Chapter Fifteen
Maxime’s kiss is deep, his tongue desperately seeking mine, with a passion telling me there is no way this man is walking away from me now.
Hunger for him takes over, and I thread my fingers through his thick hair, kissing him back with the same urgent need. I feel tears slip from my eyes, mingling with his skin as his lips burn against mine. Heat burns within me, a fierce need to be with him taking over. Maxime’s body is pressed against me as his mouth continues to take all that he can, all that I can give. His hands move my leather jacket aside so he can touch my blouse. I instinctively take his hand and move it under the silky fabric so I can feel his hand on my bare skin, with nothing between us.
A groan of desire escapes his throat. He seizes my lower lip with his teeth, lightly biting it, and the move is so hot, a violent tremor runs through me.
“Oh,” I gasp, closing my eyes as his lips go to my collarbones. Maxime responds by running his mouth across my neck with hot, powerful kisses that cause me to break out in a sweat. I lift my leg, wrapping it around him, and then Maxime lifts me up and pins me to the door as he finds my mouth again.
I’ve never wanted anyone as much as Maxime. This man wants me. All of me. He’s possessing me with his tongue and his mouth, and I want more. I could do it right here, against this media room door, and have no regrets.
Maxime’s hands span across my lower back, caressing my skin. I feel him go hard against me. I kiss him fiercely. I breathe in his vanilla and bourbon scent and allow myself to dip my head to his neck. Then I allow myself to taste him, the rich cologne, my lips greedily opening and allowing my tongue to flick across his skin.
“God,” Maxime groans. “I can’t take this.”
I continue to kiss him, harder and harder, sucking on his neck as Maxime shivers violently against me.
“I love the way you taste,” I murmur into his golden skin.
“Je voudrais t'embrasser. Maintenant,” Maxime says urgently, his mouth reclaiming mine as he tells me in French he wants to kiss me. Now.
I’m lost in this moment, in this kiss—the sexiest, steamiest kiss I’ve ever had. We both have all our clothing on, but it doesn’t matter. We’re connecting through these intimate kisses, and I find it both sensual and romantic.
“Anybody in here?” a voice calls out, followed by banging on the door. I nearly let out a startled cry, but Maxime silences me by kissing me again on the mouth. Then he throws one hand up against the door while holding me in place.
“Yes, just finishing up,” Maxime yells back, and I stifle a laugh. “Be right out.”
“Okay, thanks,” the voice on the other side says.
I cradle his face in my hands. Maxime is gazing at me with nothing but affection, and my heart soars as a result.
“You should probably put me down now,” I say, smiling at him.
Maxime brushes his lips against mine again, but this kiss is slow and gentle, telling me he cares about me and enjoys kissing me just as much this way, too.
He breaks the kiss, and I feel him smiling against my mouth.
“Okay,” he says, gently lowering me to the floor.
Maxime takes a step back from me but reaches for my hands and draws me to him. “I think that kiss tells you I will handle any attention we will get, Skye.”
For a moment, reality fights through my happiness.
“Maxime, this will be intense,” I say, lacing my fingers through his. “Please believe me when I say you don’t know what it’s like until it’s too late. You will not have the same life you have now if we’re together. I don’t want you to ever resent me for taking away your peace. It would break my heart if that happened, if I hurt you in any way.”
Maxime is silent for a moment, and his expression turns to one of both softness and seriousness.
“We’ve both been hurt,” Maxime says slowly. “We’ve both made miscalculations with the opposite sex. If you had told me I would want to go out with a TV personality a year ago, I would have run. But that was before I met you.”
He pauses and affectionately grazes my cheek with his fingertips. “I have my own baggage, Skye. You might decide the guy who is a homebody and hates parties is too boring for you. The logical side of me should be terrified I’m taking this chance, knowing that could be the outcome. I’ve been wrong before. Wrong in a way that devastated me. You could leave just like Juliette when you’ve had enough.”
I search his face, knowing that none of that matters. I’m about to say so when Maxime continues.
“Your actions tonight, the fact that you wanted to spare me pain, that you were willing to do something that hurt you to protect me, tell me I have to take this chance. You’re sexy and beautiful and smart, but more than all of that, you have a beautiful heart. I’m going to take this chance. I need to see where this goes. If you still want that, Skye.”
I blink away fresh tears. “I don’t have the best judgment,” I say, my voice thick. “But I’m trusting it now. I want to see where this goes, too.”
He draws my hands to his lips and presses a warm kiss across my knuckles. “Do you still want to have dinner with our friends?”
I nod. “I do.”
“Afterward, we can lay out our plans for dating during the next eleven days.”
I laugh. “I love that we’re already long-distance dating.”
“See? You have tabloids, and I play a game that takes me away for eleven days at a time. Mutual baggage.”
I squeeze his hands. “It’s not, but I adore you for framing it that way.”
“Come on, let’s go,” Maxime says, holding my hand as he opens the door.
Elation doesn’t describe what I feel as I walk down the hallway with Maxime. All seemed so lost a few minutes ago, and I was so close to losing the chance to date Maxime. While there is no guarantee where this will go, we have a chance.
I’ve decided my judgment of Maxime’s character is right. My judgment that this could be something different and wonderful is right.
Now we’ll just take our time and see where it goes.
***
Celebrate Life with Sprinkles—The Blog
Starting the Day off Right
Everyone knows a good breakfast is a great way to start the day, right? I love all kinds of breakfast. Overnight oats. Steel-cut oats. Eggs and bacon. A new favorite, and follow me on this readers, is butter-slathered brioche bread with Dutch-chocolate sprinkles covering it from top to bottom. You all know I love sprinkles, but these imported ones raise the game to a whole new level. I know, you’re skeptical. You don’t trust it. But sometimes life is about putting your judgment aside until you try it. You might be surprised and find something magical as a result. XO Skye
“You know, I should be angry with you,” I say to Maxime. “It’s freezing outside, it’s eight o'clock in the morning, and after spending half the night making out with you and then texting you when I got home until I fell asleep, you take me out for breakfast. We should be in bed snuggled under the covers.”
Maxime shoots me a wicked grin. “We should be in bed?”
Oops.
I blush furiously. I’m sitting across the table from Maxime at an old-school breakfast café in Boulder, and I’m lucky enough to have a breakfast date with this sexy Belgian man.
“Snuggling with you in a warm bed with an electric blanket would be nice,” I admit.
Okay, that’s the blurred-reality version.
The real version is much more X-rated and would include me snuggled up against his bare chest, running my fingertips down the trail of hair that leads to the waistband of his boxer-briefs. That’s what I’d really like to do, but I’ll keep those details to myself.
“Electric blanket? I’d sweat to death. Though I am used to having dogs all over the bed.”
“Would there even be room for me?” I flirt back.
Maxime’s eyes dance at me. “We can find out when I get back from my road trip.”
Ooh!
Our server appears and places two menus in front of us. I order a cup of coffee, Maxime requests a cup of tea, and she leaves to let us study the menus.
Despite plowing through all that sushi last night, I’m ravenous.
“So, no coffee for you?” I ask, knowing the exact reason why.
“If I wanted water, I’d ask for a cup of coffee.”
He flashes me that cute smile, and my heart melts in response.
I begin studying my options. “Pancakes sound good. I think I’ll have those.”
“American pancakes are crazy,” Maxime says, shaking his head. “They are the size of my SUV tires.”
I shoot him a quizzical look. “You act like this is a problem.”
Maxime grins. “You’re cute.”
I feel warmth in my cheeks. “Thank you. I think you’re kind of cute, too. So much so, I’ll share my huge pancakes with you.”
“Ugh, no, you can keep your huge pancakes. They sit in my stomach like rocks.”
The server returns and places a steaming cup of coffee in front of me, which I use to warm my hands, and we place our orders. After ordering pancakes, I listen as Maxime goes through his order.
“I’d like three eggs, scrambled. Wheat toast, no butter. One bowl of oatmeal. A side of fruit,” he says, pausing as he continues to read the menu. “Turkey bacon. Oh, and a side of potatoes.”
“I think the only thing you didn’t order is pancakes,” I tease.
The server laughs and leaves to place our orders. As I watch her walk away, I notice some people a few tables over recording us with their cell phones.
My stomach drops out. I reach up for the end of my braid, a sick feeling washing over me.
I turn toward Maxime, who is studying me with a concerned look on his face.
“What’s wrong?”
“How do you know I’m upset?”
“You play with your hair when you are upset.”
“Maxime, you know me better than people who have known me for years. How is that possible?”
“I can’t explain it, but I do.”
He reaches for my hand across the table, but knowing we’re being filmed, I move it away.
“Skye, you haven’t changed your mind, have you?” he asks, anxiety rising in his voice.
“Oh, no, no,” I say, shaking my head firmly. I lean closer. “There are people filming us a few tables over. I’m sorry, Maxime. If I could change this, I would.”
“How do you know they aren’t filming me?”
I laugh. “Fair point. You’re a hockey star and incredibly sexy. I’d film you, too.”
A pink tint sweeps across his chiseled cheekbones, and my heart dances the second I see it.
“You blush,” I say in delight.
“I do not,” Maxime insists, ripping open his tea bag and dunking it into his mug.
“Oh, yes, you do! And if we weren’t being filmed, I’d caress those blushing cheekbones.”
Maxime’s expression turns to one of seriousness. “Touch me.”
“What?”
“I don’t care if we’re being filmed.”
“But, Maxime, when people take pictures of you in public, it’s different. They end up on Twitter or Tumblr, Instagram or Connectivity, and that’s it,” I say softly. “With me, you could end up on a tabloid in a supermarket or on TV in a reality show update. On Is it Love? blogs. Why do we want to give that to them? We’ve only had three dates. You don’t want that onslaught now, Maxime.”
To my surprise, Maxime reaches across the table and places his hand on the side of my face, caressing it gently.
“I don’t care. I want to see you. I want to touch you. I will handle whatever onslaught comes my way. Oh, and as far as grocery store tabloids go, I get home delivery. Problem solved.”
I reach for his hand and wrap mine over it, placing it on the table between us and squeezing it firmly.
“I don’t know how I ended up in that coffee house in Brussels this past summer,” I say, “but I’m grateful I did. That doing a food magazine shoot led to me JoJo, and JoJo led me back to you. So many coincidences.”
“We were meant to meet, Skye. I believe that.”
“I believe that, too.”
Maxime draws my hand to his lips and kisses it. “Let the tabloids run with this, instead of saying you are pining for Wanker Tom with a bag of donuts.”
I giggle, and he smiles warmly at me.
“I know this sounds crazy, since we’re still getting to know each other, but I’m going to miss you when you are on the road, Maxime.”
Maxime sighs heavily. “Normally, our trips aren’t eleven days long. This one is bad timing. I’m going to miss you like crazy, too.”
“We’ll have Connectivity video dates,” I assure him. “No matter what the time is.”
Maxime’s phone buzzes on the table.
“Damn, I forgot to turn it off,” he says, reaching for it. He picks it up and furrows his brow. “Gavin’s calling me. He always texts me.”
“Take it,” I encourage. “It might be important.”
“I won’t be long,” Maxime says before answering. “Hello?”
I start going through my phone as Maxime talks to Gavin, but I notice Maxime isn’t saying much.
“What?” Maxime gasps.
I glance up. Maxime has a look of disbelief on his face. His brow is furrowed, and he’s listening intently.
I know something is very wrong.
“Shit, Gavin. Are you going to the police?” he asks.
I freeze. I wonder if a player is in trouble.
Maxime is silent for another long period.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. “We’ll talk about it on the way to Montreal. Want me to pick you up? … Okay … Right …”
Shortly afterward, Maxime disconnects and exhales loudly. “Christ.”
“Something is wrong,” I say. “Can you tell me?”
Maxime rakes his hands through his hair. “You can’t tell anyone.”
“No, I won’t,” I reassure him. “I want you to know whatever you tell me, no matter the topic, will stay between us.”
He leans across the table and lowers his voice.
“Gavin’s accountant called him with suspicions about Veronica,” Maxime says very quietly. “At first, Gavin blew it off and made it clear to the accountant that she had complete access to his credit cards, etc. Gavin told me he was pissed because the accountant had asked him about it several times during the past year. Finally, the accountant asked if he had approved various accounts in his name. He insisted Gavin listen and began reading them off. Gavin didn’t know any of them existed.”
My hand flies to my mouth in horror. “She … she was opening accounts in his name behind his back?” I ask, shocked.
“Veronica opened multiple accounts in the past year, and they are all maxed out. Everything from gas to expensive department store credit cards. All maxed. Gavin hired a private investigator and insisted it was urgent. Apparently, in addition to the credit cards, she’s been moving Gavin’s money into a private bank account. She’s stolen thousands and racked up almost a hundred thousand dollars in debt in his name.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper, feeling beyond awful for Gavin.
“Everything was a lie,” Maxime continues. “I don’t know if he’ll ever recover from it. He’s broken, Skye. You should have heard him on the phone. He threw her out last night.”
My heart breaks for Gavin. If I was scarred by my judgment of Tom, I can’t imagine how Gavin will ever trust another woman again after being deceived by Veronica.
“I feel awful for him,” I say, shaking my head.
“I do, too. I’ll try to get him to talk on the plane this afternoon. I think he will need me to listen more than anything. Nobody else knows.”
“He trusts you,” I say.
As do I.
A feeling of gratitude surges through me. I’m so grateful you wouldn’t let me end us, I think. I’m grateful you are willing to take on the spotlight that comes with me.
With Maxime, I’ve found the man I want to take chances with. To trust that my gut is right. I believe him when he says he can handle my life and the crap that comes with it, like I will with his.
My heart has been given new life. I’m ready to trust him.
Just like my experience with chocolate sprinkles and butter and bread, I was skeptical, but I trusted it would be good and went all in.
It was amazing.
And I hope this beginning with Maxime will turn out the same way.