“Max –”

“I’m in, Duchess, you think for a second I’m gonna let you push me out?”

“Um…”

“I’m not.”

“Max –”

His hands started roaming and he stated, “No fuckin’ way.”

I forgot what we were talking about because his hands were up the shirt.

Then I asked, “What are you doing?”

“That was fast.”

“Sorry?”

“Too fast.”

“Um…”

I stopped muttering when his mouth came to my neck. “This time, gonna fuck you slow.”

“Oh my God,” I breathed out loud.

His head came up and he was smiling.

Then he said, “Yeah.”

Then he kissed me. After that, he fucked me slow.

And it was even better.

***

We were in Max’s hot sauna that Max had turned on after round one and Max took me to after round two.

It wasn’t big, just big enough for two. Max had a towel around his hips and he was sitting on the little, wooden bench. I had a towel wrapped around my body and I was on my back on the bench, my knees bent nearly to my chest with my feet against the wooden wall, my head on Max’s firm, towel-covered thigh. He was using his fingers to sift through my hair, arranging it across his lap.

Heaven.

I had my eyes closed and my mind was wandering to nowhere, nothing. It wasn’t filled with junk and garbage like it normally was. It was just drifting along peacefully. And my body was sated and relaxed, so deeply, I didn’t think relaxation could be that deep.

“What’s in your head, Duchess?”

“You have a strong tongue,” I blurted the first thing that entered my blank mind then my eyes popped open and I saw him looking down at me, his brows raised and his mouth twitching.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I whispered and turned my head to the side so my cheek was to his thigh and I hoped the hot sauna camouflaged the heat in my face.

His finger touched the hinge of my jaw and went down, along my neck to my collarbone.

“Nina –” he called and I started talking, scared to death of what he might say, I had to stop him saying anything at all.

“I’m not sure sweating with a man in a sauna is a good thing to do.”

“Why?”

“Sweat is unattractive,” I told the wall.

“It wasn’t when you broke one in my bed ten minutes ago.”

He would mention that.

“Well –”

“Baby, look at me,” he demanded gently as his fingers curled around my neck.

I closed my eyes then I turned my head on his thigh to look up at him. His face was as gentle as his voice and I tensed.

“You’re right, we’ve only known each other a week,” he said, his thumb stroking my jaw and my tense body went taut, all sated relaxation, garbage-free mind gone.

I knew it. I just knew it.

Wonder Max wasn’t Wonder Max at all.

He had me naked(ish) in his sauna after having sex with me twice and he was done with me.

I just knew it.

“Yes, only a week,” I agreed, pulling my face from his hand, lifting up and twisting so I was seated on the bench.

That was as far as I got before I was dragged across his lap. My eyes met his and I opened my mouth to speak but he got there before me.

“I wasn’t done,” he told me.

“What?” I asked briskly, his brows drew together over narrowed eyes and he examined my face.

“You pissed?”

“No,” I lied.

“Yeah, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

His eyes roamed my face and his arms tightened around me. “Jesus, Nina, how in God’s name can you be pissed?”

“I’m not,” I lied again.

“Babe, you are.”

“Let me go, it’s hot in here, hotter when we’re touching.”

“Nina –”

I pushed against his chest. “Max, let me go.”

His tight arms gave me a shake and he clipped, “Nina.”

I calmed and tried to look at him without glaring at him.

“Jesus,” he muttered.

“You had something to say?” I prompted.

“Yeah,” he bit off. “I was gonna say that I know we’ve only known each other a week and I know you’re scared outta your fuckin’ skull because I got you after all those assholes chewed you up but what happened today and what happened tonight even you can’t ignore.”

I managed to stare at him without glaring at him mainly because my mouth had dropped open and my mind had gone blank.

Then I whispered, “What?”

“We’re connected now.”

It was breathy this time when I repeated, “What?”

“Very connected.”

“Max –”

“You think you can walk outta Mindy’s life, Brody’s life, my life after what happened today, what happened between us tonight –”

I broke in, saying, “I thought you were going to send me away.”

His head jerked and it was his turn to ask, “What?”

“I thought you were done with me.”

Max stared at me a second and I watched in budding, yet weirdly rapt terror as a dark, ominous shadow drifted over his face.

“I’m not those fuckin’ guys,” he growled so low I barely heard him.

My stomach pitched and I whispered, “Max –”

“Don’t ever fuckin’ mistake me for one of those fuckin’ guys.”

“I –”

“I don’t know all they did, I just know what it did to you and, Nina, I’m not one of those fuckin’ guys.”

“Okay,” I said softly.

“And I cannot fuckin’ believe, after I took care of you when you were sick, after this week, after today, after tonight, you’d fuckin’ think that of me.”

Even in the face of his obvious anger, I felt steel sheath my spine and I told him, “You don’t understand.”

“Explain it to me.”

“It always starts good.”

“Yeah?”

“Then it goes bad.”

“And?”

“Sometimes very bad.”

“You think I’m gonna cheat on you, lie to you, beat you?”

“I don’t know.”

That shadow darkened and his eyes again narrowed just as his arms grew tight.

“You don’t know?” he asked.

“I didn’t know with them either.”

“Jesus, Nina, I give you any indication I’d fuckin’ do that to you, to anyone?”

Actually, he hadn’t.

Of course, there was the small matter of his dead wife that he still hadn’t shared with me. Along with a lot of his life. Whereas I’d shared a good deal of mine. Or it had walked in his front door, spilled out in phone conversations he was privy to or came out when I was in a snit.

To explain this concept, I told him, “I don’t even know how old you are.”

“Yeah, that’s because you haven’t fuckin’ asked. I don’t know how old you are either but I’ve actually fuckin’ asked.”

Unfortunately, I had to admit, he had me there.

“What’s your point?” he asked when I fell silent.

“Sorry?”

“What’s my age got to do with it?”

“I’m just pointing out we barely know each other and, further, you’re not exactly forthcoming.”

“Not hidin’ anything, Duchess, unlike you who’s secretive as hell and when you aren’t, you’re guarded.”

I felt my own eyes narrow and I snapped, “I am not,” even though I knew I kind of was.

“Yeah, how old are you?”

“Thirty-six,” I replied immediately and his face suddenly cleared.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m thirty-six years old.”

“Jesus,” he muttered, that shadow drifting back.

“What?”

“You’re not thirty-six.”

I stared at him for a second speechless, in shock not only at his words but the firm, knowing way he said them.

“I am,” I told him.

“You think that’ll turn me off, you tellin’ me you’re thirty-six?”

What did he mean by that?

“I am thirty-six!” I snapped somewhat loudly.

He scowled at me, his eyes moving over my face as he did it then he asked, “Seriously?”

“Yes!” I snapped again and then pushed at his chest to get away.

His arms got tighter. “Nina.”

I stopped pushing and glared at him. “Obviously, since my age is such a turn off, right about now I should be leaving.”

His arms got even tighter but his head tipped back, his eyes rolled up and he looked at the ceiling of the sauna.

“Grant me patience,” he muttered his prayer to the ceiling and I started pushing again so he looked back at me. “Stop pushin’, Duchess.”

“Let me go.”

“Nope.”

“Let me go!” I shouted, Max gave me another shake but I kept pushing.

“You don’t look thirty-six,” he told me.

“Let me go.”

“Thirty, at a push.”

“Max. Let. Me. Go!”

“I was surprised, surprised enough not to believe you.”

“Let me go!”

“You wanna know how old I am?”

I gave up pushing since I wasn’t getting anywhere and it appeared Max was determined to have this conversation. If I’d learned nothing in the last week, I learned that when Max was determined to do something, he did it.

Instead of pushing, I glared at him again and said, “Not particularly.”

He ignored me and stated, “Thirty-seven.”

He was older than me. That was good. Not that it mattered if he was younger, really. Actually, not that it mattered at all since I didn’t care.

“Birthday’s May eighth,” he continued, breaking into my thoughts.

“Fascinating,” I drawled sarcastically even though it was because he wasn’t a year older than me, he was a year and a half and his birthday was only a month away.

Max went on, “Dad died when I was twenty-nine, took me six years to build this house.”

That was fascinating too. Six years was a long time. He must have been determined to do that as well.