Then he tugged her hand, starting toward the central courtyard between two buildings. Her heart sped up as they came closer. Natasha attended high-profile functions with Alya, but this was different. It was personal, Max’s world.
Her heels clacked against the stone, echoing between the buildings. The structures were angular and modern, and the courtyard was unadorned except for a few benches with a view of the dunes and the ocean in the distance, the water was quiet, peaceful.
She didn’t even realize she’d slowed to a stop until Max’s lips brushed her cheek. “You like this place? There’s a great view from the windows inside.”
He tipped his chin to indicate where another couple was entering through heavy wooden doors. From inside, a slow, sexy jazz number played.
His mother’s music. Natasha looked up at Max’s clenched jaw. It must be. Even without the conflicts between him and his father, hearing his mother’s voice today, on the anniversary of her death, would be painful.
“Is this your—?”
He nodded before she could finish the question, so she squeezed his hand, and they walked in. The stage and dance floor came first, with the setup for a band in the corner. Glass balls of all sizes hung everywhere from the ceiling, glittering in the light of the dozens of candles on each of the round tables. The sun sparkled over the ocean at the far end, through the groups of guests talking, drinking from champagne flutes.
But she couldn’t properly take in any of the details because her attention was fixed on Deacon Jensen, Jr., just a few feet ahead, who was currently staring her down.
Natasha had seen photos of Max’s father before—everyone in Australia had. And Deacon Jensen, through his clashes with the press, had made it known he didn’t like that. Though, to be fair, Natasha wasn’t sure she’d do well with the kinds of privacy invasions the Jensen family endured.
She had seen Max’s father’s scowl on the front pages often enough, and yet until this moment it had never once crossed her mind just how similar father and son were. Same height, same light blue eyes, same jaw, same golden skin, though Deacon Jensen, Jr.’s had clearly seen more days in the unrelenting sun. The two probably had had the same build at some point, but Max’s father was wirier, his hair a little grayer.
The man stared at Natasha with the kind of intensity that she had seen glimpses of in Max. But where Max’s eyes sparkled with attraction and warmth, Deacon Jensen’s gaze ran cold.
Max released her hand. Natasha’s breath caught in a moment of panic. Was Max leaving her alone with this man? He had promised. She grabbed for him again, but as her hand brushed against him, his arm slipped around her waist, bringing her in closer. She found her breath. Natasha was here to support Max, not to impress his notoriously surly father.
Deacon Jensen’s eyes flicked back to Max as they came closer.
“Your welcome speech begins in ten minutes, Maxwell,” he said, his voice sharp. “You just walked out.”
To Max’s credit, he showed no signs of distress.
“Natasha, meet Deacon Jensen,” he said smoothly, then turned to his father. “This is Natasha Petrova.”
His father’s stare lingered on Max for an extra beat, and then he turned to Natasha. He studied her, his face betraying no emotion. What would it be like to have this man as a father? A fierce defensiveness for Max grew as she met his father’s gaze and held it.
Then, Deacon Jensen defied all her expectations. The man smiled at her. A real smile. His whole face lit up, much in the way Max’s did, and he extended his hand.
“I apologize, Natasha,” he said. “Clearly, my manners have deteriorated since my wife passed, and even before that I was a little rough around the edges. But I’m happy to meet you.”
She shook his hand. “Thank you. This is a beautiful tribute to your wife.”
Deacon Jensen looked from Max to her and back to Max. There was a glimmer of emotion in his eyes. “She would have loved to be here right now.”
Natasha looked up at Max, getting his attention. He blinked down at her, shaking off whatever thoughts were behind his hostile stare.
“Let me show you to our table and introduce you to my brother,” he said gruffly. “I want to make sure you’re comfortable before I speak.”
The evening had surpassed all Max’s expectations, though, admittedly, they were low, as always, when his father was in attendance. The crowd seemed receptive to his speech, and Natasha was actually enjoying herself.
His father had given him hell all day about bringing a date, clearly expecting Max to have invited some just-for-fun woman to get under his father’s skin. True, Max had pulled that kind of shit in the past, but the fact that Deacon assumed he’d do that at an event for his deceased mother had made him mad as hell. But the moment his father met Natasha, everything shifted. Well, that was how Max felt about her, too. Now he just needed to figure out a way to convince her to trust him further, trust in what they had together.
Most of his public duties had ended for the evening. He had spoken about his mother’s battle with breast cancer and laid out the priorities of the hospital’s new research and treatment center. He and Natasha had made their way around the room, shaking hands and thanking friends and donors. She looked surprisingly comfortable in this role. He had sent a car at the last minute instead of going himself so that he could double-check that everyone—photographers, organizers, and his family—understood she was off-limits. But she’d insisted on staying by his side for most of the night.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, watching her from across the room as she talked to TJ. They were standing by the windows that looked out over the ocean, and she was pointing at something along the coast. Her hair covered some of the open back of her dress, but not all, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her bare, creamy skin. Back on Green Island, he had kissed her there, run his hand down her naked back while his cock was buried deep inside her. Max checked his watch. When the hell was this evening over?
This woman could even make conversation with his brother, which was saying a lot, considering how little came out of his brother’s mouth under any circumstances. In fact, TJ looked very interested in whatever she was saying right now. Max gritted his teeth, biting back the urge to go over there and remind his brother that Natasha was here with him—and was going home with him, if Max had any say in the matter.
“She cares about you, Max. I could see it right away.”
Max hadn’t noticed his father approach, and now it was too late to dodge him completely.
