Page 87 of All the Forbidden Things
“Yeah, stunning red hair.”
“Well, there can’t be many redheads called Billie. It must be Callum’s little sister, but I thought she was working out in Los Angeles for some Hollywood producer.”
“Oh, that Billie, okay. The husband attacked her and his wife shot him. It was all over the news when . . .”
My phone vibrates in the back pocket of my jeans, and I quickly move away from the door and head up the stairs in case I’m caught. When I get to the top, I pull it out and read the message. It’s Dan again. Desperate for an inside scoop, he’s been bombarding me with questions regarding Max and Whitney, and even the “sexy redhead” Max Young is supposedly banging. I sent him back an eye-roll emoji and a statement about the nondisclosure clause in my contract and a zipped mouth emoji, none of which has stopped him annoying me with more questions. In truth, there is no nondisclosure clause because there is no contract, but Dan doesn’t need to know that.
I lock my screen and tap gently on Max’s bedroom door. I listen for any sound of movement, and when I hear none, I open the door and peek inside.
Oh, fuck me!
Max is lying in the middle of his bed, still sleeping. He’s flat on his back, one arm bent above his head, the other angled, so his palm is resting flat against his bare chest. The quilt, too, is angled, up to his waist on his right side, then it slopes all the way down to the top of his thigh on his left, which is the side closest to me.
He’s naked, nothing but inked skin covers the hard plains of his stomach, the defined muscles of his arms and pecs, all the way down to his wrists.
My breath comes in short choppy bursts, and my cheeks burn. I know what I’m doing is wrong, but even as I think it, I can’t help but take in his messy hair, the grey flecks in his dark beard, his dark brows and lashes, and the length of his fingers.
I breathe in deeply through my nose and blow out gently through my mouth in an attempt at slowing my racing heart.
He’s a beautiful specimen of maleness. Toned but not bulky, slim but not skinny, gorgeous but not perfect.
And that ink!
Fuck. Me. That ink!
Everything about him gives me fanny flutters and causes my body to warm from the inside out. I’m not the most sexually experienced person, but I’ve never been so turned on by a man in my life.
I catch movement inside Layla’s cot, and after only a moment’s hesitation, I make my way over to her.
Her legs are kicking, one arm is flailing, and her other hand is fisted and shoved into her mouth. When I lean over her cot, she gives me a smile. When I lift her, she snorts like a little piglet and attempts to suckle on anything within reach.
“You hungry, Miss Layla?” I whisper, dodging a headbutt as I do. Noticing a bottle in the warmer sitting on the bedside table, and unsure if there are any made up in the fridge downstairs, I take it, pop the cap off, and slide the teat into Layla’s mouth. She sucks like her life depends on it, which, obviously, it does.
“What are you doing?” Max enquires from behind me.
My breath catches in my throat as he startles me, and I spin around to face him, still holding and feeding Layla as I do. He’s leaning back against the headboard, knees pulled up, elbows resting on them, hands hanging loosely between. The quilt is now pulled up to his waist, leaving his abs, pecs, and arms still bared to me, which is more than adequate.
“Whoa, you made me jump.”
“Why are you in my bedroom?”
“Ah . . . Layla.” I offer as an excuse, heat climbing up my chest to my cheeks.
He quirks one eyebrow and then the other.
“I came up to ask if you wanted me over here or at my place today, but you were sleeping and Layla was getting upset because she was hungry and I didn’t want her to wake you and I wasn’t sure if there were any bottles downstairs, so I just took the one from the warmer and started feeding her. It’s still warm, so I assumed it was fresh, and yeah, that’s what I’m doing here,” I blurt out without once pausing or drawing breath.
He blinks slowly. Twice. He again scratches at the stubble that’s almost a beard and says, “I had a quick shower while her bottle warmed. When I got out, she was still sleeping, so I got back into bed to wait for her to wake up. I must’ve fallen asleep for a few minutes.”
I nod at the same time as I sit on the edge of the bed then panic that maybe sitting on a bed while my naked boss is in it might be deemed inappropriate, but then I remember I have his daughter in my arms, so, fuck it, I’m sitting down.
Silence settles between us, but it’s not awkward, it’s just silence. I stare down at Layla, who still hasn’t come up for air. “I barely slept a wink last night,” I finally say.
“You and me both, that’s why I crashed out like I did.”
I want to look at him, but I’m concerned my whorey eyes won’t stay on his face and will wander to the naked parts of him.
“You should’ve brought this one over to me.” I gesture with my chin at Layla. “You could’ve gone and played in the studio.”
