SIXTEEN

Pizza and Epiphanies

I laugh as Max stands as far away from me as he can in the elevator, both of us carrying a pizza box.

“Max, come on.”

“No. Keep your disgusting fruit pizza away from me. It’s an abomination that will frighten my pure-blooded pepperoni.”

“It’s a little bit of pineapple, for God’s sake. Not the Pizzapocalypse.”

He glares as if I just insulted his mother. “Fruit on pizzas is unnatural, and those who eat it are monsters.” He looks up at the lit numbers as we climb floors. “God, I was really starting to believe we could have something, Miss Tate. A real connection. But, now that you’ve revealed your true nature, I can barely look at you.”

“Max –”

He holds up his hand. “No. Don’t talk to me. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

I suppress a smile as he grimaces in disgust. This is the most relaxed we’ve ever been with each other, and I have to admit, I like it. His mood from earlier has completely gone, and I wonder if ending the official part of the ‘date’ had something to do with it. Now that he’s not playing a role, he’s a mixture between Kieran, Caleb, and Maxwell, and I wonder if that’s his secret to being so believable – all his roles are just different shades of himself.

“Max, can I –?”

“Stop talking. In fact, don’t even look at me.” He gestures with his head. “Turn around and face the wall. Go on.”

I roll my eyes and humor him, and I hear the smile in his voice when he says, “Good girl. Now, take some time to think about what you’ve done.”

I laugh, surprised that when he lets his guard down, he’s actually a regular guy. I decide that for tonight, I’m going to try to ban all thoughts of mistrusting him. I still need to get answers to my questions, but maybe I can do it while enjoying hanging out and eating pizza.

I peek over my shoulder to find him staring at me. More specifically, at my ass.

I clear my throat, and he looks away.

“So,” I say, feeling smug. “We’re going to Maxwell’s penthouse?”

He nods. “Each character has a different apartment. Maxwell’s is kind of ... impressive.”

“Do you own all of these?”

He snorts. “If I owned that much real estate, I could retire a wealthy man. Most of them I book through Air BnB.”

Now it’s my turn to snort. “Yeah, right.”

He shrugs. “Don’t really care if you don’t believe me. You’re a disgusting lover of fruit pizzas. You’re barely human.”

I’m still snickering when the elevator doors open to reveal the most incredible apartment I’ve ever seen.

“Oh ... my ... God.” I walk into the huge penthouse, mouth gaping. It’s plush and luxurious and has an entire wall of glass that showcases the breathtaking view, including the Empire State Building, front and center.

“What sort of freakazoid puts this up on Air BnB?”

“Someone who’s not here a lot and wants to share the view.” I barely notice when he takes my pizza box and walks into the kitchen. “Now, get your butt in here and eat. I can hear your stomach still growling, and it’s getting louder.”

I gawk at the view for another thirty seconds before turning to see him moving around in the gleaming white kitchen. He places a plate and napkin next to my pizza box then takes up position at the opposite end of the huge granite island.

“You stay down there with your monstrosity,” he says as he opens his lid. “And if you tell me you need utensils to eat pizza, then we’re done. Get the hell out of my presence with that nonsense.” He shoves a giant slice of pizza in his mouth as I walk over and open my box.

God, it smells amazing, but there’s no way I can eat pizza in the most beautiful dress on the planet. I’d ruin it within seconds.

I look at Max, who’s inhaling his slice with impressive speed. “I don’t suppose you have a robe or something. There’s no way I could live with myself if I got pizza-grease on this gown.

He puts down his slice and wipes his hands on a napkin. “No robe, but I might have something that could work. Come with me.”

I follow him across the living room and into the bedroom. The leather duffle bag he used as Caleb is there sitting on the bed, and a few articles of clothing are poking out the top. After throwing his phone and keycard onto the nightstand, he rifles through the bag and pulls out black sweatpants and a gray Led Zeppelin T-shirt and hands them to me. “These should do the trick. They’re clean, in case you’re wondering.”

The shirt is the same one he wore as Kieran when we ‘ran into each other’ at the bar. It seems I’ve come a long way since then, because I no longer have the urge to smack him for that deception.

“Thanks,” I say as I put the clothes on the bed and pull my hair over my shoulder. “Could you unzip me?”

“Uh ... sure.” He steps behind me, and I freeze as he slowly lowers my zipper. When it’s all the way down, I hear him exhale but don’t turn around. I assume he’s just gotten a full view of the expensive underwear he sent me, and if I want to have any chance of resisting my attraction to him, I need to avoid seeing his face right now.

“Thank you. I’ll be out in a minute.”

I feel tension in the air for a few seconds, and then the warmth behind me disappears before the door closes with a quiet click. I blow out a breath as I take off the dress and lay it carefully on the bed. Then I remove my shoes and pull on the soft T-shirt.

Oh, Lord. It smells like him. Well, like Kieran, anyway. Lemongrass. My sense memory makes parts of me pulse uncomfortably. The shirt’s so big it reaches the top of my thighs, and my body registers that Max’s size definitely isn’t a turn-off.

I pull on the pants, but the legs are so long, they cover my feet. Not to mention they fall straight down over my non-existent hips.

I pick them up and fold them neatly on the bed then take a deep breath.

Okay. I’m just going to eat pizza with him. Press him for information about his past. Get the story. Easy.

I pad back out into the kitchen to find Max has already polished off half of his pizza. When he looks over at me, he freezes mid-chew, his eyes wide and his jaw slack.

I go to my end of the bench and attack the largest piece in the box. He wasn’t wrong about this being the best pie in New York. Even with my heathen fruit tainting the flavor, it’s freaking delicious.

“Oh, God. So good.” I moan as try to fill the black hole inside me. Of course, only part of that hunger has to do with food.

When I finally look up from stuffing my face, Max is still frozen, watching me. After he catches me looking at him, he chews and swallows what’s in his mouth, his eyes flashing with something that looks a hell of a lot like irritation.

“Where are the pants?”

“What?” My speech is muffled by the huge bite of pizza stuffed in my mouth.

“The pants I put out. You decided to not wear them?”

I shrug. “They were too big. I figured the shirt covered the important parts.”

“Okay,” he says. “No problem.” He swipes the napkin across his mouth before placing it onto the counter. Then he slips off his jacket, throws it onto a nearby stool, and unclips his silver cufflinks before placing them next to the pizza box. While keeping his eyes locked onto me, he removes his tie and slowly begins popping open the black-enamel buttons on his dress shirt.

The temperature in the apartment suddenly skyrockets.

It takes effort to swallow as I watch him. “Uh ... what’s happening?”

“I’m taking off my shirt.”

“Why?”

“Because we’ve apparently reached the portion of the evening where we get semi-naked to torture the other person.”

He pulls off his shirt and throws it onto the stool with his jacket, and I’ll admit it, I gape. He looks at me coolly as he goes back to eating, as if he can’t tell I’m being engulfed in the most scorching bout of lust to ever be felt by a human female.

Sweet Hot-Bodied Moses.

I’ve seen glimpses of his naked torso before now, but never the whole thing. And here he is, standing there wearing only his slim-cut dinner suit pants and a pissed-off expression, and I can’t remember a single reason why I haven’t licked him yet. I’m so turned on, my entire head could be on fire right now, and I wouldn’t even notice.

His body is divine. Lean, hard pecs, beautiful arms, abs for days, and those amazing little muscles on the sides of his ribs that you just know would look like tiny waterfalls when he takes a shower.

I can feel my mouth hanging open, but I don’t have the focus to do anything about it.

Jesus.

Who knew eating pizza would require so many muscles to bulge and flex? It’s mesmerizing.

He notes my expression and smiles while chewing. “Are you done eating, Miss Tate? Or are you just hungry for something else now?” I don’t understand how his face can do absolutely nothing and yet say so much.

Through sheer unwillingness to let my attraction dictate my actions, I pull my gaze away from him and go back to my pizza, which doesn’t help banish the urge to eat the rest of my pie straight off his abs.

We chow down in silence for a while, both of us stealing glances when we think the other isn’t looking, and even though the penthouse is the most spacious apartment I’ve ever been in, the tension in the air makes it feel tiny.

How had it come to this? I’ve never wanted to sleep with a man as much as I want to sleep with Max. I want it so much, I feel ill. My stomach is twisting around itself, my skin is hot, my heart is racing like I’ve just sprinted a few miles, and my brain is fuzzy with a dizzying rush of hormones. The worst part is that, despite my earlier protestations, I’m seriously considering asking him to kiss me ... and not just on my mouth.

I think about how he’d taste as I stare at the thick muscles of his neck. Would he be gentle? Rough? Maybe a bit of both? I shift my attention to the delectable roundness of his shoulders; the plump curve of his biceps; the gentle slopes of his forearms. How long could I kiss him before my body screamed at me for more? A few minutes? Judging by my current state, it would take seconds, maybe less. I stare at his broad chest and taut stomach then become entranced by the angled grooves above his hipbones, the ones right where his pants are sitting. That leads me to notice that the front of his pants is bulging. Could it be he’s just as aroused as I am? And if he is, how can this possibly be anything but disastrous for both of us and our so-called professionalism?

“Hey.” He bends over until his face is in my line of sight. “Eyes up here, missy.” When he straightens, I finish my last piece of pizza and wipe my face and hands.

“Got any alcohol?” I ask. I desperately need something to take the edge off my emotions. Staying down at this end of the island is getting more and more difficult.

“Nope. But I do have some soda.” He goes to the fridge and gets out two bottles of Coke. “Why are you so determined to self-medicate around me? Or is it just the way you deal with life?” When he reaches into an overhead cabinet to get glasses, I marvel how his back flexes and the firm roundness of his butt in those snug pants. “You chug caffeine to stimulate you during the day and binge on alcohol at night. Does it help to numb you from the burning need to connect with someone on more than just a physical level?”

I laugh as he grabs ice from the freezer and fills the glasses. “And here I was thinking it was just my nan and sister who enjoyed browbeating me about my love life.”

After pouring the soda, he walks over and hands me a glass. “You realize that people only browbeat you because they care, right?”

I look down at the bubbles as they rise to the surface and pop. “I don’t know why it’s such a big deal that I don’t want a relationship. It’s insane how society views people who are conscientiously single. If I’d gotten married to some loser and divorced him by now, no one would say a word. But a never-attached twenty-five-year-old is like a mythical harbinger of doom.”

He leans against the island and crosses his arms over his chest. “So, you’re telling me that you’re happy, and determined to go through life alone?”

“I’ve done pretty well so far. I don’t need another person to make me complete.”

“Not needing someone and not letting yourself need someone are two different things. I’m not sure you know the difference.”

“Then why don’t you educate me? I know you want to.”

He leans forward. “One is called independence. The other is denial. Humans need love and affection. We’re pack animals. We’re not designed to be alone.”

“I like being alone. There’s a certain peace in solitude.”

“I agree. But are you sure you’re not confusing solitude for loneliness? All animals need physical contact to feel love. Is that why you have sex with strangers? So you can pretend your need for affection is being fulfilled?”

I stare him down and try to think. I’m not used to being challenged in this way. Explaining my innermost thoughts and opinions isn’t my idea of a good time. I like how things are with my life. Or at least how they were before I met him.

“Do you realize how often you Dr. Phil me?”

“Do realize how often you avoid my questions when I do?”

“I don’t know why you keep turning this interview around to be about me.”

He shrugs. “I just find you fascinating, that’s all. It’s like you think solitude is a logical defense against love, but it isn’t. If cupid were real and needed to literally shoot you with an arrow to make you fall in love, then sure, your idea of locking yourself in a tower with no doors might work. But love is like a dormant disease.” He puts down his glass and steps forward, and when he presses his cool hand over my heart, I pull in a tight breath. “It’s already inside you, Eden. Just waiting for the right person to activate it.”

I force myself to take even breaths and avoid the urge to look away. I hold my head high and wear my best poker face. “Maybe I’m just naturally immune.”

His expression shows glimmers of sympathy, like he’s a doctor giving a fatal prognosis. “No one’s immune. But I do believe you’re stubborn enough to ignore the symptoms for as long as you can, and one day you’ll find out denying it damages you far more than giving someone your heart ever could.”

Just when I’ve reached my last scrap of restraint in either having to kiss him or step away, he makes the decision for me. He takes his glass and strides into the living room, where he proceeds to flick through the impressive range of vinyl albums lining one of the bookcases.

Without looking at me he says, “But, hey ... what do I know, right? I’m just a college dropout who romances women for a living.”

I take a cleansing breath and go and sit on the plush leather couch as he pulls out albums to examine them before placing them back.

“You dropped out of college?” I ask. “This is new information. Care to elaborate?”

He studies the front of an album then flips it over to read the back. “Not really. I was in college when my life went to hell, and I dropped out to deal with it. End of story.” He puts his drink down, so he can slide the record out of its sleeve.

“End of story? That seems like the beginning to me. At least tell me what you were studying.”

He opens the record player and places the disc on the spindle, and even though he doesn’t look at me as he sets the stylus, I can sense the tension in his face. “Music.”

Sultry jazz filters through the high-end speakers as he comes to sit next to me, and he slides down until his head is leaning against the back of the couch. Then he man-spreads until his thigh is touching mine. “I really enjoyed it, too. Maybe I’ll go back one day.”

“So, that’s why Caleb is such a convincing character? He’s a lot like the real you?”

“I guess. I enjoy playing him the most.”

“Where did you attend music school?”

He sighs. “If I tell you that, you’ll try to track down my information, so ... no.”

“Max, come on.” I put my glass on the coffee table and kneel on the couch, so I can face him. “Full disclosure. That’s what you told me. Do you not know the meaning of those words?”

He turns his head to look at me, and for the first time since I met him, he looks tired. As if the burden of being so many people other than himself sits heavy on his shoulders.

“Would you stop trying to make every moment with me about the damn story? Please, just sit here and relax.” When I sit back down, he puts his arm around me and pulls me until I’m curled into his side, my head resting on his shoulder. “Just let’s ... be, tonight. I’ll worry about exposing my dark secrets to you another time. I promise.”

I brace against him by placing my hand on his chest, and dear God ... part of me really wants to relish the casual intimacy of this position, but I don’t know how.

“Just listen to the music,” he says, his tone heavy with fatigue. “Breathe. Relax. Stop talking yourself out of experiences you should be talking yourself into.”

I try to let go. I really do. I close my eyes and lean into him, and he slouches down so we’re both more comfortable. The strong thud of his heart beneath my ear is strangely hypnotic.

“See?” he says, his voice quiet. “Would it be so bad to have something like this in your life? Someone like me?”

I take steady breaths, ignoring the thrumming currents racing from his body into mine.

“Can you feel that?” he whispers.

I squeeze my eyes tighter. “No.”

He chuckles. “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”

The music swirls around us, smooth and elegant. Max lightly runs his fingers down to my elbow, then back up to my shoulder, and the sensation is beyond incredible. I curl my hand into his chest and take his lead by using my fingertips to glide up to his clavicle, then down to the waistband of his pants. His skin contracts with goosebumps, and he makes a growly noise in his chest as he presses his head back into the couch.

“God, yes. That feels too good.”

I love the feel of his skin, and he’s basically given me permission to keep going, so I do. I run my hand over his shoulder and down to his bicep, where I press lightly before making my way to his forearm and feel thick muscles under smooth skin.

“If you’re trying to drive me insane, Miss Tate, you’re succeeding.”

I look down to see that his crotch is swelling in response. “Are you being unprofessional around me again, Mr. Riley? Because this is becoming a habit for you.”

He lets out a humorless chuckle. “When we’re together, I have no control over my body. I’ve given up trying.”

“My offer stands to help take care of your urges.”

“Don’t tempt me. I’m trying to be Zen about what I want to do to you, but you don’t make it easy.”

The need in his voice pushes me over the edge, and moving slowly, I draw myself up and crawl into his lap. His eyes snap open as my knees settle on either side of his hips.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting comfortable. That’s the idea, right? Relaxing with each other?” Following my body’s directive and not much else, I lower down until the insistent throbbing in my groin is pressed against the hardest part of him, and we both moan the second I make contact.

“Fuck ... Eden.” He closes his eyes again. “This is a bad idea.”

“Then tell me you don’t want it.” I slide up while pressing against him. Then I close my eyes and moan as I slide down again, sharp pleasure piercing through me.

He pushes a breath out through his teeth as he closes his hands around my hips. “Oh, I want it, and if we were different people, I’d have already given into the hundreds of urges I have regarding you. But I suspect you’re doing this for all the wrong reasons.”

“When something feels this good,” I say, as I press down, “how can it be wrong?”

I grip his bare shoulders as I circle my pelvis, and every time I hit the spot that makes him groan, I try to make him do it again.

God. This.

It’s exactly what I need from him; the antidote to the relentless pressure he builds within me. The grinding and moaning and pleasureable gasps. Not the other stuff that can’t be cured by his hand, or dick, or well-trained tongue.

This is my solution, and if I can get it without taking my clothes off or getting my heart involved, great. Right now, I’ll take whatever relief I can get.

I rise up and slide down, over and over again, riding the long ridge of him through his pants as I curl my hands into his hair and pretend he’s just like all the other men I’ve had beneath me.

“Eden ... Jesus.”

I tug at his hair, trying to block out anything that distracts me from lighting this powder keg. I’m kindling, and his body is flint, and if I do this right, it will be a cleansing fire that will reset my ridiculous body and its gravitational pull to him.

He groans beneath me and tightens his hands on my hips, and just as I open my eyes to see his tortured expression, he grunts in frustration and stands, making me squeal as he takes me with him. We’re both panting when he sets me onto my feet and steps back.

“Eden, this isn’t what I’m about. It’s not what we should be about.” He exhales and rubs the back of his neck. “I know what you’re trying to do, and ... no. You can’t make something that’s beautiful but complicated into something simple and ugly out of sheer force of will.”

“Max, I –”

“No, just listen for a minute. There’s a difference between making love and having sex. And there’s also a difference between having sex and fucking.” He walks to the window, as if he doesn’t trust himself if he remains close to me. “Sex is just body parts creating friction to get a physical release. Fucking is more intense. It’s desperation. It’s not that you’d like to have sex, it’s that you need it. And you need it with that particular person, right the fuck now.”

He paces, not looking at me. “And then there’s making love. That’s when you need to be a part of that person, and whether or not you come is irrelevant. You get so much pleasure from just being inside them, everything else is unimportant.”

“I understand, but –”

He stops moving and faces me. “No, you don’t, because you’re goddamn terrified that out of those three options, sex is what you want the least from me.”

I throw up my hands. “My vagina would disagree.”

“That’s because you’re used to listening to it above all else while stifling your heart.” He squares his shoulders, challenging me. “Just stop fighting the goddman obvious for five seconds and admit you have feelings for me.”

I laugh. “Oh, that would make your night, wouldn’t it? To prove your domination over me. The great Mister Romance and his unfailing ability to tie women into emotional pretzels.”

“This isn’t about our bet.”

“Of course it is. Everything you do to me is about protecting yourself.”

We glare at each other, but I’m not backing down. I’ll be damned if he wins this easily. It’s bad enough that he can read me like a book and play my body like he was born to do it. There’s no goddamn way I’m going to admit to all the ways he owns me.

“If you want me to admit to something,” I say, “… then here it is: I don’t want to ride off into some mythical sunset with you, Max. That’s not who I am. I want to fuck you and get my story, preferably in that order, and that’s it.”

He clenches his jaw before raking his hand through his hair in frustration. “For God’s sake, Eden!”

“So, Miss Tate is finally out the window?”

He scowls. “You think I can even pretend to remain professional with you anymore? You’re so strong in so many ways, but right now, you look like a scared little girl. Why is it so difficult to cope with the thought that you like me?”

“My God, your ego –”

I stop short when he strides over to me, eyes flashing with fire. “Then deny it. Go ahead. But you better look into my goddamn eyes when you do it.”

He’s leaning down so his head is level to mine, and every smart-ass comment I had lined up to hurl at him dies in an instant. “Max ... I ...” I can’t deal with the way he’s looking at me, like he’s itching to pounce on any half-truths.

“Okay, yes,” I admit. “I’m attracted to you, but that doesn’t mean I have feelings beyond desire.”

“No? Okay then, if you’re so sure that all you feel for me is physical ... let’s go.” He starts unbuckling his belt.

“What?”

“Take off your underwear and get over here.” He walks over to the kitchen and slaps the marble bench. “We could start here then move the couch. Maybe up against the windows. That would be hot. You taking in the view while I fuck you from behind. We could give the tourists on the observation deck a real show.”

“Max –”

He notices that I haven’t moved. “Come on, Eden. If sex is the answer, then tell me what you want, in what position, how many orgasms you’d like ... I’ll do it all. Free of charge.”

“So all that crap about you not sleeping with your clients –”

“Is a hundred percent true. You’re not my client. You never have been. And even if you were, I’d break every fucking rule I’ve ever held sacred just to be inside you right now. I’ve never wanted a woman as much as I want you, so if you want to fool yourself that this is just about hormones ... fine. I’ll help you work me out of your system one thrust at a time. But then, that’s it. After we’ve had our way with each other, we’re done.”

He’s so worked up, he’s panting, and my breathing isn’t much better. The mere thought of not seeing him again makes me feel sick.

“Come on, Max,” I say, attempting a smile. “This is crazy.” I try to laugh it off, but he’s being serious enough right now for the both of us.

He walks to where I am, the intensity of his eyes drilling into me. “You just looked me in the eyes and told me sex is all you want from me, Eden, so let’s do it. Fuck me until all those inconvenient urges go away, and then I’m out of your life forever. I’ll never inflict myself upon you again.”

“I ... I still need to see you for the story.”

“You can email me questions. I’ll email back. Strictly business. Is that how you want it between us?”

He’s standing close now, and because I can’t look into his eyes anymore, I watch his fists clenching and releasing instead.

“Max, I don’t ... I don’t know what I want.”

He exhales, and when he speaks again, it’s softer. “Yes, you do. You’re just too damn stubborn to say it. You want me, but not for one night. You want me in your life. You want me in ways you’ve never desired any other man, and that has you fucking terrified. You want me exactly the same way I want you.”

“No.”

“Yes.” When I look up at him, I see such raw disappointment in his expression that my stomach squirms with guilt. “But if you’re not ready to accept that, then there’s nothing I can do. I can’t force you to take a chance on me.” He swallows and shakes his head. “Go get dressed. I’ll take you home.”

I look at him for a moment, feeling more lost and confused and … small than I ever though possible. He’s asking me to open a door that’s been closed my whole adult life, but not only do I not have the key, I have absolutely no idea where to even look for it.

I turn and head toward the bedroom. Just before I reach it, he says, “Do you know why you avoid real connections, Eden?”

I look back at him. He has his hands in his pockets, and he’s staring in my direction but not looking directly at me.

“Why?”

“Because it’s easier for you to think being alone is a choice rather than admitting you might be unlovable.” He looks me in the eyes. “Let me tell you, you’re not. Not even a little. The man who made you think that – whoever the hell he was – couldn’t have been more wrong.”

I hold his gaze while trying to lock down a storm of emotions that are filling me up in unfamiliar and painful ways. And when he gives up waiting for me to change my mind

and looks away, I head into the bedroom and gently close the door.

* * *

Getting back into my dress by myself is difficult. Honestly, I’d rather just curl into a ball on the massive bed and sleep for a week, if only to forget about everything that just happened. Instead, I awkwardly zip myself up as best as I can and bite my tongue every time I even think about calling out for Max to help.

I’ve just finished pulling on my shoes when I hear a buzzing noise. I turn to see his phone on the nightstand, screen bright in the dim room as it skitters and vibrates.

Unable to resist, I walk over and check the screen. A text message is there from someone called Dyson:

<Hey, buddy. Me & Rosco will be at the warehouse at 7am tomorrow to grab furniture. Should make it to markets by 8. See you then.>

The warehouse? God, I’d almost forgotten he’d arranged for Nannabeth to sell his furniture at her stall tomorrow. And they’re picking it up at the warehouse? Intriguing.

I glance at the door, but it’s still safely closed. I shouldn’t be thinking about showing up and seeing what I can find, right? I should wait until he’s ready to level with me about what he’s hiding. But judging by how tonight has gone, the day he trusts me with his secrets may never come.

I grab my purse and exhale before pulling open the door and walking out. When I get out to the living room, Max is seated, fully dressed at the desk, staring at his computer screen. When he sees me, he closes the lid and stands, his face unreadable. “Ready?”

“You don’t have to take me home.”

“Yes, I do. This was a date night. The least I can do is escort you to your door.”

After the world’s most awkward elevator ride, we head out into the street and he flags a taxi. We’re both silent as we ride through Manhattan and across the Brooklyn Bridge, and it feels wrong to be on one side of the cab while he’s on the other.

I glance at his hand splayed on the seat next to his thigh as he gazes out the window. I have the strongest feeling that if I just reached over and slid my fingers between his, this revolting tension would melt away, but maybe things cooling down between us is for the best. One of the first things I learned as a journalism student was to beware of getting too close to my sources, and now I know why. I’ve gotten so close to Max I’ve lost every ounce of my objectivity, and that’s unacceptable. I’m supposed to report the story, not become part of it.

I shake my head at how miserably I’ve screwed everything up and go back to staring out the window. There’s no danger of me being too close to Max anymore. Right now it feels like the distance between us is growing wider every minute.

The whole journey passes without either of us saying a word, and it’s not until we’re standing outside the door to my apartment that we even make eye contact.

Max gives me a tight smile before lifting my hand to his mouth and kissing it. “Thank you for your company tonight, Miss Tate. It was a pleasure.”

It bothers me that he’s gone back to calling me Miss Tate. It feels wrong now. Cold.

I take my keys from my purse and try to look happy. “Thank you, Mr. Riley. Despite everything, I ... I had a really great time.”

He smiles, but I can’t help feeling he’s being someone else right now. Someone who I haven’t disappointed and hurt.

He takes my keys and leans over to unlock the door, but before he does, he stops.

“Eden ... the man who hurt you. Was it your father?”

He doesn’t look at me, which is good. Maybe I can try to be honest if we don’t make eye contact. “Why do you think that?”

“I went back and looked at your questionnaire. When you were asked for a paragraph about your parents, you said a lot about your mother but didn’t mention your father once. If it was him, it would explain why you distrust men so much.”

He unlocks the door and hands me back the keys. “Plenty of women are hurt by men, but the deepest wounds are left by our parents.” He says it gently, like he’s afraid of how I might react.

He doesn’t understand how many times I’ve practiced being unaffected by my father’s actions.

He clears his throat. “What did he do to you?”

I don’t know if he’s expecting some shocking tale of sexual abuse, but that’s not what happened. There are dozens of hideous ways to ruin a child. My dad used the simplest one.

“He ignored me. Saw through me like I wasn’t there.”

I’ve never admitted that to another person. Telling Max doesn’t feel good, but it does feel right.

“I always thought fathers had to love their kids,” I say, staring at the buttons on Max’s shirt. “Like it was a requirement or something. But whenever I tried to hug Dad or get him to play with me, he treated me like an inconvenience. Like my existence annoyed him.” Even now, with all the time that’s passed, those memories have surprising power to hurt me. “Mom would say ‘Daddy’s just tired’, or ‘Daddy doesn’t like to play’, but I knew. Kids always know.”

I hear a noise, and when I glance at Max’s face, he looks just as furious as he did earlier on the phone.

“Tell me everything,” he says, his voice gentler than his expression.

I shrug. “When Asha came along, he was a completely different person. She was his angel, and I was just ... the other one.”

“Do you have any idea why he was like that?”

I look at the window down the end of the hallway. “Once, when Mom and Dad were fighting, I heard my name. Mom was saying that he couldn’t treat me like nothing and Asha like everything … that it wasn’t fair. He countered by saying I was the chain Mom used to keep him with her, so how could she expect him to love me?”

“Your mom was pregnant before they got married?”

I nod. “Once I found out, it explained a lot. I wasn’t his daughter. I was the weight around his legs, drowning him in his own life.”

He steps closer and wraps his fingers around mine. “Eden ... I’m sorry.”

I give him a faltering smile. “Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m still sorry it happened to you.”

I look down at my purse and fiddle with the line of pearls around the edge. “Even after he left us all high and dry, Mom never stopped believing he just needed time to ‘find himself’ or whatever. Sometimes when he needed money, he’d come back for a few days. He’d bring flowers and chocolates and tell Mom he loved her, and she’d take him back every time.”

I look at Max with a bitter smile. “He was a lying sack of shit. Why the hell would she do that?”

He nods like he understands only too well. “Sometimes, people stick with what they know, even if all they’ve known is misery.”

“The thing I’ll never understand is, even while Mom worked herself to the bone supporting two kids by herself, she never allowed us to say a bad word against him.” I shake my head. “I vowed I’d never be like her. In so many ways she was a strong woman, but when it came to my father, she was weak. He made her weak. That’s not going to happen to me.”

I see understanding in his eyes, and his posture falls, as if he’s discovered the hill he thought he’d been climbing with me is actually a mountain.

“Maybe that’s why you scare me,” I say. “In a lot of ways, you remind me of him. He was handsome like you. He had green eyes like you. He had a way of melting women with a glance like you.”

He cups my face and urges me to look into his eyes. “There’s one important difference between him and me.”

“Which is?”

“I have no idea how he treated you like you were invisible. When I’m with you, you’re all I see.”

He stares at me for a second before stepping forward and pressing his lips to my forehead. “You should get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

He gets one step away before I grab his hand to stop him. When he turns back with a perplexed expression, I step forward and stand on my toes to press my lips against his. For the longest second in human history, we freeze, lips conducting enough shared energy to detonate a supernova. I move first, releasing his lips and then moving in again. I press against his warmth, tasting his top lip and then the bottom. He doesn’t move and is still standing rigid when I pull back to see his face.

“Max?”

He stares at me, his jaw tight. “I promised you I wouldn’t.”

I grab his shirtfront and pull him forward. “For the love of God, Max ... I give you permission to kiss me.”

With those words, it’s like I’ve released a lion from its cage. He grabs my face with both hands and presses me back into the wall as he takes my lips. I groan and open my mouth to him, and I’ve never felt the kind of hunger that consumes me as his taste filters through all my senses. When his tongue slides softly against mine, it unleashes more sensation than I know how to handle. I drop my purse and grasp at him, all the areas I can reach; his arms and shoulders, the curve of his butt, his chest, the back of his neck. Every part of him feels incredible, and it all makes me ache for more.

When I slide my fingers into his hair and pull, he makes an animalistic sound before reaching around to grab my butt with both hands and pressing me tightly against him.

“God, Max …” He’s rock hard, and knowing it’s me who’s done that to him only makes me kiss him more passionately.

He moans against my tongue, his hands angling me exactly where he wants me as the unbelievable taste of him drives me insane. I grunt against the tidal wave of need that hits me. As crazy as my attraction to Max has been, nothing could prepare me for this feeling of pure insatiability. No matter how hard I try, there’s no way for me to get close enough, or kiss him deep enough, and the more I try, the dizzier I get.

I’ve never felt like this with any other man … nothing even remotely close to this. I’m not equipped to deal with it. The desperation is raw and relentless. He seems to feel it too because he grunts as he presses me against walls then pulls me away, only to push me to the opposite side, shoving me noisily against the dated wallpaper.

I knew kissing him would be something I could never come back from, and right now even my fear isn’t strong enough to ruin it. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m wide awake and dreaming at the same time.

For long, hazy minutes we kiss each other like we’re afraid to stop. Like the world could come crashing down in a fiery apocalypse around us, and neither of us would notice.

In fact, neither of us does notice when Mrs. Levine from the apartment next door comes to see what all the commotion is about. It’s only when she clears her throat loudly that we pull back, both surprised by our elderly spectator.

“Eden,” Mrs. Levine says with a tight nod. She gives Max a long look up and down as he tidies himself up and runs his hand through his hair. “Man attached to Eden.”

I lean against the wall and try to calm the hell down as Max steps forward, who despite his best efforts, still looks the victim of an animal attack. His tie is half off, his shirt is untucked, and his hair is everywhere.

Still, he smiles at Mrs. Levine as if nothing has happened and holds out his hand. “Maxwell Riley, ma’am. Pleased to meet you.”

Mrs. Levine glares at him for two seconds before breaking into a toothless grin. Oh, man, I hate it when she doesn’t wear her dentures.

She puts her hand in his, and he gives it a gentle squeeze. Mrs. Levine bends sideways to look at me around his body. “Oh, Eden, he’s lovely.”

I smooth down my dress and give her an unsteady smile. He is lovely, but in the emotionally stunted world of Eden Tate, that doesn’t make all my trust issues pack up and leave. If anything, it makes them worse.

“Sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Levine,” I say with a wave. “It won’t happen again. Have a good night.”

She gives Max one more head-to-toe assessment before giggling under her breath and going back into her apartment.

Max turns back to me, looking as shell-shocked as I feel. Tonight, we’ve gone from romance, to arguing, to making out like demons in a public hallway, and those things combined with the fact I laid bare my pathetic childhood makes things become awkward again real fast.

After I open my apartment door and turn back to him, he steps forward, hesitantly. “Eden ... I –”

“I should go in. Goodnight, Max.” I can’t deal with any more emotional upheaval tonight, even if the concept of not kissing him again is physically painful.

For a moment, it looks as though he’s going to say something, but then he shoves his hands in his pockets and nods. “Goodnight, Eden.”

I close the door and then lean my head against the cool wood until his footsteps disappear down the hallway.

What the hell am I doing?

Perfect good looks, perfect body, perfect mouth, and perfect, caring heart. I didn’t think someone as perfect as Max could possibly exist in the world, and that’s why my stomach is sitting in my shoes. Because if I know one truth above all others in this world, it’s this: if something seems too good to be true, it usually is.

Even if I could contemplate letting him into my life, for all I know, the passionate man with the mysterious past I spent the evening with is just one more character in his romantic arsenal. Until I find out more about who he was before he became New York’s favorite escort, the jury is out, and there’s no way in hell I can allow myself to get in any deeper. Especially considering the volatile temper I saw on him tonight.

I swallow down the paranoid scenarios playing in my mind as I strip off the trappings of the glamorous woman I’ve been for the past few hours and get ready for bed. And when I set my alarm for six a.m., I tell myself I’m not doing it so I can get up early enough to scope out the warehouse that could contain all of Max’s secrets.