Breakaway

She sipped her wine and gazed out the window. She should simply leave, but that would only add more drama to an already overwrought situation.

So, she sat. And waited.

It was a surprisingly short time later when Max returned. He didn’t have a hair out of place or a wrinkle in his crisp white shirt.

He said, “I’m sorry for my absence. Would you like dessert?”

“No, thank you.”

He picked up his napkin and neatly spread it over his lap when he reseated himself. “You’re annoyed with me.”

“I’m annoyed with you, with Frank, with me, with my grandfather for hiring such a creep.”

“I know.”

She fiddled with the stem of her wineglass. “What he said about me—”

She’d thought his eyes were the sexiest thing about him, but now that he was smiling at her so intimately, as though they shared secrets the rest of the world could never understand, she changed her mind. His smile was his sexiest attribute. “Please. I’m not stupid. You’re a beautiful woman. He ever give you trouble?”

“He said a couple of inappropriate things. Nothing I couldn’t ignore. Why?”

“Because if he did I’d have to rethink my earlier restraint.”

A sound of frustration emerged from her throat. “You are from another century.”

“Perhaps. Please join me in dessert.”

“I never eat it. I’ll have coffee.”

“Fine.”

When they were finished and he’d shaken off her offer to buy dinner as though it were an insult, she rose. “Thank you so much for dinner,” she said.

“You’re welcome.” He walked out of the restaurant with her. She greeted people she knew as she passed, embarrassed that they’d all witnessed her encounter with Frank.

Max held the door that led to the gravel parking lot out front. And followed her through it.

She turned to him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m seeing you to your car.”

“You’re very old-fashioned.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Spruce Bay was far enough north that even at nine-thirty at night the sun hadn’t set. There was plenty of light, making it easy to see the word SLUT scrawled with a finger in the dust on the Yukon’s back window.

“Guess we need to wash the car more often,” she said, digging in her bag for a tissue. Max was ahead of her, pulling a cotton handkerchief out of his pocket and wiping off the offensive word.

He didn’t say anything, simply walked to the driver’s side, waited until she’d unlocked the car, then opened the door and held it while she got in. She’d wondered if he’d attempt to kiss her. Hoped she’d be strong enough to resist. But he didn’t. He slammed the door on her without a word.

So much for manners, she thought, putting her key in the ignition and firing up the beast.

The passenger door opened and to her shock, Max got in beside her.

She threw up both hands. “Now what are you doing?”

“Escorting you home.”

“But you’re staying at the hotel.”

“Yes. I am.”

“Max, this is ridiculous.”

“I’m old-fashioned, remember?” And then she got it. He didn’t want her going home alone in case Frank Carmondy wanted to cause more trouble than scrawling insults on her back window.

She looked at him. “You’re going to drive me nuts, aren’t you?”

His grin was both wolfish and understanding. “Probably.”

* * *

THEY WERE MOSTLY quiet on the way home. John Mayer played on the radio. The old Yukon bumped and rattled on its way back to the barn. She felt Max’s watchfulness but no drunken, crazed ex-employee jumped out at them.

She turned into the Polar Air property and all was serene.

She parked the car and turned to him, all sexy and mysterious beside her. “Well, Sir Galahad, it seems I’m home safe.”

“Good.” He began to lean toward her, slow and sure, but giving her plenty of time to pull back.

She did pull back, but not all the way. She put a hand to his chest, found it warm and muscular. “Even if I’m not your boss, we’re still coworkers. This is against company policy.”

“As I believe I mentioned, we’re not coworkers until tomorrow.”

He was so close she could see tiny black flecks in the deep brown of his irises, could smell the fresh laundry and hot male scent of him. Her lips began to open. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this attracted to a man. “And what happens tomorrow?” she asked. Her voice came out breathless.

“We’ll worry about that tomorrow,” he said, and closed the last few inches between them, covering her mouth with his own.

His kiss was hot and sweet. Demanding and restrained. Such a mass of contradictions she found herself pulling him against her, demanding more.

He didn’t need much encouragement. He plunged his hands into her hair, holding her so he could kiss her thoroughly. He licked into her mouth, teased her tongue. He tasted of the coffee they’d drunk, a hint of wine, and deeper of sexy, potent, demanding man.

A tiny cry came from her throat, part protest, part acquiescence. He was so hot. When she ran her hands over his chest and back she found that he was muscular and toned, as she’d guessed.

Seat belts were a hindrance. He snapped his free with a curse. Then reached and unsnapped hers.

He turned her toward him and let his own hands play. He didn’t grab straight for her breasts, but traced the scoop of her neckline with one fingertip. Her nipples came to life. She felt them bloom against her dress, hard and insistent.