Page 11 of One Weekend in Vienna

Of course he’s an incredible kisser. Of course, he’s tender and funny and the perfect mix of demanding and respectful. I knew all this when I met him two years ago.

The only thing I didn’t know was his name.

Or that he was the man my brother hated.

But I’m not my brother and as much as I want to, as much as I know I should, I don’t hate Max Walker.

This time when his lips meet mine, it isn’t tentative. There’s no gentle exploration that lets us turn back and pretend nothing has happened. This time is deliberately slow, soft, and utterly devastating.

His hand cups the back of my neck, pulling me closer, and all at once, the tension that’s been simmering between us snaps, leaving nothing but heat in its place.

For a moment, I forget everything—who he is, who I am, the storm outside. There’s only Max, his warmth, his touch, and the way he makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, letting go for one night isn’t such a bad thing after all.

After all. No one has to know.

“Anna,” he murmurs, and my belly tightens at the rough need in his voice. His mouth trails down my neck, his hot breath teasing my bare skin. Tiny prickles of sensation ripple down my back and my sweater suddenly feels like a furnace.

“Take off my sweater, Max,” I plead, lifting my arms.

He releases me long enough to grin. “Yes ma’am.” I nearly giggle at his boyish eagerness, but then his hands are under the hem, gliding the soft fabric up over my heated flesh and the cool air of the hotel room makes me shiver. With far more gentleness than I expected, Max untangles my hair where it gets caught in the neck of my sweater and my heart swells again.

The featherlight sweep of his thumbs where my shoulder meets my neck has me biting back a moan and he’s done nothing except remove my shirt. I’m a bundle of nerves, my sense firing as I’m overwhelmed by the way Max feels, tastes and smells. He smells like snow, cedar and fresh air and I want to bury my face in his chest and inhale deeply.

“You have way too many clothes on,” I mutter, pulling his black shirt over his head with far less technique than he showed with me. He laughs and helps me yank his t-shirt out of his pants until his incredible chest is bare for my exploration. My fingers inch over his skin, marveling at the work of art that he is. I know he works at it. He’s like a finally honed machine, and for tonight, he’s all mine.

He grabs my hands and holds them over my head. “Stay there,” he says as his hand make quick work of my bra. It falls free and I do moan then when he takes a step back, his blueeyes darkening as he looks at me. “God, you’re so beautiful, like a painting.”

My heart skips at the tenderness in his words. But right now, I don’t want tenderness, I want his hands on my body. I want him to drive all thoughts as to why this might be a terrible idea out of my mind.

“I’m not a painting, so feel free to touch me,” I say when he’s still admiring me a few seconds later.

“You like my hands on you?” he asks, arching one of those dark, perfect wings. When I nod, he takes another step backwards and I panic, my arms falling. “Wait, that’s the wrong direction.”

Max shakes his head. “Nope. I’m dying to put my hands on you, but if I do, then it’ll be all over far too soon and I’ve waited too long to let this happen in the blink of an eye.” His mouth tilts up in a devastating smirk. “I’m going to savor you.”

My core clenches at the dark promise in his tone. He unbuckles his belt and the button below it, dragging the zipper down while I watch. But then he stops, holding up a finger and making a little circle. “Turn around, Anna.”

My eyes lock with his. “Too modest to take off your pants while I watch, Max?” I drawl.

“Ooh, a brat. I like that a lot, baby. You’re adorable when you’re fiery.” He makes the twirling motion again. “I want you to turn around so when you pull down your leggings, I get to see that ass that’s been making my mouth water all fucking day.”

The command in his tone is my undoing. If he wants a show, I’ll give it to him. I hook my fingers into the thick fabric and slide it down over my bum, feeling the burn of his eyes on me. I bend slightly, shoving them down to my knees and jump when a warm hand falls on my back, pushing me over all the way. He hooks a foot into the bridge of fabric and tugs them the rest of the down, while bringing his big body into contact with mine.

I can feel him, hot, hard, and heavy against my bare ass and when his hand slides down to cup my cheek I lean back, relishing the sound of his groan as he kneads my flesh, before pulling me back up and spinning me around. His eyes gleam in the low light of the room as he winds his hand around the length of my hair and drags me in for another kiss, sliding his thigh between mine.

He mirrors each stroke of his tongue with his thigh, sending a burst of molten heat through my belly. His grip on my hair holds me in place and my body moves of its own accord, grinding down on his leg, needing the pressure exactly where he’s giving it. Max lifts his head, and watches me for a few seconds, his lids heavy. “That’s it, gorgeous girl, show me what you need.”

I’m panting and I can’t get the leverage I want so I push against his chest. “Bed,” I sputter, when he drops his free hand to my hip, tightening his hold and slowing the pace.

“We’ll get there, Anna. Just let me enjoy how wild you are for me right now.”

Before I can muster up any indignation to that statement, he loosens my hair, smoothing it away from my face. “Hey, it makes me feel good to know you want me as badly as I want you.” His voice is husky. “To know it’s me making you breathless and wet and aching.”

I’ve never felt this out of control, thiswild, as Max puts it. “Please, Max. I can’t stand any longer.”

Instantly, I’m swept into his arms and deposited on the bed, sinking into the heavy, cool fabric. Impatiently, I go up on my elbows and watch greedily as he kneels over me, his dark hair falling over his forehead. Max pins my hips to the mattress, dropping a searing kiss on each hipbone before dragging his tongue across my belly.

“Delicious.” He nuzzles me and looks up at me from those lashes that should be illegal on any man. “You smell like peaches and cream.” He nips the sensitive skin below my belly button,and I squeak. “Oh, I like that noise, but let’s see if I can make you scream.”

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