The Billionaire's Allure (The Silver Cross Club Book 5) (10 page)

“Ms. Patterson, are you trying to seduce me?” Max asked.

“Stop,” I said, raising my palms to my overheated cheeks. Bringing him here was obviously a mistake, but it was too late to back down now. If I took him somewhere else, he would know how flustered and uncertain I felt, and that would give him the upper hand. “It’s quiet here. We can—I can yell at you in peace.”

“And then after you’ve gotten it out of your system, you’ll agree to go to San Francisco with me,” Max said.

His unshakable confidence infuriated me. He was so convinced that I would give in and do exactly what he wanted. Well, I
wouldn’t
. I was my own person. I had a life, a good, careful life, that didn’t involve him at all. He had no right to resurrect himself after eight years and expect me to drop everything and cater to his whims. “I’m not going to San Francisco,” I said. I kept my voice very calm and measured. Yelling indicated strong emotion. Passion and fury. I wanted Max to know that nothing he did affected me. I knew how he thought this would play out: I would yell and bluster, and he would wait me out, then tempt me with nostalgia when I had expended my anger. He wanted me all wrung out in the aftermath of emotion: weary, overwrought, vulnerable to the tenderness he would use as a weapon.

But he wasn’t writing the script. I wasn’t a character in his mental play. I would take control of the scene. I would craft a new ending.

“Renzo might be in trouble,” Max said. How transparent: an appeal to my worst fears. “He needs us. I’ve been looking for him for a long time, Beth. I’ll go with or without you. But I want you to be there.”

“I don’t think you should go at all,” I said, “but I won’t try to stop you. I’m not going with you, though.”

“Why not?” he asked.

I exhaled, already losing my cool. Why couldn’t he just leave me alone? Why did he expect me to
explain
myself? I didn’t owe him anything. “Because I have a job,” I said. “Unlike you, I can’t just drop everything and fly across the country whenever I feel like it.”

“I’m sure you can take time off,” Max said. “When was the last time you took a vacation? I’m going to guess it was before you started working here. Your boss seems like a reasonable woman. I’m sure she would be happy to let you take a few days.”

“Okay, then it’s because I don’t want to,” I said. “I think it’s a stupid idea. Renzo doesn’t want to see us. You’re going to be disappointed and hurt, and I’m a sucker and I would feel like it was my responsibility to cheer you up. It isn’t my responsibility. I don’t want anything to do with this scheme of yours. I know I let you kiss me last night, but that was a mistake. We aren’t reconciling. I’m not letting you back into my life. You’re a part of my past, and you’re going to stay there.”

He rocked back on his heels, smiling. Still smiling, damn him, like I was joking, or like he didn’t take me seriously at all. “Ferocious words, Beth,” he said. “Do you mean them? You think you do, but do you really? I’m not convinced. I think you want me to win you over, but you’re afraid to admit it to yourself.”

My anger and frustration boiled over. “How
dare
you,” I said. “How dare you
explain
to me what I feel! You have no idea! You don’t know what it was like for me after you disappeared. We thought you were dead! We
mourned
for you!” My voice grew louder with each word until I was yelling, and it felt so good to finally let loose and say what I had really been thinking. “And now you’re back like everything is fine and I’m just the same old Beth, happy to see you, like I’m going to roll over and wag my tail like a stupid dog! I’m not! I
hate
you, Max, I hate you, I hate that you left me, and I hate that I still love you, and I hate that—I hate—”

I broke off, sobbing. I hadn’t meant to say any of that. I was mad at myself for losing control, and mad at Max for witnessing it. I turned away from him, covering my face with my hands, gulping in huge breaths of air and trying desperately to calm down.

I heard Max moving behind me, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet, and then his hands settled on my shoulders, not asking for anything, not pressuring me, just offering quiet comfort.

I turned again, into his arms, and rested my face against his broad chest. His jacket was surprisingly soft beneath my cheek, worn with age and use. He lifted one hand and slowly, carefully stroked my hair.

“Oh, Beth,” he sighed.

I was a mess. My heart pulled me toward him, and my head turned me away. I wanted to forgive him, but the old hurt lingered and told me not to trust. I loved him and hated him at the same time. The conflict was going to tear me in two if I let it continue, but I didn’t know how to reconcile the warring halves of my soul. So I decided to call a temporary truce. I wouldn’t decide anything, or do anything that couldn’t be undone. I would give myself the gift of freedom from decisions, at least for a little while. I could spend time with him, and gather more data, and see how things shook out. And maybe then my path would be more clear.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll go with you.”

His hand stopped moving. “Really?”

“Really,” I said. “You win. I hope you’re paying for my plane ticket, though.”

He chuckled. “Beth, I’ll pay for the
plane
.”

I pressed closer, silently asking him to hold me, and he slid his other arm around my waist, keeping me safe and close. “I still think it’s a terrible idea,” I said.

“Duly noted,” he said. “Maybe it is. But we won’t know unless we try.”

That was Max: he would jump off a bridge just to learn if the water was cold. Me, I would stay on the bank and infer from the air temperature and the snow on the ground that I didn’t want to go in that river.

The hand on my head dropped to my hip, and then slid even lower. “Max,” I said warningly, but he ignored me, skimming his hand across the curve of my ass and then
squeezing
.

Unbelievable. “Max,
stop
,” I said.

He dropped his hand immediately. “Do you really want me to stop,” he asked, “or do you just think you should? You’re a good girl, Beth, but you don’t have to be good around me.”

“I’m not a girl,” I said, annoyed. “I’m a woman. I’m twenty-five.”

“Mm, you certainly are a woman,” he said, drawing me closer. “Now tell me again how much you hate me.”

I laughed, helpless in the face of his over-the-top, unapologetic lewdness. “Seriously, Max. I have to work. The club is opening soon. If it hasn’t already. I’m not even sure what time it is.”

“You have an entire herd of dedicated waitresses,” Max said. “I think they can hold down the fort for a few minutes, don’t you? I just won a decisive battle, and I want to celebrate my victory.” His hand moved downward again, creeping toward the junction where my butt met the top of my thigh.

“You didn’t win anything,” I said, and I would have gone on to tell him exactly how wrong and misguided he was, but then he kissed me.

Oh, it was heaven. Max had been a good kisser even at seventeen, but now he had a confidence that I found completely irresistible. He knew what he was doing, and he
knew
it. I didn’t want to think about all the women he must have kissed to be so certain of his abilities. They didn’t matter. He was here with me now.

He manhandled me. There was no other way to put it. He bent me backwards slightly, just enough to put me off-balance and force me to cling to his jacket, his strong arm around my waist holding me in position. I was helpless like that, completely dependent on him to hold me up, and it send an erotic thrill running along my spine. I knew he would stop if I told him to, but the sensation of powerlessness, of being completely at his mercy, was so delicious that I was happy to surrender myself to him.

His mouth was hot and demanding, his lips pressing firmly against mine, his tongue teasing at the closed seam of my mouth and requesting entry. He kissed me expertly, deeply, thrusting his tongue into my mouth like he was fucking me. I wanted him to. My body was alight with sensation and desire. It had been years since I’d felt like this, years since someone had touched me with just the right combination of roughness and care to turn my blood to molten liquid in my veins.

His free hand, the one that wasn’t settled firmly in the small of my back, slid down my shoulder to my sternum and dipped inside the low scooped neckline of my dress. His fingers skimmed over the curve of my breast, over the thin lace of my bra, and bumped against the tight nub of my nipple. I gasped, the sound shattering the silence of the room, and I heard Max chuckle. He was entirely too pleased with himself, but I couldn’t gather the mental wherewithal to put him in his place. His hands and his mouth had driven me to distraction.

Then he released me, just as suddenly as he had drawn me toward him and kissed me.

I staggered backward, off-balance, raising the back of my hand to wipe at my mouth. I was wet and throbbing between my legs. I didn’t want him to stop.

“No need to get carried away,” he said, and the roughness of his voice reassured me, told me I wasn’t alone in feeling this desire. He wanted me as much as I wanted him.

“You started it,” I pointed out.

“And I’ll do it again,” he said. “Poor impulse control. Now get yourself together and go tell that boss of yours that you need a week off.”

I bristled at being told what to do, but I had already agreed to go with him. It was too late to protest his taking control of the situation. I straightened my dress and said, “When do you want to leave?”

“Hmm. What day is today? Monday,” he said, answering his own question. “Let’s leave on Thursday morning. I’ll need a few days to make the necessary arrangements. And you’ll need some time to pack.”

Right. Packing. I would have to look up the weather in San Francisco. I didn’t have the slightest clue what to expect.

Max took my chin in his hand and kissed me again. “I’m looking forward to having you at my disposal for a week,” he murmured.

I shivered. That was what scared me.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Beth

Max had demanded that I give him my phone number, and he texted me on Wednesday evening with details about our flight on Thursday. He had chartered a private plane out of Teterboro, and I was supposed to meet him at the terminal. He would reimburse my cab fare.

I rolled my eyes. Did Max think I was so impoverished that I couldn’t afford the cab ride to Teterboro? And, more importantly, did he think I wanted to treat our relationship as a financial transaction? I meant “relationship” in a general interpersonal sense, of course. I had a relationship with the sandwich guy at the corner bodega, and with the West African woman who braided my hair. Relationship didn’t mean romance.

Unless it was with Max.

San Francisco was supposed to be in the balmy mid-60s for the duration of our trip, with a brief spell of rain for a couple of days. I packed a windbreaker, jeans, a few warm sweaters, and one nice outfit in case Max sprang another thousand-dollar dinner on me. I didn’t expect that we would spend too much time dining out, though. Our trip was about finding Renzo, not about enjoying the delights of San Francisco. I had never been, but I’d seen enough pictures and movies to feel a brief pang of regret that we wouldn’t have time to sightsee.

On Thursday morning, I called a cab and went to meet Max at the airport. Teterboro was in the Meadowlands, less than half an hour from my apartment—more convenient than either LaGuardia or JFK, but because I didn’t own a plane or know anybody who did, I had never been. I’d only flown a handful of times in my life, all brief trips to see my grandmother’s sister in North Carolina, and I was looking forward to this trip in part because I would get to see a large swath of the continent from the air. The Mississippi River. The Rocky Mountains.

Max had been back in my life for only a week, and he was already giving me experiences I never expected to have. Funny how that worked. Money really did open doors.

The cab dropped me off outside the lobby of the chartering company. I paid the driver and went inside. The lobby was a large and well-appointed space, but it was empty aside from two men in suits seated in leather armchairs, tapping busily at their phones.

Max was standing in front of the wall of windows facing out onto the tarmac. He wasn’t looking at his phone, or even watching the television set mounted on the wall above him. He was just waiting. I had never known Max to show any signs of boredom. He seemed to like empty moments with nothing to do but let his mind wander. I walked toward him, wheeling my suitcase behind me, and he smiled at me as I approached.

“Beth,” he said. “Ready to go?”

I nodded. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long. There was a little traffic.”

“Not long at all,” he said. “But our plane’s ready now, if you’re ready to leave.”

“I guess so,” I said. Traveling always made me anxious that I was forgetting something. What if I didn’t have my toothbrush? What if I hadn’t packed enough underwear? It didn’t matter now. “Don’t we have to go through security?”

He chuckled and slung one arm around my shoulder. “Sweet Beth. No, we don’t. All we have to do is walk onto the plane.” He steered me toward the door. We went out onto the tarmac and approached the plane that was waiting there, larger than I expected, and gleaming white in the morning sun. A small set of stairs emerged from an opening at the front of the plane, and two uniformed men stood on the tarmac at the foot of the stairs.