At that, Max seemed to think. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I hardly know anything about you. Like, what you like to do, or eat, or . . . or . . . or even where you grew up. What your family is like.”
“You knew Geoffrey,” Max replied warily.
“Aside from him.” Bo chewed on her lip again. “We don’t know each other, Max. You’re still almost a stranger to me.”
Max nodded slowly. “I see. So, you’re speaking on the prelude that in order to enjoy each other’s bodies we should also have access to one another’s souls?”
“Well, no—” Bo began, before she paused. “Maybe.”
Without warning, Max hauled her against him. Through the thin fabric of her towel she could feel the warmth of his chest against her, the strength of his arms around her. She didn’t utter a word of protest when he lowered his head to hers, brushing his lips only slightly against her own.
“I like our arrangement,” he muttered against her cheek. “I like it very, very much. So, if owning a piece of my soul is the trade you want to make for it, I’m happy enough to offer you some.”
He kissed her, and this time his lips were hard, demanding and passionate. Bo felt herself being lifted slightly as Max moved her away from the bathroom, pushing her against the hallway wall. He caged her in his arms, his tongue touching hers and making her moan lightly as he kissed her thoroughly and deeply. One of his hands, feather-light, moved from her waist to her thigh, stroking the skin softly. The feeling was divine, almost other-worldly, and Bo moaned again.
Forget his soul,Bo’s fevered mind thought, as Max’s hand tugged on her towel, his other hand now moving to stroke her breast.I just want this.
She moved her own hand to her towel, determined to take it off, determined to fuck Max here and now on the hallway floor, but at her movements, Max suddenly stopped. The hand on her breast took hold of her own, trapping her fingers with a firm grip.
“No,” he murmured, punctuating the word with a light bite to her earlobe. “Not now. Not here.”
“Yes, now, here,” Bo replied frantically, moving her lips to his and kissing him once more. Max returned her kiss briefly, before releasing her gently. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath, looking at her with regretful though steady eyes.
“You have no idea how much it hurts me to say this, but no. Not now.”
Bo couldn’t help the look of abject confusion that crossed her face, and Max, with a soft smile, reached a hand forward to run a finger down her cheek.
“I owe you a piece of my soul, remember? An addendum to our earlier arrangement.”
“We can talk another time,” Bo stammered. “I’d much rather have sex.”
“We will. Later.”
“Later? I’m already half-naked, and you kissed me and put the idea in my head,” she complained.
“Hold onto the idea until later then,” Max replied easily, infuriatingly, and Bo glowered at him.
“Hold onto the idea until later? What? Is your penis suddenly Chekhov’s gun?” she demanded, and Max laughed. It was a genuine, earthy laugh, the sound echoing down the hallway, and Bo blinked in shock.
She’d never heard Max laugh before.
“Come on,” Max said, and he tugged on her towel once more. “Get dressed. Let’s go out and share our souls.”
“Max—” Bo began to argue once more, but Max leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers and silencing her words.
“Bo,” he said as he leaned back. “Don’t panic. We can fire Chekhov’s gun later.”
Chapter Fourteen
They made their way from Orchard Drive across the heath to a little French place Max said he had been to before. The evening sun was warm, but the wind was cool, and Bo wrapped a cardigan over her T-shirt and jeans, her trainers on her feet. Max wore a knitted jumper over his chino trousers, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, and they didn’t exchange a word as they walked, keeping a companiable silence. People passed them, walking dogs or pushing children in strollers, and Bo nodded to them, still too Australian to partake in the London pastime of pretending the city was empty of all other people save for herself. At one point a large spaniel raced up to her, jumping excitedly at her legs, and she bent to stroke his fur and speak with him.
“You’re so pretty, you’re so sweet,” she baby-talked, before looking up with a smile to search for his owners. She noticed Max staring down at her, looking at her oddly.
“Are you okay?” she asked, still stroking the spaniel’s back, and Max blinked, as though coming back to himself.
“Yes,” he replied, before that odd look came back in his eyes again. “Look, Bo—”
