Chapter Eleven
Sunlight streamed through his window, pulling Max out of a deep sleep. As he gradually awoke, a feeling of total wrongness settled in his gut. Something was off. With a start, he jerked up to sitting in his bed. A glance at the clock confirmed it.
Not only had he slept through the night—he never did that—but he was way off his morning schedule. He should be showered, dressed, and have finished his first cup of coffee by now. Sure, today was Sunday, but he didn’t change his schedule on weekends.
He didn’t change it. Ever.
The bed was empty, thank God. He managed to keep at least one rule intact, although he had no recollection of Gina leaving. The dart of emptiness was an aberration that he’d ignore. He needed to get back on schedule.
As Max hurried to make his bed before jumping in the shower, he scoured his memory of the night before. He’d snuck T-Bone outside to pee, left the little dog curled up on his bed in Gina’s apartment bathroom, figuring he’d bring Gina back soon enough, and returned to find her asleep. Not wanting to disturb her immediately—she’d been so damn beautiful, her dark hair spread out over his pillow, long lashes feathered against her cheeks—he lay down beside her, intending to give her thirty minutes before sending her home.
But he didn’t remember anything after that. He must’ve fallen asleep, and guessed she’d woken up and left on her own. No drama. No messy morning. No trying to not hurt her feelings, since he still needed her to act out the girlfriend charade.
Dammit. What the fuck had he been thinking, taking her to bed? He’d been thinking with his dick, that was the problem.
Yeah, right. Gina’s more than just a good lay. She’s…more, a small voice interjected.
He shoved that crazy thought aside as he rushed through his shower, then hastily pulled on a pair of pants and a blue button-down shirt. He hated this feeling—that his entire day was going to be off because of the late start. He hated the tension that coiled inside him at the thought. He liked his day structured. Anything that interfered with that was wrong on so many levels.
So get back on schedule, Carter.
Right. Coffee. He paused mid-way through tucking in his shirt. Damn. He hadn’t ground the beans and set his machine last night. With a muttered expletive, he grabbed a belt and rushed out of his room while threading it through the loops of his pants, only to skid to a halt.
Gina stood in his kitchen, wearing nothing but his dress shirt from last night. He didn’t give a damn that the morning-after look was cliché. She was nothing short of incredible—gut-clenching gorgeous—with her dark hair loose, and those long, bare legs, her honey skin a contrast against his white shirt. Was she wearing underwear? He had to bite back a burning desire to find out.
She hummed an unrecognizable tune as she worked over the stove. T-Bone sat at her feet, hoping for scraps of whatever she was cooking. And…what was that smell? Max’s mouth watered at the scents—buttery and sweet—that filled his kitchen.
Despite the alarm that coiled in his chest at finding her still in his apartment, so domestically situated no less, he moved forward, intrigued. And…happy?
What the fuck? But sure enough, anticipation thrummed through him. Not for sex, although that wasn’t far from his mind—or his dick’s, for that matter—given her outfit, but just to spend time with her.
Gina checked on T-Bone, who wagged his funny tail, then she caught sight of Max as he moved closer. A smile—warm and welcoming—greeted him, drawing him to her. He could get addicted to her ready smiles.
“Hi there, sleepyhead,” she said. “I didn’t take you for a late riser.”
Max glanced pointedly at his watch. “It’s only eight.” He refused to acknowledge that up until two minutes ago, he’d been stressing about that very thing.
“Good point.”
She stared at him expectantly for a long minute. Given that Max couldn’t even discern his own feelings as to the situation, he had no idea how to play it. He didn’t do mornings with women. What was he supposed to do? Ask how she was walking this morning?
Before he could say anything, she turned back to the stove. “I hope you don’t mind. I was going to try this recipe this morning anyway, and figured you had to eat, too.”
She peeked at him from beneath her fall of hair, as if checking his reaction, and Max stepped closer, sniffing appreciatively. “French toast?”
Her shoulders dropped a tad, and he realized she hadn’t been sure of her reception. Honestly, he still wasn’t sure how he felt. He should hustle her out of here with a “thanks, but no thanks,” but he just couldn’t bring himself to do that.
“Strawberry and mascarpone–stuffed French toast with coconut syrup.”
Max’s eyebrows shot up. “You cook like this often?”
A quick glance revealed a bowl of freshly cut strawberries. All the other bowls and dishes were piled in the sink, still dirty. Tension, and not the good kind, kinked up in his shoulders.
He tried to ignore it.
She shrugged. “One of my stepdads—”
“Let me guess. Chef?”
She winked, and he chuckled.
“I used to be his helper in the kitchen and learned to love cooking.” She flipped the thick pieces of bread over, revealing the bottoms to be perfectly browned—the bread marbled and buttery.
Trying for casual, he popped a strawberry into his mouth, enjoying the sweet tartness. It reminded him of the scent of Gina’s shampoo and how he’d buried his face in her neck last night.
“There’s fresh coffee in the pot,” she mentioned with a nod.
Grateful to return to any semblance of how his day should be, as well as for something to occupy his hands before he grabbed Gina and dragged her back to his bedroom to continue their activities from last night, Max poured himself a cup. Leaning a hip against the counter, he watched her work, appreciating how naturally she moved.
“I don’t see a recipe,” he said.
“I don’t work off one.”
No recipes? “What if it doesn’t taste good?”
She laughed. “After all these years, it’s rare when I combine flavors that don’t work. Even if it’s off, I can usually fix it. But I guess that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
“Do you remember what you did so you can repeat it if you like it?”
“Close enough.”
With a practiced flip, she transferred the French toast to two plates. Then she sprinkled powdered sugar over both, added more fresh strawberries on top, along with a sprig of mint, every move as sensual as the woman herself.
Handing him a plate, she led the way to his dining room, where she’d already set the table with silverware, a small carafe of what he assumed was the syrup, and a pitcher of orange juice.
For the first time, probably in his life, he forced himself to chuck his routine out the window and follow her lead. They both took a seat. Max couldn’t help but note the way his shirt parted over her thighs. That might be worth dealing with the wrongness of the entire scenario, but she scooted into the table before he could answer his own question about the panties.
Before he could stop her, Gina poured orange juice into a too-big glass. His hands itched to fix it and transfer it to a smaller, juice glass. He didn’t think he’d made a sound or any other indicator of his twitchiness, but she paused and sent him a sweet but knowing smile.
Busted. Rather than make a fuss, Max gritted his teeth, sucked it up, and accepted the drink.
“I know you usually drink your coffee black, but I think you’d enjoy it better with this meal if you try something…different. You game?”
Max glanced from his cup to Gina’s hopeful expression. “What?”
“It’s a secret sweetener. My stepdad worked with a Vietnamese man who showed him this. Your Kenyan coffee will pair well with the strawberries, but I promise it’ll be even better with this.”
“I think I’ll pass.” She’d already hijacked his apartment, with her decorations and messy cooking, even if she’d meant well. His coffee was sacred.
Her lips pinched in what? Irritation? Disappointment? But then she twitched her shoulders in a shrug. “Your loss.”
Now he felt like an ass, but too late to take it back. He cut a piece of the French toast and popped it into his mouth. Max had to hold back a groan of pleasure. As soon as he’d chewed and swallowed, he looked at her. “This might be the best breakfast I’ve ever had.”
“Thanks. It’s better with the sweetened coffee.” She held up her cup with a grin.
“Yeah…I’m not convinced.”
“You can’t always be right.”
Max was torn between irritation and still feeling like an ass about the whole thing, wishing she’d let it go. He tried to charm his way out of it. “I thought I was wrong once…”
She raised her eyebrows.
“But I was mistaken.”
He winked.
She laughed and shook her head. “Arrogant ass.” Only there was no censure in her tone.
The woman was adorable. As well as disruptive, disarming, and damn inconvenient.
…
Gina watched, pleasure warm in her chest, as Max dug into her breakfast. She ignored the small twinge of concern that she couldn’t quite read his mood. When he’d rushed out of his room this morning, she’d been prepared for him to kick her out. The guy was fanatical about his ordered life, and she had no doubts having her as an unexpected guest did not qualify as ordered.
But when she’d woken before the sun had risen, she’d been reluctant to leave him. Last night had been…
Gina shoved a forkful of stuffed French toast in her mouth to keep herself from grinning like a fool. Last night had been incredible. The way they came together, enjoyed one another, fit together… That didn’t happen every day. She’d had her fair share of boyfriends, none serious, but she still recognized special when it came her way. Besides, she’d watched her mother’s relationships enough to know the difference between chasing rainbows and taking a risk for something with the potential to be out-of-this-world wonderful.
The possibilities she saw in Max, with Max, were worth taking a risk. So she’d snuck down the hall, grabbed T-Bone, and brought her ingredients back with her. She didn’t plan to overstay her welcome, though. Besides, she had to get to work soon. A Christmas elf’s job was never done—whether bringing children happiness, or maybe, and that maybe was an elusive thing, brightening the day of a man who was quickly becoming something to her.
Was she a fool to even think a real relationship possible?
Given the jokes and the shocked expressions of his colleagues last night, probably not. Max had told her as much himself.
Yup. She was certifiable, but one thing her mother had taught her was to go through life with a hopeful heart. In her experience thus far, she lived a happier life than most people who lived only with reality, or worse, constant worry. Besides, Cassie’s advice to give him a chance had stuck with Gina all last night and into the morning.
So, she’d frame her certification of madness and hang it on her wall, but she wasn’t giving up on the possibility that was one Maxwell Carter.
Max absently dropped his hand to pet T-Bone, who was sitting quietly between them, and she hid her amusement behind her napkin as she wiped her mouth.
“I’d better clean up,” she said as she stood.
For the first time since she took the elf job, reluctance weighed down her movements. Usually, being an elf was the best part of her day—the joy of watching all those children light up for Santa couldn’t be beat—but she didn’t want to break the harmony that had fallen between them.
“Want me to take T-Bone out?” he asked.
Gina paused with both their plates in her hand to stare at Max. “I don’t want you risking your apartment. I’m already risking Sabrina’s.”
“It’s no problem. I took him out last night.”
Gina blinked, searching her memory, but all she remembered was falling asleep in Max’s arms. “Thank you.”
He shrugged. Was that a… Was he blushing? “As much as I appreciate it, I have to get going anyway. I need to get ready for work.”
He frowned. “You’re working today?”
“Work called this morning. They’re short an elf, and Santa’s Elves are in their busy season, as you know.” She carried the dishes to the kitchen.
“What? No Elf Union to help with that kind of thing?”
Yeah, no way would Max be able to handle the schedule changes. She could practically hear the pity, or maybe horror, dripping from his voice. “I work jobs like this all the time, Max. I’m used to it.”
He followed, toting several other items, and started washing up.
She glanced regretfully at the dishes piled high. “Oh, but I should—”
He held up a hand. “The chef isn’t supposed to clean up. At least, that’s how I was raised.”
Was this just his way of making sure things were cleaned to his standards? She teased him about it, but just because her life was a tad messier than his didn’t mean she didn’t know how to clean a dish.
He tilted his head. “Come to think of it, my brothers and sisters and I did the dishes every night. I didn’t think of that until now. Mom sure was a sneaky woman.” He shook his head. “You go on to work. I’ll keep an eye on T-Bone while you’re gone?”
Gina shook her head. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking, I’m offering.”
“I don’t how many times I have to tell you—I won’t risk your apartment lease. It’s hard to find decent places to stay in this city, and T-Bone is temporary, and my problem.”
He turned to her, leaning a hip against the sink. “Given that I’m covering for you, he’s both our problem.”
Gina opened her mouth to protest again, but Max held out a hand. “Give me your key and I’ll leave it at the front desk if I have to go out.”
Gina nibbled at her lips, still uncertain.
“Get going, Elf.”
Seeing in his expression how useless arguing would be, Gina searched out where she’d dropped her purse on the floor last night and fished out her keys. Luckily, she had two copies, so she pulled the extra key off and placed it in his outstretched palm.
“Just one more thing…” he murmured.
“What?”
Max tugged her into his arms, slanting his mouth across hers in a deep, drugging kiss. She was so focused on his lips and what they did to her insides, she almost didn’t notice his wandering hand until it snuck up under her shirt to cup her bottom.
Max grinned against her kiss. “Panties.”
Gina had to drag her brain back into the game. “Huh?”
“I just had to know.”
She blushed. “Oh.”
After one last hard kiss, he turned her to the bedroom. “Now get dressed and get going.”
“You’re a secret softie. You know that, don’t you?” she tossed over her shoulder.
“Yeah. I have a marshmallow center.” His dry tone refuted the words.
“Don’t worry,” she called from his room. “I’ll keep your secret. Any requests from Santa?”
“My sanity back,” she thought she heard Max mutter from the other room.
But she was too far away at that point to be positive. “What?” she called.
“I think I’m too old for Santa,” he called back.
With more haste than grace, she changed into her dress, before need could overrule common sense and she did something dumb like called in sick for the day.
“You’re never too old for Santa,” she claimed as she walked to the front door. Then she waved before forcing her legs to move, walking away, a black thought hovering in her mind.
This couldn’t last—the easy camaraderie that had fallen between them, stoked by a constant sexual undertone that had her body humming. She didn’t know how long Max kept other girlfriends around. Not long, she’d bet. So, when was her expiration date up?
For the first time since this started, Christmas Day was suddenly coming way too soon.