Not that he’d ever made a move.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
The ten--million--dollar question. “As I’ll ever be,” she said.
“I don’t get it.” His tone was age--old male bafflement with a dash of annoyance. His eyes were a very dark shade of green. They looked almost black now in the night. “I had to find out from Willa that you needed a ride. You could’ve asked me yourself. You should have asked me, Rory.”
Right. Because they talked so much. But before she could say that, or even pet Carl, her favorite dog on the planet, a woman ran out of the convenience store on the corner, breathless and adorable in a red apron and Santa hat.
“Just wanted to tell you something,” she said to Max and flung herself into his arms.
He had little choice but to catch her, and she laughed and kissed him, taking her time about it too.
While they were lip--locked, Carl gave one deep bark and the woman finally pulled back, grinning wide as she said to both man and his dog, “Merry Christmas! See you next year!”
And then she vanished back into the store where she worked, which Rory knew because she often bought ice cream there after a long day at work.
Max shook his head but was looking amused. Rory searched his gaze, looking to see if Santa’s Helper caused that same breathless heat she’d gotten used to seeing when he looked at her.
It wasn’t there.
She took a deep breath at that, not wanting to acknowledge it as relief. She shouldn’t care that he hadn’t felt an overwhelming hunger for that girl.
“Let’s do this,” he said.
“This” of course being the unwelcome chore of giving her a ride. “Look, I’m not sure this is a good idea.” Because honestly? Two buses and a train would be a piece of cake in comparison, never mind that she didn’t have the money for that.
“Rory,” he said, a hint of impatience in his tone.
Once again she looked into his eyes, and at what she saw, her heart stopped on a dime.
The heat was back. For her.
“This isn’t exactly my idea of fun either,” he said. “Trust me.”
Ha. She wasn’t exactly on the trust program with any man but especially not this one. Not that she was about to tell him that.
Max’s attention was suddenly drawn to the alley and the man standing in it. Old Man Eddie was a fixture of the Pacific Pier Building every bit as much as the fountain in the center of the courtyard. Everyone who worked here did their best to take care of him, including Rory.
“Hold on a sec,” Max said and moved toward Eddie, who was wearing a sweatshirt with a peace sign and Hawaiian--print board shorts, his medical marijuana card laminated and hanging from a lanyard around his neck.
“Merry Christmas, man,” Rory heard Max say and then he slipped the old man something that she suspected was cash.
And damn if her heart didn’t execute a slow roll in her chest, softening for him, which didn’t exactly make her night.
Old Man Eddie pocketed the money and grinned at Max, and then they did one of those male hugs that involved back slapping and some complicated handshake.
Ignoring them, Rory reached into her bag and pulled out some red ribbon. A big part of her job at South Bark Mutt Shop was grooming. Carl had been her first client earlier that morning and afterward, she’d woven a piece of the festive ribbon around his collar, which he’d seemed to love, but there was no ribbon in sight now. Crouching in front of him, she replaced it, looping it in a jaunty bow at the side of his neck. “There,” she said. “Better, right? The girls’ll be falling all over themselves to get you.”
Carl gave her a big, slurpy lick along her chin. Then he nosed her bag, sniffing out the fact that she had goodies in there. “Later,” she promised.
“No,” Max said, coming back to them. “Hell no. Take that thing off, you’re going to kill his image.”
Rory rose to her full height, which still wasn’t even close to Max’s. She barely made it up to his shoulder and, dammit, she wished she was in heels. “A ribbon doesn’t emasculate him, and even if it did, there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Of course there’s not,” he said. “But female or male, he’s a working dog and in our business he—-or she—-has to be tough and badass. A bow doesn’t exactly say ‘stop and drop or I’ll make you stop and drop.’ ”
Okay, so maybe he had a point there. “It’s Christmas Eve,” she said. “I think he can take the night off of being tough and badass, can’t he?”
Max blew out a sigh that spoke volumes on what he thought of the matter—-and her—-and headed for the wrought iron gate to the street, stopping to hold it open for her.
As she passed through, their bodies brushed together, his hard as stone and yet somehow also deliciously warm, and hers . . . softened. There was no other word for it.
At the contact, he sucked in a breath and jerked her gaze to his. And then she was sucking in a breath too, frozen in place, held there by the shocking chemistry that always seemed to sizzle between them, just under the surface.