I laugh and squeeze him tighter. “I’m in love with you, Max Riley. Stupidly, sickeningly, revoltingly in love. Does that make you happy?”
I can feel him smiling against my skin. “More than you can possibly fathom.” He pulls back and looks down at me. “For the record, I’m also revoltingly in love with you, so I guess we’re doing this.”
I smile. “I guess we are.”
We’ve been so wrapped up in the bubble of pleasure in which we’ve been living, we haven’t thought about what will happen when we leave this apartment. But now that our feelings are out there, larger than life and scary as hell, we have to find a way to make this thing work in the real world.
“And you’re sure you’ll be okay with me going back to work?”
He studies my face for a reaction, and I strive to keep my smile sincere.
“Definitely. Now, get out of here before I do things to you that will require me to take another shower.”
He gives me a quick kiss and a swat on the ass, but as he walks out into the bedroom, I get a twisting feeling in my stomach that this fresh, shiny relationship we’re building is being constructed on shaky ground.
*
By the time I’ve blow-dried my hair and slipped into Max’s robe, I can already smell he has breakfast underway. When I get to the kitchen, there’s a plate of food on the counter that looks like it was made in a restaurant. Max is bustling around in just his jeans, making real coffee from the vintage espresso machine. I take the moment to gaze at him in awe.
He catches me staring. “What?”
“Just wondering if there are things you suck at.”
“Of course. Too many to mention.”
I sit on one of the metal stools in front of the stainless-steel-topped island. “Hit me with a few, just so I know you’re not lying.”
“Okay. Accounting. I’m terrible at it, and it bores me out of my mind.”
I scoop some eggs into my mouth. Predictably, they’re delicious. “Welcome to the club. And ...?”
“Bowling. I’m king of the gutter balls.”
“Yeah, yeah. That’s all small potatoes. Anything major?”
He brings over a perfectly made cappuccino and places it in front of me before sliding his arm around my waist and pulling me against him.
“Yes. Staying away from the woman who makes me harder than steel. I’m freaking terrible at that.” He leans down and claims my lips, and despite there being minimal pressure and zero tongue, the wave of desire that rushes through me has so much power, it could launch a city-sized satellite into space.
I touch his face as we both just stand there, lips pressed together, breathing rapidly.
When we pull apart, I stare up at him. “I have to finish getting ready, evil man.”
“Not yet.” He kisses me again, deeper this time, definite tongue, and if his intention was to make me forget what I was about to say or do, he’s successful. When he pulls back, his breathing is just as screwed up as mine. He cups my breasts though the soft fabric then grunts in frustration and steps back. “Eat your breakfast. Maybe if your mouth is busy, I’ll forget about all the things I want it to do to me.”
I make quick work of my plate of food as he cleans up, and I gaze at the wonder of his back. He’s gone quiet and seems deep in thought, so I head off to finish getting ready.
When I finally emerge fully dressed to face the day, I’m shocked to find Max sitting in front of the computer. His forearms are on the desk, and he’s leaning forward, his face illuminated by the giant screen.
He looks over when he hears me approaching. His expression is a little guilty, but there’s something else I can’t define.
“You wrote the story this morning?”
I nod. “I couldn’t sleep. Too many thoughts.”
“This is what you think of me?”
His tone is impossible to read, so I bite the bullet and go with honesty.
“Yes.”
He points to the final paragraph then reads it aloud. “Everything is ordinary until someone loves it, then it transforms. Suddenly it’s beautiful. Incredible. Priceless. Everyone deserves to feel priceless at least once in their lives. Despite his troubled past, Max Riley has created a business out of making women feel that way, and it says something about the state of our image-obsessed society that his business is booming. Maybe if there were more people like Mr. Riley to spread the soul food of romance, the world would be a better place.”
He goes quiet then turns to me. “Eden ... this article is ...” He shakes his head. “I’m not worthy of it.”
“Yes, you are. I wouldn’t have written it otherwise.”
He leans back in the chair. “When will it be published?”
I step closer, nervous about how tense he is. “It won’t. I’ve decided to tell Derek I’m pulling it.”
I expect to see relief on his face, but instead, he seems conflicted. “This piece is ... brilliant, Eden. Seriously. I couldn’t have dreamed you’d write something so beautiful about me. Philosophical, even. This article could make your career.”
“Yes, but at the expense of yours, and I’m not willing to do that. I feel better for writing it all down, but Max, you know as well as I do that if I publish this, your business goes up in flames.”
He reaches over and takes my hand, and I stand between his legs as he looks down at our fingers. “In the beginning, this decision was so simple. It was either you or me. A fight for survival, but now ...”
I stroke his hair. “I know what you mean.”
He leans back in the chair, and we stare at each other. There’s no easy answer here. No matter which way we turn, someone is going to be ruined. My stubborn, selfish side doesn’t want it to be me, but then I think about hurting him, and it makes me feel sick. Is this what love has reduced me to? Giving up my dreams to protect the man I love?
Maybe Derek will be merciful and not fire me. And maybe I’ll be wrong about Max’s work tearing us apart.
I don’t think either of those things is likely, but I at least have to try.
“This is what relationships are about, right?” I say, sitting on his lap. “Sacrificing what you want for the person you love?”
I lean over and close the document, and Max puts his hand on top of mine on the mouse.
“I wish there was another way.”
I sigh. “In a perfect world we could both get what we want, but I know that’s not possible, so ...” I give him a smile before sending the document to myself as an email attachment. “I promise, this is for my eyes only. I just want a copy, so whenever I feel like a talentless hack, I can remind myself I once wrote something decent and profound.”
When a whooshing sound announces the email has been sent, I delete the document, and then to make it extra painful, I empty the trash.
“Derek’s away in Europe for two weeks, but when he gets back, I’ll tell him I’m dropping the story. If I beg hard enough, he might let me go back to writing memes.”