Page 29 of Smooth Sailing
He nodded, a little uncomfortable with the attention. “Thanks. Paloma and I seem to click when it comes to Euchre.”
“She’s your work partner, right?”
He nodded, and she leaned closer, her breath warm against his cheek. “Oh, good, because I wasn’t just talking about the cards.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve been watching you all night. The way you read people, the way you . . . connect. It’s impressive.”
A flicker of surprise pinged through him, followed by a twinge of discomfort. Her gaze was intense, almost hungry, and he leaned back slightly. He was a little flattered, but mostly he didn’t like that a woman who wasn’t Paloma was in his personal space.
“You know,” she said, her fingers tracing a small pattern on his skin, “I’d love to see how that intuition of yours translates to other . . . situations.”
His brows shot up, and his mind raced, struggling for an appropriate response.
“Max!” Paloma’s voice cut through the moment like a knife. He turned, and she was striding toward them, her eyes flashing with an emotion he couldn’t quite place. Her easy smile was replaced by a taut line, her posture rigid. “I thought we were going to, um . . . discuss that thing.”
“What thing?” he asked.
She moved closer, her shoulder brushing against his arm, effectively creating a barrier between him and Isabella, causing her hand to slip from his bicep. She took a small step back, the self-assurance draining from her features as she glanced briefly at the floor.
“You know, the . . . thing. About the . . . project.” Paloma turned to Isabella, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Sorry, inside joke. You know how it is with . . . partners.”
He couldn’t help but notice that she left out the “business” before “partners.” Was it intentional?
“Right,” Isabella said, glancing between them. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Max.” She picked up her drink from the kitchen’s island and walked toward Fence.
Paloma visibly relaxed, leaning slightly into Max. “I need some air. Come with me?”
Hell yes, he was going to follow her. He needed clarification on that bewildering exchange.
Once outside, her eyelids fell closed, and the cool air ruffled her hair. “Much better,” she murmured.
“What was that all about?” he asked.
Opening her eyes, she looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“Come on, Paloma.” His words cut through the night air. “That whole scene back there. The ‘thing’ about the ‘project’? The way you practically shoved yourself between me and Isabella?”
Her cheeks blazed crimson as she averted her gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really?” he pressed. “Because it seemed an awful lot like you were jealous.”
Her head whipped around. “Jealous? Me? That’s ridiculous!”
He leaned in, and the scent of her perfume clouded his senses, stoking his frustration. “Is it? From where I’m standing, it looks like you couldn’t handle seeing another woman flirting with me.” Aggravation simmered beneath his skin, warring with a burning curiosity. He forced a laugh, but it sounded hollow. “What, you don’t like anyone hitting on your backup plan?”
The words hung between them, charged with unspoken tension. He hadn’t meant to let that slip, but there it was—the ugly truth neither of them wanted to face.
She took a half-step back, her head tilting. “What are you talking about?”
“Asher,” he replied, done tiptoeing around the other man’s shadow looming between them.
“What about him?” she snapped.
Tightness gripped his jaw. “You’re going to make me spell it out.”
She slammed her hands on her hips. “I’ve already apologized for coming on to you that night at the bar. It was a shitty thing to do, but that was months ago!”
“But you’re still hung up on him,” he stated matter-of-factly.
Stepping toward him, she poked him in the chest. “For fuck’s sake, Max!” Her eyes narrowed. “Who the hell do you think you are? You don’t get to make assumptions about my feelings!”
