A Dangerously Sexy Christmas. Stefanie London
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something to take her mind off the break-in, off her strained relationship and unrelenting distrust of her father. Max was exactly what she needed to get out of her funk.
He started the car and headed slowly down her street, his features set as hard as stone. Max was good-looking if you liked ruggedly handsome, unshaven guys with jawlines sharp enough to carve a Thanksgiving turkey. Honesty, who wouldn’t like that?
His dark hair was slightly too long to be fashionable, and the perma-scowl he wore did nothing to highlight his naturally full lips, though she was sure she could coax those bad boys out of their flat line. She had just the activity to put them to better use...
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re kind of serious?” she said, her voice just saccharine enough that he would realize she was tugging his strings.
“Would you want someone charged with your protection to be anything but serious?” He raised a brow but didn’t move his eyes from the road.
“I get it. You have an important job. But I have the feeling you’d be superserious even if the situation didn’t call for it.” She tapped a fingertip to her lower lip, studying him openly. “Like you’d have the same facial expression even if you were scrambling eggs.”
“I poach my eggs. It requires a lot of concentration.” Not a single muscle twitched on his face.
“Remind me to take you along next time I play Texas Hold ’em.” She stretched in her seat, arching her spine and pushing out her chest to see if he would look. He didn’t.
“I don’t gamble.”
“You don’t play poker or scramble your eggs? Gee, what do you do for fun?”
He didn’t answer her question. Silence filled the car and Rose fiddled with the buckle on her seat belt. She would kill for some music right now, even the incessant honking of cabs. Anything. Silence was her enemy.
“You don’t like me very much, do you?” she asked.
That got his attention. Max turned his head, flicking his dark eyes over her. His frown deepened.
“I don’t need to like you to do my job.”
“That’s exactly the resounding reassurance I was looking for.” She rolled her eyes. “Not that I care.”
“Then why did you ask?”
She shrugged and raked a hand through her cropped waves. “You didn’t answer my last question.”
“I’m not here to reassure you about anything other than your physical safety. I’m not going to tuck you in at night and read you bedtime stories.” He glanced at her. “Though I’m sure there would be guys lining up to fill that position.”
Between working at the store and designing jewelry, she didn’t exactly get out much. Any free time was spent checking out the competition, taking pictures of her pieces to post online and working on the website she hoped to launch in the new year. Sure, she’d left a string of boyfriends behind her in London, but she’d been the one making the first move...not that she had a problem with that.
“Probably a good thing you’re not up for a bedtime story. I’m reading that book about the guy with the ‘play room.’ You know, BDSM is all the rage now.”
Baiting the bodyguard probably wasn’t the smartest idea that Rose had ever had, but, dammit, she needed a little fun right now. Ruffling the feathers of Max Ridgeway definitely counted as fun. To her delight, a light flush spread over his cheeks.
“Yeah, there’s this one scene where he paddles the girl. Oh, and another with a sex swing. Very kinky. I’m not sure you’d enjoy it.”
They stopped at a red light and Max stared at her. The blacks of his pupils flared. His lips twisted up at the corner. Seriousness had given way to something else; his mask cracking to reveal a hint of something real. A delicious, sensual edge that set Rose’s whole body on red-alert.
“You have no idea what I like.”
“You don’t strike me as the kind of guy to be into the kinky stuff. Poached eggs seem a little vanilla to me... That’s all I’m saying.” She patted his arm. “Feel free to prove me wrong, though.”
He turned back to the road. “I think I preferred you this morning when you were determined to ditch me.”
“Yes, but it seems I do need you.” She wrinkled her nose. The thought of relying on him irritated her. “I may as well have a little fun.”
“This isn’t a game, Rose.” He shook his head, his tone admonishing her as though she were a naughty child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. If only the cookie jar were his pants...
“You would say that.”
They pulled up in front of a small, out-of-the-way hotel that Rose didn’t recognize. Christmas lights decorated two small trees at the entrance. A wreath hung over the door, obscuring the fancy design on the glass.
“It’s not The Plaza, but I guess it will do,” she quipped, waiting to see if Max would bite.
“Go straight inside. I’ll grab your bag and meet you at the check-in desk in a minute. Don’t talk to anyone.”
“Yes, sir.” She gave him a mock salute and pushed out onto the street, stealing a glance around.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, her skin prickling with awareness. Surely Max would know if someone had followed them. That was his job, right? Swallowing her nerves, Rose strode into the hotel. People milled about, the uniformed staff bustling and serving customers.
A mother with a screeching toddler was trying desperately to bribe him into the stroller with a chocolate bar. Two businessmen sat in the foyer huddled over a laptop. A guy with tattoos on his forearms sat alone, a newspaper folded in his lap. His eyes swept over Rose, burning intently into her. She swallowed and looked away, silently praying that he wouldn’t approach her.
The burgeoning bruise on her cheek pulsed and she raised her fingers to it, suddenly self-conscious that people might stare at her. Where the hell was Max? Surely he should be inside by now.
A hand landed heavily on her shoulder and Rose gasped, her heart lodging in her windpipe.
“It’s just me,” Max said, handing her a key card. “I checked us in.”
“I didn’t see you.” Adrenaline coursed through her, making her hands tremble as she took the plastic card from him.
“You’re safe with me, Rose.” He dragged her suitcase behind him and pressed his free hand against her lower back, guiding her toward the elevators. “I’m good at my job.”
The gesture was simple, commanding and comforting. He was in charge here, she was in his domain. Under his rule.
He released her as they stepped into the elevator and her skin cried out at the loss of his touch. Was she so desperate for affection that she craved it from a guy who’d all but admitted he disliked her?
Pathetic. You’ve officially reached a D-grade celebrity, Real Housewives-level of sadness. Next stop, the Big Brother house.
Max typed on his phone, seemingly unaware of her inner crazy. He looked delectable in his skin-hugging jeans, faded T-shirt, leather jacket and scuffed boots. Casual and totally perfect. His fingers flew over the screen of his smartphone, dexterous and nimble. She swallowed, wondering what those fingers would feel like on her, teasing her. Coaxing her.
The elevator pinged and Max shoved the phone into his back pocket, motioning for her to exit first. The hallway of the boutique hotel was a little kitsch, the exposed brick and ornate carpet hinting at another time. Their suite was the one closest to the elevator. Was that so they could make a quick getaway?
Stop being so paranoid. This will probably blow over before you know it. Don’t