A low rumble rolls through him.
I stop breathing.
Max’s grip tightens as his gaze drops to my mouth.
Icy water runs down my stomach, but I barely notice. I’m practically a puddle at his feet, and not only because I was just flooded by several gallons of drinking water.
Oh, dear. My fully thought-out evil bribery plan failed to account for purposeful touching.
“Lila, hun, you dropped this.” Judith’s voice breaks through the haze.
She’s holding my notebook. Myopennotebook. The OPERATION: BUTTER UP THE FOX page flaps in the breeze.
She extends it toward Max, who happens to be closer. “Here you go.”
He reaches for it, but before he can grab it, I launch myself between them and snatch the notebook out of her hands. “I’ve got it! Thank you.”
Max glances down at the notebook. “What’s in there?”
“Nothing. Private work things. It’s nothing,” I repeat, which I’m sure only makes him more suspicious.
“Thanks, Mrs. Collins.”
“I told you, call me Judith.”
“Right. Sorry. Judith.”
She beams up at him for a moment before her gaze drops to his bare chest.
Honestly, I can’t blame her.
“Let me help you with these cups,” Max offers.
“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Judith waves him. “You two keep talking. I can handle a few cups.”
She gives me an exaggerated wink before wandering toward the other end of the tent.
“Why does it feel like I’m incapable of being around you for any extended period of time without destroying something?” Needing something to occupy my hands—and keep them off his chest—I crouch to gather the nearest cups.
His expression softens as he joins me despite Judith’s instructions. “I don’t mind.”
“You say that now. The first time we met, it was a cake. Today, it’s the hydration station. Tomorrow, I could take out the Ferris wheel.”
I point toward the midway, where workers are assembling the towering metal frame.
A shiver slips down my spine. Being trapped hundreds of feet above the ground in a swinging metal box has never struck me as a particularly fun activity.
Max follows my gaze before looking back at me.
“We should have a do-over,” he says. “For the cake. I never got to taste you.”
His gaze drops to my lips, and I feel the look like a touch.
My heart stops, and he blinks, taking a few seconds to register his mistake before his face turns scarlet.
“Your cake!” He slides the fox charm back and forth along its chain. “I never got to taste your cake.”
“You’re right,” I say, attempting to sound casual despite the pulse pounding between my legs. “You didn’t get to taste it. The cake,” I add. “Obviously.”
