Vivian Arend - Turn It Up

She narrowed her eyes, the dark brown irises locking on him. “That’s the second time you mentioned that, about me giving up coffee. How do you know what I’ve got planned?”

“You told me.” He gave her a serious nod, keeping all traces of amusement hidden. “Last night, when I helped you up to your apartment.”

“You helped me…” Her eyes clouded over for a moment. She shook her head, then cringed. She sucked back more of her coffee and he let his smile escape.

“There were a number of interesting revelations last night. How you weren’t embarrassed about having a good time with your friends because it was your last time drinking for as long as it takes. And then there’s the coffee you’re giving up—as well as any kind of tea but herbal.”

Two red circles appeared on her cheeks and she stuttered. One deep breath later, Max watched in amazement as she turned calm and cool before him, the embarrassed, hungover woman vanishing beneath a perfectly in-control persona.

“Well, it appears you’ve found out about my new health régime. Part of getting older. Time to take care of the body a little better.”

Damn, she was good. If he didn’t know her so well, he would have fallen for the cool, collected and put-together routine she displayed.

She leaned forward and stared at him intently. “Was there something specific you wanted? The message on my answering machine mentioned a business proposal.”

“That’s right.”

He tipped back a hit of his coffee, trying to waste a few minutes. Fortunately, last night the calm woman before him had been far more hot-blooded and emotional. He wouldn’t hold it over her head, but he would capitalize on what she’d let slip.

As he waited for her breathing to fall back into a steady pattern, he pulled out the file folder he’d prepared after tucking her into bed last night—and he wasn’t about to tell her that part either. Not yet. Even though the memory of her soft skin made him instantly aching and hard, he had forced himself to not take advantage of the opportunity.

It had nearly killed him to slip her under her quilt and not crawl in with her. Especially after listening to her confess what she wanted, what he was more than willing to provide. If he hadn’t been raised to be a gentleman, it would have made life so much easier. Giving in and fucking her while she was drunk was no way to start a lasting relationship.

He handed over the portfolio.

Tasha accepted it with reluctance, pulling it toward her. “What’s this? I’m not up for any games today, okay?”

He shook his head. “No games. Take your time, read it through.”

She rubbed her eyes for a moment then opened the file with a deep sigh. Humoring him no doubt. Her gaze darted over the page and slowly her brow furrowed.

“Maxwell, I think you gave me the wrong papers. These are your health records.”

He smiled. “That’s right. I had a full physical last month and all the paper work is up to date. I thought you’d appreciate that.”

She snorted. “Oh yeah. Thank you. Exactly what I need to see the night after I drink myself shit-faced. Good for you.” She scrolled down the page with a finger. “Gee, nice blood pressure. And your BMI is amazing. You should be proud.”

Max chuckled. “Ahh, I love your sense of humor.”

Tasha leaned back and sighed. “Look, I don’t feel well. Get to the point. I know you’re smarter than anyone else, so use small words and I’ll try to understand.”

“Turn the page. I think you’ll get the picture.”

She rolled her eyes then winced in pain, and he wiped his mouth to hide his grin. While he felt for her, he was grateful the liquor last night had been enough to loosen her lips. At least enough to make her spill the beans in regards to her plan to get pregnant.

Which fit his agenda just fine.

She turned the page and froze, her mouth hanging open as she stared at the open file before her. The twin spots of color on her cheeks spread to flush her entire face, and she slammed her lips together.

He waited. He was good at waiting.

“Maxwell Dale Turner, what the hell is this?”

Tasha flipped the portfolio around to display the ring he’d taped to the page below the note written in all capital letters.

WILL YOU MARRY ME?

The constant pulse of blood through her temples was louder now than when she’d arrived at the coffee shop. And if Junior didn’t stop grinning and start talking, she was going to remove his tonsils with a spoon.

“I think it’s pretty clear. I didn’t even use fancy words. Plain and simple, like you requested.” He motioned to the file. “Go on, read it.”

She stared at the silver ring. It shone against the stark white background of the paper. Maxwell’s neat handwriting continued below where it hung.

In light of your desire to start a family it seems—

An icy chill washed over her as she tore her gaze from the page to stare at him. “How did you find out I wanted to start a family?”

She hadn’t told anyone. Not her closest friend, not anyone.

“You told me. Last night. While you were getting undressed you—”

Getting undressed? She snapped up a hand and he stopped dead in mid-sentence. Conversations continued to float around them, light laughter carrying from a few tables over. The whole situation was surreal and this was not the place she wanted to hold this discussion. Not where they could be overheard.

Because it sounded like they had a few things to discuss.

“Drive me home,” she demanded.

He stood and held out his hand. If she could have made it out the door without wavering, she would have ignored the offer, but ending up on her ass on the floor would be more traumatic than accepting his assistance. They walked outside in silence where she paused to root in her purse for her sunglasses.

Max opened his car door and she slid onto the leather seat. The dark-toned interior and shaded windows eased her pain a little. He squatted beside her, leaning across her body to fasten her seatbelt. The spicy scent of his aftershave made her mouth water as her face settled into the crook of his neck.

She pushed him away, trying to hide her reaction. “I can do that.”

He seemed to slow deliberately, his hands lingering over the strap, and her pulse leapt up another notch. “I know you can, but I want to help. Relax. I’ll take you home, then we can talk.”

Tasha rubbed her temples as he closed the door and strode around to the driver’s side. Head held high, shoulders back. His arms looked thicker than she remembered, and she wondered if he’d been working out or something.

Dammit, no, she didn’t wonder. She wasn’t ogling his body and she was completely uncurious why he had the audacity to propose. What she needed to concentrate on was last night. On him taking her home and what other secrets she might have spilled. Obviously her idea to have a drink or two as a last hurrah had backfired in more than one way. Now she felt like hell and had a major problem to deal with.

Maxwell Turner had been pursuing her for years. From the moment he’d issued his first ridiculous invitation as a boy of seventeen, she’d made it blatantly clear she wasn’t interested. Yeah, she’d lied her ass off, at least about not being physically attracted to him, especially as he got older. Still, there was no way she was getting involved with him. Her friend’s much younger cousin? Damn, if the guys she’d been dating couldn’t act like grown-ups and keep their dicks in their pants, what could she expect from a pup?

She was done with cheating, lying, out-to-get-what-they-wanted men. She didn’t need them, not for anything. Spending time with Maxwell as a friend—especially around the Turner clan—that was doable. He was a decent-enough fellow, as long as they didn’t get romantically involved. Anything more? She wasn’t stupid enough to fall into the dating trap again.

He drove slowly, windows rolled down. The fresh fall air drifted in, cooling her feverish skin. Light rock music played softly, and she closed her eyes. She needed five minutes respite before figuring out how to deal with this insane situation.

A slight motion rocked her and she sat upright with a jerk. She must have fallen into a doze—half asleep, half still drunk. Maybe Max would agree to call off the rest of the morning, and they could pick this up in the future once she’d gotten her brain back.

Tasha fumbled for the seat-belt release as he opened her door. She didn’t need his hands on her again, thank you very much. She was committed to this path. No men in her life. No more having to defend her heart. Just because her body reacted didn’t mean she had to give in.

She did accept his hand out of the vehicle, only to stop in confusion. “Why are we…? Max, you brought me to my building site. I asked you to take me home.”

“And I will. But this is one of your homes, so strictly speaking I did what you asked.”

His grin was back and the urge to smack him one grew larger by the minute. “You are so annoying.”

Maxwell opened the trunk and pulled out two lawn chairs. “Come on, let’s talk.”

She followed behind as he paced toward the skeleton frame of what would eventually be her home. After years of working for other people, she’d finally gotten the chance to take her own dreams and put them down on paper. The architectural designs she’d created were slowly being turned into a reality. The foundation was poured, the weeping tile and backfill completed. The framers were hard at it this week with most of the outer walls up and the sheeting beginning to close it in so it actually looked like a house.