“Since the fire?”
Caroline nodded.
“Well then,” he said. “That is worthy of a celebration, indeed.”
She expected him to resume dancing, but instead, his arms reached around her, pulling her close again.
Inhaling his unique scent, she slid her hands around his waist, her fingers tracing the sinewy muscles in his back. And loving his strength pressed all along her front, Caroline felt anchored. Because of this man. And with him keeping her from floating adrift, she could finally spread her wings.
Which made no sense, but also made perfect sense.
“Thank you,” she whispered. He didn’t have to hire her. He didn’t have to watch out for her at ton events.
But he had.
His fingertips touched her chin, tilting it up so he could see her face.
“Thank you.” His breath brushed her lips, and then it wasn’t just his breath.
Caroline closed her eyes, melting. This was more than just a kiss. He flicked his tongue at the corner of her mouth. He nipped at her bottom lip.
When he trailed his mouth along her jaw and down her neck, her bones turned to jelly, so she moved her hands to his forearms. “Max,” she said.
“Caroline,” he growled, one hand moving lower, squeezing the flesh of her bum.
“Maybe…” Her voice came out breathy. “Maybe we ought to have a taste of that scotch.”
Because, with every touch, every kiss, Caroline wanted to run her hands through his hair and taste his skin. She wanted to open her knees and invite him closer.
And, unfortunately, those were not the thoughts of a proper lady.
Max held her gaze, speaking that silent language again, before giving her one last spin, and then setting her free.
“Scotch it is.”
She would share one drink with him—to celebrate a mistake-free newspaper, but also that flash of joy—and then she would go home. To bed. Where she’d no doubt lie for hours imagining all sorts of inappropriate things.
By the time they arrived at his office, she’d very nearly regained her composure—and her sanity.
Max set the candle on the surface of his desk. “Should I light a few more?”
As it was, this single flickering flame cast looming shadows that exaggerated the height and strength of Maxwell Black. A true gentleman, she’d learned, who was also a very decent person, one who worked hard when it was necessary, and by his actions with Lord Dankworth, had proven to be a loyal friend.
He had told her he couldn’t marry, even if he found the perfect woman.
What did that leave for the two of them? Friendship? Something else?
While a dozen different possibilities cluttered her thoughts, Maxwell poured generous portions of scotch into two glass tumblers. He handed her one, and then lifted the other towards her. “To perfection,” he said.
“Perfection,” she echoed.
But standing there, his eyes caressing her face, Caroline was not at all sure he was referencing the newspaper.
THE FIRST TIME
Max didn’t require scotch to make him feel heady. His paper was finally being delivered error-free, the sun was about to rise, and he was alone with a beautiful woman.
Not only beautiful, but witty, and intelligent, and… genuine.
