“I don’t know why you keep turning this interview around to be about me.”
He shrugs. “I just find you fascinating, that’s all. It’s like you think solitude is a logical defense against love, but it isn’t. If cupid were real and needed to literally shoot you with an arrow to make you fall in love, then sure, your idea of locking yourself in a tower with no doors might work. But love is like a dormant disease.” He puts down his glass and steps forward, and when he presses his cool hand over my heart, I pull in a tight breath. “It’s already inside you, Eden. Just waiting for the right person to activate it.”
I force myself to take even breaths and avoid the urge to look away. I hold my head high and wear my best poker face. “Maybe I’m just naturally immune.”
His expression shows glimmers of sympathy, like he’s a doctor giving a fatal prognosis. “No one’s immune. But I do believe you’re stubborn enough to ignore the symptoms for as long as you can, and one day you’ll find out denying it damages you far more than giving someone your heart ever could.”
Just when I’ve reached my last scrap of restraint in either having to kiss him or step away, he makes the decision for me. He takes his glass and strides into the living room, where he proceeds to flick through the impressive range of vinyl albums lining one of the bookcases.
Without looking at me he says, “But, hey ... what do I know, right? I’m just a college dropout who romances women for a living.”
I take a cleansing breath and go and sit on the plush leather couch as he pulls out albums to examine them before placing them back.
“You dropped out of college?” I ask. “This is new information. Care to elaborate?”
He studies the front of an album then flips it over to read the back. “Not really. I was in college when my life went to hell, and I dropped out to deal with it. End of story.” He puts his drink down, so he can slide the record out of its sleeve.
“End of story? That seems like the beginning to me. At least tell me what you were studying.”
He opens the record player and places the disc on the spindle, and even though he doesn’t look at me as he sets the stylus, I can sense the tension in his face. “Music.”
Sultry jazz filters through the high-end speakers as he comes to sit next to me, and he slides down until his head is leaning against the back of the couch. Then he man-spreads until his thigh is touching mine. “I really enjoyed it, too. Maybe I’ll go back one day.”
“So, that’s why Caleb is such a convincing character? He’s a lot like the real you?”
“I guess. I enjoy playing him the most.”
“Where did you attend music school?”
He sighs. “If I tell you that, you’ll try to track down my information, so ... no.”
“Max, come on.” I put my glass on the coffee table and kneel on the couch, so I can face him. “Full disclosure. That’s what you told me. Do you not know the meaning of those words?”
He turns his head to look at me, and for the first time since I met him, he looks tired. As if the burden of being so many people other than himself sits heavy on his shoulders.
“Would you stop trying to make every moment with me about the damn story? Please, just sit here and relax.” When I sit back down, he puts his arm around me and pulls me until I’m curled into his side, my head resting on his shoulder. “Just let’s ... be, tonight. I’ll worry about exposing my dark secrets to you another time. I promise.”
I brace against him by placing my hand on his chest, and dear God ... part of me really wants to relish the casual intimacy of this position, but I don’t know how.
“Just listen to the music,” he says, his tone heavy with fatigue. “Breathe. Relax. Stop talking yourself out of experiences you should be talking yourself into.”
I try to let go. I really do. I close my eyes and lean into him, and he slouches down so we’re both more comfortable. The strong thud of his heart beneath my ear is strangely hypnotic.
“See?” he says, his voice quiet. “Would it be so bad to have something like this in your life? Someone like me?”
I take steady breaths, ignoring the thrumming currents racing from his body into mine.
“Can you feel that?” he whispers.
I squeeze my eyes tighter. “No.”
He chuckles. “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”
The music swirls around us, smooth and elegant. Max lightly runs his fingers down to my elbow, then back up to my shoulder, and the sensation is beyond incredible. I curl my hand into his chest and take his lead by using my fingertips to glide up to his clavicle, then down to the waistband of his pants. His skin contracts with goosebumps, and he makes a growly noise in his chest as he presses his head back into the couch.
“God, yes. That feels too good.”
I love the feel of his skin, and he’s basically given me permission to keep going, so I do. I run my hand over his shoulder and down to his bicep, where I press lightly before making my way to his forearm and feel thick muscles under smooth skin.
“If you’re trying to drive me insane, Miss Tate, you’re succeeding.”
I look down to see that his crotch is swelling in response. “Are you being unprofessional around me again, Mr. Riley? Because this is becoming a habit for you.”
He lets out a humorless chuckle. “When we’re together, I have no control over my body. I’ve given up trying.”
“My offer stands to help take care of your urges.”
“Don’t tempt me. I’m trying to be Zen about what I want to do to you, but you don’t make it easy.”
The need in his voice pushes me over the edge, and moving slowly, I draw myself up and crawl into his lap. His eyes snap open as my knees settle on either side of his hips.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting comfortable. That’s the idea, right? Relaxing with each other?” Following my body’s directive and not much else, I lower down until the insistent throbbing in my groin is pressed against the hardest part of him, and we both moan the second I make contact.
“Fuck ... Eden.” He closes his eyes again. “This is a bad idea.”
“Then tell me you don’t want it.” I slide up while pressing against him. Then I close my eyes and moan as I slide down again, sharp pleasure piercing through me.
He pushes a breath out through his teeth as he closes his hands around my hips. “Oh, I want it, and if we were different people, I’d have already given into the hundreds of urges I have regarding you. But I suspect you’re doing this for all the wrong reasons.”
“When something feels this good,” I say, as I press down, “how can it be wrong?”
I grip his bare shoulders as I circle my pelvis, and every time I hit the spot that makes him groan, I try to make him do it again.
God. This.