No.
“Yes. I’m covered in grime.” Max turned to go.
“It’s a smart move not to mix business with pleasure. Glad to see you’re taking this new venture seriously.”
Leaving the kitchen, Max waved a hand but didn’t answer. What could he say? He wasn’t sure what was the right move: stay professional friends or explore the obvious chemistry. The impulse was to explore, but he’d learned the hard way that impulses led to consequences that rippled far beyond himself. And sometimes, they shattered everything that was solid.
His phone buzzed again, but this time he ignored it.
Chapter Seven
August 13th, 6:15 p.m.
Hot water cascaded over Max’s shoulders, loosening the sore muscles from a morning at his desk hunched over drafting plans, the afternoon at the Thompson house setting up some of the garden, and ending his workday helping his crew remove old shrubs at a revamped condo complex. He was up before the sun, needing to get a head start on his day so he could meet up with Paloma in the evening.
Closing his eyes, memories of her flooded his mind like spring rain. Not just that first night at the bar in that red dress—though the image still haunted him—but all the moments since then that had transformed simple attraction into something more.
The way she leaned over his shoulder yesterday, pointing out how the living wall should frame the antique mirror she found. Her perfume had mixed with the earthy scent of the soil samples he’d been reviewing, creating an intoxicating blend that stroked his desire. She’d been so excited about their shared vision, her eyes bright with possibilities. He wanted to turn his head and taste the spot where her neck met her shoulder.
With a groan, he tipped his head back under the spray, letting the water stream down his face. Reaching for the soap, he worked it into a lather, the slickness gliding over his skin as his hand traveled across his chest and down his torso.
Everything about her turned him on. From the way her mind worked—how she could take his technical solutions and transform them into something beautiful—to the sound of her laugh. Or the brush of her fingers against his when she handed him coffee fixed exactly how he liked it.
His grip tightened, and he skimmed his hand lower, unable to resist the memory of her stretched across his desk last week, barefoot and completely unselfconscious as she sketched out her vision for the Thompsons’ entertainment space. The hem of her skirt had ridden up just enough to reveal the curve of her calf, and he’d lost the thread of their conversation entirely.
“Three months,” he muttered, wrapping a hand around his rock-hard dick. Three months until the project was finished. Three months fighting his growing attraction.
“Getting off to my business partner is a slippery . . . slope.” The self-deprecating edge did little to stem the need pooling in his gut.
He redirected his thoughts, conjuring a more “appropriate” distraction—one involving a celebrity crush. But even that betrayed him because her gown shimmered red, and when it slipped to the floor, it wasn’t his imaginary muse joining him in the shower. It was her.
Paloma.
Her mischievous dark eyes glimmered as the water beaded on her smooth skin, her lips curving into a wicked smile. She leaned in, pressing a hot kiss to his neck, the trail of her lips igniting a path down his chest. She sank to her knees before him, and he swore he could feel the warmth of her breath against him.
His handmoved faster, the tension coiling tighter with every stroke. Short, uneven breaths echoed in the steam-filled room, each edged with desperation.
In his fantasy, he looked down, and there she was—her plump, red lips wrapped around him, her gaze locked on his as she took him deeper. The image unraveled him.
With a violent jerk and a guttural groan, he came, his release shuddering through him. With his free hand, he braced himself against the slick tiles. The water continued to pour over him, washing away the evidence but doing nothing to erase Paloma from his mind.
“Fuck. So much for keeping it professional,” he muttered, stepping from the shower.
He’d left his bedroom door open, and from across the house, an indistinct conversation drifted down the hallway. His brother’s familiar baritone, mixing with another softer voice that was like dark honey—rich and sensual. Those husky inflections, that smoky timbre . . . after a month, he’d already memorized every sultry note of Paloma’s laugh, every seductive rise and fall of her speech.
After drying off and brushing his teeth, he quickly dressed. Before leaving his ensuite bathroom, his hand hovered over the cologne bottle. Why bother? This was a business outing, not a damn date.
“I am ridiculous.” Still, he sprayed a little on his neck. The sharp, woody scent filled his nostrils, contrasting the lingering humidity from his shower. Then he swished another helping of mouthwash, all the while hearing his brother’s sardonic laughter in his head.
Leaving his bedroom and crossing through the great room, he saw Paloma sitting at the kitchen table with Drake next to her. They were so close their shoulders almost touched, and whatever he was telling her held all her attention. A twinge of something uncomfortably like jealousy twisted in his gut.
He swallowed the bitter taste climbing up his throat. “Sorry, if I’d known you’d get here so quickly, I’d have skipped the shower,” Max said.
Paloma’s gaze lingered on him, pausing on areas that had him recalling his fantasy of her in his shower. Then she pulled her attention to Drake’s laptop screen, saying, “No worries. Your brother was giving me a few tips for my business.” She pointed at a sheet of paper with notes scribbled on it, then asked, “Do we have a couple minutes, or does the lighting gallery close soon?”
“It’s open late tonight, so we’re good. I’ll grab a quick bite while you read.” He walked to the fridge. “Do either of you want anything?”
Drake turned his chair, facing Max. “I raided your kitchen before you got home. That strawberry chicken salad was delish. And the blueberry pie. I swear, what I miss the most since moving to Detroit is your cooking.”
