Power to the Max (30 page)

Max simply wasn’t ready for Angela to send her away yet. It wasn’t about sex. It wasn’t that Angela offered power. It was loneliness. A truly pathetic reason.

She swallowed hard past the bitter lump the ludicrous notion had stuck in her throat. A gulp of wine helped.

The sight of Witt made her forget everything else.

He’d donned that favorite shirt of hers, teal, topped with his black suit. What a combo. He blew her socks off. Evidently, he blew everyone’s socks off. Female heads swiveled to follow his progress toward a table two away from Max’s. He sat facing her rather than the dance floor, ordered a beer when the waitress came, and blew out the candle in front of him. He liked to play at being enigmatic, liked to look at her until he made her heart race. He knew her reactions inside and out. He liked to ask her to kiss him, knowing how much she wanted to, knowing she wouldn’t, knowing he left her aching worse than he did when he left her bed.

What if things got out of hand up in the hotel room? What if she begged him? How long could she keep on fighting what her body so obviously wanted? Max was suddenly as wet and hot as she’d been in the bathroom stall. And ready for Witt.

Damn, she was thirsty. Another gulp of wine barely wet her parched throat, but still she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off Witt. He looked unquestionably Wall Street in that nifty suit and striped tie, but his hooded gaze screamed cop, watching, waiting, ready to pounce. She wondered how quickly Angela would pick up on Witt’s real persona.

“I see he’s here again,” Angela whispered in Max’s ear. “Lucky girl.”

Max started, her hand knocking against the wineglass. Thank God she was fast enough to catch it before it fell.

“And I see you still want him.” Angela took the seat next to her, making sure she didn’t block the view.

“I don’t.” Max’s voice cracked, ridiculous and only due to the dryness of her windpipe.

Angela smiled, softly, knowingly. “You couldn’t take your eyes off him.”

The woman was frighteningly correct. Max still argued. “He’s been here two nights in a row. He’s probably a cop or something. Bad choice.” Why the hell was she fighting? That worked against everything.

Or maybe it snared Angela neatly in Max’s web.

“His profession doesn’t matter.” Angela gave a confident smile. “Right now he’s a man, and he wants you. It’s him. We’ll have no other.” Then, changing the subject swiftly and completely, she added, “You didn’t order me a wine.”

“The choices on that wine list are too vast.” Max hadn’t even considered it. “Besides, I got here early.”

Angela eyed Max’s nearly empty glass. “I see. Easing of the inhibitions?”

Fortification against Witt. Against her own desires. Against Cameron having set her up, biologically speaking. “I’ve got questions, you have answers.”

“Uht.” Angela accompanied the forestalling sound with a finger. “First you play, then you pay, then I answer.”

“But Angela, I need to know—”

The other woman zipped her lip and said not a word.

Max thought of blurting out that she knew about Lance, about the murder, about Julia walking in on the two of them, but the truth might push Angela away instead of opening her up. “I don’t want to play your game.” Liar.

Angela knew it, too. “You want to take him to the edge, make him plead, then give it to him better than he’s ever had it. Then, you want to look into his face knowing you’ve won, won, won.”

Max wanted to shut her eyes, cover her ears, and pretend she’d never even contemplated such a thing.

But she had taken Witt to the edge. They’d plunged over it together, but she’d been left with the feeling that he still had the upper hand. She wanted to make him plead. She wanted to be the best he’d ever had. Especially in that very moment as she looked across the tables straight into his hot blue stare, no longer unreadable despite the distance and the snuffed candle.

He wanted it, too. He was thinking the same thing. Oh God, they were lost. This was wrong. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong night. She couldn’t keep a clear head when he looked at her like that. The whole gig could blow up in their faces. What had Cameron been thinking when he so ruthlessly prepared her for Witt?

“Do him,” Angela murmured like a tiny devil sitting on Max’s shoulder. “Take him up to a room and give him the ride of his life. So he’ll never forget you.”

Max’s lips formed the word she so badly wanted to say. Then she said it and sealed their fate. “Yes.”

Angela sat back, suddenly all business. “I already got you a room.” She pulled a card key from her tiny purse and slid it across the table.

Max’s mouth dried up again, and tension roiled in her belly. “You got me a room?”

“Well, you can’t do it in the lobby.”

“Yes, but...” This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go down. She couldn’t go to a room Angela chose. It could be bugged. God forbid, it could have a camera set up behind a heater vent or air-conditioning grill. In fact, that was the only reason Angela would have already gotten a room. She’d want assurance that Max was doing what she said she’d do. Man, she was screwed and not in a good way.

“The guy’s probably got a room. We’ll go there.”

Shark fins swam in Angela’s eyes. “How will we know you really did it?”

Oh yeah, Angela had set her up but good in that room. Desperation made Max’s voice rise. “I’ll have the money.”

“Money won’t prove anything. The cash could already be hiding in your sexy velvet purse”—Angela tapped the offending article—“straight out of your own ATM.” Angela leaned forward. “We need
action
.”

Max squared her shoulders, her heart thumping. She’d gone to the ATM twice, once yesterday, then today, pulling out money in case Witt hadn’t thought of it. “What if it is my own money? Why will that matter? You’ll still be getting your payment.”

Angela touched her arm with cold fingers. “Haven’t you figured out it isn’t only the fifty-fifty split?”

Max shook her head, no longer able to speak.

“You and I, we want the same thing. We like the power. We’re sisters. We can do this over and over. Feed off them like Amazons. Once isn’t going to be enough. Not for you, Max. I want you to discover that.”

That was truer than Angela knew. Once with Witt hadn’t been enough. She might never get enough. She’d keep going back again and again like an addict for her heroin. That’s what Cameron had been trying to prove to her in the bathroom stall.

“Look at him.” Angela’s voice in her ear seduced. Max looked. “God, I’d love to do him,” the other girl went on. “I’d definitely swallow for that one.” Angela looked straight in Max’s eyes. “But it’s you he wants.”

And Max wanted
him
. Badly. A sexual thrill beat through her blood. But she could not and would not go to the room Angela had picked out for her walk on the wild side.

“Blow him, Max. That’s all you have to do for now. Just that.” Angela dropped her eyelashes seductively. “You want to, don’t you?”

She might want to, but she wouldn’t do it tonight. And Angela had given her the perfect out. A plan was forming.

“I won’t use your room. But what about my car?” That would be safe from bugging. She could get Witt into her car, then pretend that she was unzipping his pants and doing the do. Unless Angela or Hammerhead stood right beside the car, they’d never know Max hadn’t performed.

Angela tipped her head. “I suppose you could blow him in a car. What do you drive?”

“A Miata.”

Angela looked briefly at Witt, then smirked. “That guy wouldn’t even fit into one of those little jobs.”

Besides, Max didn’t even know where the valet had parked it. Was she supposed to go outside, ask for her car, then park it herself in the underground garage? That wouldn’t work.

“How about—” Max’s mind whirled. She’d almost suggested Witt’s truck, but she wasn’t supposed to know him. “What do you drive?”

“The Hammer drove me tonight.”

“Hammerhead. What about his car then?” Yeah, it would work. And since it was her suggestion, they wouldn’t have time to bug it or anything. She’d be safe. Witt would be safe.

Angela glanced from Max to Witt to Hammerhead. “I’ll be out there. We have to know for sure. But I won’t let your guy see me.”

Yes. The plan would work. A sudden rush of relief turned Max almost boneless. “Okay. Just don’t embarrass me by getting too close.”

“You’re a real sport. I swear you’re going to get hooked on the high.”

Little did Angela know that Max was already hooked on Witt. Twisting and turning and struggling on the end of line, yeah, but she had to admit, he’d hooked her. “Afterwards I want my information.”

Angela smiled. “You got it.” Then she reached into her purse for a small pen and one of her business cards. A few moments of writing, then she said, “Be right back.”

Winding through the tables to Hammerhead’s side, she left the card as she swept by on her way to the bar. After reading, Hammerhead reached into his back pocket, then slid something to the edge of his table.

Angela returned with a full glass of wine. “He put the keys at the edge of his table. Pick them up on your way out. Try not to be noticeable.” She once again opened her purse, then pushed something across the table, and lifted Max’s limp hand to set a small foil packet in it. “It’s got a big backseat. Lincoln Continental. Black. Second floor of the garage. And use the condom, even if it’s just a blowjob. Working girls can never be too careful.”

Max remembered another
Lincoln
from another case and felt a moment of discomfort before she pushed it aside. Couldn’t be helped.

She patted Max’s hand. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

And then she was gone, leaving Max with her heart’s desire. Witt. And power.

* * * * *

“A drink from the gentleman.” The waitress left the champagne cocktail at Max’s elbow.

She couldn’t be sure how long she’d been sitting there in a daze. Witt raised his glass. She raised hers, half-wishing he’d told her he wouldn’t be a party to her little scheme. It was absurd. He should have told her that. He was the one with the sensible cop mentality. But he hadn’t. The bastard probably wanted to see it through only to find out what Angela and Hammerhead wanted.

The bubbles tickled her nose. The sparkling wine went straight to her head. Witt rose, beer mug in his hand, and sidled through the tables, turning heads and making women sigh.

The condom packet’s edge bit into the flesh of Max’s palm. She hadn’t even realized she was squeezing her hand into a fist. She quickly shoved it inside her purse. No way could she let Witt see it.

He sat. Pulled the chair close so that his knee brushed hers. So that she couldn’t breathe without taking in his scent, yeasty beer, musk, and male. “What are you wearing?”

She worked her way up. Fuck-me heels. Thigh-high stockings. No panties, just the bodysuit which could easily be unsnapped. “A new suit.”

“Didn’t think I’d seen it before.” He leaned back, looked beneath the table to the hem of her black silk skirt above her knee. Was he checking for panties? Max shivered as a thrill of anticipation streaked through her, ending with a tingle of her clitoris.

The outfit wasn’t so much a suit as a sexy, feminine package, the silk body blouse embellished with black braid and the sleeves see-through. A huge step up from a business suit, nothing overt, yet sexy for what it didn’t show.

Witt finished his perusal. “Nice.”
Hot
. She saw that in his eyes. His breathing wasn’t quite normal. He read her mood. God, help them both. She’d been counting on him to be the sane one.

But it was a car. All she had to do was put her head in his lap. Angela would never know if she didn’t actually blow him. A car. Safe. No big deal. “We don’t need the room.” She shifted, twitchy and uncomfortable. “We’re to use a car.” She dipped her head. “Mine’s too small, and I’m not supposed to know what you drive.” With a deep breath, she told him what she’d done. “I suggested Hammerhead’s
Lincoln
.”

“They wanna watch.” Witt didn’t make it a question.