Page 50 of Fallen Prince

My heart twisted just thinking about how terribly she must’ve treated him since the accident.

“Well, we want to meet him,” Charlie said firmly. “He does sound like a decent guy, but we need to vet him.”

I blew out a sigh. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I could only imagine how Max would react to being grilled by my best friends. He’d probably feel judged and threatened, and he’d retreat behind his wall of rage to protect himself.

“Why not?” Davis demanded.

“Whatever this thing is between us is new,” I explained. “And like I said, I don’t think he’s used to talking to people. If he hadn’t saved me from getting hit by that car, I don’t think he would’ve approached me at all.”

I realized that much was true. He’d been watching me that night to make sure I didn’t go to the cops, but if I hadn’t recklessly confronted him, he probably would’ve disappeared from my life. Our relationship so far had been tumultuous to say the least, but I didn’t want to lose what we had.

“Is the scar that bad?” Isabel asked, her voice soft with sympathy. “He really doesn’t want to talk to people because of it?”

I nodded. “I’m not sure how or when he got it, but he tries to hide it as much as possible. Whatever happened must’ve been excruciating and traumatic. I wish he’d realize that I don’t care about it. I’m really attracted to him.” That was the understatement of the century. Our chemistry was combustible.

“Okay, honey. We’ll give you time,” Davis allowed. “But we want to meet him.”

“We approve of anyone who punches Gavin in the face,” Isabel announced.

“Definitely,” Charlie added.

I smiled and finally relaxed. My friends’ support meant everything to me, and I was glad I’d been able to tell them about Max. At least, the best parts of Max. The darker things that’d happened between us would never be fully erased, but I chose to focus on the good.

I pulled out my phone and sent him a message:Meet me at my place in 2 hours?

A notification popped up telling me that he’d read it almost immediately. But there was no reply. I put my phone away and decided to be present with my friends. Max would either be there when I got home or not. I hoped he couldn’t resist the pull between us any more than I could.

CHAPTER 19

Max

I’d been a fool to kiss her. Again. And giving her my number? I must be crazier than she was. The mafia heir and the mayor’s daughter. It was absurd.

Dangerous.

For both of us.

Allie should remain far removed from my vicious world of violence and hate. And Ron Fitzgerald would put me in the ground if he ever found out that I’d touched his precious princess.

My fingers itched at the memory of her silken hair beneath my rough callouses. She was so soft and sweet, unlike any woman I’d ever been with. Even before the fire, the women who had falleninto my bed were ruthless in their own right, flirting with the power and danger I posed as Paul Ferrara’s heir.

Allie wasn’t afraid of me. She wasn’t afraid of my scarred, twisted face. Her tender touch drove me to the edge of madness, my possessive lust for her obliterating all rational thought from my mind.

Virgin.

I ached to claim her for myself, to make her whimper my name and scream out in ecstasy as she rode my cock. I wanted her peridot eyes to glow with awe as I came inside her, taking part of her that no man could ever possess again. I wanted all that sweet innocence for myself, even though I had no right to it.

I shook my head sharply, gnashing my teeth. It’d been years since anyone had touched me at all. Had I grown so weak in that time, so desperate for a woman’s touch, that I would crave to fuck my enemy’s daughter?

My fists flexed at my sides, and I shrank deeper behind the shadow of the tree in front of her house.

I shouldn’t be here. She’d texted me, and I’d come running. I knew there was no threat to protect her from, no pretext for my delusion that I was her savior. No one else had followed her home—not Gavin and not any Russian scum.

I was her only stalker tonight.

My muscles tensed. That was exactly why I had no business accepting her invitation: I was her stalker, not her protector. No matter how much I’d deluded myself, no matter what she’d said. No matter how she’d melted in my arms.

She paused on her front porch, checked her phone, and blew out a sigh before unlocking her door. Was she looking for my reply? The disappointed slump to her shoulders triggered my most selfish impulses. She wanted me.

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