I pull the glass door closed and lock it, giving a tiny tug when I disengage the key to make sure it’s secure. Hitching my purse up on my shoulder and tucking it in close, I turn and walk across the darkened sidewalk in front of the gas station toward my car, which is parked on the side. This is my least favorite part of the job because it’s dark, after midnight, and that’s when bad things happen to women who are alone.
I lift my gaze and scan the area, just like I always do, and come to a complete halt of shocked surprise when I see Max leaning back against my car. He’s got his legs stretched out, crossed one over the other at the ankle, and his arms folded across his big chest.
Grinning at me.
I grin back. “What are you doing here?”
This is a legitimate question as Max had called me several hours ago and said he had some things to take care of and couldn’t come by to hang with me. I understood this and frankly didn’t expect anything different. While he’s about a hundred different kinds of amazing rolled up into one package, I don’t expect him to spend every free minute with me.
Max pushes off my car and puts his hands into his pockets while he waits for me to reach him. When I do, he peers down at me and bluntly asks, “If I gave you the money that you make here at this job, would you quit?”
My head jerks back in surprise and I immediately retort, “I wouldn’t take the money from you, so no, I wouldn’t quit this job.”
I expect him to argue but instead he asks as he nods to his car, parked on the other side of mine, “If hypothetically I had my entire backseat and trunk filled with painting supplies, would you accept them from me?”
I groan with moderate annoyance even as sweet warmth blankets me that he’d do something so thoughtful. “No, Max. I couldn’t accept.”
“That’s what I thought,” he says brusquely and reaches into his back pocket, where he pulls out a document that doesn’t look more than a few pages total, folded in half lengthwise. “So I have a business proposition I want to put to you and I even had a contract drawn up.”
He waves the folded document in front of my face and my eyes follow it briefly before they go back to him. “Huh?”
Max grins as his hand drops to tap the document against the palm of his other hand. “It’s getting late and you need to get home, so I’ll make this fast and simple.”
“CliffsNotes version,” I suggest.
He nods at me. “CliffsNotes version. Okay, so here’s the deal…I’ll give you a business startup loan. It will be for $3,200, which I figure is about four months of wages you’d make here at this place, right?”
I do a quick mental calculation, and that’s about right, so I nod.
He continues. “In return for that loan, you quit your job here and devote that time after the kids go to sleep to painting. You won’t need Tina to watch the kids in the evening and that will alleviate your obligation to watch hers on the weekend. Of course, you still have Annabelle, Levy, and Rocco to watch, but any free time I have, I’ll get them out of your hair, and you can have some time to paint on the weekends too. Are you following?”
I’m numb that he’s given so much thought to this and my head spins a little. But I nod.
“Good,” he says and barrels forward. “If you could paint four nights a week and maybe a little on the weekends, how many paintings could you do?”
Another quick mental calculation, which is difficult because, hello—brain is numb—I tell him hesitantly, “Two…maybe three. But why only four nights a week?”
Max gives me a slightly chastising look and says, “Because you need a night off, Jules. You need a damn break every once in a while.”
Oh, damn…another rolling wave of mellowed euphoria rolls through me that someone—no, in particular Max—cares enough about me to want me to have some time off from my crazy schedule.
But I can’t be overly swayed by how good that feels, because what he’s proposing is overwhelming and terrifying, not to mention it sounds like I’m a charity case or something.
But Max isn’t finished with his proposal. “If you can sell at a minimum two paintings a week, that’s four hundred dollars and double what you make at the gas station.”
“But there’s no guarantee I’ll do that,” I point out.
“There’s no guarantee Chris won’t fire you the next time you run into childcare problems, and you know that’s going to happen, Jules.”
“But I’d be giving up a secure job.”
“I guarantee you will be able to find another part-time job if the painting doesn’t pan out. Trust me on that.”
“You said this was a loan,” I interject, because I need to clarify exactly what he’s saying.
“Yeah, I knew you wouldn’t take it as a gift,” Max says, and you can tell he put thought into all of this. “So you can pay me back an amount from each sale. Say…twenty-five dollars per painting you sell.”
I cock an eyebrow at him. “That would take me forever to pay you back.”
“I know,” he says in a low voice that’s devilishly teasing. “Keeps you in my life longer.”
More warmth and it makes me want to step into him, burrow my face into his chest, and snuggle in for a long ride with this man. But that’s a little forward, so instead I tell him the truth of my feelings. “I don’t know what to say to that. I know you say it’s a loan, but really, Max…I’m not sure that’s what it is.”
He turns slightly and puts the loan document on the top of my car before turning back and stepping up to me. His face is somber as he places his large hands on my shoulders. It’s a gentle touch but it’s also secure. I have to fight myself not to let out an involuntary purr.
“Look, Jules,” Max says quietly. “I’ve figured out you’re the type of woman that will not accept handouts, and that you’re also the type that will bust your ass to reach your goals. But I don’t want you to pass up this opportunity to really make something of your talent. It’s too wasteful to do that. So, don’t accept a handout from me, but perhaps think of it as a hand up. If you want it to be a loan, then it’s a loan. You pay me back and I accept that, although I’m completely fine with you just accepting it as a gift too as you have to know it’s not denting my wallet.”
I snort and give an amused shake of my head. “I have a counterproposal. I’ll accept it as a loan and quit this job, but on that fifth night, how about I clean your house or maybe cook meals for you for the week, and you can take that off the loan as well. That way I can get it paid back quicker.”
Something flashes in Max’s eyes and I can see it’s consternation I won’t take a day off from working, but his tone is light and teasing when he says, “Is it bad if I say I’ve got images now of you in a sexy maid outfit?”
I laugh, my head falling back because it’s fucking funny. When I straighten up to look at him again, I poke a finger in his chest and tell him, “I’m being serious.”
“So am I,” he says with a wink.
I drop my chin and bat my lashes at him. “I’ll wear a sexy maid outfit if you give me time and a half.”
Max’s hands squeeze on my shoulder and he groans. “Jesus, Jules…you’re killing me here.”
He stares down at me expectantly, and I chew on my lower lip as I think about it for just a moment. Well, really not even a moment. It would be crazy for me to pass this up as long as he knows I’ll pay him back.
“Okay,” I say with a solid nod and determination in my voice. “I’ll do it. It’s wild and impetuous and totally out of character for me these days, but there’s something about you that makes me believe anything is possible.”
Max’s lips curve upward and his eyes shine with relief and happiness. He leans his face down closer to mine. “There’s something about you that makes me believe everything is possible.”
My heart actually expands with a burst of confidence and rapture, before contracting back inward with a replete feeling of solace. In this moment, I have to believe Max was brought into my life for a reason, and in this moment, I realize I want to give him a chance as much as his crazy ideas to turn me into a real artist.
Since I’m being impetuous and taking risks, I step into him, pressing both hands to the solidness of his chest. I can feel Max take in a breath and hold it as he stares down at me.
“Now might be a good time for that first kiss,” I whisper.
“To seal the deal?” he murmurs.
“No,” I tell him with a smile. “I’m still going to insist we sign the loan agreement, but the kiss is because I really, really want you to kiss me. I’ve been thinking about it since you mentioned it yesterday at Sweetbrier.”
“I’ve been thinking about it a little longer,” he mutters.
“Well, consider me caught up, okay?”
Max’s eyes practically glow, and while I’ve gotten used to the soft look of care he always gives me, now I see passion laced throughout and it causes tingles to race up my spine.
He slides both of his hands from my shoulders inward to my neck, and oh, wow…that feels really nice. They continue slowly upward until his thumbs catch me under my jaw. With only a tiny bit of pressure, he tilts my head back and my mouth parts slightly. Holding me in place, Max leans down to me and touches his lips to mine. My breath immediately rushes out in a sigh of complete abandon and my fingers curl into his shirt.
Max holds my head gently and his mouth presses against mine in a perfect fit. He kisses me slowly…thoroughly. There’s no tongue, only the softness of his lips against mine and the possessive way in which he holds my head in place so I can’t escape him.
Not that I ever would want to. The only thing I want to do is press in closer to him, but I’m held by his strong hands so that he is in control.
So that his mouth is commanding mine what to do.
The kiss is slow, luxurious, and sweet. It’s like his lips belong on mine.
It feels so very right.
And I want so much more.
A yearning for something more hits me so hard, my knees almost buckle.
I want more of this beautiful, sweet, and generous man who for some strange reason sees something in me that he wants. For the longest time, I’ve not considered fulfilling any of my desires because I was a low priority in the grand scheme of things.
But Max has awakened something within me. He’s turned a spark into a flame. He’s made me believe I can be more, and he’s made me want more. And I’m not just talking about sexually. He’s made me want more from life.
Max has simply changed my life.
I have no control over myself. I move into him closer, slide my hands up his chest and around his neck. I press my body up against his and feel the hard muscled planes I’d suspected were under his clothes. Max groans in response and one hand goes to the back of my head, where he wraps my ponytail around his fist, while the other slides down to grip my hip. He tilts his head, kisses me deeper, and there it is…his tongue slides in and I moan when it touches mine.
I burrow in even closer to Max, causing my breasts to mash into his lower chest and, oh my…his very hard and, by the feel of it, large erection presses into my lower belly.
The minute our bodies make contact in that sensual way, Max tears his mouth from mine. He looks down at me, his eyes darkened with need and his voice rough with desire. “I need to get going. Early day tomorrow.”
I nod in understanding, because I do happen to know that the first regular game of the season is tomorrow night and Max has told me game days are always hectic.
“That kiss,” he says, his voice deeper than I’ve ever heard before and his hand tightened its hold on my ponytail.
“Yeah, that kiss,” I agree dreamily.
“Just the beginning, Jules,” he whispers before leaning in one more time and brushing his lips against my temple.
He then releases his hold on me, and I swear I just sway back and forth almost in a hypnotic daze.
Damn…that kiss was…
Just damn.
Max smirks at me and then turns toward his car, which from the symbol on the back I recognize as a BMW. “Let’s get the supplies transferred to your car.”
Wait! What?
“You mean you actually went out and bought supplies today?” I ask in astonishment as I come out of my fog and trot after him to his car.
“Yup,” is all he provides as he pulls his key fob out, aims it at the trunk and it opens it. And it’s like the angels above start singing and the glow on the supplies isn’t from the little light in his trunk but from God Himself.
I come to stand beside Max, my right arm brushing against his left. I look down at what he bought…tubes upon tubes of paint, brushes in all shapes and sizes, and a large gallon can of turpentine. I see a color wheel and a wood palette. He clearly had someone helping him pick out all of the right supplies for me.
“I’ve got several gallery canvases in the backseat,” he says quietly.
I don’t even know what to say, so I just reach over and slip my hand into his while I stare at the abundance before me. He squeezes my fingers gently and I squeeze back.
I shake my head slowly in disbelief, still staring at the supplies, and whisper, “Why are you such a good guy, Max?”
“It’s easy for the right girl,” he says back.
“And how do you know I’m the right girl?” I ask as I finally turn my head and peer up at him.
His hand squeezes mine again and he smiles. “I don’t know it. I just feel it.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” I tell him with an answering smile.