To the Max (16 page)

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

She had no belly, just a barely noticeable little lump. From Luigi’s reaction, she might as well have had an alien about to burst out of her.

She tried to ignore it, but she couldn’t stop herself from remembering how at ease Max had been yesterday with her on the trampoline, his hand open on her stomach. And how at ease she was with him too.

* * * *

Max had been channel surfing for the last couple of hours, unable to find anything that interested him. Or distracted him. Exasperated, he threw the TV remote on the couch. He’d tried to keep himself busy the whole day. He’d run extra miles. Sparred at the gym. Cut the lawn. Wilma’s too. He went to lunch to his aunt’s, had a couple of beers with his bros. Spent several hours bowling with the OGs’ team, making an ass of himself because those grandmas had had better aim than him. Even the ones who carried the ball in the basket on their walkers. All in the hope that he could take his mind off from the fact that Annie had gone to have lunch with Luigi, but no dice. His restlessness just got worse as time passed. It was dark outside, and Annie wasn’t home.

He could have gone out on a date this evening, but it would have been useless. No one had been able to hold his attention lately. Today? Not a snowball’s chance in hell.

He was loosely following the extreme-sports show when he heard the keys rattled in the front door. The breath he hadn’t known he was holding came out of him, some of the tension too.

Annie didn’t go to her room. She went straight to him.

“What are we watching?” she asked as she entered Max’s man cave.

She didn’t look like she came from a date. She was dressed unassumingly, her hair in a tight bun. Very little makeup. She hadn’t primped herself up for Luigi, yet Max couldn’t avoid feeling jealous as all fuck.

“Sports, but we can do a Walking Dead/B5 combo if you want,” he answered.

She took off her shoes and came to sit on the sofa. “You choose.”

“We start with
The Walking Dead
,” he said, picking up the remote.

“Deal,” she agreed with a tired smile. She unraveled the hairdo, her brown locks falling over her shoulders.

He made it through the opening credits, barely. “How did it go?” he asked as casually as he could muster.

Annie shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

“That was a long date.”

“I passed by Christy and Cole’s on my way back. She gave me the third degree for not telling her beforehand.”

“You didn’t tell her, but you told me?”

She granted him one of her heart-stopping smiles. “Someone needed to know, right? In case he was a serial killer and I disappeared.”

She was such a wiseass. He tried to keep his mouth shut, leave it in that high note, but for the life of him he couldn’t. “So, now that we know he isn’t a serial killer, did you like him? Are you going to see him again?”

“I don’t know. I guess.”

His jaw tightened. That’s what he got for asking.

They watched TV in silence until he noticed she had fallen asleep.

“Ace,” he whispered.

She was still asleep when she leaned on him, so he grabbed a pillow and put it on his lap. He circled her shoulders with his arm and gently pulled her to lie down, her head on the cushion.

She stirred. “Max?”

“Shh. Show’s still on.” He cupped her neck and rubbed it. In a moment, the tension in her shoulders dissolved and a moan escaped her lips.

It was almost inaudible, but he heard it. His cock did too, for it swelled right away. He was a fucking perv for putting his hands on her while she was asleep. But she seemed to relax at his touch, and damn if she didn’t need the rest, so he ordered his cock to get a grip, and massaged her neck and shoulders, soothing the rigid muscles.

He stayed up all night, but she slept like a baby.

Chapter Nine

Jesus, this was beyond ridiculous, Annie thought as she flipped over for the umpteenth time. She’d started by folding the sheets nicely and fluffing the pillows to perfection, but now, several hours later, the bed was a mess. Nothing helped. She sent the last pillow flying to the floor and kicked the mattress in frustration. Okay, time to give in and get up. Her back hurt; her tits felt sore. Life frigging sucked.

She turned on the light and, cursing between clenched teeth, stomped to her briefcase, threw it on the covers, and spread out its contents. If she couldn’t sleep, she might as well get some work done.

She was on all fours, her legs on the mattress, her hands on the floor, reaching for a pen that had fallen, when she heard a knock on her door. Her open door. Max was there in his boxers, his arms crossed over his chest, a smirk on his face. “You hiding a man under the bed? This place looks like you’ve been having sex nonstop for the last two hours.”

She glanced around. The sheets were rumpled, the bedspread on the floor. The pillows too. Fair assessment.

“No man. I love sleeping, so when I can’t, I get cranky.”

“Why can’t you sleep?” he asked, entering the room.

She was too tired and grumpy to lie. Or be tactful. “Boobs.”

“What?”

“They’ve grown. Ginormously. Haven’t you noticed?”

She felt his eyes on her chest for just a brief second, long enough for her nipples to go solo and stiffen. Fantastic. Getting better and better, this whole humiliation thingy.

“Yes, but I was trying to be a gentleman and not bring that up.”

She waved over her head. “Feel free to bring it up. Half the people in my office think I got a boob job. The other half hasn’t made it past the breasts to see whose face is attached to them. By the end of this, I’m going to have a hunchback worse than the Notre Dame guy. In the meantime, I can’t sleep because my back is killing me from all the extra weight, and I’m using tons of concealer to hide the black under my eyes so I won’t scare the clients to death.”

“I’m sure you’re rocking the forensic accounting look.”

“Yeah, right. Pamela Anderson’s rack and a raccoon’s eyes. Very competent look for an accountant.”

Max shrugged. “I’d hire you.”

“Did I wake you up?” She reached for her cell. It was one o’clock. “Sorry. I didn’t know I was being so loud.”

“Oh, I’ve had louder.”

She lowered her head and laughed softly. “You’re impossible.”

“Let’s take care of your insomnia.”

She barely noticed him moving before she felt his weight on the bed and his hands on her shoulders.

“You’re totally stiff,” he said, rubbing the sore muscles. “Your neck and your back.”

The wiseass crack she was going to utter died the second he touched her. God, that felt good.

“Can’t take muscle relaxer, can you?”

“Nah.” Pregnant women had a list of prohibited meds longer than that of Olympic athletes.

He stood up. “Let’s go to my room to finish this. Yours looks like a bomb exploded on it. Not sleep inducing.”

She froze. To finish this? “Thanks, but I’m good now. No need to finish this. Thanks,” she repeated for good measure.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Ace, mind out of the gutter. There’s a TV in my room. The bed is fluffy and, well, made. We’ll be more comfortable there. I can rub your back and watch TV,” he explained, holding out his hand. “Or are you afraid your boyfriend will object?” His tone was hard now.

“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s the father of my baby. Big difference.”

“Does he want to be more?”

She couldn’t stop the snort coming out of her. “Actually, I think he would rather be anything
but
the father of the baby.”

His expression went somber, and it looked as if he was going to say something. He shook his head instead. “Come on. Let’s get on with the back rub. The sooner we start, the sooner you’ll fall asleep.”

She hesitated for a second and then reached for his hand. She doubted it would help, but what the heck. The last time she remembered getting a good night’s rest was several days ago when she’d nodded off on the sofa with him. Maybe he could work his magic again.

“Okay, but no funny business. I’m old enough to be your…”

He looked at her, a smirk on his face. “My what?”

God, he was breathtaking. Rock-hard abs. Sexy nipple piercing. Mohawk. Devastating smile.

Smoking hot body with a cocky attitude to match.

“Your babysitter,” she said, out of options, fighting to regain her bearings.

Oh, that sounded even worse. More…porny.

He shook his head, chuckling. “You need to stop reading those books.”

He was right. So frigging right. And the second she saw the sex swing in his room and her blood pressure skyrocketed, she understood how right.

Max took the remote and turned on the flat screen. “At this point, there’s only reruns, so it’s right up your alley,” he joked as he lay on the bed in all his half-naked, bulging-muscled, warm-from-sleep glory and patted the spot beside him.

She must have been nuts to even consider it. This wasn’t going to help her insomnia; this was going to make her head explode. She signaled to the door. “I think my back’s better. I—”

“Ace, don’t make me come to get you.” She lifted her brows defiantly, and he added, “You’ll just keep turning and tossing. And you know I’m harmless.”

She was dead tired and hurting, yet everything inside her tingled. So, no, he wasn’t harmless. And why the hell couldn’t she stop staring at his face? With that sexy beard and those hypnotic eyes framed by blond lashes. He was so damn good-looking. She had to get out of there. Now.

“Today I got beaten by several senior ladies practicing their knee kicks on me,” he continued, seeming oblivious to her thoughts. As he was channel surfing, she heard a familiar soundtrack. She turned to the screen and then to a smug-looking Max.

“
Magnum, P.I
. Old enough to meet your criteria?”

Annie faltered. She loved that show. “Just for a couple of episodes. Then I’ll go back to my room. And you don’t need to massage—”

“Shut up, Ace,” he ordered. “It’s starting.”

She lay beside Max. “Love Higgins. He’s hilarious with those shorts and the socks up his frigging knees,” she said while Max brushed her hair aside. At the contact, shivers racked her body. God, she’d watched that show plenty of times. Shivers while listening to Higgins scold Magnum was a totally new phenomenon. A rather disturbing one.

“You want to lie down on your stomach?” he asked, pressing on her neck.

“Would love to. Can’t,” she muttered. If her breasts had been sore and freaking sensitive before, now, with Max almost spooning her, working the muscles in her neck and back, her boobs were literally pulsing. She was afraid to look down in case her shirt was vibrating. Thank God the light was off.

She didn’t elaborate, but apparently she didn’t need to, for she could feel his amusement.

Max continued massaging her while they watched the show, and soon she fell into a stupor, her whole body relaxing. She burrowed her head into the fluffy pillow. Man, it smelled so good. Like summer and sunshine. Like Max, actually.

“Your room is very comfy. I like it a lot. Well, except for that,” she mentioned, gesturing at the sex swing. “That’s a bit alarming. You said you’ve never used it.”

“Yep.”

“Why do you keep it there? Is it in case you can’t lift your dates? The ones that eat real food, I mean?”

His voice was deep and low. Roguish too. “Of course I can lift my dates. Do you want a demonstration?”

She laughed softly against the pillow. “Now who has his mind in the gutter, huh?”

“Ace, I’m a man. My mind is permanently in the gutter.”

“Right,” she mumbled. Like she could handle a sex swing. Ha! She could barely manage to stay on a hammock.

After a while, he whispered, “You know, I wouldn’t say they are ginormous.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. You enhance boobs for a living. Mine are now what a porn magazine probably categorizes as barely decent.”

She felt Max’s body shaking with laughter. “You crack me up, Ace.”

“It’s age. Women are like wine. They get better with age.” A simple truth her father still had to learn.

“Like old TV shows?”

“Exactly. Good ones become even better with the passage of time. Flashy ones without substance can’t withstand it. They crumble and are revealed for what they are: empty. Same with women. Botox and surgery are just temporary patches. Superficial bling.”

“You don’t need any extra bling. I think you look fantastic the way you are. And you’re not old.”

“Says the king of Photoshop.”

“Nope, says the man who has you in his bed.”

She shifted to look at him. “You got me in your bed with Magnum and Higgins’s help.”

“Whatever it takes, Ace,” he said with a wink. “I’m not ashamed to call in the troops.”

She turned back to the screen, chuckling. “For what it’s worth, you don’t need any bling either.”

“I know.”

Jeez, was he cocky or was he cocky?

Annie was dead certain she wasn’t going to fall asleep. It was one thing to doze off on the sofa. Doing so in Max’s bedroom was a totally different matter. His smell all over her, his hands rubbing her back. Nope, a couple of episodes and she was gone.

She never saw the end of the first one.

* * * *

Holly peeked in from Annie’s office door. “Ready to go?”

“Hi, Holly,” Annie greeted and then signaled to the man sitting in front of her. “I’m with a client, but if you’ll wait a minute, we’ll—”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you were busy,” Holly apologized. “I’ll wait outside.”

“Don’t worry. We’re about done here,” he said with an easy smile.

“Holly, this is Sebastian Franke of Franke Enterprises. Sebastian, this is my good friend Holly Granton.”

He held out his hand to Holly, who left one of the coffee cups she was carrying on the table and shook it. “Nice to meet you.” Then he turned to Annie. “If you need anything, you have my private number. Don’t hesitate to contact me.”

After he left, Holly lifted her brows. “Don’t hesitate to contact me?”

“Sebastian has taken over his father’s affairs. I’m checking the accounting from several of his companies.”