The third time was somewhere around two in the morning. I woke to his hands between my thighs and his voice rough in my ear. "One more time. I need you one more time."
I gave him everything he asked for. And then some.
Now morning light streams through the window, and I'm alone in his bed.
I find one of his shirts on the floor and pull it over my head. It falls to mid thigh, soft and worn and smelling like him. Like iron and smoke and something uniquely Max.
The sound of metal leads me downstairs.
He's at his forge, shirtless, sweat gleaming on the muscles of his back as he works. The orange glow of heated metal illuminates his face, throwing shadows across the scars that crisscross his torso.
He's beautiful.
Not in the polished, perfect way of the men I've known before. Derek was handsome in a catalog model sort of way. Clean cut and symmetrical and utterly forgettable.
Max is different. Max is wild and weathered and marked by a life I can barely imagine. Every scar tells a story. Every line on his face speaks of survival.
I want to know all of it. Every story. Every battle. Every demon he's still fighting.
"You're staring."
His voice startles me. He hasn't turned around, hasn't stopped the rhythmic fall of his hammer.
"How did you know I was here?"
"I always know where you are." He sets down the hammer and turns. Those green eyes rake over me, lingering on my bare legs, the hem of his shirt riding high on my thighs. "You're wearing my shirt."
"I couldn't find my dress."
"I hid it."
A laugh bubbles out of me. "You hid my dress?"
"I like you in my shirt." He crosses the distance between us, and suddenly I'm in his arms, his mouth hot against my neck. "I like you in my bed. I like you in my space."
"Max."
"I made coffee." He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. "And there are muffins from Maggie's. Sarah dropped them off about an hour ago."
"Sarah was here?"
"She took one look at your dress on my floor and left the muffins on the counter with a very enthusiastic thumbs up."
I groan and bury my face in his chest. "The whole town is going to know."
"The whole town already knows." His hand strokes down my back. "Small town. No secrets."
"You don't seem bothered by that."
He's quiet for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is rough with something I can't quite identify.
"I spent ten years hiding from everything that mattered. From you. From the promise I made your father. From the guilt of surviving when he didn't." His arms tighten around me. "I'm tired of hiding, Claire. Tired of being alone. Tired of pretending I don't want things I have no right to want."
I pull back to look at him. Really look.
The shadows are still there. The haunted look that never quite leaves his eyes. But underneath, I see something new. Something that looks almost like hope.
"You have every right," I tell him. "My father loved you like a brother. He'd want you to be happy."
