My body gave a small twitch at this news but I remained silent.

“He had death threats.”

I watched the screen and somehow, shortly after the nubile, young lady met her dastardly end, two other young, good-looking people were having somewhat raunchy sex in a cabin.

This, I knew from my experiences horror movie watching with Charlie, did not bode well. Sex was usually the last thing anyone did in a horror movie before their life was snuffed out with an axe, hatchet, a glove made out of long, razor-sharp blades or a common kitchen knife.

“Bitsy’s life has been threatened too.”

Thoughts of gloves made out of razor-sharp blades flew from my head, my body jerked and my head swiveled around to look at him.

“Curt didn’t tell anyone, he hired a PI,” Max continued.

I broke my silence and asked, “Is she going to be okay?”

“Mick’s set something up.”

I thought of Bitsy alone in that big house, unable to move around except in a wheelchair.

“I should go stay with her,” I declared to Max and his brows knit.

“What?”

I yanked out of his arm, rolled off the bed and threw down the pillow saying, “You’ll have to take me.”

“I’m not takin’ you to Bitsy’s.”

“Then I’ll call Arlene,” I stated as I threw open the door to the closet and turned on the light.

“Nina, get in here.”

I ignored him and walked to my chocolate colored cords on a hanger, pulling them off.

“Nina,” Max called and when I continued to ignore him and examine my sweater selection on the shelves I heard him mutter, “Jesus.”

I selected a cream colored, cable-knit but I barely pulled it from its position on the shelf before it was yanked out of my hand by Max. Then he tossed it on the shelf (now not folded which was a shame, Caroline was good at folding sweaters). Then, while I was still staring at the untidy sweater, my cords were yanked from my other hand and tossed on the floor.

Belatedly I turned to look up at Max and exclaimed, “Hey!”

He grabbed my hand, flipped the switch to the closet light as he pulled me out and then he closed the door.

I twisted my hand in his and snapped over the dying screams of (undoubtedly) the young lovers on the television, “Let go.”

“No, we’re gonna talk.”

“I think you said enough earlier.”

“Babe, I was pissed and I’ll admit I didn’t handle that very well.”

I felt my eyes narrow as I repeated, “You didn’t handle that very well?”

Max ignored that and moved on. “You also didn’t catch my meaning.”

“Oh, no, you’re wrong. I caught it all right.”

“No, I don’t think you did.”

“Trust me, Max, I did.”

“I’m not Niles.”

That brought me up short and the only thing I could do was stare.

Then I hissed, “What?”

“I give a shit,” Max stated.

“You give a shit about what?”

“Everything.”

“Perhaps you’d like to give me more detail,” I suggested and tried to twist my hand out of his again but he only used it to tug me closer and then his other hand lifted and his fingers curled in a way that could not be mistaken around the side of my neck. It wasn’t painful, not in the slightest, but it was firm and it sent a message.

I stilled.

“All right, Duchess, you want detail, here it is. Brody’s my best friend and I know he wouldn’t fuck me over and I’m takin’ a wild guess the amount of times you’ve been fucked over, you wouldn’t either. It wasn’t him, it wasn’t that, it wasn’t even you sittin’ in his lap, though, I’ll repeat, I didn’t like that one fuckin’ bit.”

“That isn’t detail, Max,” I pointed out. “That’s you repeating yourself.”

“It was you callin’ him ‘darling’.”

I blinked and shook my head briskly, once.

“I’m sorry?”

“You sat in his lap with your hands on him and you called him ‘darling’.”

My blood started heating and I cried loudly, “He was upset about his sister!”

“Yeah? Well, so am I.”

“Yes, and if I remember, I call you darling too.”

“Yeah, but you’re sleepin’ with me.”

I pulled against his hand, sputtering, “I… you… I don’t get…”

“That’s mine,” Max declared and I stilled my struggling and stared at him.

Then I informed him, “You call other women ‘babe’ and ‘darlin’’ and –”

“You’re my only Duchess.”

He had me there.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” I told him and his brows drew together dangerously.

“Duchess doesn’t mean anything to you?”

“No, me saying ‘darling’.”

“It means something to me.”

“Well, I didn’t know that,” I defended.

“Yeah, so now I’m tellin’ you.”

“Well, maybe you should tell me before you get angry at me for doing something I didn’t know you didn’t want me to do. And maybe when you get angry you’ll find a way to let me know you are without being a total jerk.”

“And maybe you’ll cut me some slack when I got a friend with a murdered husband, a dead man writin’ me notes, a sister who’s been raped and we found face down in a river, a new girlfriend whose Dad’s a dick and whose fiancé is an asshole and both of ‘em are in town and a future that means the end of my mountain as I know it.”

“And maybe you’ll cut me some slack when I’ve broken up with my fiancé and I just found out he’s an asshole and he’s in town and so is my dick of a Dad. Not to mention, a girl I’ve come to care about tries to commit suicide like my brother did. And, on top of all that, I’ve decided to up stakes again and move to a different country again and gamble on a man I barely know but who is annoying, impossible and can be a jerk. I’ve got to find a job and buy a big lawyer desk so people will take me seriously and my mother and Steve are so excited about all of this, they’re already planning to park their new RV beside your house and use your bathroom and kitchen!”

I ended this on a shout, so absorbed in my tirade I didn’t see his expression change. When I noticed his eyes had gone warm and his face had gentled, I saw my mistake immediately but had no time to backtrack. Max dropped my hand but wound his arm around my waist and started shuffling me back toward the bed.

“Max –”

“I knew somethin’ changed this morning.”

“Max –”

“You’re movin’ here.”

“Max –”

“You’re buyin’ a lawyer desk.”

“Max –” I stopped talking this time because I fell back to the bed and Max fell on me.

Then his mouth went to my neck.

“Get off me!” I snapped.

“Nope,” he said against my neck then his lips trailed up and his teeth nipped my ear.

I shivered.

Then I cried, “Off! We’re not done arguing.”

“We can pick it up after we celebrate,” Max said in my ear and I shivered again.

Then I pushed at his shoulders and bucked my body, neither to any avail.

“We’re not going to celebrate. I’m changing my mind. I’m only coming back to look in on Mindy, have a beer with Arlene at The Dog, stop by Bitsy’s and have a latte and do a bit of shopping. Then I’m going right back to England.”

Max’s mouth came to mine and he said, “Cotton’ll be pissed, you don’t make him a fish pie.”

“Then I’ll carve some time out for Cotton, now get off.”

He didn’t get off. He slanted his head and kissed me. I tried to turn my head away but both his hands framed my face and kept me stationary. This didn’t work so well for him, since I kept my mouth closed.

Max lifted his head and demanded, “Stop bein’ pissed, Duchess, and open your mouth for me.”

I glared at him. He grinned.

Then all of a sudden the grin died and his eyes moved over my face as his thumb stroked my cheekbone.

After he did this for awhile, he muttered his confession, “I was a dick.”

I pulled in breath, shocked not only that he admitted it but that he understood he was being one.

“Shit comes up with Curt, history, for me, for Bitsy,” Max went on and my body tensed under his for I knew some of the history and guessed the rest and wondered if now he was going to talk about it. “Normally, I can let it go. Today it was in my face and I didn’t handle it very well.”

I waited for him to say more and for awhile he didn’t, he just kept looking into my eyes. Then he did.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone I gave a shit enough about to share anything with and I’m out of practice.”

This was something, a hint, and I waited for more. This time, I didn’t get it.

Instead, his thumb drifted over my bottom lip while his eyes watched it then he dipped his head and touched his mouth to mine before lifting his head again.

His hand cupping my jaw, he whispered, “I fucked up, baby.”

I closed my eyes and turned my head away, disappointed, no, beyond disappointed.

But at least he could admit when he was wrong. That was something.

I opened my eyes, looked at him and gave in. “Don’t worry about it, Max. It’s been…” I searched for a word and settled on, “crazy.”

He touched his lips to mine again before he pulled slightly away.

“Promise me you won’t sit in another man’s lap.” His voice was gentle but serious and I nodded.

“I think I got that.”

“And don’t call anyone ‘darling’. That’s mine.”

I swallowed, liking that he’d claimed that, and nodded again.

His forehead came to mine and he whispered, “Love it when you call me that in your accent, honey.”

My body relaxed under his and my hands went to his waist but I reminded him, “I don’t have an accent.”