At least something I’ve waited for since I almost face-planted the night we met.
She takes picture after picture, making me want to ask her everything and anything about her photography. Not to mention, I want the rights to demand that if she makes the absolute asinine decision to jump out of another plane ahead of the world record setting photo of the vertical divers—who were at some points traveling as fast as two-hundred and forty miles per hour—I’ll turn her over my knee and spank her ass into oblivion. And not for any pleasure it would bring to either of us.
Unfortunately, my body knows I’m a lying bastard. I squirm in my chair at the thought, my dick rising at the idea of Maya’s curvaceous body lying across my legs.
Time for a distraction. Shoving back from my desk, unable to sit still any longer, I open the patio doors and step into Italy’s majestic fall. The air outside is crisp, carrying the scent of warmearth and ripened grapes. My boots crunch on gravel as I cross the courtyard directly to her.
Maya whirls around, camera still lifted, and I duck my head bashfully as she aims the lens in my direction.
She lowers her camera, cocking her head to the side. “You don’t enjoy having your photo taken?”
“It’s been in the news enough lately,” I mutter.
Surprisingly, Maya’s face softens with understanding. “So I’ve heard.”
I approach warily. “You heard? You mean you haven’t seen…”
“The most coverage of my ex’s downfall I’ve watched has been in the last twelve hours between what you showed me and a few articles my girls sent.”
Scowling, I demand, “Why would they ruin your vacation like that?”
“Probably because I asked them about your part in what went down,” she admits.
I try to stop short, but damn if my leg doesn’t lock up just like it did the night I met her. My arms windmill. I know I’m going to face plant on the gravel. I hear a thud and then she’s there. Tucked under my armpit again. Her face is a combination of concern and amused as she studies mine. “We seem to find ourselves in this position again.”
“Stupid knee.”
Her arm tightens around my waist. “From your injury?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sure you’ve told the story a million times, but…”
I test the weight. “It’s still causing you difficulty? Even after all this time?”
“It’s okay.” At the look of disbelief on her face, I amend, “It’s not as bad as it could be, Maya. I was fortunate in havingexcellent therapy. So many people with the same injury aren’t afforded the luxury.”
“What causes your leg to lock now?”
“The doctors told me I may have to go back in for some arthroscopic surgery to clean out some lingering tissue. The easiest way to explain it is a flap of tissue getting trapped between joints.”
“How often does that happen?”
I scratch my chin. “Not as often as it used to.”
“Yet, both times I’ve helped prevent you from taking a knee.” I’m about to defend myself before she teases, “I get it. But think of it this way. If it weren’t for the hit, you’d be tied up in the mess back in the States.”
Her voice carries a teasing lilt, but there’s something that shocks me—an underlying admiration. After last night, after revealing Maya’s not so distant past, I expected distance. I thought—if I was lucky—she’d be civil. I never expected her warmth to brush up against the soft edges I normally keep buried, only letting them out for family and close friends.
And Maya, because she’s special—though she has no idea I’ve ever thought of her like that.
“Hardly,” I manage, though my throat’s dry. “I’m just a guy who has something your ex lacks.”
“What’s that?”
“Morals.”
She smiles, but it hits harder than I expect. Her smile is the kind that makes you forget about pain, surgeries, and everything that came before. The air between us hums, subtle but alive, like the static right before lightning strikes.
