Mister Romance (Masters of Love #1)

He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at my sister. “Asha, nice to see you again.”


“Uh, hi.” Asha’s expression tells me she’s contemplating the fastest way to extricate herself from this awkward threesome. “How are you, Max?”

“I’m great, thanks.” He gives my sister the briefest nod before turning to me. “May I speak with you, Miss Tate?”

I hate the way he can make a formal greeting feel intensely intimate.

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Mr. Riley.”

“I do.” He turns to my sister. “Asha, would you please excuse us for a minute?”

Taking the opportunity to bail, Asha swallows the rest of her drink and grabs her purse off the bar. “Sure. In fact, I have to get back to work. No rest for the wicked. I’ll be late, Edie, so I’ll see you in the morning.” She smiles at Max as she books it toward the exit, and I silently curse her for looking so gleeful about leaving me alone with him.

I take a sip of my drink and try not to look at him. “What do you want, Max?”

“We need to talk about last night.”

“Why? So you can try to excuse it? I trusted you.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. That’s not how I usually like to operate.”

I let out a short laugh. “Oh, really? That was just for me? I’m honored.”

“It wasn’t intentional, I assure you. I jus–”

“Not intentional?” I put my glass down on the bar. “How on earth do you spike someone’s drink by mistake? Are you saying it’s not a normal part of your routine? Please. It’s easy to make women fall for you with a designer love potion helping you along, right? Guaranteed success.”

He stops dead and stares at me. “What are you talking about? You think I spiked your drink?”

Now that I’m on a roll, it’s easy to let my anger drive me. “Of course you did. I just can’t figure out when. It had to be at the Rock Shop with that first beer you gave me.”

He’s now looking at me like I’m speaking another language. “And what, exactly, do you think I put into that sealed bottle of beer which I opened in front of you?”

“I’m not sure. Some sort of GHB or Molly. Strong stuff, too. It had me rolling for hours. If I wasn’t so goddamn angry, I’d ask you to give me the name of your dealer.”

His stare intensifies. I try to maintain eye contact, but he’s making that difficult. “Why on earth do you think I drugged you?”

I waver under his scrutiny. “Because I’ve had that stuff before, so I know what it feels like.” I check points off on my fingers. “Overstimulation. Heightened senses. Dizziness. Sensitive skin. I had it all.”

“So did I. Are you saying I spiked my own drink as well?”

That stops me in my tracks. “Uh ... you did?”

“Yes, I did.” Now, he looks beyond furious about what I’m accusing him of.

“So you’re saying you didn’t –?”

“Commit a goddamn felony? Of course not!” His eyes flash with anger, and the serene, Zen-Max I’m used to is nowhere to be seen.

“But ...” I say, feeling the need to backpedal. “When I left last night, I mentioned it and you looked guilty. And you just apologized about how you –”

“I was talking about something else. Jesus Christ ...” He steps forward and lowers his voice. “Do you honestly think I’m the kind of man who would use a date rape drug on you, Miss Tate?”

“Well ... to be honest, I don’t know you that well.”

“Yes, you do.” The certainty in his tone takes me by surprise. “You know me better than you’d like. And that’s what this is about, isn’t it? You’re looking for a reason to dislike me. To continue believing I have immoral methods, because whenever you’re with me, you’re terrified of how I make you feel. I could see it every time I touched you last night, and I can see it now.”

“No ... you’re ...”

He steps closer, so we’re almost touching. In an instant, every hair on my body stands on end, and he looks at the goosebumps on my arm before leaning down to whisper in my ear.

“This is what you were feeling last night, isn’t it? The rush of hormones. The lightheadedness. The craving for my hands and mouth on every inch of skin. The way your blood rushes so hard and fast, you think you might pass out.” I can see the pulse in his neck thrumming double time. “I hate to break it to you, Miss Tate, but the so-called drug you’re so strung out on is me.”

He leans back just enough to look into my eyes. “Go ahead. Tell me I’m wrong.”

My head is spinning, and I blink too fast as I try to resist pushing him away so I can think. “You’re ...”

When I don’t continue, he says, “Finish your sentence. I’m ... what?”

Infuriating. Arousing. Not the type of male pushover I’m used to or comfortable with.

“You’re wrong.”

He keeps staring. “Am I?”

Now, I have no choice but to put my hand on his chest and push. I’m certain the frantic rush of blood I’m experiencing isn’t healthy, and it’s not going to calm down with him so close. He steps back but continues staring at me.

I try to match him. “Do you know that your constant eye contact is uncomfortable to endure?”

His expression softens, but he continues focusing on my eyes. “In my opinion, people don’t look at each other enough. Eyes speak truths mouths refuse to, and liars always find a reason to glance away.” He looks from one of my eyes to the other. “So, tell me – why does it distress you so much to be this attracted to me?”

Before I can come up with anything resembling an acceptable response, I become aware of another presence at my side.

“Is this guy bothering you, sweetheart?” I turn to see Brick there, puffed up like a lizard in a suit, glaring at Max. “Just say the word, and I’ll save you.”

I bristle at his noxious sexism, but I can’t think too badly of him. He did save me from having to answer Max’s minefield of a question.

When I turn back to Max, I see him give Brick an openly disdainful head-to-toe assessment, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Uh ... Brick, hey. This is my ... uh ...” I take a breath. “This is Max. Max, Brick.”

To my surprise, Max holds out his hand. He doesn’t go so far as to smile, but he acts friendly enough. “Hi. Nice to meet you.”

Brick isn’t quite as evolved and grab’s Max’s hand way too hard to be considered anything but a dick move. “Yeah. Cool shirt, bro.” He’s heavy on the sarcasm, and I bristle on Max’s behalf. That shirt is hella cool.

For several long moments, Max and Brick just stare each other down, and I have no doubt they’re doing that stupid macho thing where they squeeze each other’s hands and see who bails first. I’m not surprised to see it’s Brick. One thing I know for sure is that Max didn’t get biceps the size of grapefruits from stroking kittens.