Sweet.
I swallowed.
He said nothing. Whatever was going on in his mind, he dreaded saying it out loud.
I continued to pick at the grapes absentmindedly, trying to focus on their flavor rather than the flip of my stomach. Max’s patience was something I admired and resented all at once. His ability to stay calm and collected, especially now, made me feel even more disheveled. How was it that he could remain perfectly calm while driving me up the wall?
“I don’t know how to put up with you,” he said in a deep, sexy rumble I desperately tried to ignore.
I failed miserably.
Still, I didn’t know what to say to him. I wanted to say something—anything—but I couldn’t. I was still too angry, too confused, and also sexually frustrated.
So I did the only thing I could think of: I stayed quiet.
I took in a deep breath and picked another grape from the bowl, popping it into my mouth—a green one this time.
I chewed.
Sour.
I swallowed.
My eyes rolled over to Max’s. He was watching me still, his gaze steady. The man had patience for me—he made that much clear. I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair.
“Do I deserve the silent treatment?”
I continued to keep my mouth shut, but my eye roll spoke for me.
He shifted in his seat. “You know, you’re being a little dramatic.”
“Dramatic?” I snapped, unable to hold back any longer. It was like he knew how to get me to finally talk. “I amnotbeing dramatic, Max. You have no idea how I feel.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea.”
I wanted to smile badly, but I held back the strong urge. I found myself torn between emotions. I wanted to kiss him, but a part of me also wanted to slap him. I wanted to hate him, but a part of me also wanted to care for him.
I was confused, to say the least.
“Rosalie, about last night ...” he began, his voice trailing off as he searched for the right words.
“I don’t want to talk about it. You’ve made your point,” I said, my tone sharp and maybe even a little defensive.
Max leaned in closer, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Oh, have I now?” he teased, his voice dripping with mock sincerity.
“Yes,” I admitted. “And don’t let it get to your head. It was just a moment of weakness.”
“Ah, a moment of weakness,” he repeated, nodding. “I seem to recall you being quite persuasive in the moment.”
I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way my heart raced at his words. “Just because I had a moment doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten who you are.” My voice trembled slightly despite my best efforts to keep it steady.
“And who am I, Rosalie?” he asked, his tone challenging. “Enlighten me.”
“An obsessive, arrogant ass,” I shot back.
“And you,” he countered, leaning back in his chair with a smirk, “are a stubborn, infuriating woman who refuses to admit she might actually enjoy my company.”
I didn’t know how to respond to him. His casual admission threw me off-balance, and for a moment, I could only stare at him. He was right. I did enjoy his company, but I wasn’t sure what that said about me. Was I betraying my family?
