“Max,” she pleaded. “Please don’t back away now. Touch me.”
I was never going to forget how that sounded. Her begging. Those few words would keep me up at night.
“My hands,” I replied, holding them out in front of her.
This—this—was karma.
She looked down, seeing that they were covered in car grease, and so were her legs.
“They’re a mess.”
She met my gaze again. “Kiss me instead.”
My eyes fell from hers, then to her lips, then further down, to her thighs. I knew what she meant.
“Kiss you where?” I asked, intrigued.
She lifted the hem of her skirt further up.
How could I deny her?
Just as I leaned in, a muffled shout echoed from the house.
“Rose!”
It came from the foyer, the voice muffled by the distance. Rosalie’s eyes darted toward the closed door. The voice belonged to Sean.
I’d had just about enough of him.
“Crap,” she muttered, hastily tugging her skirt back down. She reached out, gripping my arm as I helped her off the hood of the car. She quickly took a clean rag and started to wipe the oil stains off her thighs.
“I’m not finished with you yet,” I said, keeping her from running off to Sean. “This thing you have with Lucas? End it.”
“What? No, Max, I can’t do that. I can’t end my engagement just because you’re a good kisser.”
“Ah, is that all I’m good for?” Bitter amusement twisted my lips.
“This,” she stammered, gesturing vaguely between us. “This doesn’t mean anything.”
“The hell it doesn’t,” I began, my fingers wrapped around her arm, holding her still. Before I could stop myself, I demanded, “I was serious when I said I don’t share. Don’t kiss another man, Rosalie. I may not be as forgiving next time.”
“Rose! Let’s go!”
Then she was gone.
CHAPTER 17
ROSALIE
Weeks had gone by, but I still caught myself replaying the memory of Max’s kiss.
It wasn’t just the feel of his lips, soft and warm against mine—it was the taste. The smoke. It mingled with my cherry lip gloss, a taste I seemed to want more of.
The worst part? I hadn’t seen him since that kiss. Encounters with Max were always sudden, but now it felt like he was avoiding me.
I guess I could understand why. Engaged women, after all, weren’t supposed to crave smoky kisses with men they shouldn’t even be thinking about. The guilt gnawed at me. Lucas was perfect for many women: stable, successful, with a nice smile. We’d work together. It would feel safe, secure, and most certainly predictable. But his eyes weren’t brown, and his beard wasn’t trimmed. He wasn’t overly protective, and he wasn’t jealous. He didn’t wearArmanisuits, and he didn’t know my coffee order.
Frustrated with myself, I let out a sigh and leaned against the window.
