"It's not that I don't want you together. It's just that—" She considers her words with care. "I'm trying to protect Max."
I laugh. "From me?"
"I can't talk about this anymore. I just wanted to stop you from saying whatever it was you were about to say to Victoria."
I tail Stacey back to the table. At the sight of Max's empty chair, though, I make a quick detour to start looking for him.
My mind is swimming with images of his childhood. Of his mother's neglect and abuse. Of his father's stance on being a man. It makes me feel weak with sadness. I need to find him, to tell him... I don't know what because what I want to tell him, I know he's not ready to hear. And I'm not ready to say. Even if he wants to be alone, he shouldn’t be. I want to show him comfort. I want to give him contentment, but he's nowhere to be seen.
With a heavy heart, I approach the bar. There is no way I'm going back to that table. I'm about to order a drink to calm my nerves when I spot the little Balinese lady from when we'd first entered the restaurant. She heads towards me, her steps deliberate as if she was looking for me.
"Come," she says.
Hoping she'd been sent by Max, I follow her out of the restaurant, past dogs and people sitting on the sidewalk, and into a little bar.
She points. "He's in there."
It's balmy and dark. My every step is taken with caution. I pull back the pendulous beads that separate the outside from the beating pulse of the club. Half-naked girls are sliding up and down poles. Men, blackened by shadows, turn to stare at me as I walk by their tables. The music is beautiful and enchanting and clearly Indonesian. I know I should leave. Perhaps I should even be mad at Max for being here, but I'm not.
I search the room, each table, every private booth. My smile is uncontrollable when I see Max sitting in a privatecanopy, tight faced, gaze lowered as he stares at his whiskey. He's contemplative—and alone.
I watch from a distance as beautiful, near-naked girls approach him, coy and flirtatious. But his expression never wavers from one of boredom and inconvenience. With a sad smile, I walk in his direction.
His eyes shift from his whiskey. He stares at me through lowered lashes, the whites of his eyes barely visible. "Come sit with me, Little One."
I take a step closer to him. "I don't like this place."
"Is that right?"
"Yes." I take another step. "Why did you bring me here?"
"I didn't. I just wanted to be here. I also needed you to not be there."
My brows dip as I think about his mother. "Max."
His fist hits the table. "Don't you fucking dare!" I flinch and cover my mouth to stop from talking. He's drunk. He's tense. Max relaxes his hand and leans back into his seat, lifting his gaze. He licks his lips while caressing my body with long strokes of his eyes.
My feet find their way to him and I swing a leg over his lap, straddling him. His eyes squeeze shut as he presses his forehead against my shoulder.
"I'm sorry," he mutters. "I should never yell at you."
A shiver rushes down his body as I stroke my fingernails up from the nape of his neck and into his hair. He rolls his head against me. His breathing is deep and long. His arms go around me, clutching at me as if he's afraid to let me go. My heart wants to jump right from my chest and into his. I find his ear and kiss it chastely, slowly. I'm not sure how much time passes by while I hold him. Several minutes. More maybe.
I hear the clipping of heels and then a salacious voice. "Do you want a dance, Max?"
"Are you serious?" he hisses, making me flinch. Sliding me gently off his lap, he glares at the woman. "You fucking blind?"
My breath catches.
The pretty brunette swallows. Her eyes drop to her feet. "I'm sorry."
"No." He shakes his head slowly. "I don't want a fucking dance. Not from you." He gazes at me under heavy eyelids. "Will you dance for me, Little One?"
I stand as she leaves, my legs shaking a little with the weight of his request. The music is hypnotising and laps through me in soulful waves. My eyes are trained on Max; the intensity between us makes his narrow. My breathing becomes shallow and fast as I search his expression. I want more than anything to show him how I feel, knowing I'm not ready to say it aloud. There is this need in his eyes, and I'd do just about anything to give him what they are silently asking for. Something intimate. Something more than just sex. His eyes leave mine to stab holes into the men behind me. I turn to draw the curtains.
After I pull the sheath closed, I freeze at the feeling of his eyes on me. My hands tremble as I unzip the front of my playsuit. The suit drops to the floor, leaving me standing in just lacy white underwear.
"Take it all off," he says, his voice huskier than normal.
