seem more comfortable with yourself. Business Max makes me nervous. I guess it showed.”

He removes his hand from my chin and loosens his tie.

“What are you doing?” My throat goes dry. I should have kept my big mouth shut.

“I’m showing you I’m the same man, with or without the suit.” He releases the buttons on his shirt, tugs it from his waistband, and shrugs free. Both his suit jacket and shirt fall to the ground. His devastatingly beautiful body gleams under the warm glow of the entrance light. He takes a step back into the shadows and holds out his hand.

Anticipation flutters through me. His brown eyes darken when I join him under the protective cover of the shadows.

“Touch me.” His voice is raw, hoarse, and impossible to resist.

Without hesitation, I smooth my hands over the hard planes and sinews of his chest, just as I have imagined doing since the day I met him. He glides his thumb over my bottom lip, pressing down gently. Desire licks through my veins.

“Same Max?”

I snake my hands around his neck and press myself up against his warmth. “Same Max.” I lie for the sole purpose of getting a kiss. His kiss.

He slides one arm around my waist and pins me tight against his body. His other hand cups my head, tilting it back, holding it firm. He brushes his lips over my ear and rasps, “Be sure, baby. Because after I kiss you, there is no going back.”

My blood goes from a gentle simmer to a full on boil in a heartbeat. My knees buckle and Max tightens his grip and holds me steady.

“Tell me.” His breath is hot and moist in my ear.

My hands clench and release restlessly behind his neck. “Kiss me,” I whisper.

He gives a soft, satisfied grunt and feathers kisses down my jaw. “Open for me,” he murmurs. My body trembles. Really trembles. Like an earthquake is happening and I can’t stop the shaking.

My lips part and he brings his mouth down over mine. He kisses me gently, nibbling my lips. When my body melts against him, he deepens the kiss. His tongue dips inside stroking, exploring, leaving me nowhere to hide. I gasp, and he plunders my mouth, groans spilling from his throat as he drinks me down like the 1985 Château d’Yquem we had with our lamb bite.

So this is what it is like to be kissed. Really kissed. No soft pecks or wet, milky smacks on the lips. No tentative pokes of the tongue or the banging of teeth. This is a real kiss—a man’s kiss—demanding, passionate, and hungry. No holds barred. All consuming.

Max’s phone alarm beeps softly and he eases his mouth away. “I’m on the red-eye to Hong Kong in a few hours. But when I get back, we’ll pick up where we left off.”

Gah
. My body aches with unfulfilled need. I hope I put fresh batteries in my Rabbit.

He releases me and I focus on staying upright while he pulls on his clothes.

“When?”

He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I fly back on Thursday morning. I’ll pick you up after work. We’ll have dinner.”

“More food?” I cannot keep the disappointment out of my voice.

“Not if there is something else you’d rather do.” The sensual purr of his voice sends my need from diminishing arousal to fierce craving in a heartbeat. A soft whimper escapes my lips.

His eyes blaze with sensual fire. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

By the time I’ve collected myself sufficiently to contemplate walking, Max’s limo is a shadow in the darkness.

For the longest time I stare at the road, chewing my fingernails one by one down to a quick. I should have been honest when he asked “Same Max?”

I should have said no, but I like them both.

Forward and back

“You’re going out with Max Huntington! SHUT UP!” Amanda shrieks. I cover my ears and slide into the padded booth beside her. Club music pounds through Doctor, Doctor. The new, medical-themed club, only a few blocks from the hospital, is the last place I want to blow off some steam but it was close, and Amanda has been trying to get me here since it opened.

“Thanks for meeting me,” I shout over the music. “I waited for Max in the parking lot for almost an hour and he didn’t show up. No text. No call. I guess I’ve officially been stood up.”

“Well, he’s missing out because you look HOT.”

I smooth my hand over the sparkly silver, halter-neck dress Susie sent me from her favorite London store, French Connection UK. Tight, but not too tight, with a swishy skirt, it mercifully has the FCUK hidden in the label.

“You should have texted him,” she continues. “Maybe he was delayed.”

“Then he should have let me know. I only had enough minutes for one text, and I was tired of waiting. These stilettos are killing me, and it’s been a stressful week. Big Doris has really been on my case. I’ve collected six green slips for nothing. I need a little girl-time relaxation.”

Amanda grins and tries to flag down a waitress by fluttering her perfectly manicured and unbitten nails. “The drinks are on me tonight since you’re poverty stricken and being chased by evil debt collectors.”

“You don’t—”

“And I just settled a big case so I feel like celebrating.”

Her flutters attract the attention of a waitress wearing the smallest, tightest, nurse’s uniform I have ever seen. She records our orders on a medical chart, and we relax into our booth as the DJ turns up the volume and spins some old-school funk.

Amanda listens patiently while I yell the details of my humiliating eating experiences into her ear. She stops me only to ask questions about what Max and Dr. Drake were wearing, how much the dress and shoes cost, and how far Max’s tongue went down my throat.

Ten minutes later, my guts spilled, I suck back my citrusy “Liquid Lust” through a tube attached to an IV bag on a stand and await Amanda’s analysis. She delicately sips her “Nitro Margarita” and considers my predicament, while at the same time scoping out the bar for potential sleeping partners. After I’ve pointed out the few actual doctors in the bar, she zeroes in on her target and lines him up with a flirtatious wink.

“What about Jake?” I suck back another shot and choke as the burst of sugary sweetness shoots down my throat. Someone forgot to turn the tap to low. Drips are supposed to drip.

Amanda sighs and almost immediately I sense she is hiding something. “I spent all night trying to get him to spill Torment’s true identity. A waste of time since you found out anyway. Finally I called it quits and told him we needed a break.”

“Amanda! You’re punishing him for playing by the rules.”

She gives me an evil grin. “He’s being trained. When he’s with me, the only rules he needs to follow are Amanda’s rules. Don’t worry. I’ll only leave him hanging for another day. I don’t want to have a dry weekend, and since I don’t plan on being able to walk when he’s done apologizing, I want to get the apology over with sooner rather than later so I can recover by Monday.”

My cheeks flame and Amanda laughs. “You’re too easy to embarrass. A little sexperience is all you need to cure that blushing problem. Speaking of which—” She pokes me hard in the shoulder. “Why didn’t you invite Max in on Monday night?”

“I didn’t get a chance. He kissed me and then ran off to catch a flight. Plus, I was covered in potatoes. It kind of spoiled the mood.”

A waitress in green operating room scrubs stops at our table, and Amanda buys a few shots of “Tetra-Ouzo” in ready-to-administer, guaranteed-hygienic syringes. We take turns giving each other our “medicine.” Within twenty minutes, I’m feeling the buzz.

“Why do you think he didn’t show?”

Amanda fluffs her hair and pulls out her makeup bag—sure signs she is getting ready to go on the prowl. I follow suit, preparing to be the dutiful, tagalong friend who laughs at her jokes, checks out the guy, and entertains any of his annoying friends.

“If his tongue almost hit your tonsils, then he definitely wants to see you again. Tongue depth is a very accurate indicator of male interest.” She slaps her cheeks repeatedly until they are pink and swollen and then pulls out a tiny fly swatter to swat her lips. She offers the torture device to me, but I wave her away.

“I swatted at home, thanks.”

Amanda runs the lipstick over her plump lips and rubs them together. “I’d say whatever held him up wasn’t his fault.”

“I’m not sure,” I sigh. “I got a funny feeling after he left. Like I was a deal he had just closed. Even though he took off his shirt and tie, he was still half dressed in his suit and he was different—very focused and demanding. Hard.”

Amanda twists her lips to the side. “That doesn’t sound good.”

My eyes widen. “YOU don’t think it sounds good. Now I know I’m in trouble.”

She pats my hand and offers me another shot. “Let me think about it. Right now, I’m a bit distracted by the blond Adonis staring at us.”

I follow the direction of her gaze and freeze. My breath catches in my throat. “It’s Doctor Drake. Hide me. Don’t let him see me.” I try to slide under the table, but Amanda grabs my hand.

“Too late. He’s on his way over. Pull up those big girl panties and paste on your best smile. If Max did dump you, here comes your second chance.”

“He doesn’t do it for me,” I moan. “I know he’s a gorgeous heart surgeon with an amazing body, and he’s gone out of his way to offer to help me, but he doesn’t make me tingle all over the way Max does. He’s…safe and comfortable. Like…home.”

“Are you insane?” Amanda hisses. “He is totally YUMMY and I’ve suddenly got a fever only a doctor can cure.” She fans herself with a paper napkin.

“What happened to my girl-time relaxation?”

Amanda’s eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously? You want girl-time relaxation when you could have him?”

Dr. Drake approaches the table, Amanda fluffs her breasts. I try to keep down the excessive quantity of alcohol I have just consumed on an empty stomach. Amanda’s actions do not go unnoticed. Dr. Drake’s eyes travel from her lips down to her chest and back again. He is wearing a lab coat over a white T-shirt, and a pair of tight blue jeans. He looks good. Too good. Like a soap opera doctor. But he has nothing on Max.

“He’s all yours, but I think he might be more than even you can handle.” I shove the IV tube in my mouth and take a big sip.

Amanda gives me a sideways glance and snorts. “No one has even come close. Except maybe Jake. But, since we’re on a break, I’m free for a little examination.”

“Mac, I thought that was you.” Dr. Drake drags his eyes off Amanda’s breasts and stares at the tube in my mouth. He reaches over to turn off the tap on my drip. “IVs have to be carefully monitored; otherwise, the patient might overdose.”

“Some patients want to overdose.” I turn the drip back on. Amanda splutters beside me. So what if I’m not being classy? He touched my drip.

“She’s not thinking clearly,” Amanda chimes in, patting my back. “She’s inebriated because she had a hard week.”

Grrrrr.
Sometimes Amanda can be a total pain.

Dr. Drake’s eyes flicker over to Amanda’s face. His lips part. A smile creases his perfect face. “We haven’t been formally introduced.”

I introduce them between IV sucks. Amanda inhales. Her breasts rise. Her chin dips. She looks up at Dr. Drake through long, golden lashes and holds out her hand, waggling her fingers like little worms on a fishing hook. She is really laying it on thick. No one would ever suspect she is a crackerjack attorney at one of San Francisco’s biggest law firms, and she likes to play it that way.

Dr. Drake presses his lips to her wrist. “How nice to meet one of Mac’s
girl
friends.” He emphasizes the word “girl,” making it seem as if I am inundated by men at work.

“Yes, we’re very close.” Amanda squeezes up beside me and puts her hand on my arm. I glance over at her and frown. Did I just miss something?

“Well, now I have two lovely ladies to dance with.” Dr. Drake turns his gaze back to me and holds out both his hands.

“What’s happening?” I whisper as I dutifully follow Amanda to the dance floor. “I told you he’s all yours.”

“Either he likes you a lot. Or he’s into threesomes. Or both.” She hits the dance floor and immediately begins to gyrate. Dr. Drake joins her, grooving to the hip-hop beat with some smooth moves of his own.

“Threesomes?” My alcohol-soaked brain cannot keep up and my voice rises in pitch. “You, me, and…Doctor Drake? Together? In bed? You picked that up after talking to him for five seconds?”

“I also picked up that he’s into kinky sex. Watch.” Amanda twists her scarf around her wrists, binding them together, then raises them over her head and shakes her breasts. Dr. Drake licks his lips. My stomach clenches. I. Am. Going. To. Hurl.

“So, are you interested?” she asks.

“In him or the threesome?” I force my feet to move in time to the beat. Dr. Drake gives me an encouraging nod. Good thing I’m not wearing a scarf.

“Either.”

“Are you crazy?” I hiss in her ear. “He’s my boss. You’re my best friend. And my most exciting sexual experience to date was the kiss from Max. I don’t think my heart could take it.”

Dr. Drake grabs me and spins me around, pulling me against his lean body with a surprisingly muscular arm. He thrusts his pelvis forward and back, taking me with him. Forward and back. Forward and back. Our pelvises rock in time to the music. A giant picture of us flashes on the screen above the stage with a cartoon caption that reads, “Dirty Doctor Dancing.” Bravo for new technology and instantaneous humiliation. My stomach clenches, and I try to pull away, but Dr. Drake smiles at the camera and presses his hand against my belly and my ass into his crotch.

And I thought Bianco Nero was a bad experience.

After twenty minutes Amanda and I escape to the restroom to freshen up while Dr. Drake loiters outside, chatting with his doctor friends about his scintillating performance.

“I think he likes you.” Amanda reapplies her lipstick for the hundredth time in two hours.

“Who?”

“Max. I’ll bet you two shots of Unidentified Specimen he texts you tonight.”

I ease myself up on the vanity counter made up to look like a hospital bed. “What if he’s not interested in date four? What if he went home and thought to himself, ‘Thank God that’s over. I think I’ll call up one of my poised, beautiful, movie star girlfriends who wouldn’t know a carb if it hit her in the face’?”

“Then you get two free shots of Unidentified Specimen, and I’ll return a slightly used Doctor Drake.”

“How am I going to face Doctor Drake at work?” I bury my face in my hands. “They keep playing that video of us dirty dancing over and over again. It gets worse every time. Why didn’t you stop me?”

Amanda shrugs. “You were having fun. Sometimes you have to stop worrying about things and just enjoy the moment.”

“He was certainly enjoying it,” I mutter. “I’m going to have a bruise on my lower back from his enjoyment.”

Thankfully, Dr. Drake has disappeared when we emerge from the restroom. We make our way back to the table and collapse into the booth. I search for a waitress to top off my IV, and my eyes are drawn to a disturbance at the door. The manager pushes his way through the crowd, and a minute later Max emerges, flanked by two men dressed in black.

My mouth goes dry. “Oh. My. God. Max is here.”

Amanda follows the direction of my gaze and her eyes widen. “Did you tell him where you were?”

“I didn’t even know he was back, and my phone is dead.”

His eyes focus on me like laser beams. My heart pounds a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Instinct screams for me to run, run, run. I wish my face would unfreeze so I could look anything other than horrified.

Max stalks toward our table, eating up the tiles with determined strides of his long legs.

I lean toward Amanda. “I think he’s angry.”

Amanda snorts a laugh. “I’d say that’s an understatement. He’s furious. It means he cares.”

“I’d like it better if he showered me with flowers.”

Max reaches our table and the two men in black loiter at a discrete distance. He folds his arms and glares down at me. His blue, button-down shirt and black dress pants are slightly wrinkled and his hair is mussed—as if he had just stepped off a plane. Uh-oh.

“Where were you?”

Sweat trickles down my back. “I waited for almost an hour. You didn’t show. You didn’t call or text. I walked here and called Amanda.”

His jaw tightens. “You walked here? Alone? In the dark? After I told you to wait for me?”

“Um. Yes. Yes. Yes and yes.”

“If I say I’m going to be somewhere, I’ll be there. You don’t leave. You wait.”

My hands clench into fists and I crinkle my brow into a frown. “No way. I don’t stand around in silver stilettos in a vacant parking lot waiting God knows how many hours for you to decide it’s convenient to pick me up.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

Bang. Bang. Bang. My heart thuds a warning in my chest. With every word he steps closer to the line I will not cross. Protective I can handle. Possessive and controlling? Not a chance. My hand trembles so violently my watch vibrates against the table. “Why are you so angry? I’m the one who should be angry. You stood me up. I felt like an idiot standing around waiting for you.”

Max bristles. “The plane was caught in turbulence. I couldn’t call out. I texted you and Colton as soon as I was able.”

“I didn’t get your text. My phone ran out of minutes.”

Max’s eyes narrow. “Your phone ran out of minutes? What would you do in an emergency? What if you needed help? You need a reliable phone. A phone that doesn’t run out of minutes. You need a phone that will keep you safe.”

“We aren’t all rich,” I snap. Now I’m shaking and not in a good way. I imagine his foot hovering over the red line at Redemption. Just one inch and it will all be over.