“Shh, you don’t have to say anything, I just wanted you to know. You were gone several hours, and nothing lined up right in my life anymore. A piece of me was missing. You.”
As mad as he was, as easy as it would’ve been to walk away, he didn’t. He didn’t give up on me.
And a part of me I hadn’t realized I held back splintered and cracked. Feeling as if my mind was spinning… back to life? I wasn’t sure about that because Max was my life. His warmth, his love was what held me together. When Simi tried her usual “let’s kick Ila when she’s down” crap, and when Devyn tried to worm his way back into my life, Max was there.
Even today, when I faltered, he never did. He never let me down. Max loved me, broken pieces and all. Tears fell. “Hold me, Max—just hold me.”
“I have you, dancing girl. I’ll never let you fall.”
Chapter Eighteen
Ila
Kate had been irked at my taking off. But she needed me far more than letting her irritation with me win out. I was glad I still had a job.
And knowing Max loved me, I felt another shift inside me. The final shattered pieces were mending. For the first time in what felt like years, I felt alive. Whole. Happy.
But… While I was healing, Max wasn’t. His sleep patterns fluctuated between two or three hours, even with the massages. I so badly wanted for him to get closure, too. But with his guilt over his mother’s death, it was a touchy subject. I really hoped he’d find a new therapist soon.
A car honking yanked me back from my thoughts. I cut a quick look at the digital clock on the DVD player, then hurried to peer out through my apartment window. The street teemed with cars and people. Still no sign of Max.
Where was he? We were going to be so late.
I didn’t think Leland Sinclair would appreciate that.
At the thought of meeting Max’s formidable father—heck, going to Carmel and meeting the elite—my tension hiked. To stop myself from wearing out the soles of my high-heeled, red sling backs, I headed for the kitchen. Wine would be so good, the perfect stress-reliever—but I couldn’t arrive there smelling like a lush. I poured a glass of water instead and took a sip. Then saw my ragged nails. Ugh. I set the crystal down, grabbed a nail file from the drawer, and smoothed them out.
The front door clicked open. Oh, thank God. I dropped the file on the counter and hurried back to the living room. “Max, it’s so late!”
An amused smile lit his eyes at my winded appearance. “Missed me that much?”
“You said one. It’s two now.”
He grimaced. “Much as I’d like to say I was deliberately late, I had to keep Jack in lockdown until War was able to babysit. Something else is going on with him…” he broke off. His gaze swept down my body and back up to my face in a slow, male perusal. “You’re beautiful.”
“I thought it safer wearing a dress.” I skimmed my hands over my hips in the fitted white dress with its sparsely scattered red tulips. “This doesn’t crease. It’s quite indestructible, actually.”
He laughed, dropping his SUV keys on the sideboard. “When meeting the clan, it’s always a good idea to have protection.” He closed the small distance between us, wrapped his arms around me and pressed his lips to mine.
Smiling, I kissed him back. “You ready?”
“I’m neverreadyto go to Carmel,” he muttered. “But some things have to be faced. Let me shower and change first.”
A short while later, we were on our way. Silence filled the SUV as the Jeep ate up the miles. The sunny morning did little to lighten the tense atmosphere as Max retreated into himself. Unable to bear the quiet after an endless hour or so, I turned to him. “So what exactly is happening at the barbeque?”
He shrugged. “Who knows. My father wasn’t in a very explanatory mood when he issued the decree that I attend.” His expression hardened. “Maybe he’s finally leaving the business in Tanner’s hands—decided I’m not worth the effort, and is going to announce it. Maybe he wants to take off to the Himalayas for a sabbatical, live the life of a monk, who knows. Whatever it is, I plan to show my face with you at my side, then leave.”
Hearing the edge of anger in his flat tone, I stroked his thigh, recalling what he had told me at my parents the night after Leland Sinclair had called. Did he want to work for his father? He had offers to play music, and yet he hadn’t decided on anything.
It was nearly five when Max slowed before an imposing, intricately designed, wrought-iron gate. A security guard stepped out, then nodded, obviously recognizing Max. The gate slid open. Max drove up the tree-lined street into the hills, then turned onto a winding lane, stopping some distance from the impressive, sprawling, two-story, white mansion. Expensive cars lined the circular drive in front, and two valets hustled about, parking them.
He got out, came around and opened my door while I studied his home—a modern take on the neo-classical style with soaring Doric pillars. Elegant, semi-circular marble steps led up to the main entrance. Magnificent as the building was, it appeared aloof. Distant. Cold.
“You just going to stay here and stare at the house?” he drawled.
“Your home’s beautiful.”
“It’s just a pile of expensive bricks.”
