Colorado 01 The Gamble (29 page)

“Honey,” he whispered back.

“I’m not like this,” I said. “I don’t… I’ve
never –”

“It was an extreme situation,” Max broke in
gently.

“That doesn’t excuse –”

One of his arms stayed around me but the
other hand came to the side of my neck. “Duchess, hate to say this,
but your Dad’s a dick.”

“But –”

“I was havin’ trouble not layin’ a hand on
him.”

“But –”

“He was in my house actin’ like that, never
met me, didn’t show you an ounce of respect.”

“But that doesn’t mean –”

“Then he brought your brother into it.”

“I know, still –”

His arm gave me a squeeze as did his hand,
he bent his head toward me and said, “You didn’t hurt him, baby
and, honest to God, he got what he deserved.”

“You don’t think I’m –” I started but I got
another squeeze in two places.

“No, I don’t think you’re anything but what
you are and most of that’s good.”

I felt the pressure release in my insides,
the warmth seeping through but my eyes still narrowed when I asked,
“
Most
of it?”

“Duchess, remind me never to get you that
riled. You’re a handful when you’re angry but you’re hell on wheels
when you’re seriously pissed.”

I was beginning to get slightly “pissed”
when I heard faraway laughter coming from my phone. Then my eyes
got wide and I jerked the phone to my ear.

“Mom, God, I’m so sorry, I forgot –”

She was still laughing when she cut me off
by asking, “He calls you Duchess?”

Max was watching me talk and suddenly I was
self-conscious. “He calls me that because he thinks I have an
accent.”

“
Sweetie, that’s because you
do
.”

“
I don’t have an accent!” I snapped at Mom,
Max threw his head back and laughed and he did it
loud
.

I glared at him.

He just kissed my forehead through his
waning laughter, let me go and went to the fridge.

“Oh my,” Mom breathed in my ear, “he’s got
an amazing laugh.”

She was right about that too.

“Mom –”

“I like him.”

I felt my eyes get wide again and I reminded
her loudly, “You’ve never even met him!”

Max, his hand curled around the filled
creamer, turned to me, lifting the creamer, shaking his head and
looking like he wanted to laugh again. At the creamer, my
conversation or something else that struck him funny, I didn’t know
and at that moment didn’t care.

“I still like him,” Mom said in my ear.

“Mom –”

“I like the way he talks to you.”

I liked that too.

Still, I said, “Mom –”

“And it sounds like he was there when
Lawrence was being Lawrence.”

“He was.”

“The whole time?”

I thought about it and realized he was, the
whole time. Except for the first few moments, Max quickly dressed
and was with me the instant he could get to me. He had my back the
whole time, part of it literally.

“The whole time,” I said more quietly.

“And he called Lawrence the d-word,” Mom
told me and I couldn’t help it, I giggled and so did Mom.

“Yes, he did,” I said.

“
You’ve
got
to like a man who thinks Lawrence is the
d-word.”

She was right about that too.

“Mom –”

“What’s he doing now?”

I watched as Max poured coffee.

“Making me coffee.”

“Steve does that for me too,” she told me
contentedly. “Brings me a cup in bed nearly every morning.”

I looked at the floor and said, “That’s
sweet Mom and I’m so glad you have that now. Anyway, enough of
this. How’s Steve? Is he doing okay?”

“He’s Steve, never has a bad day, God love
him.”

“And you do too,” I said softly.

“Yes, sweetie, lucky I woke up and saw what
life had on offer for me.”

“Mom –”

“Hope, today, you woke up too.”

“Mom –”

“Have coffee with your mountain man hunk,”
she urged. “I’ll let you go.”

I sighed and looked up when I saw Max’s bare
feet on the floor close to mine. When I looked up, he was putting a
mug of coffee on the counter by me, his eyes came to mine and he
took a sip from his.

I looked at my coffee and it appeared to be
just how I liked it.

I sighed again.

Then I said, “Thanks for listening,
Mom.”

“Everything’s going to be okay,” she assured
me more firmly than I would have expected, considering she’d
sounded hysterical not minutes before at the prospect of my father
being in town.

“I know,” I assured her back.

“Tell him I love his house. It’s
beautiful.”

I looked away and murmured, “I’ll tell
him.”

“Love you, sweetie.”

“Love you too, Mom, bye.”

“Bye.”

Then I touched the screen to end the
call.

“You’ll tell me what?” Max’s deep, gravelly
voice called and my eyes to him.

I put down the phone, picked up my coffee
and took a sip then said, still feeling self-conscious, “She likes
your house.”

“What?”

“She thinks it’s beautiful.”

“How does she know what my house looks
like?”

“I gave her the website.”

He grinned. Then he lifted his hand and
tucked hair behind my ear.

This gesture was so sweet, it made more
warmth flood through me at the same time it caused me to shiver and
the clashing sensations caused me to go temporarily insane enough
to blurt, “She likes you.”

His hand dropped and his brows drew
together. “What?”

“Nothing,” I muttered then started to move
way, saying, “You want break –”

But I was drawn back with an arm hooked
around my waist.

When my head tipped back to look at him, Max
asked, “She likes me?”

I decided the safest explanation was, “She
likes that you call me Duchess.”

“That’s a weird thing to like.”

“Mom’s a bit nutty.”

“Not surprising,” he mumbled then he went on
when my eyes started to narrow. “She turn into a hellion when she’s
pissed too?”

I thought about this then I answered
truthfully, “Yes, probably worse.”

“Steve her man?” Max asked and I nodded.
“Poor Steve,” he muttered and I grinned.

His face changed, it was that soft I liked
so much but there was something more, something much more and I
felt the change somewhere deep, private and I held my breath for
what was coming next.

He drew me even closer so our lower bodies
were touching and he asked, “You okay?” I nodded but his arm gave
me a squeeze. “Nina, I’m serious here, that was an intense fuckin’
scene. You okay?”

From nowhere I understood what else was in
his face and when I understood it I realized why I didn’t recognize
it. The only male who’d ever looked at me like that was Charlie and
he was my brother so he was supposed to look at me like that in
times like these.

It communicated a fierce sort of protection
covered over with a tender mixture of worry and affection.

I couldn’t bear the hope it made me feel so
I couldn’t witness it anymore. I dropped my head and fell forward
so my forehead was resting on his chest and I curled my fingers on
his bicep.

“I pretty much hate my Dad,” I whispered to
his chest as his hand slid from my waist, up my back, to wrap
around the back of my neck.

“Reason why, darlin’. I’m now gettin’ why
you don’t talk about him.”

I nodded, my head moving on his chest then I
admitted, “I hate it that you saw me that way, too.”

He gripped my neck and used it to pull me
back.

When I looked at him, he asked, “Why?”

“It’s unattractive,” I answered, my voice
soft and there was a tremor in it I couldn’t control which denoted
a fear I didn’t want to admit but I still couldn’t hide. “And it
isn’t nice.”

His hand at my neck gave me a squeeze, he
put his coffee mug down and circled me with his other arm.

Then he ordered, “Put your arms around me,
baby.”

I decided sharing time was over, so I
suggested, “Max, we should make breakfast.”

He gave me a steely look that said clearly
he wasn’t going to repeat his order so on a sigh I put my mug down
too, pushed my hands under his arms and wrapped them around
him.

“There was nothing unattractive about what I
saw.”

“But I lost my temper,” I explained.

“You stuck up for yourself and then you
stuck up for the memory of your brother. You didn’t take any shit,
not even a little of it.” His face dipped close and he whispered,
“That’s not unattractive, baby, that’s beautiful.”

My eyes filled with tears, my body melted
into Max’s and the only thing I could think to say was, “Shut up,
Max, you’re going to make me cry.”

He grinned a small grin, his head slightly
slanted, he touched my lips in a light kiss then, regrettably, he
pulled away.

“I had other plans for this mornin’,
Duchess, and, much as it kills me to delay them a-fuckin’-gain, I
want to take my time. We’ll have to save those for after we get
Bitsy to the Station and then take her home.”

He might not have used a lot of words but
all of them meant very frightening things since I had a pretty good
idea what he meant by his “plans”. I couldn’t quite figure out what
was
most
frightening
so I picked what was safest.

“We?” I asked.

“We what?”

“
We’re
going to get Bitsy?”

His head gave a small jerk as if my question
was surprising and he answered, “Yeah. Why?”

“
I thought I’d stay home, read, maybe plot
how I’ll drug and kidnap my father, drive him to the next state and
dump him outside a Police Station with a note pinned to him saying
that he killed JFK and was there to confess.”

“As worthwhile a way that is to spend your
time, you’re comin’ with me to Bitsy’s.”

“
Maybe Bitsy doesn’t want me to come,” I
suggested halfheartedly for Bitsy lived in town and pretty much
everyone in town had shown a rather healthy curiosity about
me.

“Oh, Bitsy wants you to come, it was her
idea,” Max informed me unsurprisingly.

That was what I was afraid of.

I sighed then I asked, “How much of a chance
do I have of getting out of this?”

“Zip,” was his short, also unsurprising
answer.

“Great,” I muttered, looking at his
throat.

His arms gave me a squeeze and he called,
“Duchess.”

I tipped my head back to look at him.

“She’ll love you,” he whispered.

Then, while I was processing his words, he
kissed me. I forgot about Dad, Niles, Bitsy and his words.

I forgot about everything except the fact
that his mouth was on mine, his tongue was in my mouth, the latter
he could do amazing things with, I was in his arms and he was in
mine.

When he seemed happy to keep making out in
the kitchen, I was more than happy to let him do it and I took
advantage of the fact that my arms were around him. I pulled up his
shirt and slid both hands in.

Then I explored. And I liked what I felt,
too much. So much, I moaned a little in his mouth and pressed
closer.

If I could think, it might have dawned on me
that Max just meant to make out in the kitchen. When I pressed in
closer, the kiss grew deeper, wilder and his hand fisted in my
nightie at the waist, bringing it up, while his other hand slid
over my bottom.

I hadn’t had that in awhile, too long, and
more importantly, it had never felt like that. In fact, it felt so
good I moaned again, lost the ability to stand, gave him my weight
and dug my nails in his back.

He growled into my mouth. I pressed my
hips into his. His hand at my bottom slid up and then back down,
this time
in
my
panties.

That felt infinitely better.

“Max,” I breathed against his lips, liking
his hand there a lot.

“Fuck, Duchess,” he growled against mine
then repeated, “Fuck.”

His hand was moving over my behind and my
head dropped forward, my lips against his neck, I touched my tongue
there.

His lips went to my ear and his voice was
even rougher when he asked, “You wet?”

I wasn’t thinking,
couldn’t
think, so, confused, I asked,
“Sorry?”

“You wet for me?” His gruff words sounded in
my ear and they made me shiver from top to toe in his arms and, if
I hadn’t been wet before (which I was), his words would have done
it.

“Yes,” I whispered my honest answer against
his neck.

“Fuck,” he muttered into my ear.

“Max,” I breathed again, I had no idea why
but it sounded like a plea.

Unfortunately he was immune to my plea. I
knew this because his hand came out of my undies, both his arms
went tight around me, he buried his face in my neck and he held me
close for a good long while.

Eventually he said quietly into my neck,
“After we get this done in town, we’re comin’ home and, swear to
God, anyone gets close to this house, I’m fuckin’ shootin’
‘em.”

I pulled my head back, his came up but he
didn’t drop his arms. Neither did I.

“Do you own a gun?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he answered. “You have a problem
with guns?”

I thought about this for a moment and
realized I’d never really thought about guns so I replied, “I don’t
know. I’ve never really thought about guns.”

“I’ll take you out shootin’,” Max decided
instantly.

I had a problem with that. “I don’t think
–”

“Later.”

“Max –” I started to protest.

“Tomorrow.”

“Max –”

His arms gave me a squeeze and his face grew
attractively lascivious. “Maybe the next day.”