Against the Ropes (12 page)

“Frank, can you hear me? My name is Makayla. I’m an EMT. Can I take a look at you?”

Frank moans. I check his pupils and run my hands over his head—huge lump and growing fast.

“Call an ambulance.”

Max’s eyes widen. “Usually the guys are a bit shaken after a hit like that, but after a few minutes, they’re fine. He was wearing a helmet.”

“He’s not fine. Either his helmet was damaged or the force of the blow was more than it could withstand. If we don’t get him to a hospital, he’ll sustain brain damage at best. At worst, he’ll die. Call 911. NOW.”

For the next ten minutes, I try to stabilize Frank, but his condition deteriorates quickly. His pulse slows and his breathing becomes shallow.

“He shouldn’t be going down this fast.” My voice wavers and rises to a high pitch. “Something else is wrong and I don’t know what it is. Where is the ambulance?”

“It’s coming, baby. You’re doing great.”

“I don’t have any equipment, Max, and even if I did I don’t have the training for this. He’s going to die and I can’t save him.” My hands shake so hard I can barely record Frank’s vitals.

Max strokes my back and talks in a low, encouraging voice. “You’re giving him a chance he never would have had. He’s lucky you are here.”

The ambulance arrives a few minutes later. I brief the paramedic, Ray, while his EMTs strap Frank to the stretcher and rush him out to the ambulance.

“You did a really great job of stabilizing him,” Ray says. “You should think about taking that next step and qualifying as a paramedic. We need good people. People who can think on their feet and can handle a job where you never know what’s coming next.”

I am barely listening. I can’t get the visual image of the “Daddy” penned on Frank’s wrist out of my mind. “He’s not going to make it, is he?”

Ray’s eyes soften. “That’s not our call. We do the best we can and then we move on. You did everything I would have done and then some. Rest easy.” He slams the door and the ambulance disappears down the street.

Max strokes his hand down my hair. His gentle touch undoes me. Tears trickle down my cheeks and the tail end of my adrenaline rush sends a shudder through my body. Max pulls me into his arms and I sob into his chest.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “I won’t let you go.”

***

When I open my eyes, it is still dark. My clock reads three a.m. A soft breeze blows through my window, and my curtains flap gently against the glass. I am warm and relaxed, and I am not alone.

A strong arm is wrapped around me, nestled between my breasts. A hard body is curled up against my back, holding me safe. I catch the scent of leather and soap and the faintest hint of citrusy cologne.

Max.

He breaths the slow, regular rhythm of sleep and yet his arm is locked tight around me. Not that I want to leave. Even though we are still in our clothes, I am almost giddy with the pleasure of being enveloped by his body.

“Go back to sleep, baby,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

So he does. He’s had me since I cried in his arms. He took care of everything. Amanda is safe at her home and I am safe at mine.

“I thought you were asleep.”

He kisses my neck. “Not with your sweet body tucked up against me.”

“You don’t have to stay,” I whisper. “I’m okay now. It’s late—”

“You’re hurting. I’m staying. Now go to sleep.” He tightens his grip and pulls me closer to his chest. My body quivers at the sensation of his arm locked around me and the press of his belt buckle against my spine.

As if I could sleep with Max in my bed. “I thought you were angry with me.”

“I could never be angry with you.” He brushes my hair over my shoulder and peppers my neck with tiny kisses. “However, I am frustrated by your continual disregard for your own safety. Unreliable prepaid phone. Walking alone at night. Going to one of the most dangerous fight clubs in the city—”

I turn slightly and look back over my shoulder. “Is it that dangerous? For spectators I mean. I didn’t see any fighting happening outside the ring.”

Max sighs. “More goes on at the Geek Club than just fighting. I want you to promise you will never go there again.” There is an unmistakable edge to his voice, bordering on fear.

Well, that’s a no-brainer. I don’t want to watch the mindless destruction of good printers again. “Okay. I promise never to go again.”

Max grunts and rolls onto his back, pulling me with him. He arranges me against his body with my head on his shoulder, and my body plastered against his side. One arm snakes around my waist and the other rests on my hip. “Time to sleep.”

“Don’t want to sleep.” I rest my hand on his chest and slide it over his T-shirt. My fingers encounter something soft—a bandage. I bolt upright. “I forgot. You were hurt. Let me take a look.”

“I’m okay. I just need to rest and I need you to rest beside me.” He tugs my arm, but I shake him away.

“I have medical supplies in the kitchen. I’ll—”

He yanks my supporting arm and I fall down onto his chest. “I’m okay, baby. Relax.”

“Max, please.”

“Baby. Last time. Relax. Feeling you beside me is worth a hundred bandages.”

I exhale my annoyance and snuggle into his chest. My body softens against him and he gives my head a chaste kiss. Not really what I want, but he’s made it clear this is all I’m going to get.

A cuddle.

I’ve never dated a man who liked to cuddle, but I like it.

A lot.

***

Sorry I had to leave so early. Had to let maintenance crew into Redemption. Will be here all day.

Thank u 4 staying with me

Pleasure

I liked Max in my bed

I liked Makayla in my arms

I called the hospital. Frank is unconscious, but they think he’s going 2 b ok

Because of you

I didn’t do anything

Because of you

**blushes**

Dinner tonight?

Yes

My place?

Yes

Seven?

Yes

Lewis pick you up?

Yes

Agreeable today

Yes

Max likes yes

I know **winks**

I didn’t bring you here for the view

“Wow. This is…modern.”

A freshly showered Max, his damp hair slightly tousled, beams when Colton closes the door behind me. His dark pants and blue button-down shirt are very businesslike. Is this what he wears to relax at home? Maybe I should have worn something dressier. My flirty black skirt and gold silk tank, Christmas gifts from my fashion-conscious mom, seemed plenty dressy at home. At least I’m wearing heels.

Colton takes my jacket and I walk into the open-plan living area. Holy cow. Why does he need all this space? The living room alone could hold fifteen or twenty people.

For the first few minutes, I can only stand and stare. The three separate seating areas are all decorated with casual, comfortable-looking sofas in muted shades of gray and beige, dark wood coffee tables, and industrial lamps. Wide brown leather chairs and soft Berber area rugs unite each separate space. A granite-topped bar with seating for six complete with wall-mounted television is surrounded by potted palms.

My heels click over giant, cream marble tiles, and I run my hand over the smooth, shiny surface of the giant mahogany dining table. The gray leather dining chairs have low backs and wide padded seats. As with the rest of the room the furniture is masculine but inviting. A modern man cave.

“The top level is essentially a complete home.” Colton smiles when I spin slowly around. “Although there are three levels, the master suite, kitchen, breakfast room, living room, dining room, and library are all on this one floor.”

“There’s more?” Just the space I can see is about ten times bigger than my entire house.

“Oh, yes.” Colton gestures down a wide hallway ending in double doors. “The master suite is about the same size as the main living space. Upstairs you’ll find the en suite guest bedrooms, and downstairs we have the media room, gym, home theater, staff quarters, and wine cellar.”

“Wow.” I can’t think of anything else to say.

Max settles me at the bar and excuses himself to make a call. Colton offers me a drink but I decline alcohol in favor of diet soda. I don’t want to embarrass myself in Max’s fancy home.

We chat about the house, Colton’s living quarters downstairs, and the five bridge views from the wraparound patio. I chase down the diet soda with an entire bowl of nuts.

Max has still not returned by the time I finish plundering the snack tray, and I talk Colton into letting me join him in the kitchen while he puts the finishing touches on the meal.

“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes,” Colton says, as we leave the bar. “Tonight we’re having lobster cocktail, tomato salad, grilled free-range chicken with roast field mushrooms and asparagus, and chocolate mousse for dessert.”

My mouth waters. And to think I had planned a dinner of cereal and skim milk before Max texted me this morning. “You cook too?”

“A butler takes on whatever duties are required. Mr. Huntington travels a great deal and did not wish to employ a full-time cook. I enjoy being in the kitchen. It works out very well.”

I follow Colton through the house. Although the man cave is cozy and comfortable, I don’t see any personal objects. No photos. No magazines. No coffee cups, slippers, or blankets. Everything is pristine and perfect. Definitely not the kind of place to relax after work with a good book and a pint of Chunky Monkey.

The kitchen is the size of the entire living area of my new apartment. The walnut island could easily fit six stools, and ceiling-high white lacquer cabinets line the walls. Antique industrial lights and stainless steel accents give the kitchen an artsy feel.

Dream kitchen. And I don’t even like to cook.

I sit at the island while Colton stirs the contents of a large pot on the stove. Tantalizing aromas waft my way and my stomach gurgles.

“Can I help you with anything?”

“No, thank you, Miss Makayla. We don’t make our guests work when they come to visit.”

“It’s not work.” I join him at the stove. “I would feel more comfortable if I had something to do.”

“I don’t know if Mr. Huntington would approve.”

“Please, Colton. I’m used to a house filled with people, a floor piled with pizza boxes, and crumbs on every surface. Silence and sitting make me nervous.”

A reluctant grin spreads across his face. “The lettuce needs a wash. There’s a spare apron in the cupboard beside the fridge.”

My shoulders drop into a relaxed slump. “Lettuce washing sounds perfect.” I grab a blue and white checkered apron from the cupboard and head to the sink.

“Have you worked for Max very long?” I cannot find any way to turn on the tap. It looks like a giant swan neck with a cage attached to its beak. Maybe I should honk.

“About six years. I was in service to a family in Yorkshire and he enticed me away.” Colton waves his hand in front of the tap and water shoots out the swan’s nose. Classy.

“I have not regretted the move for a second,” he continues. “America is indeed a land of opportunity, and Mr. Huntington is a very generous employer.”

We chat about Colton’s work while I rinse the lettuce. Colton hands me a pink, plastic lettuce knife and a cutting board, and entertains me with stories of butler school while I chop. Butler school. How cool is that?

“Colton.” The sharp crack of Max’s voice slices through our camaraderie like a lettuce knife through lettuce.

Colton’s head jerks up and he pales.

“What is Makayla doing in the kitchen?”

I position myself between a shaken Colton and a fuming Max, and plant my hands on my hips. “I asked if I could help out. Colton said no. I insisted. I wanted to do something to keep busy while you were on the phone. I’m not good at being idle.”

“Learn.”

My breath catches in my throat. “What did you just say?”

His eyes narrow. “I said learn. You are a guest in my home. Guests relax. I don’t want you working. That’s Colton’s job.”

“I want to be here.” I keep my voice low but my tone firm.

Max ignores me and glares at Colton. “I’ll speak to you outside.”

“I’m sorry, sir. It was my mistake.”

“No. It wasn’t your mistake.” I walk up to Max and fold my arms. “It was my decision.”

“Makayla! This is a staff matter. It doesn’t concern you.”

“It does if Colton is reprimanded for something I did. If you want to fire someone, fire me. I’ve never been a good lettuce chopper.”

Max huffs out a breath. “I’m not going to fire anyone.”

“Good.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other as we stare at each other. Now what? I’ve never done drama queen before. Should I leave? No. He needs to listen and understand. That won’t happen if I run away.

I clench my teeth and exhale loudly. “I like that you want to look after me but not if it means you’re going to be all bossy and controlling. I can’t handle it. Sometimes you need to back off and trust that I can make my own decisions.”

Max frowns. “This is my house.”

I slide my hands up his chest and around his neck, pulling him down until I can feel the heat of his breath on my lips. “This is your girl. And if you want your girl to stay in your house, you’d better apologize to Colton.”

His eyes darken and he wraps his arms around me. A low rumble starts deep in his chest. “My girl.”

I brush my lips lightly over his. “Yours,” I whisper. “And you are mine.”

“I apologize, Colton,” Max says abruptly. “I was out of line.”

“Much obliged, sir.” Colton unties his apron and hangs it on the peg. “The meal is ready at your convenience. I’ll go and set the table.”

“He’s very discrete,” I murmur against Max’s lips.

Max lifts me up and settles me on the island. He trails his fingers along the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, pressing them gently apart to accommodate his hips. “He likes you.”

“How do you know?” His fingers trace lazy circles closer and closer to my center. I put a hand on his shoulder to steady myself as desire spirals through me.

“You’re in his kitchen. He never lets anyone in his kitchen. But I’m not surprised. You have a way of making people feel comfortable. You listen to them. Really listen. I’ll bet you know as much about Colton after your short time with him as I do. It’s one of the things I like about you.”

“He’s had an interesting life.”

Max chortles. “And you’re an interesting girl.”

“I’m a hungry girl.” I point to the pots on the stove. “I would hate for his meal to get wasted. He put a lot of time and effort into it.”

Max wraps his arms around me and kisses me long and deep. “Food is about the last thing on my mind, but you’ll need your energy for later.”

My breath catches in my throat. “What happens later?”

He gives me a wicked grin. “You’ll have to wait to find out.”

I run my finger along the top edge of his belt, stopping at the center of his belt buckle. “What if I don’t want to wait?”

***

Half an hour later, the Agusta glides to a stop at the top of San Francisco’s most famous peak. The city twinkles below us, and the stars are so close in the dark night sky, I could almost reach up and touch them.

Max gently pulls my helmet over my head and places it on the stone retaining wall.

I look around and snort a laugh. “I can’t believe you brought me to Twin Peaks.”

“Why?” He takes off his own helmet and places it beside mine.

“This is
the
makeout spot in Oakland. No one comes to Twin Peaks at night for the view.”

“I didn’t bring you here for the view,” Max rumbles. He pats the seat in front of him, and my legs turn to jelly.

Wary of the hot exhaust pipes, I climb onto the seat facing him. The space is so narrow I can barely squeeze in front of him and Max has to ease himself back along the pillion seat. My heart pounds against my ribs when I meet his smoldering gaze. “Max Huntington. Did you take me up here to make out?”

He cups my face between his hands. “Dinner first. Then dessert.” My stomach flutters at his words, and a shiver wracks my body. My need escapes with the softest moan.

“God, Makayla.” He leans down and slants his mouth over mine. Everything inside me softens. His tongue parts my lips and sweeps inside my mouth, stroking, touching, tasting. Even better than last time.

“Don’t tempt me,” he murmurs against my lips, “or you’ll never get your dinner.”

“Don’t want dinner.”

“You’ll need the energy.” His voice drips with sensual promise and I only just manage to restrain myself from ripping my new leathers off my body and begging him to take me right on his motorcycle.

He unhooks the saddlebag and pulls out two tall tin containers divided into sections. Each section swings out to reveal a different part of the meal. Delightful. I need one of these for my lunch bag. Charlie would be so jealous.

We eat our meal facing each other and only occasionally glancing over at the view. Although the food is delicious, my body thrums with anticipation. I want the promised dessert. I want more kisses. I want more fondling. I want more Max.

“What did you think of the house?” He spears a piece of roast chicken with a small silver fork.

“It’s…um…modern and masculine. Cozy. And…nice. Well-decorated.”

Max raises an eyebrow. “Be honest with me.”

“I love it, but it doesn’t seem like you. Not that you’ve told me a lot about yourself, but I didn’t see
you
anywhere. I saw Max you but not Torment you. I don’t know if that makes any sense.”

From the smile creasing his face, I assume that was the right answer.

“I use it mostly for entertaining. I meet a lot of potential clients, and I usually have them stay with me so I can get a better feel for the people I’m dealing with. I couldn’t do it without Colton. He handles everything so I can talk business.”

“Where do you go if you just want to kick back and relax?” I spear another vegetable. I don’t know what kind of vegetable it is, but its deliciousness changes my mind about vegetables forever.

“I’m building a suite on the second floor at the club. It’s still a work in progress, but I’ve got all the basics in place. I go there when I want to get away.”

“I’d like to see it,” I say quietly. “I’d like to see something that is you.”

His jaw tightens. “I don’t take anyone up there.”

Although his tone is gentle, his rejection stings. “Sure. Sorry. Forget I asked.”

No longer hungry, I close up my little container and tuck it in Max’s saddlebag. He follows suit and for a moment we just stare at each other in awkward silence.

“Fuck.” Max slides one arm around my waist and hauls me up against him. He bends down and teases my mouth open, then runs his tongue in a sensual slide over my lips. My body flames in response.

He pulls away and rubs his thumb over my cheek. “That bothered you.”

“No. Really. I totally understand. We all need our privacy.”

“Not you. Not from me.” He dips his tongue in my mouth and then plunges deep. His hand threads through my hair, and he tugs my head back, exposing my neck to the sensual caress of his lips. “Are you hiding something from me?” he murmurs.

My lungs seize up, and I fall back on the tried and true deflection technique. “Your tongue was just halfway down my throat. Does that seem to you like I’m hiding anything?”

“Always with the smart mouth.” He runs his thumb over my lip and when my mouth opens he covers it with his own. This time he takes everything I give and demands more. My body melts into his. My back arches over his arm. My breasts press against his chest, begging to be freed.

“Every time I see you, I want to kiss your smart little mouth,” he rasps in my ear.

I wrap my arms around his neck and draw him down. “Consider this an open invitation.” I kiss him back, drinking him in. Our tongues tease and touch; our mouths meld. My fingers curl into his jacket, and I moan into his mouth.

“Need to touch you.” He doesn’t wait for my response. Instead, his hand finds my zipper and in one swift movement he has the jacket off my shoulders.

I shiver at the rush of cool, night air. My nipples pebble against the thin fabric of my tank top, and I arch toward his hand.