Page 14 of Wished

“Excuse me.Whatare you doing?”

I jerk my hand away from the gold box and grasp it to my chest as if I’ve been burned. The tips of my ears burn as I slowly turn around.

Max stands a few feet away, his presence filling the space and consuming all the air between us. He’s the flame, and all the oxygen in the room has been sucked up by him.

How does he get away with being so beautiful? How is it possible that every time I see him I want to curl up against his side and kiss the stubble lining his jaw? Even now. It’s ridiculous.

A wash of heat falls over me and my skin prickles with embarrassment. I wonder, did he hear me?

Yes. I think he did.

I’ve never seen him look so cold. He’s in a dark gray suit and a white shirt. He’s devoid of color, and his expression is devoid of warmth. His face is stark and ... yes, that’s anger. Ice-cold anger. It radiates from him in sharp lines, and I shake my head, unsure of what to do with the hostility pointed at me.

“I asked you a question,madame.”

The way he says “madame” makes it clear he doesn’t think I’m worth the title at all.

I swallow and clench my hand, digging my nails into my palm.

I never thought anyone could be so angry at someone wishing to marry them. It’s absurd really.

Granted, he’s pristine in his suit and I’m sweaty, with frizzy hair tucked under my handkerchief, my old T-shirt damp with soap suds. Still. He doesn’t have to look quite so furious. I get it. He doesn’t want me.

“It was just a stupid joke. I didn’t mean it.” My voice comes out as a half-whisper.

A muscle in Max’s jaw clenches and his eyes flare. He takes a threatening step forward, cutting across the rug, and I resist the urge to step back. I almost throw out my hands as if I’m warding off a wolf intent on lunging at my throat.

What is his deal?

“You think stealing a million-franc heirloom is a joke? Perhaps we’ll let the police?—”

“Stealing!” He thinks I stole his necklace!That’swhy he’s angry? “I didn’t! How could?—?”

I swipe my hand through the air, canceling out his accusation, and lightning-fast, he reaches out, grabs my wrist, and holds me still.

“Don’t lie.”

I’m caught by the cold heat in his eyes, a burning ice that stings. His hand spans my wrist, his fingers pressing into my skin, a hard shackle. I stare into his eyes, lift my chin, and battle against the anger pulsing between us. His gaze has captured mine, or maybe I’ve captured his. I refuse to look away. Suddenly the pulsing anger twists and shifts into something else. A sharp, violent need.

Something shifts in Max’s eyes, a shadow lurking in the dark brown of his irises, and his gaze dips to my mouth. If this were any other time and any other man, I would swear I’m about to be kissed. Roughly. With teeth and tongue and punishing intent.

And I would like it.

But this isn’t another time. And this isn’t another man.

This is Max, accusing me of stealing.

And staring at my mouth.

My heart rate kicks up.

“Let me go,” I hiss, yanking at my arm.

His gaze breaks away from my lips and flashes back to my eyes. He keeps ahold of me, tightening his grip. His cheeks have two bright red spots of color and he’s breathing fast. “Turn out your pockets.”

“No.”

He’s gone Dickens on me. Assumed the worst. Jumped to conclusions. He thinks I’m a thief and a liar. I’ve been cleaning this man’s house for three years. I’ve washed his laundry, scrubbed his toilet, left him soups that I cooked while scouring his grout. I have never, ever,evertaken anything of his.

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