Dallas Fire & Rescue: Smoke & Pearls (Kindle Worlds Novella) by Marianne Rice (1)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Smoke & Pearls

By Marianne Rice

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dedication

To the greatest PLC on earth. Chris, Tom and Jana, thank you for helping Smoke & Pearls get its start. I can’t wait to see where Wilton Hills takes us.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

Max

After working a twenty-four hour shift, followed by four hours of sleep, and a long day of playing princesses at his niece’s birthday party, the last thing Max Harmon needed was another accident. And another dead body. 

When he slowed to turn left, the light was as green as the limes he liked to put in his Coronas. From the corner of his right eye, he saw the black beast of a car a fraction of a second before it struck him.

He would have been tossed around the interior of his truck if he wasn’t six feet tall, two hundred pounds, and his seatbelt hadn’t been there to stop him.

“What the hell?” he growled when the airbags began to slowly deflate. After a quick assessment of his neck and limbs, deeming himself whole, he punched the airbags out of his way. His body ached but he didn’t have any issues climbing out of his cab. Once his feet were solidly on the ground, he rushed to see if the driver in the other vehicle was hurt.

The Chevy Malibu was a classic—had been a classic. Not a little death trap. But the front end took a beating against Max’s heavy-duty Ford F-250. With no skid marks and most likely no airbags, he had that awful churning in his gut that told him it wasn’t going to end well.

His military training as well as his job as part of the rescue squad at Dallas Fire and Rescue had him assessing the exterior damage.  Thankfully he didn’t smell any fuel leaks. Max made his way to the driver’s door and tapped on the window.

“You okay?” Max crouched, peering in at the driver, who slumped in his seat. Other than a purple goose egg under his white hair, there were no obvious injuries, and no objects obstructing him. No other passengers in the vehicle.

Max opened the door. It creaked, whether because of the age of the car or a side effect of the accident, he wasn’t sure.

“Sir? Can you tell me your name?”

Still, the man didn’t budge. Max felt for a pulse on his neck and then his limp, wrinkled wrist. Nothing. Max swore.

Max’s EMT training and gut instinct told him the guy probably wasn’t even conscious when he collided with his truck. Small mercies.

Grabbing his cell from his jeans pocket, Max dialed 911.

“Hey, Jana, it’s Max Harmon.” The firefighting and EMT network in Dallas was huge, but Max knew quite a few of them. He’d been around for over a decade, and had worked nearly every shift in every capacity, wanting to experience every angle and avenue before settling on being part of the Rescue Squad. “I’m at Miller and Westcott. Got a code blue. Looks like a heart attack right before he plowed his beauty of a car into me.”

“Another DOA?”

Max heard typing and the usual noise and chatter in the background behind Jana’s sympathetic voice. She’d been on dispatch when he called in the last one as well.

“’Fraid so.” He waved the passing cars by, not needing or wanting them to stop. Seeing a dead body, even if it wasn’t bloody or gory, was something you didn’t get over easily.

“Anyone else hurt?”

“No. It was just the victim and me.”

“You’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” Max shielded the man to prevent any onlookers from identifying the victim. It wouldn’t go over so well if the gossip mill got to the victim’s family before a trained professional contacted them.

“Do you know his name?”

“I didn’t want to move the body. Figured I’d call first. I’ll check the glove box.” Max continued to wave traffic on as he made his way to the passenger side of the vehicle. “Ah, shit,” he moaned when he found the door locked.

“Are you okay, Max? I’m sending the crew your way. They should be there any minute.”

“No need to send the whole army. A tow truck and an ambulance will do. Passenger door is locked. Why don’t you run the plates? See if you can pick up a name.” As he read off the plate number, he heard the familiar sound of sirens in the distance.

Jana paused before letting out a humorless laugh. “You’re not going to believe this, Max.”

“What now?” He scrubbed his free hand across his face, wishing he had a mug of coffee, preferably in an IV drip.

“The owner of the fancy old car? It’s Thomas Mitchell.”

“As in—?”

“Yup. The one and only.”

“Shit.”

He didn’t need to call his captain to let him know he was involved in what was sure to be a front-page accident. The whole freaking station would hear. Hell, the whole city of Dallas.

 

***

Sydney

 

Sydney Mitchell wiped her eyes for the thousandth time and pushed her hangers around, searching through her black dresses. She had dozens of them, but none seemed appropriate for her grandfather’s funeral.  They all screamed power hungry lawyer, or charity ball, or cocktails with my mother. She plopped down in the chintz chaise lounge in the center of her walk-in closet and sighed. It had been four days since she and her family were told her grandfather died in a car accident, and Sydney had yet to accept the fact he was gone.

Grandpop was her favorite. Her only grandparent, but even if her mother’s parents had been alive, or her father’s mother, Thomas Mitchell would still be her favorite. He had a genuine smile and a laugh which filled every space, be it a crowded restaurant, his gigantic living room, or his beloved rose garden.

He may have been the most feared and respected business tycoon in Dallas, but he would always be Sydney’s most favorite person in the world. He’d taught her how to drive in his prized car, the one she was determined to restore back to its original condition.

She didn’t have the strength to see the wrecked vehicle. To picture him dead behind the wheel of the crumpled car. She’d rather hold on to the memories of them singing along to the eight-tracks he played while they drove down U.S. Route 67.

Classic cars weren’t her fortè, but Thomas Mitchell taught Sydney newer wasn’t always better. He bought failing companies, resurrecting them from the dead, making them bigger and better than the CEOs and presidents could imagine.

Too bad he couldn’t do the same for himself.

Dabbing away her tears, Sydney stood on wobbly feet and opted for her navy Donna Karan dress, knowing Grandpop would smile from heaven at her decision not to wear black. She toyed with the pearls around her neck, a college graduation gift from him, and reached for her Jimmy Choo navy pumps, sliding into them. Her two closets were ostentatious to say the least. A gift from her grandfather.

He’d insisted that she let him do this one thing for her when she refused the condo and announced her desire to buy an old home and restore it—much like he liked to do with cars. He’d contacted her contractor and gave him instructions to build a suite of closets. And that, they did.

Earning her reputation as a respected lawyer was important to her, but her guilty pleasure lay in her closets. Growing up wealthy and accustomed to the finest clothing, shoes, and jewelry, Sydney couldn’t help her many materialistic vices.

Sydney hadn’t wanted to ride on her family’s coattails through life, and hoped to earn a reputation as a hardworking lawyer on her own. One who earned her degree the old- fashioned way. Yet, despite her long hours studying, and her 4.0 GPA average at Baylor, there were still those who rolled their eyes at her, thinking she didn’t deserve her position at Schaeffer & Wescott.

Unfortunately, there was probably some truth to the rumors. Only four months out of law school and she’d landed a job there. She hadn’t told Grandpop or her parents about her applications, wanting to earn a job on her own merit, yet it was hard to escape the notoriety of Thomas Mitchell.

Her parents were hardworking as well; her father ran one of the top research-and-marketing companies in Texas, and Lydia ran one of the most lucrative foundations in the area.

They’d all denied any involvement in landing her the job and celebrated by offering to buy her a condo. It was how the Mitchells rolled. She loved her family dearly, but for once Sydney wanted to prove that she was more than just a Mitchell.

She left the comfort of her closets, a reminder of her grandfather, and went into her kitchen, looking for something of sustenance to help her get through the next few hours.

While her closets reminded her of her grandfather’s gentle domineering power, the kitchen was the one place that was truly Sydney. Warm, welcoming, and while it showcased the finest, top-end appliances, there was also a bit of old world charm. The cabinets were painted and sanded down to look old and rustic, and a toddler could bathe in the gigantic white porcelain sink. The country-style kitchen seemed out of place compared to the typical sleek and modern décor in her parents’ household, and even to Sydney’s closets.

Eating was the last thing on her mind but she knew if she didn’t put something in her belly she’d never get through the day. Opening the door to her stainless steel fridge, Sydney pulled out the ingredients for a smoothie. She set the pile of kale, strawberries, blueberries, and plain Greek yogurt on her granite countertop and filled a blender with ice.

A few minutes later she walked out to her deck and  gazed out into the patch of woods at the end of her backyard, sipping her smoothie, thinking about the eulogy. What Grandpop would want her to focus on. The good, definitely.

At the bottom of the little slope there still sat the ideal patch for a garden. The garden she had yet to find time to start. The garden her grandfather helped her plan out on a software program one of his companies had developed. It was intricate and detailed and more than she could manage to keep up, and more than her little piece of property could handle, but she loved her grandfather so much for taking the time, and for showing so much excitement in the little things that made Sydney happy.

Despite his however-many-million-dollar mansion, and his expensive business suits and high-profile reputation, Thomas Mitchell had been a down-to-earth man. He’d raised his four boys on his own when his wife died giving birth to their youngest, and taught them all the value of hard work and of the mighty dollar.

Her uncles and aunts and cousins were as close as close could be. They beat the odds of money and power coming between them, all because of her grandfather.

Finishing her smoothie, Sydney stood, breathing in the fresh air of witch hazel and went back inside. She couldn’t avoid the media frenzy or the thousands who’d promised to show up for the funeral. As one of the grandchildren, the favorite if rumors were true—which she knew they were—there was no getting out of it.

Sydney declined her parents’ offer to pick her up or to send a car. She needed to drive herself, to be able to escape if the emotions got too much for her. Her grandfather wouldn’t want to see her slumped over in misery. He’d want her to put on her best Mitchell face, smile for the cameras, and share funny memories of their antics together.

She’d get through the funeral and then hunt down the bastard who caused her beloved grandfather’s death.

One thing was for sure. No one messed with a Mitchell.

*

Per her grandfather’s request in his will, the graveside service and burial was just for family. A military burial, the playing of taps. Amazing Grace on the bagpipes. The folding of the flag, which her father now had. A few brief words from the minister. It was quiet, sad, and somber, the family standing side by side around the grave. The only noise was the traffic in the distance and the sniffing back of tears.

When the casket had been lowered, the family drove to St. Catherine’s. It was the only church in the vicinity that could hold the expected turnout. Sydney sat quietly in the front pew while she heard the quiet words and condolences of friends, colleagues, and the curious.  She didn’t need to look behind her to see the crowd; she knew all seven hundred and fifty seats were filled.

As the youngest grandchild, Sydney was always left for last. By the time her uncles and half her cousins read their eulogies, she didn’t think she could go through with her own. Knowing Grandpop would prefer his ceremony to be short and sweet, she kept her final words, all four typed pages of them, tucked safely in her Prada handbag and stayed seated at her mother’s side.

She’d read him his eulogy at his gravesite when they could be alone.

After the minister finished the closing prayer, she followed her parents to the connected hall and put on a brave face while receiving condolences.

A middle-aged woman placed her hand on Sydney’s arm and squeezed. “Cindy, my deepest sympathies. Your grandfather was one of my closest friends. Such a dear, dear man. I’m sorry to have lost him.”

Yeah, they were so close she hadn’t a clue what his favorite granddaughter’s name was. Most likely one of the piranhas who had tried—unsuccessfully—to settle down and inherit the Mitchell millions.

“Thank you.” She didn’t bother correcting the woman. “I’m sure he’d be pleased with today’s turnout.” Actually, he was probably rolling in his grave at the monstrosity his sudden death had turned into.

When the woman left in search for someone higher up in the food chain, Sydney lurked to the side, not wanting to muster the fake smile and pretend like she recognized or even cared about the droves of the rich and elite who attended the funeral. Granted, many were there because they truly loved and cared for her grandfather, but there were enough in the crowd who came for the show. Who thought if they attended Thomas Mitchell’s funeral they too were one of the powerful leaders in Dallas.

The money- and fame-hungry side of the crowd left a bitter taste in her mouth. Needing to escape the fakeness and mourn in solitude, Sydney worked her way toward the back of the hall where the lesser-known had congregated. Finding an open space near a pillar, she leaned against it, closed her eyes, and sighed. A headache was on the brink of invading her thoughts when a soft, deep voice penetrated to her core.

“The eulogies were moving. Sad loss.”

Sydney straightened and looked into a pair of the grayest blue eyes she’d ever seen. On any other man they’d come across as muted or moody. And when he studied her they turned into a luminous, dreamy cloud of melancholy. She wanted to float away on them and forget about the heartache she’d been enduring for the past week.

And the rest of the package wasn’t too shabby either. Cropped hair styled just so, a clean-shaven jaw, and lips that were the perfect combination of full and thin, a small, sad smile emerging in one corner.

“Yes. Very sad,” she replied, trying to resume some semblance of lucidity before she started drooling on the sexy man’s shoes.

“Are you friends or family with Mr. Mitchell?” the gorgeous man asked.

Knowing her luck, he was there to schmooze and find a way to climb to the top. “Something like that. You?”

The Channing Tatum lookalike shook his head sadly. “No. I came to pay my respects to the family. I had no idea it would be like this.” He nodded toward the crowd behind them. “I suppose I can send a card or write a letter.”

Maybe he didn’t know who she was. Wouldn’t it be nice? “Yeah. Pretty soon it’s going to turn into a circus show.” Sydney rubbed her temples and sighed again.

“Do you want to go somewhere quiet? I can buy you a drink. Or a cup of coffee. Water, maybe?”

“How about a Tylenol?”

“I can arrange for that.”

Hot damn. Little dimples appeared in his cheeks while lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes. Leaving with this stranger sounded a lot better than making idle conversation with strangers, or crying with her family.

She loved her cousins, but the closest one in age was Chloe, and she was married with a toddler and a baby on the way. They used to be close like sisters until their paths changed, Chloe wrapped up in motherhood and her family—as she should be—while Sydney had invested in her education and career.

“An escape sounds great.”

The sexy man scrunched his nose and surveyed the premises. “There’s an exit this way. I don’t know where you parked or if you’d rather walk somewhere.” He looked down at her three-inch heels and cringed. “We should drive. I don’t want you twisting your ankle.”

“I’ll have you know,” she huffed, “I could run a 5K in these heels.”

Another breathtaking grin escaped his beautiful lips. “Something I’d love to see.”

“Hm.” Sydney raised an eyebrow and adjusted the strap to her purse. “I say we escape out back, but I don’t want to go anywhere around here. Where we’ll run into these people. I parked in the front lot. Can I meet you somewhere?”

“If you stand me up my ego is going to be incredibly crushed.”

Sydney laughed. “I doubt it.” She was sure the man had women lined up down and around the block.

“What direction do you live? I don’t want to make you drive out of your way.” When her eyebrow quirked again, he lifted his hands in defense. “I swear that wasn’t a cheesy line to figure out where you live.”

“Mm-hm,” she teased. The man appeared so sincere she couldn’t help but believe him. Still, she didn’t want to meet for drinks in Lakewood Park where she lived. Instead she suggested the neighboring town. “Why don’t we meet up in Highland Park?”

“How about The Lounge?” He extended his arm and she draped her hand over his bicep. Holy crap! She could tell by the cut of his suit coat that he was a big man, but the arms of steel underneath had been well hidden.

Sydney swallowed her nerves and allowed him to lead her out the back door. Before they made their way around the church—which took up an entire city block—she realized she’d never asked his name.

“Just in case you get there before me,” she started, “I should probably know what name to give to the hostess.”

“Wow. I’m sorry.” He rubbed his big, strong hand across his face and tucked his chin to his chest. “Today was pretty taxing on me but that’s no excuse to lose my manners. I’m—”

“No. Wait.” She placed her hand on his chest—which was just as hard, if not harder than his bicep—and stopped him. “Today was…is hard for me, too. Let’s forgo the names for now.” She didn’t want him to recognize her name, to treat her differently because she was a Mitchell. “We’ll see how things go with drinks.”

“And dinner?”

Sydney laughed. “Sure. And dinner. And then we’ll take it from there.”

“You sure you’re not going to stand me up? Make fun of me with your girlfriends tonight about the guy you left hanging all night long at The Lounge?”

“Has this happened to you before?” she flirted, toying with the pearls around her neck.

“Can’t say it has, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“I suppose next you’re going to ask for my number.”

“That would be a wise move.” He smirked, his dimple becoming more pronounced, and she was putty in his hands.

She rattled off her number and he clumsily searched his pockets for his phone, making her smile at his goofiness.

“Wait. Wait!” He juggled the phone in his hands and entered his passcode three times before unlocking the home screen. “One more time and not so fast.”

Sydney repeated her number, hiding her amusement, and rummaged through her bag for her keys. “I’m parked over there.” She pointed with her key fob. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

Like a gentleman, he followed her to her car and waited until she was buckled and driving off before jogging back toward where they came from. She felt bad. He’d probably parked down the street, unable to find a spot close to the church.

She drove slowly to Highland Park thankful for the distraction of an interesting man. For the first time in four days she had smiled, even laughed.

Maneuvering through traffic, she found a spot near the entrance and contemplated waiting in the lot for the stranger. The need to pee, and for a glass of water to wash down her Tylenol, overrode her manners. She went inside the restaurant and requested a quiet table outside.

Once situated, she took out her phone and noticed a text from an unidentified number.

Stuck in funeral traffic. Be there in a few. Don’t leave!

Sydney didn’t want him to drive carelessly and sent him a text in reply.

If you text and drive I WILL leave. I’ll be here. Drive safe.

After losing her grandfather in an accident, the last thing she needed on this day was to lose someone else. Not that the man with the steel blue eyes meant anything to her.

He was nothing more than a swarm of butterflies and a case of the sweats.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWO

 

 

Max

Max jogged to his truck and pulled out of his spot, not moving very far or very fast with the influx of traffic. He rolled down his window and let the dry heat roll over his body as his mind drifted to the stunning brunette he met at the Mitchell funeral.

Not only did the woman with the long, lean legs and sexy mouth scream wealthy high society with her white Mercedes, but everything from her clothes to her hair to the tips of her shoes was impeccable. Nothing out of place or smudged. Unlike Max, with the suit coat he got at the mall a ton of years ago when his sister and buddies started marrying off.

He thought people were waiting until later on in life to get married these days. He was only thirty-five and already felt like an old man. Meanwhile Craig and Greg had two kids each, and a Disney vacation every spring.

His buddies razzed him at times about being the proverbial bachelor and the irony of it all was that Max had wanted to settle down. To do the wife and kids thing. Even back in high school he’d always had a long-term relationship. He wasn’t into dating just to date. When he found a girl he liked, he did his best to be a good boyfriend.

With his sporadic schedule, working twenty-four hours on and twenty-four hours off, it wasn’t like he could commit too much time to anything. Especially a woman.

Max sent a quick text to the beautiful woman while he sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic. She intrigued him. He had watched her for a few minutes making idle conversation with some of the stuffed suits who came up to her. She seemed aloof, and like she was looking for an escape route.

When she snuck off to the quiet area in the back, part of him felt guilty for intruding on her personal space. But the other part was dying to meet her. To see if her eyes were as dark as they’d looked from across the room. If her skin was as soft, her lips as full.

The up-close version of her was even better than the distant one.

Finally, traffic began to move and he did his best to stay only five above the speed limit. Not finding any close spots to park his full-sized truck, Max circled the block and parked in an empty bank parking lot. He loosened his tie and shucked his suit coat before getting out of his vehicle.

Doing all he could to not break out in a run, Max walked with a steady gait to The Lounge. He didn’t know who to ask for, so he strolled through the restaurant until he saw her sitting by herself, sipping a water with lemon under an umbrella out on the back deck.

“Is this seat taken?”

The woman looked up and gave him a sparkling smile that nearly cost him his heart. “I’ve been saving it for you.”

“Well, that’s the nicest thing I’ve heard…ever.”

“I’m sure.” She rolled her eyes with a smile and gestured for him to sit across from her. Part of him really wanted to know her name; the other part didn’t care one bit, only wanted to taste her. Smell her. Devour her.

Down, boy. “Are you hungry?” He hoped she was as starved as he was.

“I could eat.”

A waitress appeared with two menus. “Can I get you a drink? A beer?” She directed her attention to Max. “Or a martini?” she asked the beautiful stranger across from him.

“I’d love a Shock Top with an orange, please.”

Max nearly sprung out of his shorts in lust. The fine, sophisticated, elegant woman sitting across from him drank beer. Be still his heart. “I’ll have a Guinness. Thank you.”

“Any appetizers?”

Max questioned Miss Fine-and-Sophisticated with his eyes.

She picked up the menu, scanning it quickly. “Tequila lime wings and a plate of potato wedge nachos, please.”

“Oh,” Max moaned as soon as the waitress left. “I’m going to have to marry you. That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

She laughed and stirred her water with her straw. “Ordering from a menu?”

“No.” He whistled and shook his head. “I never expected someone as gorgeous and put together as yourself to order beer and wings. It’s every guy’s fantasy.”

“I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted.”

“Flattered. One hundred percent flattered.”

“Okay then.” The mischievous glint in her eyes told him she was fine with his compliment.

They talked over beer and appetizers. Laughed and fought over their shared brownie sundae. All this after they agreed not to talk about names or work or family.

“You took all the fudge,” she complained when he shoved a spoonful of dessert in his mouth.

“I deserved that last bite. You ate most of it before I got a chance.” Max pouted.

“Did not.”

“And I let you have the cherry.”

“Fine. Next time you can have the cherry but I get more fudge.”

The woman scraped her tongue across her teeth, and he knew it would be a while before he could stand without scaring the patrons of the restaurant.

“I’m all in favor of a next time.”

She checked her phone for the first time in the two hours they’d been sitting at the table. He’d ignored his as well and wasn’t about to take it out now, knowing it would be filled with messages and texts from his sister and from work.

“I suppose I should get back,” she said. “My family has been trying to get ahold of me.”

“I’m sorry to have kept you.”

“No, don’t apologize. This is exactly what Gran—” she touched the pearls around her neck and averted her eyes for a brief moment. “This is what I needed today. So thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Max stood, hoping his desire for her wasn’t too evident, and dropped some cash on the table. She let him take her hand in his as they walked through the restaurant and out the front door. “Where did you park?”

She pointed to her fancy white car, which stood out like a swan among the ducks. When they reached it she turned and placed her hands on his forearms.

“I had a lovely time. Thank you.”

Max stared into her eyes, dark like hot fudge, which reminded him too much of the dessert they shared, and licked his lips. He leaned in slowly, giving her time to back away or put a stop to his kiss. But she didn’t.

Lowering his mouth to hers, Max sipped on her lips, tracing them with his tongue before kissing her more firmly. An explosion of light burst behind his eyes. It wasn’t only her taste; it was the softness, the gentleness that he felt under his hands, within her body as he drank from her.

When she lifted her arms to his shoulders and wrapped them around him, he nearly exploded. Pulling her body firmly against him, he molded her small frame flush with his and cupped the back of her neck, letting his fingers work through her hair.

Their tongues and lips played while their bodies squirmed and fidgeted, trying to get closer than the barrier of their clothes would allow. Remembering they were in a public place, Max released her lips and leaned his forehead against hers.

“Wow.” He didn’t mean to take the kiss so far and he sure hadn’t expected her to be so receptive.

“Mm,” she responded.

“I can’t imagine what it’ll be like when I actually know your name.”

The woman tensed beneath his touch and pulled back.

“I really should go.”

Dropping his hands, Max stepped back and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Are we still on for dinner sometime?”

She did the lip-licking thing again. This time they were wet and swollen from his kisses.  She adverted her eyes and nodded before getting in her car and driving away.

 

***

Sydney

 

“Where have you been? You missed the entire reception. Senator Harkins’s son was asking about you. Trevor, is it?” Lydia Mitchell kept a tight ship, between her charity work and running the Mitchell household, and wasn’t accustomed to people ignoring her.

Especially her daughter. Not that Lydia was high maintenance or obnoxiously demanding; she liked organization and structure and raised Sydney to appreciate and expect the same.

“Sorry, Mom. I had a migraine and needed some fresh air.”

“You texted me that excuse three hours ago.” Lydia placed the last of the flower arrangements on a table for the funeral director. The expensive bouquets and plants would go to nursing homes and hospitals, while the flowers obviously meant for a funeral would be placed at the headstones of children buried in the cemetery across the street.

“It was true.” Sydney caressed a white rose between her fingers and inhaled the sweet, rich scent.

Even though her mother had enough money to hire people to take care of the funeral and reception, she had insisted on being part of the team. Not only to oversee what was going on, but to give support and encourage the hired help.

Thomas Mitchell raised his sons to never forget their modest roots, and instilled the same down-home respect and humility in his daughters-in-law as well. From the outside the Mitchell empire looked like a family of the rich and snobby. But those who knew the family laughed at the notion of a Mitchell ever raising their nose at someone less fortunate.

“I don’t doubt it.” Her mother took her by the hands and stroked her hair like she used to do when Sydney was a child. “I’m worried about you, sweetie. You and your grandfather were very close.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Trevor is a nice man.”

Sydney laughed. “You’re not setting me up with Trevor Harkins. He’s…” There was nothing wrong with Trevor. A week ago she had contemplated accepting his invitation to dinner. His boyishly charming good looks drew her in, and his family values and position at Benney, Pete and Thompson were icing on the cake.

The perfect model citizen to marry a Mitchell. Grandpop had even name-dropped him a few times with a not-so-subtle wink, indicating his approval of his best friend’s grandson. Yet she could barely picture what Trevor looked like. Instead, a pair of steel-blue eyes and deep, loud laughter filled her thoughts.

“That’s much better,” her mother said with a quick laugh.

“Hmm?”

“That lazy smile on your face. Were you thinking about Trevor?”

“No. Grandpop,” she lied. Sydney normally told her mother everything. Their relationship had evolved more into friends, almost sisters, once she graduated from law school. They’d always been close, though never quite as close as she was with Grandpop, and there were times Sydney knew her mother’s feelings were hurt when she chose him over her mother.

“He loved you very much. It’s no secret you were the favorite.”

“It’s because I was the baby of the family.”

“You’re a very special young woman and he saw that in you the minute you were born. We all did.” Her mother kissed her cheek and picked up her pocketbook. “Everything has been taken care of on this end. Why don’t you come home with your father and me tonight? Stay in your old room? I hate to see you all alone in that house of yours.”

Instead of kicking her out as most parents did to their children, Sydney’s parents would have been happier if she decided to live with them forever. They supported her when she told them of her plan to buy a fixer upper, one with charm, instead of a new building with no character.

She could read it in her mother’s face, though. She was lonely. Jessup worked long days and kept weekends free for his family. It was one of the Mitchell family rules. You could work twenty-hour days Monday through Friday, but Saturday and Sunday were always sacred.

Sydney broke that rule when she went to law school, staying up late on weekends to study, and working internships when she could. It was the only time she saw a flicker of disappointment in her grandfather’s eyes. He warned her about getting so caught up in a career that the important things get lost in the spreadsheets, emails, and conference calls.

At thirty-two she was on her way to being the first Mitchell to screw up the family name.

“I appreciate the offer, Mom, but I’m going to soak in my tub and go to bed.”

“You’ll call us if you need us, right?”

“You’re on speed dial.”

They walked shoulder-to-shoulder out to the parking lot where her father was speaking with the priest under a willow tree.

“Hey, buttercup. Are you coming home with us tonight?”

“Not tonight, Dad. I need some time alone.”

He looked from Sydney to Lydia with a frown of concern.

“She’ll call us if she needs us, Jess.” Her mother kissed her on the cheek, and her father followed suit.

“Buttercup.”

“Dad. I’m okay. How are you?” Sydney may have been the favorite granddaughter but losing both his parents had to cut deep in her father’s heart. The Mitchell family wouldn’t be the same without Grandpop. No one could step up and fill Thomas’s shoes. Maybe Jessup. His brothers would expect him to take over as the head.

“I have your beautiful mother to dry my tears.” He drew Lydia into his side and she rested her head on his shoulder. They’d always been affectionate. When Sydney was younger it drove her mad. She was embarrassed by their public displays of affection, although they never went over the top. Hand holding, innocent touching, head on the shoulder kinds of things. Still.

“I have my pool if I get too hot, my Jacuzzi tub if I get too cold, and a bottle of merlot for anything in between.”

“That won’t help your migraine any.”

“I’m kidding, Mom.”

“We’ll walk you to your car.” Her father cupped her elbow and headed toward the spot where her car had been earlier in the day. “Syd?” He looked around the parking lot, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Where did you go this afternoon?”

The last thing she needed was the third degree. While her parents had always been very open and casual with her, her father enjoyed interrogating boys when they picked her up for dates in high school.

And when he’d visit her at Baylor, he even drilled the boys who’d stopped by her dorm, questioning their intentions.

It was embarrassing, even though her friends loved the jokes and taunts and idle threats her dad made. He knew how to lighten up the mood of a group of stressed out law students.

“I needed to get away for a while. I’m parked on the other side of the lot.”

“Call or come over if you need us.” He squeezed her long and good and planted a kiss on her head. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Daddy.”

She wasn’t as lonely as she thought she’d be. Her afternoon diversion was the cause, no doubt. Once home, Sydney slipped into her bathing suit, poured a glass of merlot and floated in the pool as a flood of memories played through her mind.

From her first Rangers baseball game with her grandfather to his teaching her how to drive a standard in the high school parking lot on a rainy Saturday afternoon, he’d been part of every big moment of her life. He’d been there by her parents’ side to take pictures of her getting ready for her senior prom, and she still laughed at how he elbowed his son out of his way so he’d be the first to pick her up and twirl her around after she graduated from high school.

And he did it again at her college graduation. Sydney laughed and kicked her feet in the warm pool water. He’d want her smiling at his memory, not wallowing in her tears.

Which then came. How could she not cry? She’d never again see the light sparkle in his eyes as he teased her about her chicken legs, or hear his loud, obnoxious laughter that was too big to come from such a small man.

At five-nine and with a slender frame, he still managed to fill a room with his presence. Not from body size or power, but with his personality. Thomas Mitchell had a heart of gold bigger and more compassionate than any soul she met. That was his legacy. Not his fortune or how many cars he had or the size of his mansion. It was his pure, honest human spirit that made everyone feel as if they were special and worth something.

It would take a long, long time for Sydney to get over the hurt, the pain of losing her grandfather. When she could focus again, the first thing she would do was look into the accident. From the little she heard, it sounded like it wasn’t her grandfather’s fault. The only witness was a detective or firefighter or some public worker who had been awake for over thirty hours. Not the most reliable witness.

Her grandfather was a pure spirit and a force for good. Whoever caused this accident had deprived the world of him. They needed to pay for that. 

And one thing you didn’t want to do was mess with a Mitchell.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER THREE

 

Max

 

Max had worked three twenty-four-hour shifts with just enough time off in between to catch some shut eye, eat a few meals, and daydream about his mystery woman. With three days off in a row, he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do than see her again.

Taking a chance she’d be willing to go out on a Tuesday night, he picked up his cell and dialed.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Max.” They hadn’t exchanged names yet but he hoped she recognized his number. “From last week. The Lounge.”

“I remember, Max.”

Yeah, he liked how his name sounded on her tongue. “I hope I’m not calling at a bad time?” He sat back in his recliner and closed his eyes, trying to picture what she was wearing at three in the afternoon. Probably a business suit if she was the corporate type.

“Not at all. I was hoping you’d call.”

“Really?” He was glad she couldn’t see the goofy grin he wore. “I’ve been working ‘round the clock or I would have called before now.”

“That’s okay. I’ve been…pretty busy myself.”

“Well then, sounds like you need someone to take you out. Show you a good time.” Max cringed. God, he hated how stupid he sounded.

She laughed, saving him from embarrassment. “I’d love that.”

“Do you have plans tonight?”

“Tonight?”

“Sorry. I know it’s last minute—”

“Tonight is perfect.”

Max leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. He hadn’t thought past the asking her out part. He wanted to bring her somewhere other than dinner. The newspaper flier on his coffee table jumped out at him. Picking it up, he scanned the ad quickly. “Feel like going to the State Fair?”

“Really?”

“Or not.”

“No, that sounds like fun. I haven’t been since I was in high school. I’ve been so busy these past years.”

“Well then, it’s a date. Can I pick you up?”

She hesitated before responding. “How about I meet you somewhere?”

“Normally I’d be offended, but since we barely know each other’s names—that’s a hint by the way—I like that you’re cautious about letting strangers know where you live. However, after the kiss we shared in the parking lot last week, I think we’re not quite strangers anymore.”

“I suppose fair is fair, Max. Why don’t we meet at Samuel Grand Park?” She described the building where she’d be. “Does five work for you?”

“You sure I’m not rushing you?”

“I’m more than ready to call it a day.”

“Five it is…”

“Sydney.”

“Sydney.” Max let her name roll off his tongue.

Since rush hour traffic would be a bitch to fight, he jumped out of his recliner when they hung up, took a shower, and threw on a pair of shorts and a clean T-shirt. He packed a cooler with water bottles and a few snacks, not knowing how long it would take them to get into the fair. He hadn’t been since he was a kid either, and all he remembered was sitting in a line of traffic for hours and hours, complaining about the long drive.

Sitting in his rental next to Sydney for hours and hours didn’t seem like it would be much torture at all.

Max brushed his teeth for the third time, then grabbed his cell, the cooler and his keys, and jogged out to his car.  He felt like a kid asking the most popular girl in class on a date. And she’d said yes. Dehydration was the number one cause of work related-injury and Max wouldn’t let it happen again. He learned the hard way how important hydration was. Not wanting to ruin his date by drudging up mistakes from his past, he pushed his memories aside and turned his attention to the road.

He got to their designated meeting spot ten minutes early and rolled down his windows while he waited. The air was still hot and humid with no hopes of dipping below eighty until next week. Not even at night. It made his job brutal when the temps matched the heat of the flames.

 

He spotted a familiar car coming toward him, the top to the convertible down and a river of brown waves trailing behind Sydney. Damn, she was sexy.

She waved with two fingers before pulling up next to him. “Sorry I’m late. I didn’t account for rush hour traffic. I thought I’d be in front of the rush.”

“You’re not late at all.” Max got out of his truck and opened Sydney’s door for her.

“Let me put the top up first.” She pushed a button and waited for the car to close up.

“Fancy.”

“Not very practical for riding down dirt roads, though.”

“We don’t have to worry about getting this beast dirty. It’s a rental until I can get my truck fixed.”

“It’s much more appropriate for a fair.” She leaned back into her car and grabbed her purse.

Max couldn’t help but stare at her butt. Her shorts were just long enough to cover her backside, and showcased a pair of the longest, sexiest legs he ever laid eyes on. Her pink tank top fit her curves beautifully and would be the cause of many stop-and-stares at the fair.

“I packed some water if you’d like one.” She closed the car door with her hip and handed Max a bottle.

“I brought some, too.”

“Great minds.” She winked and he couldn’t take it any longer.

“You look beautiful.”

Sydney laughed. “I’m wearing gym shorts and a tank top. Luckily I had my bag in my trunk so I didn’t have to go home and change.”

“Like I said.” Max stepped closer, taking the proffered bottle from her hand and tossing it in his front seat. “Thank you for coming out with me tonight.”

He leaned down without touching her with his body and kissed her lightly on her lips.

“Oh.”

Max pulled himself together and walked her to the passenger side of the truck, helping her up into her seat.

They talked about their favorite things to do and see at the fair during the short drive. Max liked the oxen pulls and anything to do with steer, while Sydney enjoyed the horse shows and petting the baby animals.

“I was in 4H when I was in elementary school and got to show one of my goats. I thought I was the coolest thing ever.”

“I bet you were. Cute little thing in pigtails no less.”

“Hardly.” Sydney snorted. “I was a tomboy. I kept my hair short and wore basketball shorts or sweatpants every day. I quit 4H in fifth grade because the girls got to be too…girly. I wanted to learn to bull ride but my parents wouldn’t let me.”

“Wise parents.”

“I suppose.”

“What did you do with your time after you quit 4H?”

“I focused on sports. Soccer first, then field hockey. I didn’t care for basketball so I took up swimming, then volleyball. And lacrosse in the spring.”

“I’m getting all sorts of visuals right now.”

“Hmm. And what sports did you play in high school? Let me guess,” she started before he could speak. “Football, basketball and baseball. The traditional trifecta.”

“Am I that easy to read?”

“You fit the bill.” Sydney crossed her leg under her and turned to face him. “Did you play sports in college?”

Max wasn’t one to be self-conscious or insecure with himself and he knew Sydney wasn’t asking to be judgmental. Still, it stung. Just a little.

“Life kinda got in the way back then. I didn’t quite make it to college.” He had the academic and athletic scholarship to play baseball in California, but life threw him a curveball instead.

Sydney fidgeted in her seat and he felt bad for making her uncomfortable.

“My parents died the night of my high school graduation. My sister was sixteen so I stuck around to take care of her.”

“Oh, Max. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Max shrugged it off. It still hurt, the memory of watching his parents die in front of his eyes. He’d always blame himself for not getting them out of the fire in time.

“It was a long time ago.”

She placed her hand on his forearm and squeezed, and just like that his thoughts went from sad and nostalgic to a sixteen-year-old in heat. He followed the line of traffic into the lot and parked in the field.

After helping Sydney out of the truck, he kept her hand in his and led her toward the front gate.

“What first? Food or your horses?” He handed her a flier with the event and show times.

“Why do we have to choose? We can eat while we watch the next show.”

“I knew this was love at first sight.” Max kissed her knuckles and followed her lead through the crowd.

Hours later, after they filled up on corn dogs and French fries and fried dough, and watched the final tractor pulls and horse competition, they trudged back to Max’s truck.

“I had so much fun, but I’m exhausted. And stuffed.” Sydney rubbed her stomach and rested her head against the headrest.

“I’m sorry for keeping you out late on a work night. I know not everyone has the random schedule I have.” They still hadn’t mentioned last names or jobs, wanting to keep their budding relationship away from work and too much serious talk. He didn’t mind getting personal but he noticed how Sydney closed off anytime he hedged toward personal topics.

“Don’t apologize. Once again you’ve taken my mind off…off things I’d rather not think about. Work being one of them.”

Max put the keys in the ignition and rolled down the windows, but didn’t start the truck. “I had a great time tonight, too.” He couldn’t remember laughing so much with a woman. Sydney was fun and spirited and not afraid to get dirty. The fancy car and clothes from the other day were a far cry from the woman he hung out with tonight.

She turned her head and blinked lazily up at him and hell, call him a pansy, but his heart skipped a beat.

“Can I kiss you now?” He picked up her hand and kissed her fingertips.

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.” She scooted across the bench and he met her halfway.

Max placed her hands on his shoulders and rested his on her hips, drawing her even closer. “I’ve been wanting to do this all night.” He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her, pausing when their lips touched and taking the time to inhale her fresh scent.

She smelled like a fancy flower and fresh straw and he wanted to take her home and lose himself in her forever. Too many times during the evening he wanted to do this, to taste her, but he respected her too much to ravish her in public.

In the privacy of his truck, however, was a different story. And if the moans and gentle massage from her fingers into his shoulders were any indication, she wanted him just as badly as he wanted her.

Sydney inched closer, pushing her chest into his. The softness of her breasts and the tickling of her hair against his arm nearly caused an explosion in his shorts. They had more privacy than in the open field, but were still in a public place.

Tracing her lips with his tongue, he watched as her eyes grew heavy with sensual awareness. He sipped her once more before trailing kisses along her jaw and toward her ear, their surroundings tumbling away as he fell under her innocently intoxicating spell.

“You smell…amazing.”

“I’m a sticky, smelly mess.” She giggled when he kissed behind her ear. “And that tickles.”

Max pulled away, a hint of devilish humor in his eyes. “You’re ticklish?”

“Extremely.”

“Good to know.”

Sydney shook her head and pushed him away playfully. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Oh, I’m thinking about it.” He cupped the back of her neck and pulled her in for one last swift kiss before letting her go and starting the truck. “I should get you back.”

“Yeah,” she said, disappointment filling her voice.

They made it back to her car too quickly and Max helped her out of his truck.

“I had the best time tonight, Max.”

“I’m glad.”

“Thank you.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his lips before sliding behind the wheel of her fancy car.

“Call or text me when you get home.”

“I will.”

He watched her until the red lights couldn’t be seen anymore and then drove back to his humble apartment in the city.

 

CHAPTER FOUR

 

Sydney

 

Sydney couldn’t stop smiling all week. She was buried up to her neck in a case with the Texas Housing Authority but refused to let it sour her mood. After a long morning of phone calls, research, and meetings, she still had a goofy grin on her face.

She did, however, need to dedicate some time for looking into her grandfather’s death. Letting out a big sigh, she cradled her head in her hand and rubbed out the impending headache. Sydney refused to believe Grandpop’s death was his own fault. It had been her mission to look into the accident and police reports, but then Max came along…

Not knowing if and where he worked, she called him during her lunch break.

“Mmm. Hey,” he answered, sleep filling his voice.

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” She heard rustling and a low moan.

“Don’t worry about it.” He yawned.

“I can call back later.”

“I got in a solid four hours. I’m good.”

“Max. That’s not healthy. What—” She stopped herself from asking about his work, from getting too personal. If she asked him he’d ask her and then he’d want to know her full name and family history, and the last thing she wanted was for him to be clouded by the Mitchell name. Sydney cleared her throat. “Do you have to work tonight?”

“I’m off until Sunday morning.”

“Do you, uh, do you have plans?” She heard more movement, rustling of sheets, and she couldn’t help but picture what he slept in. Shorts? Underwear? Nude? Chills covered her arms and she tapped her nails nervously on her desk.

“Well, it depends who’s asking.”

“Playing hard to get, are we?” Sydney caught herself twirling her hair around her finger and stopped. Since when did she do that? “What would you say to a couple tickets to tonight’s Rangers-Angels game?”

“I’d say that’s a pretty stellar match-up and should be a helluva game.”

“Yeah?”

“But I’d be happy sitting in my truck making out with you all night.”

“Oh.” Sydney toyed with her earring and grinned like a schoolgirl. “What if we did both?”

“The game and make out?” Max whistled. “That’s one impressive line-up.”

“If it’s too much…”

“Oh, I’m up for it. More than you know,” he drawled, and she caught on to his double entendrè.

“There’s one condition though.”

“Name it.”

“Get some more sleep. I’ll pick you up at five. Oh. And I need your address.”

“You’re not going to stalk me or anything, will you? Because I might like it.”

“I think we’re past that point now, Max.”

“Yeah. I think so too.”

*

“Come on, Wilson! They’re your enemy tonight. You can’t let those get by you.” Sydney dropped to her seat and curled her hand around the brim of her Rangers baseball cap. The Rangers’ catcher could lose the game if he didn’t stay focused.

“I never pictured you as one of those obnoxious fans.” If Max’s cheeky grin wasn’t so prominent she would have been offended.

“Obnoxious is when fans don’t know the game. Wilson used to play for the Angels. You can see him chatting up with the batters, which is making him lose focus. Ortega should have been out on that steal. Wilson’s not on his A-game tonight.”

“You follow the Rangers?”

“Don’t you?”

“As a Dallas native, I’d say it’s a requirement. Favorite player?”

Sydney let out a disappointing sigh. “There are a lot of one hit wonders, but no one can compete with Ivan Rodriguez or Nolan Ryan. Those two are classics. And Michael Young for putting up with all the Alex Rodriguez crap years back.”

“Not a fan of A-rod?”

“Gross. Never. The Rangers have some work to do. I’m a loyal fan though. I’ll be here to watch them win a World Series.”

“You said we’ll make out in my truck later, right?”

Sydney rolled her eyes and sipped her beer. Max was a fun and gentlemanly date from the beginning. She insisted on driving when she picked him up at his apartment but he took her keys from her and told her she deserved to relax after working all day. With a quick kiss to her lips he’d led her to his truck and before she knew it, Max was driving them to the stadium.

For the past hour they ate hot dogs and popcorn. He bought her a beer and stuck with soda for himself. The man was racking up the brownie points. She didn’t know how much longer she could remain ladylike. The overwhelming desire to jump in his lap and rip his clothes off got stronger and stronger every day, whether she saw him or not.

“You may have been dreaming about that part, cowboy,” she teased. “You were half asleep when I called this afternoon.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” He tapped the lid to her hat. “You look freaking sexy as hell in a ball cap.”

“Seriously?” She wore her favorite pair of casual jean shorts, the ones she found at American Eagle, not the pricey ones from the high-end boutiques, and a Rangers T-shirt and baseball cap. There was nothing sexy about her outfit.

“Seriously.”

Sydney loved getting dressed up, but wearing comfortable, casual clothes and still wowing a hot guy held a certain appeal. Max was simple. Not in a bad way, in an all-American way.

Going by his casual apartment, practical truck, and laid-back jeans and T-shirt, Max wasn’t the type of guy to be wowed by fancy bottles of wine or foreign cars or box seats to the theater.

And while seats behind home plate would have impressed him, Max was the kind of guy who’d feel uncomfortable having a woman dish out hundreds of dollars for seats to a baseball game. Or really, to anything. They had decent seats in foul ball range. Not nosebleed and not too pricey.

Max wasn’t chauvinistic, even in his insistence on driving tonight. It was more old-fashioned values. He may not come from money, but he was the kind of man Grandpop would have loved to see her with.

And she could see herself with Max-with-no-last-name as well. Based on how he filled out a pair of Levi’s, and how chivalrous he’d been so far on their dates, she imagined he’d be an attentive lover as well.

The crack of a bat making contact with a ball snapped her out of her lust-filled daydream and she jumped to her feet, screaming at the outfield to run faster and catch the damn ball.

They didn’t. The double drove in two runs, putting the Angels up six-to-four in the top of the eighth.

“Well doesn’t that suck?” She slumped in her seat and ignored the chuckle from her right.

“You take baseball pretty seriously.” Max dropped next to her and offered her some popcorn.

“Food isn’t the answer to everything, you know.”

“I know. It’s sex.”

Sydney snorted and blushed. There was no need to be coy. She wanted to sleep with him, and if she was reading the signs right, Max was more than onboard with the idea. The atmosphere of the game, the loud noises, the heat, the beer buzzing through her veins, and the sexy man next to her sparked a brazen side of Sydney she’d never experienced before. She wasn’t one to initiate the moves with a man. However…

“You think sex will put me in a better mood if the Rangers lose tonight?”

Max’s gray-blue eyes stared hungrily at her. She held his gaze and lifted her eyebrow in a come-hither attitude.

“I think it will put you in a better mood if they win or lose.”

“So you’re saying I’m in a bad mood?” She pretended to sulk and be offended even though she knew that wasn’t what he meant. Teasing him was fun.

Max’s expression softened, and when he opened his mouth to speak Sydney placed her finger over his lips and leaned in close.

“I’d like to test out your theory,” she whispered before replacing her finger with her lips. When the lids to their baseball caps bumped, Sydney slid her hands up his neck and removed his hat, turning it backward and placing it back on his head.

He tasted like butter and salt and old-fashioned goodness. It was Max who pulled back, stroking her cheeks with the pad of his thumbs.

“I kinda figured we’d have a little more privacy before I worked on that surly mood of yours.”

Sydney laughed and righted his hat. “I thought you would have figured me out by now. I like appetizers, remember?”

She loved the tension in his jaw and the heat in his eyes. Flirting had never been so much fun. Heck, she wasn’t one to flirt. Ever. The men who sought her out were of a different class. There was a handbook on how a rich man dated a rich woman—what needed to be said, how to act to work his way into the family’s billions.

Thankfully Max hadn’t read the handbook and lived by his own set of rules. And Sydney had adapted to them quite well, tearing out a few pages from his book and working them into her plans as well.

“If we leave now we can beat the traffic.” Her fingertips made circles on Max’s thigh.

“The Rangers could pull from behind and win this one.” Max stopped her hand with his and brought her fingers to his lips. He did that a lot. The sweet, simple gesture had her squeezing her thighs.

Another crack of the bat roused quick cheers from the fans. The Rangers made three outs and were up at bat, yet Sydney didn’t care to finish the game. They’d be stuck in traffic for hours if they stayed. Hours they could be spending naked in Max’s bed.

“We can listen to it on the radio.”

“Hell, woman.” Max pulled her to her feet and she followed him willingly down the aisle, excusing themselves as they stepped over fans and empty plastic cups, a giant-ass smile on her face.

By the time they reached his truck they heard cheering from inside the stadium. Max looked down with her. “You sure?”

Sydney traced her fingertip down the valley between his chest muscles. “Sounds like you’re not sure.”

Max growled before lifting her into the passenger seat and slamming the door shut. Sydney giggled as she watched Max mutter and shake his head while he rounded the hood.

“Are you okay? You seem a little stressed. Is it the game? Or is it me?” It was obvious from the worry he wore on his face the man had manners and respected her. She completely shocked him and herself by leaving the game early to go back to his place and have sex. Even with Max’s differing rulebook, she doubted he let his penis control him.

He scraped his hands across his face and rested his forehead against the steering wheel. “I’m really confused right now.”

“Anything I can help clear up?” She slid across the seat and rested her chin on his shoulder.

Max’s body shook with laughter. “Sydney.” Her name came out with a sigh. He lifted his head and turned those gorgeous eyes on her again. “I doubt I’m the type of man you’re used to…dating.”

“Why would you say that?”

“I’m not…you’re in a different league than me.”

Her heart turned to a marshmallowy bowl of fluff. The incredibly sexy, kindhearted and caring man thought she was too good for him. Max was every woman’s fantasy—and not only sexually.

But if her Mercedes and fancy clothes intimidated him, what would happen when he found out about her family? Sydney wanted to be normal. To date decent guys who didn’t care about bank accounts and portfolios and inheritance. To have decent men like Max appreciate her for her, not for being a Mitchell.

And she finally found the guy, yet he didn’t think he was good enough.

“Max.” Sydney took off her hat so she could see him better, and cradled his face in her hands. So tough, so strong, yet so vulnerable. “I want you. More than I’ve wanted any other man, and it scares me.”

“What scares me”—he covered her hands with his and moved them to his shoulders—“is how much I want you.”

“Well, then. I’d say we’re a perfectly scary match.”

“Syd.” Max outlined her face with his hands before drawing her closer and kissing her softly. “Once we start this, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop. So be sure.”

“Well then, put this baby in drive and get us back to your place. We’re wasting time.”

He kissed her again, this time quick and hasty, before pushing her away. “Stay on your side or we won’t make it home safely. And don’t touch me or I’m going to have to pull over. You’ve been warned,” he growled out.

Sydney laughed as she buckled up. Max gunned it out of the parking lot and made it back to his apartment in record time. They hadn’t even turned on the radio, the game and its outcome long forgotten. The only score they were keeping track of was between them.

He helped her out of the truck and took her hand in his, once again leading the way, this time up the steps to his apartment. Max unlocked the door and turned to her before going in.

“It’s not much. Kitchen, living room, one bedroom, and a bathroom.”

“Do you have a couch?”

“Yeah.”

“Or a bed?”

“Yeah.”

“Heck, even if you didn’t, the wall would do fine.” She slipped her hand from his and worked the bottom of his shirt, lifting it up and off his shoulders until she could see his stomach and chest. She placed a kiss on his nipple and he swore before picking her up and tossing her over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold.

Sydney yelped and giggled, quieting down when her eyes captured sight of his toned back and delectable butt. She gave it a squeeze and a playful slap.

“Easy, darling,” he drawled.

“It’s not my fault you’re so…hot.”

“The first time’s gonna be quick,” he warned, kicking the door closed behind them. “But I’ll make up for it in round two.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER FIVE

 

Max

When her hands touched his stomach and her mouth covered his nipple…holy hell on fire, he was doomed. There was no way he would last very long if she continued to touch him, so he took his time pleasuring Sydney, keeping her hands at bay. He dropped her on his mattress in a very undignified manner and took a moment to study her flushed cheeks, her tightened nipples, and squirming body.

“You’re freaking gorgeous.” And it was more than her looks. It was her laugh, the way she bit her lip when she teased him, the way she ate, and appreciated everything American: beer, baseball, and sex. Okay, so maybe the good ‘ol U. S. of A. didn’t own the rights to sex, but he’d bet his autographed Nolan Ryan baseball card that she owned the rights to what promised to be the most amazing sex of his life.

“You’re giving me a complex now.” Sydney lifted herself up until she rested on her elbows, chest heaving.

“I don’t see how that’s possible.” Max lifted her left leg and rested her foot on his chest as he unlaced her sneaker. He slipped it off and chucked it over his head, then worked on her sock.

“My feet are sweaty.”

“Your whole body is going to be sweaty in a minute.” He worked the other foot and set her leg back down on the bed. Her eyes dilated, making them appear black, and her breathing grew even more rapid. “If you want to stop, say so now. Once I lower my body on to yours…I just don’t know.”

“Thanks for the warning, cowboy, but if you stop now I’ll…”

“Yeah?” Max grinned and straddled her body. “What are you gonna do?” He loved it when Sydney turned the snark on. It turned him on even more now that he knew she was practically Dallas royalty.

He had figured out who she was earlier while doing paperwork on Thomas Mitchell. The accident had been three weeks ago and there was still paperwork coming out of his ass.

When he read the obituary and saw Sydney’s name as one of his surviving granddaughters, it all fell into place. The funeral, her fancy car, her designer clothes. The woman was worth millions. Probably billions. And Max had finally reached a comfortable enough status so he wasn’t living paycheck to paycheck.

The woman was more than out of his league, and hell if he didn’t squirm a little when she picked him up earlier today. She didn’t turn up her nose at his apartment or frown at his simple furniture. Instead, Sydney turned up the heat and flirted and initiated the sex talk. Well, he may have dropped the “S” word as a joke, but it was all Sydney from there on out.

“Let’s just say, payback’s a bitch.”

And a dirty mouth. He highly doubted the Mitchell empire would approve of the way their heiress was speaking. And threatening.

“Maybe next time. For now, sweetheart, you’re all mine.” He lowered himself until his groin, heavy and ready, came to rest on her thigh as he kissed her thoroughly. She tasted of butter and beer and a splash of sass. He’d devour her in a second if he didn’t focus. Their tongues danced and played, competing for control, until he pulled away and made a trail of kisses across her jaw and down her neck.

Sydney squirmed under him, pressing harder into his groin. “That tickles.”

Max inhaled her rich, flowery scent and went for the kill. Her ear. He sucked on her lobe and scratched the sensitive spot on her neck with his chin before licking and kissing a trail from her right side to her left.

“Seriously,” she laughed.

Her fingertips gripped his shoulder blades, then lowered to his ribs. She dug in and tickled his sides. Max chuckled and moved away from her ear.

“How can you not be ticklish here?” She poked him some more as he moved his hands under her shirt and lifted it above her bra, her breasts taunting him like a beer to an alcoholic.

“I’m not ticklish anywhere, but you can keep checking out places if you don’t believe me.” He lowered the cup of her bra and struck gold. Sydney gasped when he made contact with her breast.

He feasted on her while she clutched at his shirt, panting and calling out to God. She continued to grind her pelvis into his leg, dry humping him until she screamed out in ecstasy. Hell, he hadn’t even gotten to third base yet.

“Oh my, God, Max,” she panted and sighed and whined at the same time.

“Are you okay?”

“No. I’m. Not,” she said in between breaths. “You didn’t even…I’ve never…and we’re…”

“That’s just second base, sweetheart. You sure you’re going to be around for the home run?”

Sydney opened her eyes and he could see the challenge was accepted.

“Home run?” She snorted. “I was hoping for a grand slam.”

If Max didn’t watch himself he’d be confessing his love for real this time. Instead he stepped up to the plate and showed her what his idea of third base was like.

Then he gave her a home run.

Followed by a grand-freaking-slam.

 

***

 

Sydney

 

Hours after her third orgasm, she lay spent in Max’s arms. Three orgasms? That only happened in unrealistic romance novels. Real women didn’t have multiple orgasms, especially without being touched down there.

Unless their body was being devoured by Max-with-no-last-name. Their game of ignorance could only last so long. She needed to fess up to her identity and hope Max didn’t treat her like a pampered princess.

She loved how he used gentle caresses at first, and then gripped her like there was no tomorrow, taking her into an entirely new world she’d never been in before. When Max finally got out a condom and entered her, he warned her he wouldn’t last very long. Honestly, after going ‘round the bases, she was losing stamina and didn’t think she could last too long anyway.

It had been magical. The Rangers game long forgotten, she much preferred Max’s game of baseball.

Would he still go with her to country ho-downs and baseball games and bring her back to his tiny, cozy apartment when he learned she was one of the Mitchells? She’d like to think so, but she’d seen the dollar signs in too many men’s eyes when they heard her family name. Whether it was a sudden change in ass kissing, or jealousy, or aloofness, things changed.

Max had already alluded to his insecurity in her wealth and his…normalcy. It was the normalcy she wanted. It was Max she wanted. Only she needed to work harder to convince him of that.

She didn’t care what he did for work. At first she thought construction, with his calloused hands, strong arms, and big truck. But construction workers didn’t have twenty-four hour shifts. Or did they? Road crew maybe? Security? A policeman?

Falling for a public worker hadn’t been on her radar because she never socialized with them. Not out of snobbery; her family wasn’t that way. While in law school she’d spent a lot of time with lawyers and wanna-be lawyers. While with her family she socialized with a lot of businessmen. That’s the world she was a part of.

There was no denying she was falling hard and fast for Max. Sometimes sex changed things in a relationship, though. She wasn’t one to sleep around but she knew enough to know some men liked the challenge of getting a woman into bed and then no longer had any interest in them. She couldn’t imagine Max being like that, but she doubted women would sleep with a man if they thought he’d dump her after sex.

Only time would tell. If Max still showed a strong interest in her in the morning and after another date, then they could share more information. Like family names and occupations. For now, she was falling asleep satisfied and hungry for more.

*

“I’m hungry.”

Sydney snuggled her bum into Max’s growing erection and sighed in contentment. “I can tell.”

“Very, very hungry.” Max pushed her hair out of his way and nibbled behind her ear.

She scrunched up her shoulders to her neck as she braced herself for the tickles and the goosebumps to follow. “Stop! It’s too early for this.” She laughed, attempting to pull away from Max, his strong arms holding her tight and not giving her much wiggle room.

“It’s never too early for this.” He continued to lick, taste and ravish her neck.

The only way to get him to stop was to distract him. She slipped her hand between their bodies and grabbed hold of his erection. Max stilled and gasped. Perfect. Using his sudden incapacity to move, Sydney rolled over and faced him.

His eyes were closed, his mouth open, and his face tilted toward the ceiling. Sydney was incandescently happy as she held Max exactly where she wanted him. Her hand continued to move up and down as she kissed his chin and made her way down his chest, stopping to take one nipple in her mouth and getting a rush at his quickness of breath.

Slowly, she snaked her body down his until she came face to face with what she really wanted.

“Syd,” he warned, then clutched her hair in his hands.

“Mmm.” She teased and played and alternated between being soft and gentle and rough and fast.

“Syd. I’m gonna…you need to…” He pulled gently at her hair and she slowed down.

“Something wrong, Max?” His hands tugged at her to move away, but she didn’t want to give him complete control. Yet.

Sydney trailed her kisses along his inner thigh, smiling every time he flinched. She moved her hands under him so they were trapped between his firm butt and the mattress. Squeezing and massaging, she continued kissing his legs, then circled up toward his belly button.

“Syd.”

“You talk too much.” She felt the bed shake as he dropped his head to the pillow.

“What’s your plan here?”

“Just going with the flow.” She licked the trail between his navel and his groin, carefully avoiding his erection, while his large hands roughly massaged her shoulders.

“I don’t want this to be a one-man show. I want to touch you.”

“You took me around the bases last night without letting me touch you. Fair is fair.” She lowered her mouth to his erection, putting an end to the discussion.

And Max, being the gentleman he was, returned the favor two-fold before they fell into a deep slumber.

 

***

 

Max

 

“Still hungry?” Sydney asked when the sun’s bright rays filtered through the window, blinding them with light.

“Starved.”

“For real food?”

“There’s nothing about you that’s fake.” Max studied her profile, long neck and rose-tinted cheeks begging to be kissed again.

Sydney rolled to her side and stared up at him, a relaxed and satisfied glow on her face. “It’s almost eleven. You seem like the type of man who eats every few hours.”

“Are you calling me fat?” He pulled her body into his and pinched her smooth-as-silk butt.

“Hey!” She wiggled out of his grasp, laughing. “You know what I mean.”

He did, and she was right. “My culinary skills are limited to breakfast foods, but what I do know how to make, I gotta admit, I excel at.”

“Oh yeah? So what’s on the menu this morning?”

Max eyed her tempting neck again, his gaze traveling to her full, pink lips before dropping to the tops of her breasts that poked out from under the sheet.

“Max,” she warned. Her stomach growled and she giggled. “We need food. I’m not great in the kitchen but I can help.”

“You can sit on the counter naked and be my inspiration.” He kissed the tip of her perky nose and climbed out of bed, rummaging through his drawers for a pair of shorts and a clean shirt.

“That doesn’t sound very sanitary.”

“Sounds freaking sexy to me.” He winked at her from the doorway and headed to the kitchen with a shit-eating grin on his face.

It wasn’t until he cracked the fifth egg into the bowl that he lost his grin. Cursing under his breath, he yanked open a drawer and pulled out a fork and started whisking the eggs.

What the hell was he doing? Sydney Mitchell was practically royalty. He took her like an animal and then made love to her over and over again. He was rough and crossed the line to crude when she deserved so much better. Someone to wine and dine her. Someone who owned a monkey suit to escort her to one of those fancy gala or fundraising gigs.

Someone who knew what a freaking gala was. He’d researched her and found nothing but shining articles about her education and insistence on earning a job in the legal field without her family’s connections. And her grandfather seemed to be the motivation behind her drive.

The business reports bored him, but the family interviews done by the local papers and even some of the entertainment magazines intrigued him. They held the Mitchell family in the same magnitude as the royal family. She was Texas’s version of Kate Middleton, but he was no Prince William.

It wasn’t like Max was hiding a secret identity from her. She could tell by his apartment and his wardrobe that he wasn’t a regular at charity galas, unless they were dinners hosted by the fire department. Or the one time he agreed to pose for the Dallas Firefighter calendar.

That gig landed him a ton of dates. None of which were memorable. He wasn’t into the flash or the fame. Max was a simple guy with simple goals: work hard, make a decent living, settle down and marry, and have a few kids.

The American Dream. He was sure Sydney Mitchell’s idea of the American Dream was a bit different than his. So what was going on with the two of them? Was she using him for a quick fling? According to the papers, she wasn’t one to date a lot. Or maybe she’d managed to keep her sex life on the down low.

“Did those eggs do something to piss you off?”

Max looked up and couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lip. Sydney made him smile. She wore one of his Dallas Firefighter shirts, the bottom hem coming close to her knees, and hopefully nothing underneath.

“The eggs?” She crossed her arms and the shirt lifted, revealing the tops of her thighs. He still couldn’t tell if she had any underwear on. “Eyes up here, cowboy.”

If he hadn’t read those articles he’d never know she was a pampered princess. “You look hot.”

“You’re such a guy.” Her eyes rolled and she shook her head in playful disgust. “You’d say that no matter what I’m wearing.”

“A. Yes, I am a guy. B. You are hot. C. Are you wearing underwear?”

“Your potatoes are burning.” She nodded toward the stove.

Max glanced at the potatoes knowing they weren’t anywhere close to burning. One thing he never did was burn food. His job was to prevent fires, not start them. Still, he picked up the wooden spoon and stirred them, then turned on the front burner to heat the pan for the eggs.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You have a one-track mind.”

“Only around you.”

“Uh, huh.” She snorted and moved toward the cabinets. “Where are your plates? I’ll set the table.”

“They’re over here.” Max turned his back to the stove and held out his arms for her.

“Nice try. I’m not falling for your seductive ways. I want food. I get grouchy if I don’t eat. And coffee. I’ve never waited until almost noon to have my first cup. Stop distracting me with your southern charm and sex. Feed me.”

Max couldn’t help but laugh. He loved Sydney’s honesty, how she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. If he hadn’t read about her and seen the pictures, he’d never know she was Dallas royalty.

Turning back to the stove, he poured in the egg mixture and moved it around with a rubber spatula. With his free hand, he opened the oven to peek in on the bacon.

“Do you like it crispy or chewy?”

“I’m assuming you’re referring to the bacon.” Sydney found the plates and set two on the table. “Somewhere in between, but I’m not picky. It’s bacon. Kind of hard to ruin it. Coffee?” She filled the pot with water and dumped it in the machine. He had yet to cave and buy one of those fancy Keurig machines. Like most of his appliances and furniture, simple and traditional was his theme.

“Coffee is in the fridge.”

She found the tub of Folgers and scooped it into the filter.

“Cream? Sugar?”

“Black.”

“Should have figured.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Max turned off the burners and the oven and picked up two hot mitts.

“You don’t seem like the cream and sugar type.” Sydney opened the fridge and found the milk. “I like mine sweet.”

“Figures,” he retorted.

Sydney grinned and poured a splash of milk in her mug. For the next minute they worked in silence; Sydney poured the coffee and delivered it to the two-seater table while Max drained the bacon on paper towels and served up the food.

“This is perfect,” Sydney said around a mouthful of bacon. “Thank you for breakfast. I like a man who can cook.”

“Just to be completely upfront and honest with you, I only have a couple other breakfast items I can make.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“You’ll have to sleep over another time to find out.”

Sydney’s hand stilled, her steaming mug of coffee stopping in front her lips that curved into a wicked smile. “I guess I will.”

The guilt about knowing her identity that had visited him temporarily yesterday morning was long gone, replaced with a newfound hope that he’d found his soul mate. They spent the day cuddled together on his couch watching bad movies, and then she stayed over another night.

Unfortunately Max had to get up at six for his shift the next morning. He left a satisfied Sydney sleeping in his bed and put a box of Cocoa Puffs, a bowl, a spoon, and a quick note on the counter.

 

 

CHAPTER SIX

 

Sydney

 

Sydney found her long-ago discarded jean shorts and shirt under Max’s bed and tugged them on, scrunching her nose at her underwear. She hadn’t worn any all weekend and contemplated wearing Friday’s panties or going commando. Neither option appealed to her, but she figured some protection down there was better than none.

She’d rather spend another weekend day lounging with Max, but he had to work. Sunday was usually her laundry day anyway. She would go home, throw some clothes in the wash and gather her dry cleaning, then do some research on her grandfather’s death. Too much time had passed. She’d hoped to have the bastard responsible behind bars by now.

Her frown was quickly replaced with a wide grin when she saw the box of little boy cereal and the handwritten note.

This doesn’t count. We’ll have another Max Breakfast soon. Help yourself to anything.

But don’t eat all my Cocoa Puffs. They’re my favorite.  –Max

“You’re so cute.” Not one for sugary cereal, she still couldn’t pass up Max’s generous offer to share his favorite, and poured herself a bowl. Eating Cocoa Puffs made her feel connected to him. She could imagine him standing, leaning against the counter in a pair of shorts, slurping his chocolate cereal.

Again, Max defied the Dating-a-Rich-Girl rulebook. And nothing made her happier. She washed her bowl and spoon and put them back in the cabinet, as well as the box of cereal. Finding a pen in his junk drawer, she wrote him a quick note.

Thank you for sharing your cereal. I felt like I was 10 again.  I’ll be anxiously awaiting my next big girl breakfast. –Sydney

Gathering her things, she locked up behind her and drove to her house. She’d only been gone two nights and she’d practically forgotten where she kept her coffee beans. Opening the freezer drawer, she bent down and reached for the organic hazelnut blend. 

Even though sharing coffee with Max while wearing only his T-shirt was an amazing start to her day, she did miss her fancy coffee. One of her favorite amenities in her kitchen was the built-in coffee and espresso machine. Her grandfather had spoiled her in more ways than one. The custom-made antiquated cabinets and the stainless steel appliances contrasted well with each other, as did the granite countertop and wide-planked wood floor. A touch of the modern, but mostly sophisticated, classic country fit her style best. Making the new look old.

It wasn’t cold and barren like so many of the homes she’d been in. As a real estate lawyer she’d visited too many mansions with no personalities. Six thousand square feet of nothingness.

Sydney worked hard to make sure her house wasn’t cold and sterile. The refurbished turn-of-the-century home had the luxury of modern and high-end gadgets, but the comfort of the past.

Walking up the stairs to the master suite and down the hall, she passed the four spare bedrooms, hoping one day they’d be filled with her children. The baby itch hadn’t arrived yet, but she wanted this to be her forever home and had planned accordingly.

She hoped she didn’t come across as pretentious but after spending the weekend in Max’s humble apartment, she began questioning her interpretation of normal middle class. That’s what she wanted in her home. In her life. Only she’d never be normal, no matter how hard she tried.

Being part of the elite upper class made her a target for the stereotypes she fought to avoid day in and day out. Yes, she earned her job and her reputation all on her own, but the skeptical looks and water cooler conversations that she sometimes overheard at work hurt.

Would Max see her as a fake as well? God, she hoped not. He was good for her. He brought out the normal in her she didn’t know existed. She could say things she’d always wanted to say. Yell at baseball games. Order fattening food from a bar. Drink a beer. Have wild, uninhibited sex. It was…refreshing.

Max made her heart race. Keeping her mind on him, she ran through her Sunday chores, then brought her laptop out on to the patio. Research time.

Sydney skimmed through the hundreds of articles about her grandfather’s accident. They all said the same thing. What she wanted was the official police report. After making multiple phone calls to police officers, she finally got ahold of the lead detective. Putting on her Mitchell charm, she reminded Detective Carpenter of her grandfather’s many contributions to the police department. And finally got the email she’d been waiting for.

With anxious fingers, she clicked on the attachment and skimmed through the charts and diagrams of vehicle one and vehicle two. Quickly, she jumped to the details of the 911 call and to the bottom where the officer’s notes were. Halfway through the detailed report of the accident, she shook her head and paused, scrolling back to the top of the report.

Her eyes must have betrayed her. Only…

“No.” Her face burned, her throat closing up in rage. The ringing in her ears and blur behind her eyes didn’t change the name on the file. Max Harmon, Rescue Squad on Dallas Fire and Rescue was the first on the scene.

There weren’t any pictures of Max, but she knew. The name. His truck in the shop. His DF&R shirt she wore yesterday. His erratic hours.

The Max who the report said witnessed her grandfather’s death. She continued reading, this time with a new purpose, to hopefully exonerate Max. Only the cramping in her stomach told her otherwise. Her face grew warm with rage; her heart beat erratically until her eyes blurred.

She forced herself to go back and reread more thoroughly. Max’s words were written as a witness and victim, so cold and matter-of-fact. He claimed her grandfather ran the red light and hit him broadside, not even slamming on his brakes before doing so. Hence the lack of skid marks.

No. There weren’t any skid marks because Max came at Grandpop out of the blue. Her grandfather would never be so careless. Especially in his favorite car. His life was taken from her so quickly. So tragically.

By Max.

She wrapped her arm around her middle and doubled over in pain. Tears that hadn’t been shed for days swam in her eyes and ran down her cheeks. The man she’d spent the past thirty-six hours in bed with was responsible for taking her most special person from her.

The ache that started in her chest made a web throughout her body, wrapping its way around every organ, every part of her that had feeling until it was numb.

Bile worked its way up her esophagus and she lunged for the bushes, where she threw up the ridiculous toddler cereal she had eaten earlier.

Why? Why did it have to be Max? Finally she met a man who she thought was perfect for her. One who didn’t judge her. One who had similar interests, who appreciated her appetite and humor. A man who, besides being incredibly sexy and amazing in bed, treated her with respect, but could tease and laugh with her as well. Hell, he comforted her when she was mourning the loss of her grandfather.

Sydney swiped at the streams flowing down her cheeks and returned to the table. Sipping her water, she shuddered when the tears subsided and breathed slowly until her body calmed. This was too much for her to handle.

Fueled by anger and rage and grief, Sydney googled the hell out of Max Harmon. When all she found were glowing reports of his work performance and a tragic fire that killed his parents—which she clicked out of immediately, not wanting to read—she called Detective Carpenter.

“Detective? Sydney Mitchell again.”

“Miss Mitchell. I hope you found what you were looking for in the police reports. It’s all pretty cut and dried—”

“Actually,” she interrupted. “I’m hoping you can give me more information on the man involved in the accident. Max Harmon?”

“Hm,” the detective muttered. “Not much that’s not already there. I interviewed him after the incident. Never had the pleasure of meeting him before, but he seemed like a stand-up guy. His chief had nothing but good things to say. He’d come off a twenty-four-hour shift and had spent a few hours at his niece’s birthday party. Was on his way home when—”

“Twenty-four hours? Awake?” Sydney stood and paced the patio, her fingers clenched tight until she nearly broke the skin on her palm with her nails.

“That’s not uncommon in our fields.”

“He shouldn’t have been on the road.”

“I’m sure he was tired, Miss Mitchell, but there’s no evidence to suggest he’d fallen asleep at the wheel. It’s pretty clear your grand—uh, Mr. Mitchell had—”

Too worked up to listen to the detective and his biased report, Sydney cut him off. “Thank you for your time, Detective. I’ll be in touch if I need anything else.”

She clicked off the phone and tossed it on the table. Of course the police department would cover Max. She’d get nowhere with them.

The murderer had fallen asleep behind the wheel and twisted the story around to cover his crime. Sydney stormed around the perimeter of the pool, clenching her teeth and breathing heavily. Her fingers twitched, and her eyes darted across her backyard, unable to focus on anything but her anger.

Deciding to dig further on her own, Sydney stomped back to the table and searched through recent newspaper reports. She came across an article published two months ago. Max Harmon of the Dallas Rescue Squad used the Jaws of Life he had in the back of his truck to pull a woman from a car he came across down in a valley outside of the city. She was pronounced dead on the scene. There were no witnesses to the accident, which was still under investigation.

Or had Max fallen asleep and caused that accident as well, and had the help of the Dallas PD to cover up his crime?

“Bullshit.”

Her cell rang beside her, causing her to jump. Hoping it wasn’t the lying, murdering bastard, she glanced down at her phone and contemplated letting it go to voicemail. Seeing it wasn’t him, she picked it up and answered.

“Hi, Mom,” she said, hoping she’d disguised her mood.

“Sweetie? Are you okay?” Of course her mother would hear the tension in her voice.

“Yeah, just frustrated with a case I’m working on.”

“It’s Sunday. You can’t let work overcome your life. We’d hoped you’d be with your new gentleman friend.”

“How did you know…?”

“There was an adorable picture of you and him at the baseball game in yesterday morning’s paper.”

“Are you kidding me?” Sydney typed in the newspaper’s website and scrolled until she found it. Her face was tilted up toward the sky, her eyes closed, and her mouth open in laughter. While Max, his face shielded by his baseball cap, nibbled on her neck. She nearly smiled at the memory before she remembered he killed her grandfather.

Sydney slammed the lid to her laptop and stood. “Yeah, well, we’re not seeing each other anymore.”

“That’s a shame. A man who could put a smile like that on your face after all you’ve been through—”

“Mom.”

“I won’t meddle.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you coming to dinner tonight? I had invited Trevor but after seeing the photograph of you and…the man you’re no longer seeing, I didn’t know if you wanted me to cancel.”

Great. Another set-up. Trevor was nice enough. Her mom knew there was no love connection between them, and most likely wanted to use him as a way to distract her from mourning Grandpop.

“I’m really not up to dinner.”

“Sweetie. I don’t want you to be alone. Skipping family dinner…”

“I promise not to make it a regular occurrence.”

“I won’t pressure you this time. However, Daddy and I won’t let you keep pushing us away. We’re a family. You’re the most important person in the world to us. We love you.”

Great. The guilt treatment. “I know, Mom. I love you both, too.”

“I promise, no more set-ups.”

“Unless Chris Hemsworth dumps his perfect wife.”

“Deal. You’ll be on the first flight to Australia.”

“Love you, Mom.”

Sydney saved her files in a folder labeled Murdering Liar, stripped down to her bathing suit and dove into her pool. Fifty laps later, she dragged herself out of the water and dried off. Tomorrow she’d call her college roommate, Monica Fitzgerald from the DA’s office, and see about an arrest.

*

She had hoped a good night’s sleep would clear her mind and erase the devastating news she discovered yesterday, but after tossing and turning for eight hours, Sydney was more confused than ever. Last night she was on a mission, sending her research to Monica in an email with a promise to call with more information. She was hell bent on seeing Max Harmon pay for his crimes.

And then night came. The cool sheets and big, empty bed were a reminder of how much she enjoyed being with Max Friday and Saturday night. Her mind flip-flopped between longing for his touch and longing for him to be punished. She wished what she found wasn’t true, that he hadn’t been driving home after being awake for thirty hours. That he hadn’t been the one to run the light, killing her grandfather.

Knowing she wasn’t going to get any sleep, she turned off her alarm thirty minutes before it was set to go off and hopped in the shower. An hour later she sat behind her big desk in her air-conditioned office and picked up the phone, dialing the DA’s office.

“Monica Fitzgerald, please? It’s Sydney Mitchell.” She fidgeted impatiently with the pearls around her neck, hoping Monica was available.

“Yes, Ms. Mitchell. One moment please.”

Sydney clicked the button on her pen over and over again and tapped her teal Dolce and Gabbana ankle-strap sandals on the hardwood floor.

“Syd? I saw your email but figured you’d give me time to read through it all before calling.”

“Sorry. Time is not on my side.”

“I skimmed through your notes but am not seeing enough to warrant an arrest.”

“Max fell asleep at the wheel and blamed the accident on Grandpop.”

“Max?”

“Mr. Harmon.”

“Syd. Is this personal?”

“Of course it is.” She threw down her pen and pushed her chair back, standing to pace her small office. “He killed my grandfather.”

“Yet you called him Max.”

“That’s his name.”

“Only if you know him personally.”

“Don’t interrogate me, Mon. I’m not in the mood.” Monica was brutal when it came to getting information out of people. It’s what made her such a great DA. Well, Assistant DA. She was still young and didn’t have too many years under her belt, but she climbed the ranks quickly. A few years older than her, Monica had been her mentor in college. Criminal law didn’t interest Sydney. Finances, taxes, and real estate was more her style.

Until now.

“Okay. Give me some time to do a little digging. I’ll get back to you soon.”

“How soon? Lunch?”

“And you call me persistent. Yeah, sure, lunch. It’s not like I have forty-two pressing cases on my desk needing to be researched and written up by tonight.”

“You’re the best. I’ll pick you up at—”

“One. I need time.”

“Okay. One. I owe you.”

“Yeah, you do.”

Four hours later Sydney stood at the door of Monica’s office, too impatient to meet her outside her building. Monica looked up from her desk and sighed. She shoved a folder into her briefcase and shook her head slowly before hugging Sydney. “Remember, you owe me.”

“Of course.” Sydney kissed her cheek and pulled her out the door. They rode the elevator in silence, Monica’s dark eyes assessing Sydney, making her squirm in her heels. “I made reservations at Tappa’s.”

The restaurant was full but Sydney used her name to get a quiet table in the back. She didn’t do it often, only in dire emergencies. And this surely accounted for one. Once they were seated and placed their order, Sydney took out her laptop and pulled up her files.

“How many years can you get him?”

“Damn, woman. I knew something was up with this case.”

“It’s big time, isn’t it? You’re going to have your name all over the papers. Assistant DA brings down Thomas Mitchell’s murderer.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Monica sipped her lemonade.

“What are you talking about?”

“What’s your connection to Max Harmon?” Sydney blushed and picked up her water glass. “Don’t tell me…”

“What?”

“The man is one fine looking firefighter.”

“His looks have no bearing on this case.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“He fell asleep at the wheel.”

“And how do you know that?”

“He was awake for thirty hours.”

“I remember you pulling some late nights. Did some myself in college. I’ll be doing some this week now that I added an extra case to my load.”

“So we have a case?” Sydney’s heart raced. Mostly with excitement to catch the man who killed her grandfather. She ignored the tingling guilt in her chest at losing Max. Forever.

“Oh, there’s a case. Of what, I’m not sure.” Monica’s gaze was perceptive. She studied Sydney like a perp in the hot seat.

The waitress delivered their salads. Sydney left hers untouched as she watched her friend eat hers with a smug look on her face.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“I don’t like to jump to conclusions, you know that. Tell me why you’re so adamant he is responsible for your grandfather’s death.”

“I told you. He fell asleep.”

“Besides that.”

“Don’t you think it’s convenient that no one was around to witness the crime?”

“Accident.”

“That there are cameras at thousands of intersections in Dallas but not the one where Ma—Mr. Harmon crashed into my grandfather?”

“Your grandfather crashed into Mr. Harmon.”

“Because he ran a light.”

“Have you looked at the medical examiner’s report?”

“No. I was stunned when I saw Ma—Mr. Harmon’s involvement in the accident. I focused my research on his past.”

“Mm-hm.” Sydney ignored the taunt and let Monica continue. “I did some research on your Max as well. So you read about how many lives he’s saved? That he’s been on the Rescue Squad for Dallas Firefighter and Rescue for ten years and before that he served four years as a Marine?”

“That means nothing. Probably has PTSD as well.”

“And that his parents died in a house fire when he was a teen? Mr. Harmon rescued his younger sister and went back for his parents, but couldn’t get past the flames.”

Sydney went back and read the sad story at two this morning when she gave up fighting with sleep. She didn’t want to hear about his family life and soften at his tale. It wouldn’t bring back Grandpop.

“I don’t see what any of that has to do with—”

“Like I said before, the man is hot.” Monica pulled out Saturday’s newspaper, the picture of Sydney laughing with Max at the ball game stared up at her in black and white print.

“You were supposed to be researching Harmon, not me.” Memories of their laughter, their joking, their innocence rushed through her veins, clogging her heart with what she refused to identify as love.

It was all a scam, she reminded herself.

“That’s him.” Monica pointed at Max’s smooth jawline.

“He’s not identified in the picture.” Sydney folded the paper over and tossed it back at Monica.

“No, but if you know him, you can tell it’s him. So what gives? Lover’s quarrel and now you want to get back at him?”

“You know me better than that.” The accusation stung. Mostly because it was partially true.

“I do, which is why I’m surprised at all of this.”

“I want vengeance for Grandpop’s death.”

“Syd.” Monica leaned in and took hold of Sydney’s hands. “I know how much Thomas meant to you. I looked forward to his college visits almost as much as you did. What you two had was special and no one can ever take that away. But searching for something not there won’t bring him back.”

“It’s there. Maybe as an assistant you’re not the right one for the job.” Sydney yanked her hands back and regretted her words immediately. “Monica.”

“Don’t apologize. You’re hurting. I get that.” Monica closed her file folder and tucked it back in her briefcase. “I’ll keep digging. I’ll do some investigating, talk to those first on the scene. See what I can dig up.”

“Thank you.” Sydney dabbed her eyes with her linen napkin. “I’ll work on my end as well.”

“Take care of yourself, Syd. Don’t let your grandfather’s death monopolize you.”

“I won’t.” She put enough cash on the table to cover their bill, their salads nearly untouched, and rose. “Thank you for looking into this. It means more to me than you can possibly imagine. And I’m sorry about…I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“I know.”

They hugged and went their separate ways. Fear and worry mingled in Sydney’s chest. She didn’t want to believe her grandfather died in such an irresponsible manner. Somebody must be to blame for his death. Yet it meant losing the first man besides her grandfather and father who made his way into her heart.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER SEVEN

 

Max

 

Max loaded his gear into his truck and hoped he’d washed most of the grime off.

The call just before noon had sent the station into a frenzy. It was never good when a fire started on the third floor of an eight-story building. Rescuing those above the flames is a whole hell of a lot harder than finding those underneath.

Thankfully there weren’t any casualties, as the back stairwell had been flame free and the smoke hadn’t thickened until they’d gotten everyone out. Just another day on the job.

Even with the soot and heat, Max couldn’t hide the bubble of joy which exploded into a goofy smile on his face. And he didn’t give a rat’s ass how much the guys razzed him about his perky mood. They assumed he got laid, which he had, but it was so much more than that. When he’d left work Friday morning he sure as hell didn’t expect to spend the next forty-eight hours with Sydney.

To laugh so much. To enjoy lounging around with her in his arms, watching forgetful television shows while making memorable moments on his couch.

“Dude. You wanna grab a beer at Rodeo’s?” Todd hefted his bag over his shoulder and gestured toward the pub across the street.

Normally he’d be the one to suggest a beer and burger. That was before he had a gorgeous woman waiting for him.

“Not tonight. Thanks, though.”

“Who’s the woman?” Max bit the inside of his cheek to lessen the love-struck look he knew was present. “Shit. That bad, huh?”

Max slapped Todd on the back. “Better’n what you have at home. Ugly bitch and a frozen pizza.”

“Hey. No one calls Ugly ugly but me.”

It was a running joke among the guys. Todd’s sister left him with her stray mutt before she left for college two years ago and an instant bond was formed. They fought over Ugly—who came to Todd already named—when Sarah came home from college last summer. Todd won, claiming the dog didn’t remember Sarah and had formed an attachment with him.

Truth of the matter was, Todd was lonely after his divorce and going home to a dog, even one who fit her name to a T, made him feel better.

“Have a good night. Keep your paws to yourself.” Max chuckled at his joke and hopped in the cab of his truck.

“Yeah, you too, limp dick,” Todd muttered before stomping over to his truck.

Max turned on the ignition and rolled down the windows, letting the hot air out, and waited for the air conditioning to cool the cab down. He took out his phone and frowned when he had no messages from Sydney. Was she still at his apartment?

No, it was too small and there wasn’t anything for her to do there except lie around naked all day. Max’s jeans grew tight and he squirmed in his seat. He typed a quick message and set his phone in the center console.

Twenty minutes later he pulled into his apartment complex and checked his phone. Still nothing. He wanted to see Sydney but he also needed some shuteye. Max glanced at the dashboard and cursed. It was eight in the morning. Of course she was at work. He’d grab a nap and take her out to dinner later tonight.

Adding to his previous text, he asked her preference on eating in or out and climbed out of his truck. After another shower, he fell into his bed face first, soaking up the scent of Sydney Mitchell.

*

By the time Max woke around three, he had a slew of texts from Kayla, and none from the one woman he wanted to hear from. He couldn’t wait to see Sydney again. Touch. Taste. Smell. He wanted to five-sense her up in the worst way. Knowing that once he saw Sydney all thoughts of his sister would be gone, Max returned Kayla’s messages first.

“Hey Kayla. How are the girls?”

“Adorable.”

“Obviously.”

“Well, that’s why I called. Charlotte’s preschool is doing a firefighter theme next week and she may have name dropped you.”

“Name dropped?”

“She told her teacher her uncle is a firefighter and told all her friends you would come to preschool in your fire truck and let them climb in it. And squirt the hose.”

His heart warmed. His nieces were the world to him and he’d move heaven and earth for them. “The truck I can probably do. The hose is a no. They won’t be able to lift it empty, much less with—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. We know. Don’t lecture me on pressure and weight and…science.”

“There isn’t a science to the hose. It’s all strength. The science comes in detecting hot spots—”

“Yeah. The kids are four. They only like science when it blows stuff up or makes glitter.”

“You know, Kay-Kay, you’re not doing a very good job in ass kissing.”

“I didn’t think I needed to kiss your ass. This isn’t a favor for me. It’s for your adorably stinkin’ cute niece who talked you up like you’re some hero. Throw a cape on and make her day, will ya?”

“Firefighters don’t wear capes.”

“Are we really going to argue about this? I have about nine thousand things I need to do before Jillian wakes from her nap and I don’t want to—”

“Ten-four. Go do what you have to do. I’m off Friday. If that doesn’t work I can do next Tuesday.” Kayla juggled being a wife, mother, stay-at-home mom and volunteer better than anyone Max knew. Granted, he didn’t know many moms. They weren’t his usual crowd. With no other relatives on their side to help with the girls, Max stepped in when he could. He liked Dusty; he was a good husband and father to the girls. His family was huge but they lived in Colorado and visited twice a year. It was up to Max to fill in the remaining fifty weeks.

“You’re my favorite brother in the whole wide world.”

“And you’re my second favorite sister.”

“Asswipe.”

“Lovely mouth for a mother.”

“Wiseass. Is that better?”

“Do you want me calling you a pain in the ass in front of the girls?”

“Stop being a big brother. I have to go.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Max loved arguing with his sister. She could dish it out as well as she could take it and they both knew the other one had their back come hell or high water.

There was a lot of the same sass in Sydney. Maybe that’s what appealed to him. She’d fit in well with Kayla and the girls would adore her as well.

Max reread his two unanswered texts and padded out to the kitchen, scratching his chest and pushing away the worry creeping to the forefront of his mind.

Sydney was fine. If there were a fire, he’d have heard about it by now. There was nothing on his scanner about any shootings or other crimes near her office. The only other explanation was that she was extremely busy with work.

Lunch must have been a business meeting with no opportunity to call or text. Max grabbed a carton of yogurt from the fridge and ate it in three large scoops.

Hell. Now he sounded like an anxious teenager wondering when the girl was going to call him back. What a loser. They both had busy lives. Max often went twenty-four hours without returning calls. It’s not like he could ask the infernos of flames if they could hold off for a bit while he took a call. Or ask a trapped woman if she could wait a minute while he sent a text. Maybe show her the Jaws of Life in his hands so she knew he would rescue her when he could. No. People had to wait.

The role reversal sucked.

Resisting the urge to send Sydney a third text, he changed his clothes and headed to the gym.

***

 

Sydney

 

“What a jerk.” Sydney tossed her phone in her purse and locked her office door behind her. Dinner? He really thought she could stomach a meal sitting across from the man who killed her grandfather? Never.

She jabbed at the elevator button and tapped her foot, impatiently waiting for the doors to open. Most of the office was gone by now, but knowing her luck Craig or Jason would show up just in time to ride the elevator with her and bug her for a date. Again.

Sighing in relief when the doors closed shut, giving her some privacy before meeting with Monica, Sydney closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall.

Thirty-six hours ago she was lying naked in Max’s bed, counting down the minutes until she’d see him again. Twelve hours ago she’d gotten the shock of her life.

The second shock of her life. The first was three weeks ago when her grandfather died in a car accident. Correction. Was murdered in a car accident. Getting her second wind of the day, Sydney clutched the strap of her briefcase and held her head high as she stormed into the parking garage looking for her car.

After searching unsuccessfully for nearly five minutes, Sydney looked up at the sign and realized she was on the wrong level.

“Son of a bitch.” The man had her distracted and annoyed and turned on like never before. No, not turned on. Max Harmon repulsed her. His sense of humor. His commonness. Those deep dimples. The silvery eyes. No, not sexy or alluring. Lies. All of them.  All of him. She didn’t like him one bit. It was a lie.

One. Big. Fat. Ugly. Lie.

He’d singled her out at the funeral knowing who she was, hoping to get in with her, seducing her in case charges were ever brought up against him. And she fell for it all without a second thought. The roles would be reversed now. She knew his game and he’d pay for using his southern charm on her. Making her succumb so easily.

Only her heart told her she was also a liar.

She did like Max. Too much. And it scared her to think she could still have feelings for a man who had used her.

Opting for the stairs, she hustled up the flight easily in her three-inch pumps, more determined than ever.

*

“Honey, he’s not a murderer.” Monica pushed her Chablis aside, resting her elbows on the kitchen counter, and gave Sydney that sad, pathetic, pitying smile.

“The hell you say.” Sydney drained the rest of her glass and refilled it. She had four more bottles in her wine rack she’d pop open if need be.

“I searched through every database I could think of and pulled out every connection I have at the fire department and police station. There was no inside cover up.”

“I thought digging and research and favors took weeks. Months. Heck, if I knew being a DA was so easy I would have switched my major.” Sydney whipped open the cabinet door and grabbed a box of crackers before slamming the door shut. “I didn’t expect you to solve the case today. I invited you over tonight so you could tell me how the case was progressing, not to tell me you’ve already closed it.”

“There wasn’t anything to open, Syd.”

“Maybe I need to hire myself a new lawyer.” God, she hated how snarky she was to her best friend. Blame it on Max. Or the wine. The combination of the two had her more confused than the last political race.

“Is it worth this much to you? To see this guy go down for your grandfather’s death? To drag an innocent man’s name through the muck because you want someone to blame? Honey, I know how close you two were, but you need to accept—”

“I don’t need to accept anything.” Sydney gulped down her third glass of wine in less than twenty minutes and waved a cracker at Monica. “He’s going down.”

“Here’s some friendly advice. Lay off the wine and give this some time. Your hurt is still fresh. You need time to heal.”

“I’ve only known Max for a week. I don’t need more than twelve hours to heal. I’m good.” Sydney wiped her eye on her shoulder and shoved a cracker in her mouth.

“Oh, honey.” Monica trapped her in a bear hug and patted her head. “ I was talking about your grandfather. Sounds like you’re pretty serious about this guy.”

“No I’m not.” She sniffed. Damn Max for beating out Grandpop for space in her head.

“Did he hurt you?”

“He killed Grandpop.” She sniffed again.

“I’m talking about you. Did he hurt you physically? Emotionally?” Monica leaned back and Sydney looked away as her best friend scrutinized her.

“I don’t know.”

“Tell me about you two.”

Where did she start? Sydney stepped out of Monica’s embrace and sliced a block of cheese to go with the crackers.

“This has nothing to do with the case.”

“Sure it does. But I don’t want to talk to you as an attorney. Talk to me as your friend.”

Sydney plopped into the kitchen chair next to Monica and held her head in her hands. “He picked me up at the funeral.”

Monica snorted and Sydney lifted her head to glare.

“Don’t tell me, cheesy pick up line? He doesn’t seem the type.”

“How would you know? You haven’t met him. Or have you?” Sydney crossed her arms and returned the scrutiny.

“Never. Just going by the pictures and articles I found in files and online. One hottie you got there, Ms. Mitchell, and you know it. What happened next?”

Sydney told Monica about their first meeting, about the fair, the baseball game, and the weekend at his apartment.

“So you woke up yesterday morning in sexual bliss and turned a one-eighty when you saw Max’s name on the police report?”

“He set me up. Used me.”

“You haven’t talked to him about this?”

“I called you first.”

“I’m somewhat honored, but I suggest you talk to Max.”

“Aren’t attorneys supposed to advise staying away from the defendant?”

“He’s not a defendant and you’re not a plaintiff. But if you need a judge and jury in your make up session…” Monica wiggled her eyebrows and sipped her wine.

“You’re sick.”

“I’m kidding.”

“Doubtful.”

“Well then, if you’re done with hottie Max Harmon, maybe I’ll take him out for a test ride myself.”

A hot rush flared up her neck, setting her cheeks on fire, her nostrils flaring in the threat of a taunted bull.

“Holy shit, Syd. I’m kidding. Besides, if everything goes your way, Max will be behind bars when you’re done with him. Isn’t that what you want?”

Sydney’s hot flesh prickled like a cool breeze on a sunburn. Doubt sprinkled down on her. If Monica was correct, was Sydney ready to turn an innocent man’s life upside down?

*

After a multiple unsuccessful attempts at distracting herself with number crunching and real estate legal jargon for nearly three days straight, Sydney slammed her laptop shut and paced her patio.

While she hadn’t known him for long, every moment she’d spent with Max had been filled with laughter and friendship and longing. He hadn’t kissed up to her or asked for financial favors or connections. He didn’t belittle her or overly praise her. Instead, their relationship started off fun and honest. Or so she thought.

Did he really enjoy doing simple things with her like going to the fair and a baseball game, or was it part of an image he was trying to create? Sydney loved the image. A bit too much. She fell for his lazy grin and fake chivalry faster than a teased and hair-sprayed poof in a Dallas downpour.

Grandpop taught her how to scope out the phonies from the real ones, and Max hadn’t shown any signs of those losers looking to make his mark in the business world or in the bedroom or the boardroom. If he wanted to impress her he wouldn’t have brought her to his cramped apartment. Ick. Now she sounded like a snob.

Honestly, the tiny space didn’t bother her at all. Granted, she’d been too caught up in getting Max naked and in bed to really care. Still, his place was nothing like the sleek penthouses the men she dated owned.

And was nothing like her Craftsman style home either. Sydney slid open the screen and stepped into her kitchen.

When she bought and refurbished her home she’d thought it would be filled with family: her parents and grandfather, her cousins she didn’t spend enough time with, and eventually, her husband and children.

For a fleeting moment she softened and thought of Max as the heroic firefighter who risked his life for others. Who lived to protect others. Who cared for his younger sister. He could have been her soul mate. Her one true love.

Sydney pushed her hair out of her eyes and snorted. “As if.”

A handful of dates and one weekend of passion did not a soul mate make. Before she changed her mind about believing Max innocent, she scooped up her keys and marched out of her house on a mission. While the tentacles of a sharp, nagging pain tightened behind her eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER EIGHT

 

Max

 

The silent treatment he received from his cellphone, or rather, from Sydney, was rather disheartening. He thought they had a connection. Too many of his buddies prided themselves in one-night stands, but Max wasn’t one of them. He made it clear to Sydney, or so he thought, that when he took a woman to bed it meant more than just sex.

Apparently she didn’t get the memo. Or decided to ignore it. Max was a persistent man, but he wasn’t one to grovel or to push a woman who clearly wasn’t interested in him.

Unless…no, if she’d been in any type of accident he’d have heard about it by now. He wasn’t so controlled that he avoided the scanner or tabloids completely. Max checked regularly and no news of the Mitchell family popped up. No mention of the beautiful heir in the hospital or away on vacation. He even went so far as to snoop in to the goings-on at her law firm.

He chalked it up as a misconnection, even if it tore him apart.

“How’s your sister and the kids doing?” the captain asked.

“Great.” Max couldn’t contain his smile when the guys asked about his nieces. They were his everything. Until they came along, Kayla was his sole responsibility and she often complained how he hovered. But his nieces loved the attention.

“They’re growing like weeds. Jillian turned two a few weeks ago. It seems like Kayla was just pregnant with the little peanut.”

“That’s the birthday party you were coming home from the night of Mr. Mitchell’s accident?”

Earl Stewart kept close tabs on their lives but Max hadn’t thought he knew about Charlotte’s party. It wasn’t something he remembered sharing with the guys at the station.

“No. The older sister, Charlotte’s.”

“Was it some secret you were keeping?”

“What? No.” Max was taken aback and not liking the direction of the conversation. He hiked his backpack over his shoulder and dug around in his pocket for his keys. “Why would you ask that?”

The captain scrunched his nose and scratched his cheek, avoiding eye contact with Max. “You pulled a twenty-four then went to the party.”

“I always work a twenty-four. I got four solid hours of shut eye before my shift ended.”

“After pulling the woman from the Volvo.”

There was no need to go into detail. None of the guys liked reliving those scenes. DOA. The woman had careened down an embankment and wasn’t found for four days. The hot Dallas sun was not forgiving, and neither was the wildlife.

Max used the Jaws of Life to break through the door to her car and had done a quick body assessment before calling her in as dead on arrival. When he saw the two empty car seats in the back he’d searched the premises and concluded she’d been driving alone. He’d thought of his sister and his nieces and nearly lost his dinner.

The call to her husband an hour later had confirmed she’d been alone. She was going to a friend’s house for a girl’s weekend and never made it.

While his job was search and rescue, more times than not the search ended on a positive note.  So to pull two DOA’s in one day was damn shit luck. Of course Chief would remember that day as well.

“What are you trying to say?” Max crossed his arms in defense, not enjoying the interrogation.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist. I just wanted to let you know the DA’s been poking around. With a high profile death like Mitchell’s we’d expect no less.”

“Sure. They can poke around all they want. It’s a pretty cut and dried accident.”

“I’m here if you need me.” Chief nodded and patted Max’s shoulder before walking away.

Max scratched his head in confusion as he made his way out to the parking lot. And just like that his day turned bright again.

Like a beacon of light, Sydney headed toward him, her long legs moving like a gazelle’s in those damned high heel shoes. Her light pink skirt stopped right above the knee and her sleeveless white blouse was thin enough to see the outline of her bra. Lace, he supposed. He’d find out soon.

“Damn, I missed you.” Max didn’t give her time to speak, cupping her chin in his hands and drawing her lips up toward his. He savored her sweet taste and skimmed his hands around the back of her neck, pulling her body tight against his.

Her lean frame tensed at the public display of affection, but he didn’t care. He needed to touch her. Her lips finally softened and he traced her mouth with his tongue, whispering terms of endearment with each taste.

Sydney moaned and leaned into him, kissing him back, and then all too suddenly she slapped her hands on his chest and pushed him away.

“Don’t do that.” She touched her lips with the back of her hand and took a step back.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay. No one’s out here.” Max placed a hand on her hip and attempted to draw her back into his embrace, but she took another step back.

“Stay away from me.”

“Honey, that’s not possible,” he teased, studying her lips. It wasn’t until she clenched her jaw and focused her harsh gaze upon him that he realized she was serious. “Syd, what’s wrong?” He reached out for her again and she jumped, as if afraid of him. She’d returned his kiss with passion and then something brought on a one-eighty.

“Don’t Syd me. You know why, you…you…murderer.”

“What?” Max nearly choked on his own tongue. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t play innocent, Mr. Harmon. You played me, and I don’t do well with those who make me look foolish. Payback’s a bitch. Consider yourself forewarned.”

Sydney spun on her heels and marched across the parking lot to her fancy car that stood out amongst the trucks. Max couldn’t help but study the sway of her perfect backside as her skirt cupped her ass the same way his hands had cupped her cheek two minutes ago.

The awkward conversation he’d had with the chief made sense now. Someone was trying to pin Mitchell’s death on him and Sydney got wind of it. First he’d see what the DA thought he had, and then he’d track down Sydney and set her straight.

*

“You’re freaking kidding me, right?” Max paced the conference room, shooting daggers between Shane Fuller, the station’s lawyer, and his captain. “The DA doesn’t seriously believe I staged Thomas Mitchell’s death?”

“It’s a long shot, but the Mitchell family doesn’t want to accept the autopsy reports.”

“He had a heart attack and plowed into me.”

“They claim the heart attack was caused by you running the light.”

“The accident investigation and reconstruction reports show—”

“Reports written and an investigation done by your colleagues.”

“That’s bullshit.” Max crumpled his coffee cup in his fist and chucked it at the trashcan in the corner. It was no secret that the police and fire departments had each other’s backs, but fraud? “I’ve never tainted any investigation. My integrity has never been questioned, and it sure as hell better not start now.”

“Easy, Harmon. No one in the department is questioning your ethics or the accident. It’s politics and finger pointing.” The captain rubbed his hand across his face and sighed.

“I knew Thomas Mitchell well and doubt he’d be happy with his family’s accusations. It’s the granddaughter who is forcing the investigation,” the station’s lawyer said.

“Excuse me?” Max leaned over the table, not caring if his body was imposing or intimidating to Shane. He had his facts wrong. There was no way Sydney would have any part of this. He figured she caught wind of the ridiculous claims, but to push the charges on him? Was she fishing into his life the past few weeks just to get dirt on him?

She could search all she wanted; his life was an open book. There were no skeletons in the closet. The twist in his gut tightened and his gaze fogged over. Hell, she made a fool of him and he didn’t take nicely to it.

Max wouldn’t go down without a fight. He didn’t want to hurt Sydney, but they needed to have it out face to face before lawyers and bureaucrats ruined his life forever.

 

***

Sydney

 

“So this is how the rich and famous live.”

Sydney bolted upright and flipped off her pool float, sinking under the water. No, it couldn’t be him. When she surfaced, sure enough, Max stood at the edge of her pool piercing her with his steely glare. His arms were crossed across his chest, his biceps pumped and stretching the thin fabric of his shirt, much like he stretched her patience thin.

“I’m not famous.”

“You will be if this case goes to court.”

Yeah, he was pissed.  A tingling of guilt crept into the pit of her stomach and she quickly rubbed it away with her hand. Feeling self-conscious in her two-piece bathing suit, she remained in the water. Max’s glare softened for a fraction of a second when his gaze drifted south to her cleavage, but he quickly recovered it, the tick in his jaw showing her just how angry he was.

“How did you get back here?” she asked. “Or should we add breaking and entering to your list of crimes?”

Max’s quick intake of breath startled both of them. It was a low blow but she needed to keep her armor on tight before he weakened her with soft, sweet kisses again. Sydney thought three days was long enough to get over a man she’d known—and fell for—only a few weeks’ time.

Apparently three days was not enough. In all the time they spent together he showed nothing but respect and kindness, attentiveness and friendship. And even…love.

“You really think I killed your grandfather?”

No. “Yes.”

“Was that before or after we had sex? Is that why you didn’t seem appalled by my near impoverished apartment? Snooping around. Did you find anything incriminating? No diary of an evil plan to kill a man I didn’t even know?”

“I know it wasn’t premeditated.”

“Oh, thank you for that.” Max’s laugh was cold and angry. He left the edge of the pool and grabbed her towel from the lounge chair, holding it out for her. “For the record, if one means anything to you, I had no idea who you were when we first met.”

Slowly, Sydney inched her way out of the pool, taking the towel from him and wrapping herself tight. “Thank you.”

“I connected the dots the day we went to the baseball game.”

So he had known who she was before he took her to bed. Sydney felt the burn in her cheeks, ready to read him the riot act, but remembered it was she who seduced him. Still, he could have told her then.

“Was it your theory I fell asleep at the wheel and supposedly hit your grandfather? You know the forensic reports say otherwise.”

Monica had told her, and came up with a weak hypothetical argument that they’d been falsified as a favor to one of their own. She’d been skeptical of her theory but Sydney needed to latch on to it. To anything that would…to what, she didn’t know.

Between the overwhelming emotion of losing her grandfather and falling for Max in the same week, she was a basket case. At the time Sydney was supportive of the angle, but the Max she knew wouldn’t do something like that. She read about his search and rescue missions. Of the lives he saved, of the overwhelming guilt when he couldn’t save someone.

His press releases were candid and honest. If he’d fallen asleep at the wheel he’d have admitted it by now. Or shown some sign of guilt.

But a heart attack? Grandpop hadn’t said anything about a heart condition, and she was furious at her parents for keeping it from her. For leaving her to learn about it through the police report.

“We know how much you adored your grandfather and he didn’t want to add any more stress to your life, with your new career and all,” her mother had said at dinner the other night. Her parents kept his condition from her for two years, and Grandpop had kept the severity of his quickly deteriorating health from them.

“I take the grim expression on your face and your silence as a yes.”

Sydney stared down at her toes, too overwhelmed and confused and sad to look into Max’s honest eyes. She steepled her fingers over her nose and breathed in deep.

“I used to think I was a good judge of character. I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Mitchell.” Max unfolded his arms and slipped out the back gate.

Sydney eyed the trash barrels she’d brought back from the end of her driveway before she jumped in the pool.

And remembered she’d forgotten to close the gate behind her.

 

***

 

Max

 

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Kayla eyed him skeptically.

“Of course.” Max crouched down, placed Charlotte on his shoulders, and picked up Jillian in his arms. “You two lovebirds go on the Ferris wheel or something. I’ll bring the girls to see the animals.”

“Can we see the baby cows?” Charlotte asked from above his head.

“Anything for you, princess.” He wrapped his free hand around her calf, holding her tight as he nodded goodbye to his sister and brother-in-law. They headed toward the petting area of the fair singing “Old MacDonald”.

For the past week he busied himself with work and hanging out with his nieces when he wasn’t on call. They were a perfect distraction from the mess about to come. Shane didn’t think the DA had a solid case, but with the Mitchell name and money as his opponents, Max didn’t think he stood a chance, no matter how outlandish the charges were.

And even if he was deemed innocent—which he was—his name and reputation would be clouded with what promised to be a media frenzy of a trial. If it went to trial.

What hurt the most was Sydney thinking he’d lied, not only to the police about the accident, but to her as well. One of the qualities Max prided himself on was his honesty. And his judge in character.

The time he’d spent with Sydney would be forever stamped in his heart. He’d been allured by her honest eyes, her candid words and her humility. Never once had she flaunted her upbringing in his face. Instead, she seemed humbled and appreciative of their simple dates.

A country fair and a baseball games were not places you brought a woman who had a trail of commas in her net worth, yet her smile and laugh had been genuine.

Something went wrong between the time she left his bed and when he saw her again the following day. To his knowledge, there weren’t any flags from the accident, no unanswered questions. No inkling of a scandal.

Yet somehow Sydney got it in her mind that Max had staged the accident and was at fault. He hoped she knew him better then that, even if they’d only known each other for a few days. Maybe he was wrong to keep their names and occupations a secret for too long.

It was too late now anyway. The only person who believed one could repeat the past was Jay Gatsby. And look how his life turned out.

Instead he focused on the now, spoiling Charlotte and Jillian with ice cream and fried dough, knowing Kayla would be on his case about ruining their dinner. With no maternal grandparents around to spoil them, Max readily stepped in for the job. Who knew how much time he had left to spend with his family?

Two hours later he handed off his nieces to Kayla and Mike and headed back to his lonely apartment. Would Sydney really separate him from his family? Kayla and the girls needed him, almost as much as he needed Sydney.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER NINE

 

Sydney

 

“What do you mean you’ve changed your mind?” Monica pushed the files and papers away and leaned forward on her elbows. She had the intimidating lawyer look down pat.

Sydney nibbled on her thumbnail and averted her eyes. “I want to drop the charges.”

“That would be fine and dandy if the DA wasn’t after some media attention. I worked every angle I could find to push this case to my bosses. Thomas Mitchell was a Dallas icon. Putting away the man who killed him would look really good for our city. You said so yourself last week.”

“I thought you said the case was weak.”

“It is. If it weren’t for your grandfather’s reputation, any other law firm would brush this off as a case of retribution. And you told me it wasn’t.”

Sydney peeled her nail to the quick and started working on her pinky. She’d never been a nail biter before. There were lots of things she never did before.

Like feeling comfortable enough to yell at a baseball game. And playing silly games at the fair. Indulging in fatty foods and a bottle of beer without feeling scrutinized. Or going to bed with a man she barely knew.

She also hadn’t smiled or laughed as much as she had during her time with Max. His profession hadn’t mattered to her, but learning he was a firefighter, one who was on the rescue squad, made her respect him even more. It wasn’t a career that would earn a large paycheck, and the hours were long and hard. And Max Harmon fit the selfless hero role to a T.

Brave, loyal, kind, caring, honest, and trustworthy. And yeah, hot as a campfire on a summer’s night. He battled flames for a living and sparked them in her with the wink of an eye, a gentle caress, a lazy grin.

“Sydney?” Monica’s sharp voice snapped her from her thoughts.

“Sorry.” Sydney dropped her hands to her lap and squared her shoulders. “I’ve been doing some thinking…um, some research and digging around of my own. Before I went through with all of this, I didn’t know about my grandfather’s heart condition. The reports don’t seem to be tampered with and Mr. Harmon’s reputation speaks for itself. I’d like to drop the charges.”

“It may be too late. Like I said, Simon and Shaeffer are interested in pursuing.”

“Well, tell them to stop.” Sydney’s stomach churned, her head spinning with regret and disbelief. Max didn’t deserve to have his name and reputation dragged through the mud.

“And we’re back to the one-eighty again. I never pegged you for this kind of thing. Using your name and money in a lover’s quarrel.”

Sydney leaped to her feet in fury and shook her finger in Monica’s face. “I didn’t…this isn’t…I’m not…” She’d never felt this kind of pressure before. Never had onset headaches like she’d been experiencing for the past week. Pressing the heel of her hand against her forehead, she backed up until she hit the wall and slid down to the floor.

The range of emotion in her chest burned. Why couldn’t Grandpop be alive? Why couldn’t she have met Max in a different capacity where she didn’t have to choose between what her head and heart told her?

No, they were both in unison. It was her own stubbornness that wedged its way between them. She’d known the truth all along, only her self-doubt got in the way. And now a most likely innocent man was going to be run through the coals.

“Honey.” Monica joined her on the floor and patted her leg. “This is more than a little crush, isn’t it? I thought so when you first came up with this harebrained idea.”

“Then why did you let me go through with it?” Sydney rested her head on Monica’s shoulder and sniffed back the tears.

“Have you met Sydney Mitchell? She’s a tiny thing, but persistent as an ant.”

“An ant?” Sydney scrunched her nose and forehead in confusion.

“Sure. You pour water on those pesky little ant holes thinking you’ve drowned the damn things and they keep coming back. You squash their buddies and they don’t run away, but come looking for more.”

“You couldn’t compare me to a tiger or giraffe, or even a unicorn?”

“Haven’t met a persistent unicorn before.”

“Only a few believe in them, yet they keep coming back again and again in fairy tales and fantasies.”

“Is this Max Harmon guy your fairy tale?”

“He was. Now he’s a fantasy. I screwed things up big time, Mon.” Sydney told her about the sweet kiss in the parking lot of the station and how hurt he looked when he tracked her down at her house.

“And now you want to drop the charges and hope he’ll welcome you with open arms?”

Sydney slumped, drawing her legs toward her chest, and wiped her eyes on her knees. Her white Capri pants would be ruined and she didn’t care. Monica was right. Max wouldn’t easily forgive her. She betrayed him in the lowest way, by questioning his integrity. And the worst of it was, Grandpop would have been disappointed in her as well.

*

Friday night dinner with her parents went as well as could be expected. She admitted to her major screw up and turned down her father’s offer to get involved. She made the mess; she’d clean it up. However, if there ever was a time to pull her connections, it was now.

Sydney spent Saturday morning on the phone with Simon and met Schaefer for lunch to plead her case.

“This doesn’t fit with your honest reputation, Miss Mitchell.” Schaefer had been friends with her grandfather and wanted revenge as much as her family did.

“I know, Mr. Schaefer. I take full responsibility for my…irresponsibility, and can only plead stupidity on my part.”

“We’ve all suffered a great loss with Thomas’s death. You were his favorite; he made no secret of the fact. I have some questions regarding the investigation. It seems even the insurance company is agreeing with Mr. Harmon’s story. And they’re typically hard-asses when it comes to compensation. Mr. Mitchell’s estate is taking care of one hundred percent of Mr. Harmon’s truck repairs.”

“As they should. Mr. Schaefer—”

“You were right to come to my offices. To Monica. We will see that justice is served to Thomas and your family.”

Sydney had hoped Schaefer would agree to her wishes. Out of respect for Thomas. Only he’d now turned it around and was on a vendetta to avenge his death.

Her gazpacho and spinach salad fought with each other in her stomach. She went for something light, yet it weighed heavily inside.

Schaefer was known to be ruthless, yet fair. Otherwise her grandfather would never have befriended him.

“Mr. Schaefer. I was wrong in opening this case. Mr. Harmon was not responsible for my grandfather’s death.”

“And you know this how?” His big hand wrapped around his water glass and his eyes studied her as he sipped.

“I know the man. He—”

“He got to you, didn’t he? Sees a beautiful woman in mourning and played on your weaknesses. I know the type. You’re too young and innocent to see the evil in the world. It’s something Thomas wanted to shield you from.”

“No.” Max didn’t manipulate her into trusting him. Their connection was real. Not once did he ever mention her grandfather or the accident. If he wanted to use her, something would have come up in their conversations. A hint. A hedge.

“Miss Mitchell. I’m taking the liberty of stepping in for your grandfather in his absence. To look out for you. Guide you to—”

“I appreciate your concern, Mr. Schaefer, but I can assure you I don’t need you fulfilling my grandfather’s role as my mentor. I’m more than capable of making decisions and looking out for my best interests.” Sydney placed her linen napkin on the table and scooted her chair back. “I’m asking you, as a friend of Thomas Mitchell, to respect my wishes and drop the bogus charges. We both loved my grandfather and would love someone to be at fault for his death, but unfortunately his heart failed him at the worst time, causing him to run a red light and crash head-on into Mr. Harmon. Let’s not ruin someone else’s life because we want retribution. My grandfather would not want that.”

Sydney stood and held out her hand before she embarrassed herself by doing something stupid. Like reaching across the table and grabbing him by the tie, begging him to drop the case.

Schaefer took her hand in both of his and squeezed, adding an extra pat.

“You’re a good kid, Sydney.”

And there was the problem. The old buffoon thought of her as too young to make educated decisions. She needed to talk to Monica again. There had to be something she could do to make her boss stop his pursuit. They had to put an end to this case before Max’s life was ruined.

*

“Captain Stewart.” Sydney knocked on the open door one of the firefighters led her to and leaned in. “Can I have a moment of your time?” She’d pictured a well-rounded man, but the captain behind the desk was whipcord lean and the expression on his face wasn’t impressed.

“What can I do for you, Miss Mitchell?”

“I guess there’s no need for an introduction then.”

“When one of my finest, hardworking men is dragged through the mud with false accusations, I’m gonna get involved.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less.”

“I’m not one for fancy words or bullshit, Miss Mitchell. If you’ve come here to stick your prickly little nose in my men’s lives, I’ll have you escorted out of here quicker than a gasoline fire.”

Protective. Max would need a man like Captain Earl Stewart in his life if Schafer kept the case open.

“I can assure you, Captain Stewart, I only have Max’s best interest in mind.”

The captain laughed and kicked his feet up on his desk. “You young people have some eff’d up way of showing your…interests.”

Sydney tensed and clutched her handbag to her hip. “I owe you an apology.”

“I’m not the one who needs an ass kissing. And neither does Max.”

“I’ve asked the DA’s office to drop the charges. I know Max wasn’t responsible for my…for Thomas Mitchell’s death.”

“It doesn’t matter what you know or believe, Miss Mitchell. Once the DA grabs ahold of this case, he’s not letting go. Mitchell was a highly respected and influential man in this town, and if the mayor thinks he can point the finger at someone for his death, he’s going to do it.”

Sydney took the liberty to sit in the black plastic chair and folded her hands in her lap. “I met with Mayor Brownstone this morning. He’s not looking for a media frenzy either. He’s going to talk to the DA’s office about dropping the charges against Mr. Harmon.”

The captain returned his feet to the floor and leaned across his desk. “It’s not just Max’s ass you lit on fire, you know. You’ve questioned the ethics of the entire Dallas police department, as well as our investigators. Last I heard the insurance company was under investigation as well.”

“I know. And I can’t apologize enough.” Sydney slumped her shoulders in guilt and defeat. “I won’t make excuses for what I did. I wanted to blame someone for my grandfather’s death, and I hurt so many people in the process. I was foolish and will do everything in my power to right my wrong. It’s my understanding that no official charges have been made yet.”

“‘Yet’ being the operative word. It’s only a matter of time before every local news station gets a hold of this. God knows what’s going to be said on social media. A shitstorm has gotta be brewing.”

“As far as I’m aware, nothing has leaked yet. The DA’s office was afraid of opening such a high profile case on little information. I’ve never pulled rank, used my family name to get me what I want, but I’m name-dropping like crazy trying to clean up my mess.”

“There are moles everywhere. Waitresses overhear things. Doormen.” The captain peered at her and leaned back in his chair. “Girlfriends.”

Sydney swallowed and nodded. “I had no idea who Max was when I…when we…first met. I didn’t even know he was a firefighter until a few weeks after we—”

“I don’t need the details of my men’s private lives. Unless, of course, it has something to do with…”

“No. I promise you what is…was going on with Max and me had nothing to do with…anything but mutual…friendship.”

“I don’t know what you kids are calling it these days, but I know how shit-eating happy Harmon looked two weeks ago, and how seriously depressed he’s been of late, busting his ass even harder than he did before this muck happened. I suppose you’re the reason for the sunshiny glow and his current mood?”

“Most likely, Captain. I’m going to do everything in my power to—”

“Yeah. So you said. But it ain’t my ass you should be kissing right now.”

“Yes, sir. Is Max working today?”

“He’s twelve hours in to his forty-eight off.”

Sydney stood and held out her hand to the captain. He gripped it with one hand and a skeptical scowl.

“I won’t stop until everyone involved is cleared.” She turned to the door and stilled when he called her.

“Miss Mitchell?”

“Yes?” She turned, hoping the intimidating captain wouldn’t keep her much longer. She must see Max before he hated her forever.

“I like you.”

Surprised at his compliment, Sydney nodded and rushed down the hall.

 

***

 

Max

 

Max pounded the punching bag until the tape wrapped around his hand split and his knuckles bled. Boxing hadn’t been on his radar until last week happened. Instead, running and weightlifting had been his escapes of choice after the house burned, taking the lives of his parents.

But pushing his legs over ten miles of hills and benching three-fifty wasn’t satisfying anymore. He’d never understood violence as a coping mechanism; however, beating the stuffing out of the bag wasn’t hurting anything. It was actually therapeutic.

He was scared and excited when he signed up for the army and served overseas, busying himself with studying and running drills over and over again.

When his platoon leader was killed just feet away from him, Max reacted by shooting back, taking out the enemy. He didn’t reenlist when his time was up. War and fighting weren’t his thing. He wanted to protect and to save, not kill.

But being betrayed by the woman he saw a future with, hell, it hurt more than a third degree burn on the heart.

Max stepped away from the swinging bag and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. It felt good to let his aggression out, to feel the burn in his shoulders and arms. The soreness in his joints was nothing compared to the charred hole in his chest.

“Not used to seeing you in this corner.” Kole Brandt nodded toward the still-swinging bag then looked toward the other side of the room housing the weights and cardio equipment the firefighters used in between calls.

“Needed to mix things up a bit.” Max tore at the tape with his teeth and tossed it into the trash.

Brandt was a good guy. Former military as well, he and Max had a silent connection. Even though he’d been with the station for nearly ten years, Max limited his time out with the guys. He’d join the crew for burgers and beers, even shoot some hoops or go to a ballgame, but he rarely went out. Bar hopping wasn’t for him. Save that for the young ones. Those without family obligations. He worked hard and when he wasn’t on call, he spent time with his sister’s family.

Seeing life ripped away so quickly, he didn’t take anything for granted. Ever. Family would always be first and foremost in his life. It seemed Sydney had the same standards, unfortunately at Max’s expense.

Brandt dropped himself to the weight bench and chalked up his hands.

“Need a spotter?” Max stood over him, impressed with the weight Brandt had stacked on the bar.

“Thanks.”

He attempted to keep his attention focused on the bar, on Brandt’s chest as he did his reps, and off the mess his life was becoming. When Brandt finished, he dropped the bar on the rack and sat up.

They swapped roles, matching each other’s weight and reps until Max’s arms started to shake. “Think I’m done.”

“Your arms have to be rubber after the beating you put on the bag.”

“Little bit.” Max chugged his water bottle and wiped his neck with a towel.

“You need to talk, I’m around.”

“Noted.” While he appreciated the gesture, talking was not something Max wanted to do right now. He needed to make sure his finances were in order and make sure the money he put aside for his nieces’ education wouldn’t get touched in the event of…no, he wouldn’t go there. He couldn’t think about the court costs. And God forbid he was fined or sued.

He scrubbed his hands across his face and ducked out of the gym, heading for the bathroom.

After a quick shower, he snuck out the back door to avoid conversations and sympathetic stares from the guys and consoling hugs from the women. Not wanting to think about cooking, he called for a pizza and picked it up on his way home.

He opened the door to his apartment and the stifling air slapped him in his face like a pissed off lover. Or rather, like Sydney’s betrayal.

Damn, he sounded like a mopey middle schooler getting dumped by his first girlfriend. He and Sydney never really spent much time together; only a handful of dates and thirty-six hours in bed. Not enough to make life-long decisions, but long enough to think he was close to falling in love.

At thirty-five he’d dated his share of women and knew which ones were long term and which were not marriage material. Or at least, he thought he knew.

And what Sydney did to him was much worse than a dumping. He needed to get over her and focus on the legal matters that were about to get thrown in his face. His career would be over. His savings account depleted. If sent to prison, he’d miss Jillian and Charlotte’s first day of kindergarten. Their first boyfriends. Their high school graduation.

“Shit!” Max kicked the leg of his kitchen table, sending it skidding across the small space. Just what he needed to add to the growing list of false accusations: violent tendencies.

He dropped the pizza and his keys on the counter and rummaged through the fridge for a beer. Only two left. Probably a good thing. Right as he twisted off the top, his doorbell rang.

Sweat gathered on his spine and soaked his back. He should have turned on the air conditioning before opening the beer. Priorities, though. Max didn’t want to talk to anyone and remained still, hoping the unexpected visitor would go away.

The doorbell chimed again. Letting out a long sigh, he dragged his feet to the door and pulled it open.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Sydney stood in the doorway. Her normally perfectly groomed hair was pulled back in a rushed, lopsided ponytail. Instead of high-end clothes she wore a pair of jean shorts and a Texas Rangers tank top. Max’s gaze skimmed down the long, golden legs he fondly remembered being wrapped around his waist, and landed on her feet clad in flip flops.

This was the Sydney he connected with, yet he was doing his best to picture her in her fancy, designer outfits. They made her appear more standoffish. This casual woman on his doorstep fit in too well with Max Harmon’s style.

“I see by the beer in your hand I didn’t wake you.”

“Breaking and entering, and now alcoholic? Your lawyers will have a field day with this one.” Max pushed the door closed but Sydney jumped inside, pressing her body against his.

Max breathed in her scent, fresh cut flowers, and backed up.

“I don’t remember inviting you in. I can start a tab for you. Lying. Trespassing. What’s next? Extortion? You forget, I’m practically penniless.”

“Max, I—” The ringing of his cell phone cut her off. Normally he wouldn’t take the call, but manners weren’t high on his priority list right now.

Leaving Sydney in the living room, he took three long strides to the kitchen and picked up his cell from the counter. The screen identified the caller and he knew he had to take it.

“Captain?”

“Harmon. This is a conversation I prefer to have face to face, but I figured the Mitchell girl would be finding her way to see you soon.”

“Yeah.” He set his beer on the counter and sighed.

“She there already?” Max tilted his head just enough to see her in his peripheral vision and grunted, confirming the captain’s suspicion. “What you do with her is none of my business, but I wanted to let you know the DA’s office is calling off their investigation.”

“They’re what?” Max stood to his full six feet for the first time in over a week.

“Thought you’d want to know, and didn’t want to wait until you came in on Wednesday to share the good news.”

“Thanks, Captain.”

“You’re a fine young man. Don’t let this bullshit you’ve been through get you down. That Schaefer asshole and his office are doing some serious ass kissing right now. I have a feeling I know what went down. Important thing is you’re in the clear.”

“I appreciate the call.”

“I’ve got your next shift covered. Take some time for yourself, Harmon. De-stress. Go away or something. You’ve had a lot on your mind.”

“Thank you, sir, but I’m—”

“That wasn’t a request. It was an order. I’ll see you on Saturday.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, Captain.”

Max ended the call and slid his cell into his pocket. He took a deep, cleansing breath, rested his hands on the counter and leaned forward. The weight lifted off his shoulders and he took another breath and closed his eyes. Thank God the DA’s office came to their senses. His career, his future, would have been ruined if the lies against him hit the media.

“Max?”

Max’s eyes flew open and he stood up, spinning around toward Sydney. For one fleeting moment he forgot about her and her role into the attempted destruction of his future.

“Are you okay? You look…pale.”

“I haven’t had much time for lounging in the pool. Some people work and are busy trying to clear their name.” He didn’t like his tone. It was out of character for him to snap at a woman. The hurt in her eyes almost did him in. Staying strong, he looked away and picked up his beer, downing the rest of it.

“I don’t know what I can say to earn your forgiveness. I was stupid and spoiled and didn’t think of anyone but myself.”

When the beer was empty he tossed the bottle in the recycle bin by the fridge and grabbed another, resisting the urge to be gentlemanly and ask Sydney if she’d like a beverage. He popped the cap off and sipped his second and last beer more slowly.

The room was a pressure cooker of heat and tension. The collar around his neck and the back of his shirt stuck to his sweaty body. Usually polished to perfection, Sydney wore a bead of sweat above her lip and brow as well.

Max liked how she looked hot and bothered. He remembered how her naked skin glistened when it was wet with sweat. They shared more than just body heat and body fluids that night. Deep down inside Sydney must have felt it too. She had to remember how good they were together. And if she did, then what?

Truth of the matter was, she lead the DA to believe he was guilty of covering up a crime. Of killing her grandfather. No matter how hot they were together in bed, how many laughs they had over a meal, Sydney Mitchell was not for him.

When his beer started sweating under his hand he knew it was time to crank on the A/C. Pushing past Sydney, he made his way to the cheap wall unit and turned it on high. It didn’t take long for the cool air to kick in. Max stood in front of the fan and let his skin dry.

A warm body sidled up beside him; a soft breast brushed against his elbow and the gentle smell of flowers filled the air again.

“Max.” Sydney laid a hand on his shoulder and stood between him and the air conditioner. “I’m very, very sorry. I was wrong. I wanted retribution for my grandfather’s death.”

“He had a heart attack and could have killed me if I was in a smaller vehicle.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?”

“I was told he fell asleep at the wheel. I knew he’d never do that, especially at three in the afternoon.”

“Who told you that?”

“My family. To protect me.”

“From what?”

“My grandfather and I were very close. I didn’t know he had a heart condition. My family kept that from me so I wouldn’t worry about him. So when I heard that’s how he died, I didn’t believe it. I figured the heart attack must have been triggered by the accident.” She toyed with the tip of her ponytail and he willed his eyes to stay north of her nervous hands. “Now that I’m thinking more clearly—”

Max choked on his beverage, and a few drops of beer dripped down his chin. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and studied Sydney.  She’d been thinking pretty damn clearly when they’d gone to the fair. When they made out like a couple of horny teenagers in his truck. When she easily coaxed him into the shower with her after they christened his kitchen table. And couch.

She closed her eyes and dropped her chin to her chest.

He wouldn’t let the appearance of innocence and defeat soften him. She hurt him. Betrayed him.

“I needed someone to blame…I couldn’t accept his death…”

“You seemed to accept his death just fine the day of his funeral. And the week after. Hell, you can’t fake the kind of enjoyment you had in my bed not long after his death either.” She didn’t cringe, didn’t appear offended. “You convinced the DA to investigate me.”

“I know. I was wrong.” She looked up at him with those gorgeous, sad eyes and he had to turn his head and stare out the window.

“You’re only saying that now because they dropped the investigation. Had they convicted me you’d be swearing at me like a crazy lady in the parking lot again.”

She may not have been effected by his words, but Max cringed at what came out of his mouth. This wasn’t him. He didn’t fight this way. He didn’t use words to hurt people’s feelings, no matter how mad he was.

“That’s not true. I believe you. I know you didn’t cause the accident or Grandpop’s death. Learning he died from a tragic medical issue and not because he was being careless, is strangely more comforting. I am so, so sorry for blaming you, and will do whatever I can, whatever you need me to do to earn your forgiveness.”

“I can’t do this right now. You need to leave.” Max pushed past her and opened the front door, bringing in the Dallas heat and humidity. He wanted the hot air, including Sydney’s, out of his apartment.

“Max. Please. Can we talk about it?”

“We just did.”

Sydney closed her eyes and lowered her head. Max looked away when the lone tear escaped her eye and traveled down her cheek.

“I’m not giving up on us. I know I screwed up. Big time. But you’re worth fighting for, Max Harmon. I’m not afraid to admit when I make a mistake and fix what I broke. I’ll wait for you, however long that takes.” Sydney kissed his cheek and slipped out the door.

He didn’t want to believe her. Didn’t want to trust her. But if what his captain said to him on the phone was true, Sydney had been the one to call off the investigation. That fit more with her character than sabotage and revenge.

And yet, part of him admired her for pulling no stops, for going to the ends of the earth to learn the truth behind her grandfather’s death. The accident and police reports were solid, but she needed to see them for herself, to come to grips with losing someone so close.

He got that. Too well.

Max may have stood in front of the cool air for minutes or hours. He didn’t have a clue. All he knew was that his mind was swirling faster than a tornado in Oklahoma.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER TEN

 

Sydney

 

Nearly a month had gone by since she saw Max. Sydney knew she didn’t deserve his forgiveness. Yet, she hoped with time the hurt she’d caused him would heal and he’d welcome her back into his life. In the meantime, she worked crazy long hours Monday through Friday, and spent every weekend coming up with lists of adventures she wanted to go on and do with Max.

The first weekend after she begged for his forgiveness Sydney sent him flowers. A mixture of jasmine and sweet pea like the lotions she wore. She missed his nuzzles and the deep inhale he took as he kissed her neck.

The second weekend she sent him five tickets to Disney’s Beauty and the Beast show at the opera house. She was sure to note in the envelope the tickets were free for her family as gold donors. Max wouldn’t appreciate her spending money on him, but hopefully could get past the pride issue and enjoy an evening with his nieces.

She’d contemplated giving him four tickets, hoping he’d take her as his plus-one, but erred on the side of caution and included one each for his sister and brother-in-law.

Still, no phone call or text. No thank you letter in the mail or a post-it note stuck to her front door. Sydney respected him too much to show up at the fire station or invade his privacy at home. Still, she wanted him to know he was on her mind. All. The. Time.

Last weekend she left him a silly card. Something to brighten his day. The outside of the card showed two women sitting at a table drinking wine. In a speech bubble, one of them was saying, “She’s all, ‘don’t sleep in the nude. What if there’s a fire and the firemen come and see you naked?” The other woman said, “Uh, you pretty much described my fantasy.”

All Sydney wrote in the card was Missing you. ~ Sydney

This weekend she pushed it a little further. Sydney placed a bottle of wine on the bottom of the basket and surrounded it by grapes, cheese, apple slices, and an ice pack. In a separate bag she wrapped two wine glasses in linen napkins, and set a baguette and a wine opener on top of them.

The captain was gracious enough to tell her Max had the weekend off, so when she stood outside his door and rang the bell she prayed he was in a good mood. The same loaner truck he’d been driving was parked in its usual spot so she knew he was home.

When the bell went unanswered she knocked. And knocked again.

Nothing. It would only annoy Max if she kept knocking or ringing the bell, so once again Sydney slid down the wall and sat on the sidewalk, drawing her knees to her chest. This had never been a sulking position before. Heck, she never sulked before.

She’d wait him out. The man wouldn’t stay locked up in his apartment all day. October had brought cooler temperatures, if you could call seventy-eight cool. The nights weren’t as hot and muggy as August and September, and were perfect for picnics by the lake.

Or on the cement walkway in front of Max’s apartment. Surely the neighbors wouldn’t mind if she popped a squat right here. Wishing she brought a book to read, Sydney rested her forehead on her knees and waited.

It wasn’t long before a dark shadow loomed over her. She looked up and smiled at a sweaty, shirtless Max. He took out his earbuds and clicked something on his iPhone while keeping his questioning stare locked on hers.

“Hi.” A goofy grin quirked on her lips and she bit it back, trying not to appear like a sex-crazed stalker. Man, he was sexy. Sweat dripped between his pecs and gathered in the dusting of hair on his chest. Sydney’s gaze traveled south, following the glistening path over his abs and lower, lower.

Max shifted on his feet and dropped his hands to cover his crotch as if trying to hide something from her. Sydney pushed herself to standing, Max’s hands reaching out to help her up and steady her.

“Are you hungry? I brought food. Well, a snack, really. Not enough to qualify as a meal for someone as…big as you.” The flirt didn’t mean to come out. It was Max’s fault for showing up on his doorstep sweaty, shirtless, and sexy.

“I need a shower.”

That was better than a no.

Max unlocked his door and Sydney stayed outside, not wanting to push her luck. When she didn’t enter Max turned back and sighed. “You can come in.”

Like the loner girl getting picked first in gym class, Sydney skipped into his apartment and shut the door a little too excitedly behind her. Max stood silently, his eyebrow lifted and the beginning of a smile etched on his lips.

“Did you forget something?”

Sydney looked around and smacked her forehead. “Oh!” She went back outside and gathered the picnic basket and bag. When she stepped inside Max was already gone and she could hear the water running in the bathroom.

Not sure what to do with herself, she paced the living room a dozen times and had to stop after she got dizzy from the short loop. She sat on the couch and crossed her legs. Then uncrossed them. Reclined. Sat up. Leaned forward. Leaned back.

When she heard the bathroom door open she bolted up from the couch and caught a glimpse of a clean, wet, totally hot and nearly naked Max crossing the hall to his bedroom, a small towel wrapped loosely around his waist.

“Good Lord.” Sydney stood in front of the air conditioner to cool her face and fan out her shirt, as it was sticking to her back.

“Hot?” Max asked, now dressed in khaki carpenter shorts and a shirt with the Dallas Fire Department emblem on it.

“Better.”

They stood in awkward silence while Sydney tried to get a read on Max’s facial expression. He’d be a marvelous poker player. Should she jump right into the apologies, the ass kissing, and the make up sex? Or play it slow and smooth, see if Max wanted to start over, relive their first date or something of the like?

“You said you had food?”

Yes, food was what brought them together in the first place. “We can eat it here or maybe go for a walk? Eat at the park?”

“The park is three miles from here.”

“Oh.” Sydney picked at her thumbnail, which had finally started to grow back. “Since you just went for a run you probably don’t want to walk so far. I can drive us…somewhere.”

Max’s eyes weren’t cold like they were a month ago. Instead they cautiously assessed. “Somewhere sounds fine.” He picked up the picnic basket and bag with one hand and gestured her toward the door with the other.

Sydney scrambled through her purse for her keys and led the way to her car. “Do you want to drive?” She held out her keys for him and he shook his head as he walked to the passenger side. “Oh. Okay then.”

Nerves weren’t common in a Mitchell. She didn’t have them during their first date. Instead it was anticipation and excitement. There were a few nerves before she bared herself naked in front of Max, sure, but not like this. Not stumbling for the right words to say, walking on eggshells, afraid to say the wrong thing.

If she and Max were going to reunite and go back to the way things were, they couldn’t do this careful tap dance. He liked and respected the Sydney Mitchell who spoke her mind and wasn’t afraid to ask for what she wanted. And that was the Sydney she liked best as well.

Instead of driving to the closest park, she took them to the reserve by her house. There were plenty of walking trails and park benches along the paths. Or they could venture off into the woods and have a romantic picnic alone.

As soon as she turned off her car Max hopped out and grabbed the basket from the backseat. He followed her in silence until they reached a semi-private bench overlooking Lakewood Pond.

“Is this okay?” She took the bag from him and unwrapped the glasses.

“Okay for what?”

“Sex.” Max coughed and nearly dropped the basket. “I’m kidding. We’re in much too open a space for that. I’m not into exhibitionism.”

“Good to know.” Max rubbed his palm across his face before shoving his hands deep in his pockets.

“I’m going to open this bottle and we’re going to sit here like…friends, and eat our cheese and grapes, and sip our wine, and either start over, pretend like it’s our first date, or talk about the elephant in the room. Your choice. The silent treatment is over, though.”

Sydney uncorked the bottle of blackberry wine and pointed to the glasses. “Make yourself useful and hold those for me. Then sit your gorgeous ass down and tell me what you want.”

 

***

Max

 

Sydney wasn’t making this easy on him. She was like a draft to a flame. Too much of her and it would either go out or blow into something phenomenal. Max spent the past month trying to figure out which was worse.

After she left his apartment last month he went back to the station to talk to the captain. He told Max the story of Sydney storming in and vowing to make things right. Only a Mitchell’s influence could have pulled back the pack of wolves getting ready to eat him alive.

Yet only a Mitchell had the influence to paint him as a guilty party in an innocent accident. He tortured himself more by reading up on Thomas Mitchell and found dozens, if not hundreds, of articles written about him and Sydney escorting each other to fundraisers, charity events, and local shows.

There was no dirt on her or her parents or her saintly grandfather. There were no skeletons the media had been able to find in the decades the Mitchells had been a Dallas icon. And he didn’t think Sydney was the black sheep in the family. She’d admitted to acting irrationally out of anger and mourning over her grandfather’s death.

Still, it hurt that she could believe, even if only for a short time, that he had anything to do with her grandfather’s death other than as another victim. Sure, he didn’t have a scratch on him, his heavy truck taking most of the beating, but he lost another life and hadn’t been able to rescue him. For that, he’d always carry the guilt.

Even when the victim was DOA, there was always a ray of hope that Max could resuscitate, bring the victim back to life.

“Are you going to drink that or hold it all day?”

Max looked down at the full wine glass in his hand and brought the purple liquid to his lips. Sweet. It was not his normal choice of beverage. Yet he bet it tasted delicious on Sydney’s lips. They were pink, not yet stained from the wine, and he hoped to taste them later.

It was the flowers that did it for him. The evil vixen sent them to him as a reminder of her. Max respected the serious, loyal and dedicated side of Sydney that was a Mitchell, but loved the clever, cunning and sexy side of her even more.

The hurt would take a while to go away. He wouldn’t forget the betrayal, but he could forgive and move forward. He believed her when she said she was focused solely on her grandfather. It was shit luck Max was on the other end of it, though. He wished she trusted him enough to believe in him, to not doubt him, but they only knew each other a few weeks. She had a lifetime with her grandfather.

“I’ve given you enough time to decide how you want to do this. Are we playing the, ‘Hi. My name is Sydney. What’s your sign?’ game or are we going to hash out how much of a fool I was to think even for a second you would be part of a cover up? That you could ever lie or be dishonest? That I’m going to have to do more than bring you flowers and princess tickets and girly wine to beg for your forgiveness?” Sydney wiped her eyes and sniffed hard before gulping her glass of wine.

“You’re pretty sneaky.” Max took her glass from her and set it down next to his on the ground.

“I didn’t try to be. After I left your bed—which I never wanted to do—I went home to start my research on my grandfather.” She took another unladylike sniff and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “That’s when I saw the report about a heart attack. I didn’t believe it and pegged it for a cover up. I hatched this harebrained idea that the entire Dallas PD was in on it. That the man involved, a firefighter and part of Dallas’s finest working men, had sabotaged the accident to make it look like a heart attack. Or that the accident caused his heart attack. That’s what I made myself believe. I was so angry. And then I read deeper and saw your name as the other man involved. I…I lost it.”

Sydney broke down and sobbed. Max swore and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight into his chest. Within seconds she soaked his shirt in tears. He kissed the top of her head and inhaled her flowery scent.

“It was the flowers. You know I can’t resist you. Sending me flowers which smelled like you was sneaky and crafty and made my chest burst. I laughed out loud. A lot. Every time I walked by them my heart beat faster thinking of you.”

Her body stopped convulsing long enough for Sydney to pull back and look up at him. “What did you say?”

“That was a crafty move on your part, Syd,” he said with a grin.

“You’re not mad?” Her mascara smudged around her eyes and she never looked more miserable and pathetic and beautiful.

“I’m mad as hell for what you did.” One thing he learned through therapy was the power of forgiveness, not only with others, but with yourself as well. Losing his parents in a fire ate at him for years. It wasn’t until he accepted their death as an accident he couldn’t have prevented, that he forgave himself.

Still, he punished himself by joining the military. And received more therapy when returning to civilian life. Max saw the power of forgiveness nearly every day on the job. When one of his fellow firefighters or EMTs screwed up, if they didn’t forgive and move past the rookie mistakes, emotions would burst, tearing their team apart. Their job was unpredictable and each had to rely on their teammates to act fast and make the best on the spot decisions they could. He saw forgiveness in Kayla and Dusty’s marriage, in their love and affection for their children.

And he saw too much hate in the world. He didn’t want to be part of it.

“Oh,” she whimpered, and the tears formed again.

“Let’s call this our first big test. All couples go through problems they have to face and learn to deal with together. Our first fight was a doozy, but I’m willing to move on.” He stroked her hair and skimmed his hands down her back, keeping her tiny frame pressed to his.

“Max Harmon, no kidding? For real? You forgive me?”

“Your loyalty to your grandfather is commendable. I just didn’t appreciate it being at my expense. Trust is important in a relationship.”

“Absolutely. I trust you, Max. I swear I do. And I want you to be able to trust me, too. I know I need to earn it after everything I did. I swear, I’ll prove to you every day how much you can trust me.”

“Oh yeah?” He dipped his head and tasted her lips, sweetened with blackberry and grapes. “How exactly do you plan on doing that?”

“Your wish is my command. Tell me what you want, Max, and I’ll do it for you.”

“Oh, sweetheart. I’ve got a long, long list of things I want you to do for me. And the list is even longer of what I want to do to you.”

 

 

EPILOGUE

 

Sydney

 

It was her first Christmas in her new home and she wouldn’t be spending it alone. It only took Max three trips with his truck to move his furniture and belongings into her house. Correction. Into their house. Even though Sydney owned it outright, Max insisted on paying his share.

She let him take over the utility bills and even agreed to his old couch in the basement. Max was quite happy with the deal since he turned the basement into his Man Cave. Weights in one corner, a punching bag in the other, and his flat screen TV above the minibar, though he didn’t entertain much.

Sydney knew paying the bills was more about pride. He didn’t want to be an interloper or mooch off of her wealth. Had she thought for one minute that Max was using her for her money, she’d never have brought him to their first baseball game.

“Hey, beautiful.” Max snuck up behind her and kissed her neck. “Ready to go get our first Christmas tree?”

“I am.” She turned in his arms and returned his kiss, savoring his taste, his goodness, and his passion.

“Or we could test out your bed one more time before we go,” he mumbled in her mouth, his excitement evident against her leg.

Sydney laughed. “You’ve lived here for two weeks, and even before that I’d say we’ve tested out our bed plenty of times.”

“Plenty?” Max jumped back and shook his head in disappointment. “Sweetheart, we’re just getting started.”

He picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold and jogged up the stairs to their bedroom. She loved this view. His firm, round, perfect butt eye-level, taunting her with every stride. Before she could give it a playful slap, Max flung her body down and she bounced on the bed in laughter right before he crushed her lips with his.

 

 

 

 

 

THE END