Page 18 of Destined To Fall

Rainbow what?

It’s served in a tall, round cocktail glass, filled with a swirl of pink, orange, red, purple, and blue, then topped with a bright pink umbrella and a few pineapple and strawberry pieces. It looks like a rainbow got gang-banged and squashed into a glass, slapped with some pretty fruity Band-Aids, and sent on its merry way. I’m afraid to drink it, but I squeal and clap like a sorority girl on crack. It sure looks the part. I suppress a shudder and smile brightly as I put the straw in my mouth, shooting Max a worried expression. He covers his laugh with a cough, and I fight not to scowl at him, taking a tentative sip.

Holy Skittles on steroids.

“It’s good, right?”

I swallow the candy-like liquid and smile at Donna.“So good. It’s like there’s a party in my mouth, and a whole orchard was invited.”

I shit you not. I can taste it all. I’ve yet to determine if I like it or not. The verdict is still out.

Donna is over the moon with my declaration and beams brightly at us before walking off to serve the other patrons.

“You’re a rathertalentedactor,” Max states matter of fact.“You never once slip.”

“In my line of work, I need to be. I can’t afford to lose face, Max. But you’re wrong.” His forehead creases as he looks at me.“Do you know any dumb blondes—stereotypically speaking—who would know what an orchard is?”

He guffaws before shaking his head.“You’re fired.”

“Oh, thank god. This wig is driving me crazy already,” I tease.

He takes my stray hand in his, and I watch curiously as he brings it to his lips and lightly kisses my knuckles. My mind goes straight to Jeremy,and I’m instantly unnerved. It’s not the first time someone has kissed my hand, but it’s the first time it makes me picture someone else.

“I think I might actually enjoy myself with you,” he says.

It’s my turn to chortle.“Oh, Max. You sure know the right things to say to a girl,”I quip.“But then, if you don’t have a good time, I’m clearly not doing my job right.” I wink.

Max chuckles again and seems to ease, becoming more himself as the night—not to mention the whiskey—progresses.

We chat quietly. Max talks about his company with more detail and interest than he did in the car, while I peruse the crowd. After another drink, he brings up his late wife. My wayward heart constricts as he tells me how he met her, and the way he was instantly enthralled with her elegant beauty. They courted like only the young did in the late’80s—clubs and dancing. I laugh at the visual of Max with a mullet and Lycra, even though I’m sure he had more sense than that.

“We had a very unconventional romance,” he says, making me raise a brow.“We were raised Catholic to a fault.”

“You waited? Completely?”

“We did.” His cheeks turn pink at the declaration.

“That’s very romantic.”And crazy.“I can’t conceive of the idea, obviously.” A salacious grin twists my mouth.“I find the premise sweet, but…”I pause.“How did either of you refrain for so long? Or know what to do? I’ve heard some horror stories.” I struggle, trying not to picture awkward wedding-night, first-time sex.

“We all have to learn sometime.” He muses.“Why? How did you learn?” he counters, with a curve of his brow.

I frown, thinking on that.“Well,I should say it was lots and lots of practice.” I titter.“But that would be a lie. It’s a gift. This body was made for pleasure,” I say with a cocky flair and laugh as Max’s face goes bright red.“My first time,I don’t really remember. I was drunk—we both were. But I’ve sort of always known how to use my body.” I shrug.“It’s what I’m good for, what I excel at.” Something flashes across Maxwell’s face, something I don’t really want to put a name to.“You can’t teach talent, just technique.” I laugh softly, but it comes out uneasy.

“True enough.” He smiles softly, almost…dejected.“We knew the mechanics, and it was just a matter of putting it into practice. Some things are instinctual.” He smirks—he actually smirks at me, and I want to laugh at the change in his demeanor.“The rest comes with time and knowledge. And lots and lots of practice.”

We both chuckle at that, but there’s a niggling feeling in the back of my mind, and I can’t help wondering if he’s all alone in the world now? I try to think back to the meeting in his office and saw any photographs, but I’m drawing a blank. I’m about to ask when he stands and offers me his hand.

“Shall we?”

My brows lift, curious what exactly he’s suggesting. I have the distinct impression he has never been with another woman. For some reason, that makes my heart jerk.

“I see a spot at the blackjack table has opened,” he clarifies, a little color flushing his cheeks again. I don’t really feel like playing or beingonanymore.

“Yes, let’s.” I take his outstretched hand, and he tucks it under his arm, leading me to the table. I give myself a mental kick and get back in the game.

For the better part of an hour, Max and I dominate the tables. Beginner’s luck, we try to brush it off as, but we both know better. I don’t count cards, far from it—that’d be too much work—but I know a potential win before I see it.I have an uncanny sixth sense and can read people like pages in a book. Comes in handy in my business.

We mix it up a little. Max catches on quickly with my subtle caresses, and he soon learns when to lose. If you play with the understanding that the house always wins, you never get burned.

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