Page 75 of Maximum Dare
I looked at him as though seeing him for the first time, admiring his extraordinary features, staring into his deep brown eyes and getting lost in this heady attraction. Max was like that first breath of fresh air you drew into your lungs on a crisp winter morning. Or that bit of luck you prayed for with a heart full of faith.
This felt like an impossible dream might be coming true at last, a chance at something profound that had always seemed out of reach. I struggled to believe it was real…Max and I together.
“Tell me about your secretary?” I said softly. “So I know her taste in books.”
“Her name is Gylda.” Max thought on it. “She loves the classics.”
“Really?” I said. “Me, too.”
“I didn’t know,” he said, but then quickly corrected himself. “How could I? Considering we’ve only just met.”
I gave him a quirky smile and had him follow me around the bookshelf that he’d been lurking behind. Together we searched for the perfect book for Gylda.
Max was thrilled when we discovered the collection of compendiums on John William Waterhouse’s paintings. With his secretary’s love of Shakespeare, the cover with its elegant portrayal of Ophelia would be perfect for her.
We got in the checkout queue and I looked up at him. “What happens now?”
Max tilted his head, smiling. “What would you like to happen?”
My heart stuttered at the thought of spending more time with Max. Not as my ex’s big brother, who was always looking out for me, but as someone who could be my friend without my past getting in the way this time.
We left the store with our purchases and headed to Max’s sports car. Even though our futures were uncertain, our chemistry held us together with the promise of being more…more than friends, perhaps.
All I knew was that my heart had begun to heal the moment I’d bumped into him outside Isobel’s. Our paths had crossed on so many occasions since, and each time my faith in people had been restored just a little bit more.
Max drove us to Soho.
By some miracle he found parking outside a flower shop.
He led me to the front door of a restaurant called Buteco, telling me this was a favorite hangout where expats of Brazil got to spend precious time together while sharing a delicious meal that reminded them of home.
“This place has a modest setting,” said Max. “But amongst the understated décor is a family run business with authentic cooking that will blow you away.”
It was easy to see how its hospitality eased the homesick. The owner, Pedro, made us feel so welcome.
He served plate after plate of delicious Brazilian food for me to taste. From the Acarajé, a black-eyed pea ball fried in palm oil and stuffed with shrimp, to a sampling of Moqueca de Camarão, a shrimp stew cooked in coconut milk. It made my mouth water and as soon as I’d finished the food on my plate, I wanted more.
For dessert, we were served coconut truffles.
Max reached for a truffle and fed it to me, looking pleased with my reaction to the delicious explosion of pleasure on my taste buds. Being with him, sharing this food and getting to know more about his culture, it evaporated my problems and made me feel nurtured.
Max made me feel nurtured.
Leaning back, I felt so stuffed I wasn’t sure I’d be able to walk out of the place. I rested my hands on my tummy like a pregnant woman, trying to ease the discomfort of having eaten one too many truffles.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Max looked so happy. “I love seeing you eat.”
I reached over and rested my hand on his. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
His expression changed to uncertainty at my touch. Doubt crept in and I withdrew my hand. But Max quickly grabbed my wrist and pulled me closer toward him. He leaned forward and kissed my wrist.“Minha linda.”
“I hope you didn’t just call me your fat princess?” I tapped my stomach.
“Ha, not even close.”
“Are you going to tell me what you said?”
“If you are what you eat, then you look like a coconut truffle. Thought I might lose a hand there for a minute.”
