Page 47 of Smooth Sailing
“Wait! Just tell me one thing. Was London wearing pants when—”
She ended the call, her cheeks burning. Behind her, Max’s dark laugh sent heat pooling in her belly—okay, maybe the heat was pooling a little lower. She turned to find him watching her with that intense gaze that made her forget all about maintaining professional boundaries.
“Ready to get out of here?” he asked.
“What about the Sterlings?”
“The place isn’t a disaster, only a work in progress. And it shows our progress.”
“True, but—”
“Paloma. Like Felix mentioned, you haven’t eaten all day. Let’s get you some food. And if you want we’ll come here early tomorrow, well before the Sterlings and do some housekeeping.”
“Okay,” she relented and began gathering things, carefully placing fabric swatches and paint chips back into their labeled slots in her sample case.
His arms wrapped around her from behind, and he kissed her neck. His touch heated her everywhere, but she twisted from his grasp. Wagging a finger at him, she said, “Not during working hours. We don’t want a repeat of what happened at the pineapple house.
“I don’t know.” He grinned. In it was all sex and promise. “You seemed to enjoy yourself.”
“It was a powerful orgasm,” she admitted. “But the afterglow was heart-stopping. And not in a good way.”
“Speaking of that, was your contact able to fix the table?”
She nodded. “Disaster was avoided, but the paperwork was interesting. I never thought I’d have to use the phrase ‘pussy plant juice’.”
Max choked mid-sip from his water bottle. Once he could speak, he said, “Did you really put that on the paperwork?”
She laughed. “Hell no. I lied and told him I didn’t know what it was.” Turning to her workstation, she picked up her messenger bag. “Ready?”
“More than ready.” He came closer, and she shot him a warning look. Thankfully, he didn’t push it, only grinned and turned, gathering his tools.
All she wanted to do was press into him and feel his hands on her skin, but they had a reputation to maintain and clients who could drop by anytime—something they’d learned the hard, heart-stopping way. So, she only watched.
Picking up a metal toolbox, he walked to the front door and opened it. “Let me take you somewhere first,” he said.
“Somewhere that isn’t the condo?” She couldn’t hide the disappointment oozing from her voice.
“Trust me.” He turned around, coming so close that if she took a deep breath, her chest would touch his. “Trust me. The food first. You’ll need your strength for what I have planned.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
October 11th, 6:30 p.m.
Max approached the passenger side of his truck and opened the door for Paloma like a true gentleman. His fingers trailed across her lower back as she climbed in, too deliberate to be polite. Heat bloomed under her skin.
The scent of leather and his cologne filled the air inside the cozy cab. It did nothing to cool her desire.
He started the engine and drove down the long driveway of the Sterling’s house. Making a left, he said, “I saw a place yesterday on the way to the condo and thought you’d love it.”
“Is it a sit-down restaurant?” Yes, she was exposing her eagerness, but her need to touch and taste him was more powerful than her empty stomach.
“It’s not,” he answered. His focus remained on the road, but the slight curve of his lips told her he knew exactly what she was thinking. And from the way he shifted in his seat, his thoughts weren’t far from hers.
“And I promise you won’t be disappointed.”
“Now?”She rested her hand on his knee, drawing small circles against his jeans with her thumb. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. "Or later?” Her question dripped with intent.
He pulledinto a lot and parked the truck. Then he ran his lips along her jaw to her ear and whispered, “Both.” He bit gently on her lobe before backing away.
