Page 18 of Contracted and Claimed By The Boss

‘No, thanks, I’ll be fine,’ she said, hastily.

‘It’s just aloe vera.’

She bit into her lip, knowing she should demur, but then found her head nodding once. Their eyes met and something passed between them, a strangely powerful agreement.

His response was a gruff, ‘Wait here.’

Paige stared at his retreating back, her eyes clinging to the way his jeans hugged his rear, her heart racing.

He returned a moment later, the bottle held in his hands, his eyes boring into hers. Step by step he crossed the room, until he was right in front of her, and the air crackled. His throat shifted as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple jerking visibly beneath his thick black stubble.

‘Would you like me to do it?’

Given what had happened between them last night, it was a loaded question.

‘I’ll be okay.’

His smile was lightly mocking. ‘That’s not what I was asking.’

Paige’s eyes squeezed shut as she sucked in air, air that was tinted with Max’s incredibly seductive fragrance, and her stomach somersaulted inside her body. ‘I know.’ A whisper—surrender.

‘Do you want my help?’

She groaned, because the same image returned, Max’s large, confident hands on her body, and she blinked up into his eyes, sinking into him, losing herself completely to a power far greater than any she’d ever known.

‘I thought we agreed last night was a mistake,’ she said simply.

His eyes flared. ‘It probably was.’

‘Probably?’

‘I don’t know, Paige.’ His frustration was obvious. ‘It shouldn’t have happened, it was stupid, but it was also the best thing I’ve done in years and if I don’t get to touch you again, to kiss you, I think I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.’ His eyes bored into hers, a silent question in them, and then he spoke it aloud. ‘So I’m asking you, do you want my help?’

It was as though her ears were flooded with static electricity. She couldn’t think or see straight but there was a beacon in the midst of it all, a truth she had to face, to grab with both hands because, just like Max, she knew she’d regret it if she didn’t.

‘Yes,’ she whispered finally, exulting in the simplicity of that even when it felt, in some ways, as though she’d just made some kind of pact with the devil.

CHAPTER SIX

THEY REMAINED IN SILENCE, the air between them crackling. Finally, Paige nodded, and Max reached down, linking their fingers, staring at them weaved together before tugging her gently from the kitchen, down the hallway and into his office.

The space was a perfect echo of his personality, all dark wood and gleaming surfaces, masculine, strong, impressive. He closed the door and then locked it with an audible click.

Even when her own feelings were swamping the rational part of her brain, Max was switched on enough to remember that he had a daughter in the house, and that she might wander downstairs at any point.

Paige spun, pulling her hand free, but her fingers still tingled as though they were touching his and her tongue felt thick in her mouth.

As Paige watched, Max removed the top off the lotion and poured some into the palm of his hand. He stared at it for several seconds, as though he was fighting an internal battle, a war raging through him between good intentions and bad, and she wished she could say something to reassure him but the truth was Paige didn’t know if this was a good idea or not. In fact, she suspected it was a very bad idea, but she still wanted to be in here, with him. And she was aching for him to touch her again.

He was hesitating and she couldn’t help wondering, was that because of his late wife? He must have loved her a great deal to have been driven to years of celibacy by her death. Did he consider this to be a betrayal of her memory?

‘I can do it myself,’ she felt compelled to offer, nodding towards the lotion. ‘If you’ve changed your mind.’

His eyes jerked to hers, and his jaw moved as he grimaced. ‘I haven’t.’

Relief surged through Paige, complex emotions forming little eddies in the room. It wasn’t a time for thought and analysis though, but a time for action. She held out her arm, showing the pinkness on her skin. His gaze dropped to the limb, and then, almost against his will, he moved one hand to her wrist and held it, while with the other he began to apply the lotion, rubbing in broad circular motions. It was almost clinical, but there was nothing cold or detached about her body’s response. Her knees wobbled so she swayed forward a little. His hand on her wrist dug in a little tighter but she didn’t think he realised—he was holding her as if grabbing on for dear life.

They were both drowning.

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