CHAPTER FOURTEEN
NATASHATOOKAsip of her coffee and cringed. It was cold and bitter. How long had she been sitting here at the kitchen table, staring at the wall, replaying scenes from Green Island...in graphic detail? Too long. She was on holiday, free to do whatever she wanted, and she was spending it on porn-worthy Max memories. And other ones, too: in the water, on the beach, just being together, laughing with him. Natasha sighed. She hated just how much she ached for him,
In a few days she would see him again. Talk to him, touch him, maybe even dance with him. And have one more night of amazing sex, of course. He would make her laugh. And he would make her feel like she was the only woman he wanted. And then what? God, she wasn’t going to chase after him, was she?
She doesn’t want me exactly as I am.
Max’s accusation ran through her head. But, no, it wasn’t quite true. Sheshouldn’twant to be with him, and yet, after a few days apart, she still did. What made that accusation uncomfortable was that it had echoes of the ugly duckling incident: she had felt rejected for things she had no control over.
Natasha bit her lip. Still, as fantastic as Max was, she was still reasonably sure that there were two kinds of men: manageable and crazy-making. If common sense wasn’t enough to convince her to avoid the latter, she had her mother’s husbands, number two and number three, to drive home the point. Both had been Max-like—gorgeous, charming playboys. And they both took her mother straight to Crazyville. All that jealousy, staring at the tabloid photos of her husband with other women. Then late-night screaming matches when he came home. But when her mother finally broke away from husband number two, she climbed right back on that crazy bus for husband number three.
Natasha had already felt twinges of jealousy when Max had appeared in the tabloids, kissing his latest fling. Did he look at that woman with the same mix of heat and warmth? Did he make her laugh with the same sexy humor? If all these little stirrings of jealousy had prickled her before Green Island, it would be worse now, whatever their future was together.
Still, Natasha couldn’t let go of the possibility that a relationship with Max might be different. Or maybe this was just wishful thinking. At least, it had felt that way on Green Island. But that was so far away from the world Max Jensen, grandson of Deacon Jensen, Sr., moved through.
Alya’s footsteps echoed from the hall, and her sister appeared in the doorway.
“Late night?” Natasha asked.
Alya nodded, slumping into her usual chair. She took a sip of Natasha’s coffee, cringing as she swallowed.
“Sorry. Should have warned you I’ve been staring at that cup for a while,” said Natasha, taking back the mug. “What happened to you?”
“Couldn’t sleep. Stewart came by for his things after you went to bed,” she said. “I should have broken up with him a long time ago.”
Natasha shrugged. “I get it. You don’t like being on your own.”
Alya frowned. “That’s about the worst reason to stay with a guy I can think of. And I’m done with that.” Her sister took a deep breath. “For the last few years, I’ve built my whole life around a fear. That ends today.”
“Wow.” The corners of Natasha’s mouth tugged up for the first time that morning. “No wonder you couldn’t sleep.”
Alya smiled and grabbed Natasha’s coffee cup, heading for the counter. Pulling two new mugs from the shelves, she poured them each a fresh cup from the pot and returned to the table. Natasha took a sip and sighed. Yeah, coffee tasted much better hot.
She studied her sister. Beyond the puffiness resulting from her recent breakup, Alya’s eyes had a new glimmer of determination. Had she shifted from frightened to angry? Angry at Nick for what he’d put her through and angry at herself for spending three years worrying about it?
“So, what’s your plan?”
“Still deciding,” Alya said. “But for starters, no man in my life for a long time, until I’m no longer using a relationship as a defensive strategy.”
“If you want to live on your own at some point, let me know,” said Natasha.
Alya wrinkled her brow. “I love living with you, but I think I’d be okay living alone, too. I’m not going to stop using Blackmore Inc.’s services right away. I might occasionally need Max and their IT guy. Henning is very...thorough.”
Her voice faded out, and the creases between Alya’s eyes deepened. A look crossed her face that Natasha didn’t recognize. It wasn’t fear, not at all. Something else. But it disappeared almost immediately, before Natasha could make sense of it.
She raked her hands through the tangles in her hair and pushed it over her shoulder. Her sister looked over at her, as if she was going to say something, but her gaze snapped down to Natasha’s neck.
“That’s a hickey!” Alya’s eyes were wide.
“It’s, um...yeah.” Shit. She’d forgotten about that. She wasn’t going to lie to her sister, but right now, Max was the last topic she wanted to discuss.
“From who?” But Natasha could see the realization flicker in Alya’s eyes before the question had left her mouth. “You and Max? For real?”
Natasha rolled her eyes. “Is there a way for me to get a hickey that’s not ‘for real’?”
Alya’s eyes brightened as she shook her head slowly. “I could tell something was going on when you two snuck off at dinner that night on Green Island, but I can’t believe I missed that it really happened.”
“I wore halter tops to cover it, if that makes you feel better.”
