Brick subtly massages his hand as he turns back to me with a questioning look. “So, babe, are we going to dance or what?”
I grind my teeth. One of my least favorite things in the world is to be called babe by a guy I hardly know. “Uh ... actually, Brick, Max and I were just talking, so–”
Max draws up to his full height, which is about six inches taller than Brick. “No, we’re done, Miss Tate, so by all means don’t let me keep you from dancing with ... Brick.”
“Uh ... well, I...”
Brick holds out his hands. “Hey, Clash-boy says we’re cool, so let’s go.”
I flash Max a dirty look as Brick leads me out to the dance floor. I don’t feel like dancing anymore, but what am I going to do? Admit to Max I’d rather keep talking to him? Just the idea of that makes me break out in a cold sweat.
I shake off the heaviness in my limbs and try to dance. Elvis is blaring from the jukebox, and Brick must be a fan, because he knows all the moves.
As we continue dancing, I can see Max watching us from the bar. His expression is unreadable, which means I’m passionately compelled to figure out what he’s thinking. God, why are even his facial expressions fascinating?
I’m hoping that when I get more information on his background, I’ll find him way less attractive. I’m aware that part of his appeal right now is his air of mystery. If I can find a way to pull back the curtain, I have no doubt I’ll discover that the Mighty and Powerful Oz is just an ordinary man after all.
In all honestly, that day can’t come soon enough.
I’m one of those people who hates going to see illusionists, because I can’t stand the feeling of ignorant wonder. Max may believe in magic, but I don’t. I believe in clever people using smoke and mirrors to fool the masses, and Max may be clever, but he’s still just a fraud wrapped in misdirection, and one day soon I’m going to prove it.
*
By the time ‘Viva Las Vegas’ ends, I’m almost danced out. Brick is sweating profusely but still insists on hugging me, and in the process his hands get way more acquainted with my ass than I’d like. That’s when I feel the hair stand up on the back of my neck. After we pull apart, I find Max right beside us.
“Miss Tate? A word.”
Brick doesn’t look happy about it, but I think his hand is still suffering from earlier, so he knows better than to push his luck.
“Go for it, babe,” he says to me. “I need to refuel the old tequila tank, anyway. Be right back.”
As Brick leaves the dance floor, Max steps toward me. The heat of his gaze is scorching, and when the next song is slow and sexy, he looks at me for a few seconds before saying, “I’d like to walk you home. I have something I need to say.”
“Dancing isn’t your thing?” I ask as the other couples on the dance floor get close and grind to the sensuous beat. Not that I’m angling for him to press that rock-hard bod of his against mine or anything. It’s just that the music is there. It’s kind of rude not to take advantage of it.
His posture is stiff, like he’s a soldier standing at attention. “Not tonight.”
I dislike how disappointed I am by his response.
“You know,” I say. “If we were on one of your romance-novel dates, you would have laid out Brick for daring to touch my ass.”
He shoves his hand in his pockets. “I considered it. Would you have liked that?”
“I don’t know. I guess there’s something sexy about an alpha willing to fight off the attentions of the other males.”
“Uh huh. There’s also something unhinged about a man who resorts to violence with minimal provocation. Besides, Brick is a lightweight. Me fighting him would be like swatting a fly with a bazooka.”
My phone buzzes, and I check the screen.
It’s from my friend at the lab. My blood test came back negative.
Shit.
It’s official; there are no drugs in my system except my insane attraction to Max.
I drop my head and sigh. That knowledge should make me feel better, but it does the opposite. There’s a chill in the air without my cozy, convenient denial to protect me.
When I look up, Max is staring, and it seems he caught a glimpse of the text, because he crosses his arms over his chest and looks at me expectantly.
“So,” I say with a weak laugh. “Good news. You didn’t drug me last night.”
He continues to stare, unimpressed. “I already knew that. Do you have something you’d like to say to me?”
Apologizing isn’t something with which I have a lot of experience, but I can’t deny I was in the wrong. Sucking up my embarrassment, I shove my phone back into my pocket and mumble, “I’m sorry I accused you of something you didn’t do.”
He holds his hand up to his ear. “What was that? It’s pretty loud in here. You’ll have to speak up.”
I take a breath and talk louder. “I said, I was wrong about you. I’m sorry.”
There’s still a look of disappointment on his face, but at least he’s not glaring anymore. “You’re forgiven. For now.” He nods toward the exit. “I still have my own apology to make, but not here. Let’s go somewhere quieter.”
I cross my arms. My purpose in coming here tonight was to try and get him out of my system, and judging by the way I’m still fighting tooth and nail to keep my hands off him, my objective has yet to be achieved.
“I’m not ready to go home. And I’m definitely not ready to go home alone.”
“You wouldn’t be. I’d be with you.”
“Yes, but unless you intend on giving me orgasms, you’re not the kind of company I was thinking of.” I raise my eyebrows. “Were you planning on giving me orgasms, Max?”
Please let him say no. If he doesn’t, I’m well and truly screwed, and not in a good way.
He tenses his jaw. “They aren’t one of my regular services, no.” He looks over his shoulder at where Brick and his buddies are doing shots like it’s a competitive sport. “Are you honestly going to let that swamp dweller touch you? If his brain were dynamite, it wouldn’t blow a part in his hair.”
The mental image makes me smile. “I’m not looking for a life-partner, Max. Just sex.” With a man who doesn’t dominate my thoughts and hijack all my fantasies.
He jabs his finger in Brick’s direction. “I would bet you a million dollars that man has never made a woman come in his life. But if you’re determined to confirm he’s a lousy lay firsthand, be my guest. I’ll be at the bar when you’re done with him.”
He goes back to perch on a stool as Brick rejoins me, smelling like he’s been on a week-long bender in Tijuana.
“Ready to show everyone else how it’s done, sweetheart?”