Page 37 of His Sinful Need

Make sure Max is safe? I don’t think she has anything to worry about there. I glossed over the part where he totally saved my ass—and the part where he ran through bullets to do it, too. Max Pedretti is not the kind of man who needs saving. But I just dip my head stiffly. “Yes, ma’am.”

She waves a hand at me. “Go. Do better.”

For a moment I pause, wondering if I should tell her about the comms gadget her oh-so-special Castellani was working on. How would she react if she knew Max was secretly contacting his family behind our backs? “Maestra—” But the memory of Max’s fingers tracing down my spine as we kissed stops me cold.

I can’t trust him. But I can’t betray him, either.

“What is it?” Anna-Vittoria asks.

“The Castellani—he’s asked if he can contact his Family. Can I return his phone to him? He…just wants to touch base.”

She thinks about it. She honestly does. Then she shakes her head. “Not yet. It’s only been a few days. Let him settle in first.”

I leave the Villa with my mind churning. As I arrive back at the Lair, I pause for a moment to compose myself before entering the house. My hand pauses on the front door handle, the hard, sun-warmed metal grounding me as I try one more time—as futilely as ever—to shove aside the memories of Max sitting there in the hot tub.

Things would be a lot simpler if I could stop thinking about howsafeI felt when Max turned up like a goddamn superhero to guard me when I was lying there behind a dumpster with a twisted ankle.

Outsider, I remind myself.He’s an outsider and you can’t trust him.

Use him, yes. Trust…nope. And fuck?

Definitelynot.

CHAPTER17

BRICKER

A week later,I rummage through Max’s belongings for the second time that day. Morning and night, I told him, and he agreed, leaving the room to stand outside when I ordered him to. It’s a pointless search, I know it, but I can’t help myself. The man got one over on me, and that makes me mad.

Worse still, he’s got those damn serious eyes that seem to stare into my soul, making it impossible to think straight.

I toss a shirt aside.You’re losing it.

“You done?” Max asks from the doorway.

“No,” I snap. “Against the wall. Spread ’em.” I feel heat rising in my cheeks as I think about how that sounds, but Max just sighs and leans up against the wall, hands up, legs apart, ready for me to pat him down.

He’s clean. Of course.

I run my hands over him again, telling myself it’s just to double-check. During his time with me, I’ve kept my distance at home, speaking to him only when necessary, never looking him directly in the eyes. He must think I despise him, which isn’t far from the truth. But beneath the simmering distrust, there’s something else—a pull I can’t ignore, no matter how hard I try.

It’s infuriating.

I’ve onlyknownthe guy for a week.

“I told you,” he says softly into the wall, “I wouldn’t try anything again.”

“You tried something once, and that was enough, Castellani. You only get one chance with me.”

I wish I hadn’t said it like that. But Max just brushes it off, like he brushes everything else off.

The man is going to drive me insane.

* * *

When we get to the Lair this morning, Jazz and Tank are out casing the bank again with Pony, or so Van tells me. So Van and I are stuck with the greenhorns, and—like puppies—they’re cute, but tiring.

Van, taking a break in the kitchen from Rook’s endless questions, motions me over with his head. “What’s going on with you and the Castellani?” he asks. I can’t pick his tone. It’s neutral, but too neutral. “Did you have an argument or something?”

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