Trust Me (26 page)

Carly moaned, and his arm tightened under her, lifting her slightly as he slipped his fingertips under the edge of her panties.
He bent his head, and she felt his breath, hot through the thin cotton. He began to kiss her slowly, brushing his mouth back
and forth against her. Carly’s head fell back. The intensity of the sensation was dulled only slightly by the layer of fabric
between his lips and her flesh, and she could feel the burr of his beard stubble grazing her inner thighs. There was a hot
flood rising inside her, and her nerves were so tight that she could feel herself quivering like a guitar string. She thought
that she was going to die if she did not have him inside her. It was the most incredibly carnal feeling she’d ever experienced.

“Max,” she gasped, her fingers digging urgently into his shoulders. “Please, please. Don’t wait. I can’t…”

He didn’t wait. She realized then, from the force of his hands as he pulled the scrap of cotton down and away from her body,
that the controlled pace had not been easy for him, either. She watched as he stood and stripped off the rest of his clothes.
The bedroom was dark, lit only by the glow from the lamps in the living room, and Max was silhouetted against the bright doorway,
dusky and featureless as a shadow as he turned to her.

And then his arms were around her and she was holding him, pulling him down on top of her, feeling the solid weight of him
pressing her into the mattress. His mouth met hers again, in a deep, hot kiss, and she heard him groan. He raised his head
and looked into her eyes. “Carly,” he said, his voice low and rough with passion, “are you sure you want to do this?”

He had something in his hand, and she realized that it was a condom. He must have taken it from his wallet when he undressed,
she thought, shocked that it hadn’t even occurred to her to use protection. Max was definitely the one in control this time.

“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “Yes, I’m sure. Put it on. Hurry.”

Moments later, the hard muscles of his legs parted hers, and with one thrust, he buried himself in her. She cried out as he
entered her, and tears came to her eyes. She wrapped her legs around him, trying to draw him in deeper, wanting to feel him
in the very core of her.

His skin was slick with sweat, and her hands slipped over his back as she clung to him, moving with him, listening to his
ragged breath. She felt the flood begin to rise again, surging up inside her, higher, and higher as Max’s body pushed roughly
against hers. It was filling her skin, she thought dizzily, swelling outward with a pressure that suddenly seemed to drown
her mind. For a moment, she couldn’t see, couldn’t hear. And then everything exploded in a burst of sensation that seemed
to go on and on. Her body shuddered as spasms went through her, and she thought that she might have shouted.

She heard Max’s voice and felt his hand twist into her hair. He stared down into her eyes. “What have you done to me?” he
asked hoarsely, and took her mouth with his own. His body slammed into hers, and she felt him tense.

“Ah, God,” he groaned, throwing his head back. And then he collapsed onto her, rolling slightly sideways so that he wouldn’t
crush her. They lay silently, still entwined, and did not move for a long time.

Carly was the first to pull away. Max’s legs were heavy and warm on hers, and she carefully disentangled herself, moving back
far enough on the bed so that she could sit up and look at him. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was slow and steady.
He didn’t move, and she thought that he must be asleep. Curiously, she studied him. His naked body was long and lean, but
he had clearly worked for his well-defined muscles. His coloring was lighter than the southern Italians, but darker than the
WASPy Tremaynes. With his eyes closed, he looked like a guy from Brooklyn. With his eyes open… he looked like Max. The combination
of his olive skin and dark hair with the pale Tremayne eyes was, Carly thought with sudden affectionate pride, totally unique.

She reached out and delicately traced the curves of his arm with her fingertip.

He opened his eyes, and she stopped, startled. “Oh,” she said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t sleeping.” He looked at her with a thoughtful expression, then rolled onto his back and put his hands behind his
head, staring at the ceiling.

“Regrets already?” she asked lightly, trying to sound as if his answer didn’t matter to her.

He turned his head, and his eyes met hers. “No,” he said, as if it surprised him. “Not at all. I feel pretty damn good, actually.”
He stretched and sat up. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes. What did you have in mind?”

He laughed softly and reached out to brush his fingers over her breasts. “Food,” he said. “For now. Put some clothes on, and
I’ll show you how to make the world’s best pasta primavera.”

“
E
xcuse me,” Max said, wiggling his foot. It was past eleven o’clock on Friday morning. He had been sitting at the desk in his
hotel room for over an hour, and he had not moved in all that time. His entire leg had fallen asleep, and he couldn’t stand
it any longer.

Lola blinked at him and obligingly shifted her head onto his other foot. “That wasn’t what I meant,” he muttered. It was beyond
him to understand why, when confronted with the splendor and comfort of a Ritz-Carlton hotel suite, she would end up wedged
into the space under his desk. He obviously did not think like a dog, and he didn’t plan to start anytime soon.

They had caused a small commotion in the hotel that morning when he had marched through the lobby with her at his side. Max
had had a business call scheduled for 10
A.M.
, and he had come straight from Carly’s apartment to the Ritz.

Lola had kept to a perfect heel all the way through the lobby to the elevator. It was a product of shyness, not training,
but the result was that she flanked him as perfectly as a Seeing Eye dog. They moved too quickly to get any reaction other
than a few pop-eyed looks from the front desk staff. If Lola had been a Chihuahua, he might have been able to smuggle her
in, but it was hard to hide 120 pounds of Great Dane under a coat. He had not been surprised when the phone began to ring
as soon as they were in the room.

“Mr. Giordano? Good morning.” It was the Guest Services Manager. “I’ve been told that you have a… dog… in your room.”

“That’s true,” Max said. “A big one.”

“I’m going to have to ask you to remove her, sir. Guests are not permitted to bring their pets into the hotel.”

“She’s not my pet.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“She’s not my pet,” Max repeated. “I don’t have a pet.”

There was a short pause. “But you have a dog in your room, sir. This is against our policy. She can’t stay there.”

“
Stay
here?” Max exclaimed, appalled. “With me? Damn right she can’t. There’s no way she’s staying here.” He looked down at Lola,
who was asleep and snoring gently. “Absolutely not,” he said.

“Yes, sir. I’d be glad to have the concierge find a kennel to board her while you’re with us.”

“I can’t put her in a kennel. She’s not my dog.”

“Well… you can’t
keep
her in your
room
, sir.”

“I’m not keeping her. She can leave if she wants to— what do I care? But she’s asleep, and I’m about to make a call to Buenos
Aires, so if you’ll excuse me…”

“But—but—”

“Thank you,” Max said, and hung up.

* * *

They had at least had the grace not to bother him while he was on the phone, but the hiatus had not lasted long. Max was shaking
the pins and needles out of his newly remobilized foot when the doorbell rang.

“You’re certainly
canis non grata
around here,” he said to Lola, who was looking suspiciously at the door. Max felt the same way. He was paying enough money
to these people, you’d think they would relax. What did they expect her to do, eat the drapes? Even if she did, they had his
credit card on file, and they should know by now that it worked. He had every intention of taking Lola back to Henry’s house
as soon as he had the chance, but he didn’t like being nagged.

He opened the door, ready to express his opinion of the “guest services,” and felt the words wither and die on his lips. It
was not the manager. It was a slim blond woman, dressed in her usual uniform of a black designer pantsuit and three-inch heels.
She smiled when she saw him, then pursed her lips and blew him a kiss. “Hello, darling,” she said. “Surprise.”

Max felt the jarring impact of two worlds colliding. “Nina,” he said, “what the hell are you doing here?”

It was not until a few minutes later, after she had inspected the suite, commented on the decor and the view and settled herself
on the couch, one tailored leg crossed elegantly over the other, that Max was able to collect himself enough to be even slightly
polite.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked.

“What, from the minibar?” Nina laughed. “I suppose a glass of wine is out of the question, hmm? They don’t put drinkable chardonnay
in those little bottles. How about whiskey on the rocks?”

“It’s eleven-thirty in the morning,” Max said, disapprovingly.

She shrugged. “Well, that’s almost noon, isn’t it? Oh, Max, I just like to provoke you. Give me a seltzer or something—I’ll
be a California girl. Thank you.” She accepted the glass and the bottle and gazed charmingly at him. “Well, you look healthy.
Just back from a run?”

“More or less.” He was still dressed in running clothes.

“Poor Max, you look somewhere between stunned and horrified to see me,” Nina said lightly, but he heard a note of pique in
her voice. She had been hoping for a warmer reception. “I should have called. If I had, I could have arrived
after
your shower. Or is this how you always dress now? Have you gone native?”

“What are you doing in San Francisco, Nina?”

“I’m putting together a fifties-themed editorial for winter—a tribute to Kim Novak in
Vertigo.
It’s just a quick trip—I’m going back to the City tomorrow morning.”

The City, meaning New York City, specifically Manhattan. All Manhattanites believed that there was only one real city on earth,
and they considered the word a proper noun that needed no qualifiers. Whether she was in Albany or Milan, to Nina, the City
would always be the City.

“I’ve missed you,” she said. “And it’s not as if you remember to call me.”

“Don’t try to tell me that you’ve been sitting at home waiting for the phone to ring.”

She laughed. “That would be boring, wouldn’t it? Max, I know that this is hardly an exclusive relationship, but you really
could phone and say hello every now and then. It’s been over a month since I’ve heard from you.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Out here? What’s to do? There’s no real theater, and not much of a gallery scene. I suppose they must have restaurants, though.
One of the photographers was telling me about a place that serves only raw foods… it sounds very cleansing.”

“Actually,” Max said, “there is theater. And art. There are also a lot of very good restaurants, but I haven’t been going
to them. I’ve been working.”

“Too hard, I’m sure. Let’s dress up and go out on the town tonight. Oh, don’t frown at me like that.” She stood up and came
toward him, reaching out to caress his chest. Her hair tickled his chin. He could smell her perfume, a strong floral he had
once found appropriately glamorous but now seemed cloying. “Come on… I know you’ve missed me. We’ll stay out late, and then
come back here and… talk. Or something.”

Max stood still as her arms twined around him, and she tilted her face up to his. Nina had been a model, so she was tall for
a woman, and in her high heels, she was almost as tall as he was. Her lips parted invitingly, and her hands tightened on the
back of his neck, urging his mouth toward hers.

Max reached back and gently disengaged her hands. Irritated, she pulled out of his grasp and stepped back. “I’m getting the
feeling that I’m not welcome here. Is there something I should know?”

From the other room, there was a sudden creak of bedsprings. It was quiet but distinct, and Nina’s eyebrows rose. She looked
curiously at the double doors, which stood ajar. “Aha,” she said. “Now I understand. Did I arrive at an awkward moment?”

“No,” he said.

She smiled. “Such a poker face. You should have said something. Do you think I’m so tacky that I’d make a scene? Or is your
new friend just shy?”

“She is shy,” Max said. “She ran and hid in the bedroom when I opened the door. Before that, she was under the desk.”

Nina’s mouth dropped open, and Max gave his two-note whistle.

“Oh, my God,” Nina exclaimed, as Lola came bounding out. “What
is
that? A pony?”

Lola did not greet Nina in her usual bipedal fashion, which was probably a good thing. Instead, she skidded to a halt just
behind Max and craned her neck around his legs. She sniffed at Nina, then sneezed vigorously.

“Ugh,” Nina said, staring at Lola, then at Max as if he had just grown a second head. “I didn’t know that dogs could be so
big. How did this happen?”