“Max—” she started, even though she had no idea what she wanted to say. She only knew they couldn’t leave theirconversationhere,on this sour note. But Max cut her off before she could even really begin.
“You’re right. It’s just an arrangement. Thanks for the clarification, Bo.”
She nodded again, but it didn’t matter. Max had already turned and was walking back to the house, and Bo watched him go with a sinking feeling that was made of both dread and sadness in her stomach. They had an arrangement, and she was sticking to it. So, why did it feel so awful? Why did it feel so wrong?
Chapter Nineteen
He still came to her that night at 2 a.m., waking her with slow kisses and soft caresses. When he’d left her earlier, he’d been annoyed, she’d been upset and she thought that might impact the arrangement they had in place. But no. Max still came, and he was gentler with her than he’d ever been before. His fingers were feather-light on her skin, skimming over her body like pebbles ripple on water before they sink, and his mouth was just as soft, just as careful. He kissed her deeply, for what felt like hours and hours, his nose occasionally nudging her own, tilting her head this way and that. He ran his hands through her hair and moaned when she did the same to him, and she gripped him to her even though she knew there was no need to hold him quite so tightly. He was there, wasn’t he? He was there and taking his time, kissing her all over in a lazy and languid manner, as though they had hours and hours left before them. As though they had all night to enjoy one another, and not just the scraps of the early morning hours before the sun rose. He sucked on her nipples and held her hips and when he finally slid inside her it was wonderful, his movements slow and gentle, his eyes locked on her own.
Something was different this time, Bo realized. Something was different, something had changed, but she didn’t know how, couldn’t pinpoint why. At one point, Max’s hair got in his eyes, and she brushed it to one side, tracing the outline of his ear. He smiled into her touch, kissing the tips of her fingers, and she locked her arms around his neck, holding him to her. His lips were lazy against her throat, and she could feel his fingers pressing only slightly against the nape of her neck, playing with the baby-fine hair there.
That feeling, the one Max had warned her about, the one deep within her chest, arose once more. This time, however, itwas like a summer rose, redolent in full bloom, and not merely the hopeful bud or early spring flower of before. It was so strong, so powerful, that she knew exactly what it was: could name it, describe it, face up to it finally.
It was love.
Oh God, she’d fallen in love with Max. She’d fallen in love, and she didn’t know how or why, only that she had. She hadn’t planned it, hadn’t wanted it even, but here she was all the same, deeply in love with a man she’d never expected to fall in love with. Willa had warned her, but it was too late to pay heed to those warnings now. She was in love; finally in love, utterly and completely, and now she needed to deal with the consequences. Max had been clear from the start: this would inevitably and invariably end. He would leave, not just her but the whole flipping country, and now she would be heartbroken by that departure. Already, she could feel the cold, steel grip of grief crawl around her fledgling heart. Already, she could feel the gnawing ache of rejection and loss begin to creep up her spine. She was, Bo realized, the biggest fool of all time. She’d convinced herself she could take a man to her bed without letting emotion become involved, and then, when that man turned out to be someone she very much liked, convinced herself that she could keep taking him to her bed without putting her heart on the line. Never had Bo truly understood the phrase ‘having your cake and eating it too’ before, but oh God, she understood it now.
She loved Max. She loved him, but she couldn’t have him.
Abruptly, Max’s eyes and soft lips and soft hair and tender kisses all felt like too much and she pushed him away. He looked at her with a kind of stunned curiosity, and she shook her head, before sitting up and pulling at his hand. He seemed to understand, because he sat, and Bo, without even really thinking, clambered into his lap, sinking back down onto him so that he gasped her name. She wanted to make this morephysical, remove the emotional aspect that threatened to tear her heart into pieces, but Max, damn him, refused to play ball. He wouldn’t lie back and let her ride him, wouldn’t close his eyes or let her close hers. Instead, he positioned them so that her legs were wrapped around his waist, one hand on his cheek, the other wrapped around his neck. His arms were around her, holding her steady, holding her close, and somehow it was more emotional now, because they were face to face and eye to eye. Their foreheads touched, and for a moment they were still, and Bo felt her whole body throb with love and longing. The sun outside began to rise, and birdsong began, not that Bo noticed either. All she could see was Max and all she could hear was the whispered words from both of their lips, his name from hers, and her name from his. It was beautiful, it was heart wrenching, and when she began to move, grinding down on him desperately, tears gathered in her eyes. She came with his name in her mouth and his sighs against her skin and his kisses on her skin and it was everything she’d ever wanted and more.
Max moved them again, laying her back on her bed and settling between her legs, and she held him close as he sought his own release. She whispered loving words of nonsense to him, urging him on, encouraging him to find his pleasure within her, and she held him with an overwhelming sense of ownership when he did, crying out her name hoarsely into the morning summer air around them.
For a few minutes, neither of them could speak. Neither of them could say a word. It was only when her alarm began to ring, reminding her that she needed to get up and go to work that Max exhaled hard, reaching over to grab her hand.
“Bo,” he said quietly, sounding pained, almost anxious. “What the fuck are we doing?”
But Bo could only shake her head, because she didn’t know. Maybe she’d never known.
She looked at Max, well aware that the whole of her heart was in her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak but closed it again just as quickly.
“Bo?”
“I don’t know,” she finally said, her voice cracking. “I just don’t know.”
Chapter Twenty
She went to work as normal, gulping down more coffee than could possibly be good for her. She was at the store by six thirty, and Ida, who’d just come from the market, immediately handed her several boxes of snow-white chrysanthemums.
“Mix those with some of the lilies and baby’s breath from yesterday,” Ida instructed. “It’s midsummer. People are going to want those pale pastels on their shelves and at their barbeques.”
Bo nodded absently, but got to work all the same, and Ida peered at her from across the counter.
“Are you not feeling well? You took those flowers and my instructions without any argument. Normally, you’d have something to say about mixing lilies and chrysanthemums together.”
Bo looked up and gave Ida a small shrug. “I’m fine. I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”
Ida smirked. “Let me guess, that boyfriend of yours kept you up again?”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Bo said instantly, and Ida looked surprised.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s just . . .” Bo’s words fell away, and she shrugged.
“He’s just . . . ?” Ida waved her hand impatiently, waiting for Bo to go on.
“He’s just somebody I know,” Bo finished, rather lamely, and Ida frowned.
