Page 29 of Second to None
Chapter 9
Four,Emily counted to herself as Max put his hand on the small of her back to guide her toward the elevator that went directly to his penthouse. It was only the fourth time that he had touched her since he’d picked her up at the house. There was the quick kiss on the cheek after she answered the door, the brush of his wind-chilled lips shimmering over her skin. He’d lifted her hair from under the collar of the coat as he helped her into it, which had sent tingles of pleasure waltzing down her spine. He’d offered his arm as they walked down the steps to the limousine, his strength making her feel intensely feminine.
But then he’d wedged himself in the corner of the back seat and simply watched her while she sat two feet away from him on the smooth leather.
His heavy gaze made her skin go tight and prickly in anticipation. Every time the car turned a corner or hit a pothole, she felt the slide of her dress against the tops of her legs where the thigh-high stockings left her skin bare. She’d been honest with herself about how the evening was likely to end, so she’d worn a dress that revealed some cleavage, her best black lace lingerie, and sky-high black stilettos. All in good taste, but leaving no doubt as to her intentions.
She’d seen that Max had gotten the message when he stood stock-still on her porch, his eyes searing their way down every inch of her and back up again, the desire in them making her insides melt. It took so long that Izzy peeked around her to say, “Isn’t Mr. Varela coming in? He’s going to turn into a snowman standing out there.”
He’d come in from the frigid outdoors, presenting all of them, including the babysitter, with gourmet chocolate. Emily had let herself drink him in as he handed out the beribboned boxes—the gleaming waves of his dark hair, the slash and shadow of his cheekbones, the wide, snow-dusted shoulders of his black leather jacket, and the gray wool–covered length of his legs. She wanted to run her hands over all of them.
Now, as they stood in front of the brushed-steel elevator doors, he laid his thumb against a wall pad, his change in position increasing the pressure of his other hand on her back ever so slightly. But she was aware of every nuance of his touch and the different sensations it evoked in her.
The doors glided open, and she stepped into the private elevator, marveling at the polished wood paneling and gilt-framed artwork. She caught sight of the artist’s signature on one painting. Matisse. And she was willing to bet it wasn’t a reproduction.
“You look beautiful.” Max’s bass voice reverberated off the hard surfaces of the elevator and into her bones.
She tilted her head to meet his eyes. They were hooded, his half-closed eyelids shading the dark irises. A shudder of nerves quivered through her. “Izzy gave me her seal of approval.”
He smiled, a flash of white teeth and crinkled laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. “A far greater compliment than mine.”
“I dressed for you.”
His smile vanished. “I’m holding on to my willpower with both hands already.”
“Why?”
His nostrils flared as he drew in a sharp breath. “It’s been seven years. I can wait until the right place and time.”
The elevator eased to a stop. The doors opened into a grand entryway two stories high with a cantilevered staircase rising to the second-story gallery. The floor was a wide-planked, elaborately grained wood covered with a rug that was a work of modern art. A sculptured silver chandelier cascaded down from a skylight that framed the glow of the flurry-filled New York sky. A table made of a thick round slab of marble held a huge ceramic vase loaded with twisted bare branches, evergreens, and holly.
“It’s big. And gorgeous,” she added, but her overwhelming impression was of enormous space in a city that put a premium on it.
“Thank you, but we’ll be dining somewhere more intimate,” he said, taking her elbow to move her forward.
When she stepped out onto the wooden floor, the click of her high heels made her glance down to make sure they weren’t leaving marks.
He led her past the staircase and down a hallway with doors opening off it on either side. She caught glimpses of vast rooms with windows that showcased the glowing lights of the skyscrapers reflected off the swirling snow. “What do you do with all these?” She gestured toward a dining room that could seat at least twenty people.
“Business entertaining. This is all for show. I spend my time in the private rooms.” He kept her walking, as though he sensed her mood was shifting, his stride making her hurry in her heels.
They passed through an archway with its two huge wooden doors flung open, and the decor changed to something designed less to overawe and more for comfort. Max stopped and gestured for her to precede him through a normal-size doorway.
The room was by no means small, but at least it couldn’t accommodate every CEO in the Fortune 500. Emily’s eyes were drawn to yet another spectacular view, but it was softened by drapes of deep green silk. A table set for two stood in front of the window, its array of candles reflecting in the glass. Flames danced in a stone fireplace that invited a visitor to sink onto the leather sofa or one of the armchairs arranged in front of it. Bookshelves lined the opposite wall, their contents not bought by the leather-bound foot for appearances’ sake, but rather a motley collection that looked as though they’d actually been read.
“I think the decorator called this my study,” Max said, surveying the space as though he was seeing it for the first time himself.
“What other rooms do you have in your private area?” Emily asked.
He shifted his weight. “The usual. Kitchen, office, bedrooms, and a few others.”
“A bit fancier than your one-bedroom apartment at Lejeune.”
“All it takes to have this is money.” He pivoted to face her, curling his hands over her shoulders. His touch sent a wave of molten sensation across her skin. “Money doesn’t buy courage or compassion or strength. You would have those qualities whether you lived in a hovel or a palace.”
She laid her hand against his cheek, the sweetness of his words burrowing into her heart. “I don’t know where you get your ideas about me. I’m nothing out of the ordinary.”
He frowned down at her. “You are the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever known.”
