This isn’t about resisting her anymore. It’s not even about wanting her. It’s about what always follows. The inevitable fall. The way I’ll give her something that feels rare and consuming and unforgettable. And then the way she’ll leave—back to her city, her life—like this was just a chapter she passed through.
It’s the pattern I’ve built myself around. The one I know how to survive. But I’m not sure I’d survive the storm that is Maxine Palmer. That’s why I need to keep her at a distance. Why I should.
Because I don’t think I could take her leaving. Not the way I’ve taken the others. And for the life of me, I still can’t explain what it is about her that keeps calling me toward something more.
I need her presence to make sense to me.
The way her mind works.
The way her breathing shifts when she’s irritated.
The way she masks her vulnerability behind that smart mouth and quick wit.
I want time with her. Permanence where I’ve only ever allowed passing—
Fuck. This. Shit.
I slam my hand against the greenhouse frame and squeeze my eyes shut, like I can shake her loose. Like I can force her out of my bloodstream.
Nothing seems to be working when it comes to her.
And fuck me if Drake isn’t right with his insane idea. Using Max could give us a real edge against the competition. Against Vanessa. I hate how clearly I can see it once it’s said out loud. I just wish there were a way to do it without pulling her deeper into my orbit. Without dragging her closer when she’s already lodged in my head where she has no business being after twenty four hours.
“Fine,” I mutter to no one, dragging a hand through my hair. “I’ll go along with this idiotic plan. But I am not letting her get under my skin. Not any further.”
Which means no blurred lines. No misunderstandings. Distance.
She’s everything I swore I’d never reach for again. Fire. Bright. Dangerous. Intoxicating right up until the moment it destroys you.
Thankfully, fire lives a world away.
And then, because the universe has a sick sense of humor and zero mercy,fireappears.
Max stands at the top of the trail, sunlight spilling around her like it was staged that way on purpose. She’s walking toward me, shoulders drawn in, clearly shivering in the cold. Americans never dress for February up here.
The internal resolve I just made melts in seconds. Because the moment I see her, all I want to do is wrap her in my heat. I want to shield her from the cold air, pulling her close just to feel her breathing against my skin as I take her in.
So much for distance.
The light hits her just right, making the flannel she’s still wearing look softer, her curls brighter.
“What are you doing here, Max?” I ask, my voice low, rougher than I mean it to be.
She crosses her arms. “Drake told me where to find you.”
“Figures.” I grunt, turning back toward the workbench where a row of strawberries is waiting to be sorted.
I grab a handful and busy myself, inspecting them like they’re made of gold. Anything to avoid her eyes. Anything to keep my hands from doing something stupid.
“If you really don’t want me to stay, I don’t have to,” she says.
Something about the way she says it—so damn resolute, so damn final—hits me wrong.
I. Am. Losing. It.
I’m losing it because I woke up in a rush to get her back to her rental and out of my house, but the second the decision is hers to leave, it feels like she’s taking something away from me.
“It’s fine, Max,” I say, still not looking at her. “Drake’s idea makes sense. I’ve called the tow truck and handled your rental car situation. It will be taken back to the airport. But I...” I pause, clenching my jaw. Fuck it. Say it. “I just think it would be best if you stayed at a hotel near the office. Where—”
