will keep you safe.”
“We aren’t all rich,” I snap. Now I’m shaking and not in a good
way. I imagine his foot hovering over the red line at Redemption. Just
one inch and it will all be over.
Max pulls his phone out of his pocket and shouts “Colton” at it.
“Yes, sir.” Colton’s voice is as clear as if he was standing right in
front of us.
“Makayla needs a cell phone. Something that will never run out of
minutes. Long-term plan.”
Long-term plan? Butterflies flutter in my belly. Maybe he isn’t as
annoyed as he appears.
“Yes, sir.”
Max tucks his phone back in his pocket. “Done. He’ll bring it to
you tomorrow at work.”
Amanda and I share an open-mouthed stare.
“I have a phone, Max.”
“Now you have a better one. If you decide not to be somewhere I
expect you to be, you will be able to contact me, and if I am delayed, I
will be able to contact you, and if you are in danger, you will be able to
call for help.”
“See I told you,” I say under my breath to Amanda. “He is different
in his suit.”
Amanda looks from me to Max and then back to me. “The differ-
ence isn’t the suit,” she murmurs. “You kissed him. It changed things.”
Yeah, it changed things. It made him insufferably bossy.
As if she could hear my thoughts, Amanda reaches under the table
and squeezes my hand.
“What’s this all about?” she says to Max. “You know it wasn’t safe
for her to wait alone in a parking lot.”
Max runs a hand through his hair and looks at me as if I had asked
the question. “I didn’t know where you were. I didn’t know if something
had happened to you. We searched the hospital and the parking lot. I
called the doorman, and he checked your apartment—” His voice cracks,
then softens. “I was worried, Makayla. I didn’t…know…what to do.”
And with that, my heart stops banging. Max’s imaginary foot re-
treats from the line. All is right with me and Max.
Dr. Drake chooses this moment to make an untimely appearance
with a test-tube rack filled with Medo-Jello shots. He plucks out the
Larynx Lime. “Here you go, Mac. Just what the doctor ordered. Open
that pretty little mouth for me and say ahhhh.”
A sound erupts from Max’s throat—a cross between a rumble and a
growl. My eyes widen, and I suck in a breath and stare at Amanda. She
gets the message and slides out of the booth.
“Who feels like dancing? Doctor Drake? Care to give me some
medical attention?” She doesn’t wait for his answer, but instead grabs
his hand and tugs him toward the dance floor.
“Your turn for the dirty doctor,” he laughs. He takes a step away and
then turns back and stares at Max. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
“No.”
“Well you’ll know me well enough by the end of the evening.” Dr.
Drake’s face brightens and he points to the giant screen. “Look Mac,
we’re on again.”
Oh God.
Max spins around to face the screen. The Dirty Doctor Dancing
caption flashes and a supersize version of Dr. Drake and I hump and
pump our way across the screen to LFMAO’s “Sexy and I Know It.”
When Max’s gaze snaps to a rapt Dr. Drake, I shoot out of the
booth and grab his arm.
“Please don’t hurt him.”
His lip curls and he shakes off my hand. “You think I’m going to
hurt him?”
“You’re looking at him like a lion that has just spotted his supper,
so, yes; I think you’re going to hurt him.”
Max’s jaw tightens. “You want him?”
“No, of course not. I thought I made that clear.”
“Then why does he always have his hands on you?”
I shrug. “He’s friendly?”
“Friendly is sitting across the table from someone and having a
her up on the dance floor.”
My girl. He thinks I’m his girl. I can barely breathe. I look up at
Max. His forehead is creased. His face is lined with exhaustion. His jaw
is tight and his eyes are distant and hard. If I had any sense, I would
walk away. The violence simmering under his skin scares me, but not as
much as his need calls to me.
What is this all about? Amanda asked him.
I wrap my arms around him. He stiffens, but I hold him tight. I
press my body against his. I let him feel me—the steady beat of my
heart, the rise and fall of my chest. I am here, my body tells him. I am
safe. I am with you.
It takes a long time for him to answer. But he does. He hugs me
into his chest and rests his chin on my head. Time drifts away as we slow
dance to fast songs, our bodies molded together until the DJ clears the
dance floor with “Bleed It Out” by Linkin Park. Good for a fight club.
Not so good for a night club.
I look up at Max. He is calm now, his eyes soft, his face relaxed.
“Don’t you usually go to Redemption on Thursdays?”
Max presses a soft kiss to my forehead. “I wanted to see you.”
“How did you find me?” I press my nose against his shirt. The stale,
musty smell of airplane cannot overpower the fresh, clean scent of his
cologne or the raw essence of Max.
“Secret.”
“It’s not nice to keep secrets.” I pull away and mock a frown.
“You kept a secret from me.” His breath is hot and moist in my ear.
My body stiffens. I am keeping so many secrets from him, I don’t
know which one he’s uncovered. Best to play it dumb. “What secret?”
“What were you thinking when we were grappling at Redemption?”
His eyes blaze with sensual fire and my mouth goes dry.
A thrill of excitement shoots through me. “Naughty things,” I whisper.
“Tell me naughty things.”
The DJ takes down the tempo with Alicia Keys’ “Fallin’.” A tremor
shivers through me. “Like what? I don’t really do naughty talking.”
Max lifts my hand to his mouth and brushes his lips over my
knuckles. “Like ‘hand.’”
“‘Hand’ isn’t naughty.” I quiver as his lips feather up my arm and
tickle my elbow.
“Oh, you don’t know how naughty it can be,” he rumbles, as he
peppers tiny kisses over my shoulder. Say ‘shoulder.’”
“Shoulder. Max, what are you doing?”
He slides his hot, wet lips to the sensitive hollow at the base of my
throat, sending tingles down to my core.
“Say ‘neck,’” his deep voice demands.
“Neck.” My heartbeat quickens; my lips part. We sway to the
music, our bodies melded together as he plays his curious game.
He leans down and nibbles my lips, teasing them open. His kiss is
soft and gentle. Sweet. But his lips are firm. “Say ‘lips,’” he whispers.
“Lips.”
Anticipation ratchets through me when he slides his hand down my
body to cup my behind. He gives my cheek a squeeze. “Now, say ‘ass.’”
I shiver in response to his firm touch. On his lips, the simple word
takes on a sultry, erotic flavor that sends molten heat through my veins.
I can do this. I have asked complete strangers in clothing stores if my ass
looks big. I often told Susie to get her ass downstairs for dinner. In the
bar, I told Amanda to wiggle her ass. Once, I even called Charlie an ass.
My life is full of ass. “Ass,” I whisper.
“Good girl.” His lips brush over my ear, his breath hot and moist
on my skin. Suddenly, I feel very, very naughty, and very, very aroused.
He runs his hand over my hips, in and out my waist and along my
ribcage. My body trembles, anticipating where he might go next. He
brushes his fingers ever so gently over the exposed curve of my breast
under my dress. “Say ‘breast,’ baby.”
A soft whimper escapes my lips and my back arches, pressing my
breasts against his chest. People dance around us oblivious to the blazing
inferno at the edge of the dance floor, unaware that the slow, sensual
brush of Max’s fingers over my sensitive skin has peaked my nipples and
fried my brain. His stroking fingers have turned the ordinary into the
sublimely sexual.
“I’m waiting.” His voice is soft, but laced with demand.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I imagine I am diving into
a pool filled with warm, decadent, dark chocolate. “Breast.” The word
drops from my lips like a falling petal.
“There we go.” He spins us into a corner and under the shadow of an
eight-foot bottle filled with giant pills, he tightens one hand around my
waist and slides the other between us. His hand caresses the underside
of my breast and then, inch by inch, he drops it down. Warm fingers
brush down my sternum and press against my tummy. A firestorm of
arousal courses through my veins like nothing I have ever experienced
before. My breath comes in short, rapid pants. My panties are beyond
soaked. My entire being is focused on Max’s rapidly descending fingers.
When he brushes the tips of his fingers over my mound my head falls
back and I moan.
Triumph flares in the sensual depths of Max’s eyes. “Now say ‘pussy.’”
The soft, whispered word is erotic on his lips, sending a rush of
molten heat through my veins. Max presses my body against his, trap-
ping his hand between us. He is obviously erect and this, more than
anything, sends my arousal spiraling out of control.
“Maaaax,” I moan.
He cups the curve of my sex and I am gone, lost to the moment,
lost to passion.
“Say it, baby.” His demanding words bring me back.
My lips part. My body burns with lust. But some part of me says it
is too much. This is not me and I have been pushed as far as I want to
be pushed. The DJ spins Adele’s “Set Fire to the Rain.” Max tightens his
arm around me and sings the lyrics in a soft, deep voice only I can hear.
His deep baritone rumbles in his chest. Slow, delicious warmth spreads
through me and something strange and new penetrates deep into my
bones. Tilting my head back I look up through my lashes. His dark eyes
glitter, unyielding, and yet filled with sensual promise. “Say it.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and whisper into his chest. “Not yet.”
Chapter 11
That's Gotta Hurt
“Are you sure you’ve got the right address?”
Amanda directs our cab to a large, clapboard house in prestigious
Menlo Park. The tree-lined street is littered with cars. Lights flicker
through the windows of the attached four-car garage. It looks like there
should be a party going on, but there is no music, and no one hanging
out on the lawn. Maybe it’s a party Menlo-park style.
Amanda points to a group of pale, pasty-skinned men sporting bad
haircuts, ripped jeans, screen-print T-shirts and flip-flops. “It’s called
the Geek Club. I think we’re in the right place.”
I slump back in my seat. “I can’t believe you dragged me out here.”
“It won’t take long, I promise. I’ll surprise Jake, let him know
he’s forgiven, and then we’ll all go home and you won’t hear from me
until Monday.”
“Couldn’t you have just called?”
Amanda pays the driver and we step out onto the street. “It’s a
surprise. He doesn’t know I saw the details in his calendar the last time I
was at his place. Plus I want to see him fight at this club. He told me it’s
one of the more dangerous underground fight clubs in California. No
rules. No mercy. Nonfatal weapons are allowed.”
“Anything wielded as a weapon can be fatal.” We skirt around a
child’s wagon and three jolly garden gnomes. “Especially if people get
carried away.”
Amanda gives my shoulders a squeeze. “Such a grouch. I really ap-
preciate you coming with me. I know you’re upset Max hasn’t called
since we left the bar last night.”
“I’m not upset. I’m glad I found out about his bossy and control-
ling side when I did. Makes the breakup that much easier.”
Amanda shoots me a sideways glance. “You didn’t tell me you
broke up.”
“He danced with me, tried to get me all hot and bothered right
on the dance floor, then took me home, dropped me off, and all I got
from him was a text this morning that said he was keeping Redemption
closed all weekend in case the CSAC showed up. By the time they got
to the club on Saturday, everyone was gone and Jake had the place shut
down. I guess he was worried they might try again or maybe he was
making it up to get rid of me.”
“Hot and bothered, huh? And you didn’t invite him home?”
Amanda clearly is not interested in the fate of Redemption.
“I’m not good with dirty talking. When I didn’t play his game, I
guess he decided to leave me hanging to punish me. I swear if Doctor
Drake had walked by, I would have been grinding with him on that
dance floor like there was no tomorrow.”
Amanda’s eyes widen. “If you had done that, we would be visit-
ing Doctor Drake in the hospital instead of Jake at the Geek Club.
I thought Max was literally going to combust when he saw you and
Doctor Drake on the screen. He is seriously into you.”
I shake my head. “For once, you’re wrong. He’s done with me. I got
the message from the old drop-her-off-at-the-door routine. I just don’t
know what I should do with this.” I pull out my new phone.
Amanda sucks in a breath and reaches out her hand. “Oooooh
pretty. When did you get it? You can give it to me. I have no qualms
about taking secondhand gifts.”
I pull it away, reluctant to share the most expensive and exciting
piece of technology I have ever owned. “Colton brought it to the hospi-
tal this morning. It’s been very distracting. I just speak to it and it does
what I say. Watch.” I stare at the phone and say, “CALL AMANDA
CELL.” The phone dials. Amanda’s phone rings. She gives the phone a
thorough inspection, then adds it to her Christmas list.
I knock over a garden gnome with a turtle on his head and stop to
pick it up. “Maybe I should sell it to pay off the debt
collector.”
“You could ask a friend to bail you out instead.”
Shaking my head, I tuck my phone away. “You know I would never
do that. If I’m stuck I can use the money Susie sent me to buy a plane
ticket to visit her in London.”
Amanda’s face tightens. “You haven’t seen Susie in five years. That
money was her way of making amends.”
More like her way of assuaging her guilt over abandoning the family
and especially me.
We knock at the side door to the garage. A thin, reedy man wearing
a plaid wool vest steps outside and closes the door behind him.
“We’re here to visit the Geek Club.” Amanda tosses her blond
curls. I flip my bone-straight hair.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He sniffs loudly. “Just a
private party going on inside.”
Amanda’s jaw tightens. “We both know it’s not a party. I’m with
one of the fighters, Jake Donovan.”
“Does he know you’re here?”
“Yes.” Amanda lies with aplomb. No wonder she is such a
good attorney.
“I’ll go ask him.”
“Wait.” I put a hand on his arm. “Do you have anyone doing first
aid at the club? I’m qualified and I’ll work for free if you let us in.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Let me ask the boss.”
Ten minutes later we step across the threshold. The doorman, now
identified as Stormin’ Norman, informs us the boss is delighted to have
both women and an EMT in the club. He hands me a first aid kit still
wrapped in plastic and ushers us inside.
We enter the dimly lit garage, and my nose wrinkles at the
pungent scent of sweaty bodies, spilled grease, and gas fumes. The
crowd is thick around a makeshift boxing ring on the concrete floor.
I count at least fifty men and maybe a dozen more groaning in the
corner. War zone.
My heart pounds and I take a few deep breaths and fight the urge to
run. I can do this. I’ve been in Redemption. I lived through two fights.
It will only be an hour and then I can go home.
Amanda gives my hand a squeeze. “I know this isn’t easy for you,”
she whispers. “You are the best wingman ever.”
While Amanda looks for Jake, I head over to the side of the garage
where the injured are nursing their wounds. From here, I have a clear