The bond had been instant when he caught sight of the battered soul at the carnival. A small booth had been devoted to giving away free puppies, and he’d passed it with his date. She’d cooed and coddled the cute balls of fur, while Max remained patient and checked out the various games. He figured if he won her one of the stuffed animals, he’d be in the perfect position for her gratefulness later. Not that there was any doubt, from the obvious comments she made as the night wore on. He’d been planning his path of success when his gaze caught on the stout, muddy pit bull at the corner of the booth. A ragged rope was wrapped around his massive neck, too tight and literally choking his breath. The dog didn’t seem to care, just measured his breath so he wouldn’t pant too much, his eyes sharp with the knowledge that this was his lot and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

His mouth hung in a droop, and drool poured from one side of his lip. Bruises matted the sides of his body. One ear was literally half chopped off. But when the dog’s eyes finally met and held with Max’s, a bone-deep knowledge that Max had to own this dog pushed all other thoughts aside. He was a fighter—both in and out of the ring. And he deserved more than this bullshit.

The kids running the puppy booth charged him one hundred dollars to carry him away. Probably would be used as a bait dog since his fighting-dog days were done. Max untied the rope, bent down, and told the dog they were going home. With a dignity known to the breed and unknown to the masses, Rocky picked himself off the dirty floor and followed him out of the carnival. Max lost his date but gained his best friend.

And Laura hated him.

The moment she came into his apartment and saw Rocky, she let out a girly screech that irritated him. He spent a few minutes explaining the dog was harmless, but when she shuddered and insisted he be locked up, Max made his choice. For the second time, he chose Rocky, and Laura left without a glance back.

The sad part was that he didn’t care.

God, was he really like his father after all? Unable to dig deep enough to stick around and love someone the way they needed?

He remembered the day he learned the truth. Other kids had daddies, and Max always wondered why he didn’t, until the day he asked his mother. She told him the story with a quiet dignity and love that made him believe it was all going to be okay. She never lied, but afterward, he’d been angry at his mother for months. Because she did tell him the truth. He wished so hard she’d lied—told him his father was killed in the war, or left for the sacrifice of his family, or had a terrible accident, so that he could boast to his class friends.

Instead, his mother informed him his dad left after he was born. In a small traditional town, it had been the biggest gossip with more whispering than people had experienced in a long time. Going to church and sitting in the pew every Sunday was torture. Divorce was frowned upon, and his mother was the only one who broke the cardinal rule. Most of their friends and family protected them from the worst of the cruelty, and eventually, he learned to put up barriers so nothing hurt.

His mother tried to give him everything, but a longing to know why his father didn’t want him haunted him for years and left an empty hole in his gut. Didn’t most fathers fall madly in love with their newborn babies? What had he lacked that most men claimed? How could a new dad walk away from his family and never contact them again?

When he finally turned twenty-one, he decided to find out.

He used the Internet and his trust fund to find Samuel Maximus Gray living in London. He remembered the dingy town on the outskirts of the city. Dirty. Crowded. Low-class. His once wealthy, impeccably dressed father had eventually lost his fortune and his dignity. Max followed him to the local pub and watched as he stared at the television and drank pints. Finally, he approached him. Max remembered every detail as if the encounter rolled in slow motion.

“Do you know who I am?”

He stood before his father, heart pounding and sweat trickling down his armpits. The man looked so different from the young, smiling man in his mother’s photos. This one was bald, with a bloated face. His blue eyes had a foggy mist over them, as if too much hard play and alcohol had taken their toll. He looked up from his Guinness and squinted in the dim light of the bar. Studied him for a long time. Max smelled peanuts, smoke, beer, and failure.

“Crap, yes. I know who you are.” His slight English accent clipped out the words. “Don’t much look like me, though.” Max waited but his father just stared at him. No apology. No embarrassment. Nothing. “What are you doing here?”

Max shifted his feet. “I want to know why. Why did you leave?”

The man shook his head and took a large gulp of his beer. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Didn’t you get the money?”

“Yeah, I got the Goddamn money.”

His father flinched. “Then what do you want from me? I gave you up but made sure you’d have enough to build your life.”

Nausea rolled in his gut but he hung on, knowing he had to finish the encounter. “Didn’t you ever want to stay? For my mother? For me?”

His blue eyes turned hard. “I loved your mother but I never promised her I’d stay. I didn’t want a family. I did the best thing for you. Gave you enough to build your life and left you alone.”

The truth cut through the air strong and true. His father had never wanted him. Never regretted leaving. Never even thought of them.

The gaping, raw wounds burned, but Max stood tall and knew they’d heal. Nothing would ever hurt as bad as this again.

“Thanks for clearing that up, Dad.”

He walked out of the pub, into the night, and never looked back.

Max contemplated the amber liquid. Why was he thinking such thoughts tonight? He rarely thought about his father and never questioned his decisions about women before. Carina knew nothing about his love life, yet she seemed to sense on a gut level what made him tick, like no other female other than his mother ever had. Max figured it was her innocence and young age that attracted him. He’d always wanted a sister to protect and cherish.

So why wasn’t he thinking of her as a sister anymore?

The image of her kissing Edward tormented his mental state. Surely, he’d warned the man with enough force to make sure nothing serious happened. Hadn’t he? Should he call Michael? Edward’s cell phone? No, they’d think he was pazzo. Should he drive by her apartment and confirm she was okay?

He tapped his finger against his chin and wrestled with the possibility.

Then he heard the doorbell.

Max eased his foot from Rocky’s head and walked down the hallway. Who the hell was here this late on a Saturday night? Did Laura come back in this storm? He peeked through the side window and studied the lone figure on his doorstep. What the—

He twisted the knob and pulled. “Carina?”

His mouth fell open. She trembled on the top step, her filmy dress soaked and plastered to her body. Her hair hung in ragged curls around her face and stuck to her cheeks. Shoeless, her red toenails curled in a huge puddle beneath the hem of the dress. He reached out to pull her inside, but one glance at her face paralyzed and shocked him to the core.

Fury.

Her eyes spit like an ancient goddess bent on revenge. Chin tilted, mouth tight, fingers curled into fists, she panted as if she’d gone ten rounds in the ring with Rocky Balboa himself.

“You son of a bitch.”

Ah, shit.

He paused and teetered with the sanity of letting her in. With a muttered curse, he grabbed her wrist and dragged her through the door.

She pushed his hands away and glared at him as she dripped in his foyer. “How dare you interfere with my love life?” she hissed. “You—of all people! You—who wouldn’t know a relationship if it bit him in the ass!”

“That is exactly my point, Carina.” Max drew his professional, calm demeanor around him like a robe. If he remained logical and pointed out his fears, she’d settle down and they’d have a nice chat by the fire. First, he needed to convince her exactly why he stepped in. “Edward doesn’t do relationships, and I didn’t want you to have regrets. Especially when you see him in the cold light of morning. You deserve more than that.”

If possible, his argument seemed to enrage her further. She shimmered with pulsing waves of energy, her skin gorgeously flush. The wet fabric molded to every curve, and her hard nipples pushed against its barrier in an effort for freedom. He smothered a curse as his body responded in all primitive madness. He hardened, and dimly noticed the evidence against the thin fabric of his sweat shorts.

“You don’t get to have a say in my life. No matter how far we go back!” She closed the distance between them. Fisting her hands in his T-shirt, she stood on tiptoes and snarled, “I deserve one night of great sex, Max. Would you deny me that? Would you deny what you give to yourself? I’m not a perfect china doll placed on a shelf to be played with in careful moments. I’m flesh and blood and I want messiness and passion and orgasms.”

Oh, yeah, he got it. His cock throbbed in time to her words. The scent of fresh rain, coconut and female swarmed his senses. Max fought the insanity of the moment but she battered him mercilessly.

“You scared the crap out of him, and he was afraid to touch me.”

“Then I was right. No man is worth your time if he can’t even stand up to someone who blocks what he wants.”