She’d grasped on to another dream, being in charge of décor for the family clubs, and headed to California. Not only hadn’t she come home for Max’s wedding but, on seeing the invitation, she’d decided to remain in L.A. for good. She’d suffered enough loss and pain to last a lifetime. With her brothers moving forward, finding good women to love, Lucy knew she wasn’t needed here.
Losing Max—though she’d never really had him—had forced her to toughen up. She chose men she didn’t have a chance of falling head over heels in love with, men whose loss wouldn’t gut her. She had forced herself to return home for Max’s wife’s funeral, understanding all too well what grief and loss were like.
That was four long years ago. They’d since returned to their sibling-like bickering whenever they were together. Her last trip home, she’d actually wondered if the arguing was a way to cover sexual tension, but she’d pushed the idea deep down and far away, telling herself she was crazy. He’d never really given any indication he thought of her that way.
Until now.
When his chiseled, muscled body held her prisoner against the tree and her body thrummed with such intense need, she was seconds away from wriggling her hips and moving shamelessly against him. From grinding herself into his thick, hard erection and taking what she needed until she came—screaming—and the party guests surrounded them to find out what the ruckus was about.
She couldn’t cross that line with Max. They shared a complicated relationship as it was, with a depth of emotion and caring she’d never felt for another man. And that made him dangerous to her mental and emotional well-being.
She gathered her strength and met his gaze. “What’s going on, Max? You see me with another man and you decide to get jealous all of a sudden?”
His dirty-blond hair fell over his forehead, and she curled her hands into fists, resisting the urge to brush it back. Heck, it wasn’t just his hair she was dying to touch.
“Am I jealous?” He shrugged. “Only that you’re here with him. I’m not particularly worried you’re going to stay with him though.”
The cords of his neck protruded, tight and tense, and she wasn’t buying the attempt at nonchalance. “That’s a cocky statement.”
He let out a low, rumbling laugh she felt everywhere. “He doesn’t appreciate you for who you are, princess.”
“How would you know that?” she asked indignantly. Though a part of her knew he was right, Max was in no position to judge her or her choice in men.
“Let’s begin with this.” He slid a finger down her silk shirt, causing her already tight nipples to make their presence known even more. “While the soft material suits you fine, you like your clothes brighter, tighter, and showing more of that beautiful body.”
He undid her blouse, button by tiny button, until she could breathe more freely and her cleavage was exposed. Her breath hitched, and she couldn’t summon an argument, merely watched his big hands so close to her skin.
“You prefer a big piece of statement jewelry around your neck or letting that sexy tanned skin show. Mr. Uptight probably has his own requirements, though damned if I understand why he’d want to hide your light,” he said as his roughened fingertips glided over her skin.
Her knees buckled, but Max’s body weight supported her.
Still, she held on to rational thought. “Don’t judge Lucas. He needs to project a certain image when he’s approaching people to give money to his films.”
“Then let him find a woman just like him. Not someone he needs to change. I wouldn’t ask you to change for me.” He cupped her neck in his hands, and a soft, needy moan escaped her lips.
“Max,” she whispered.
“What?”
Don’t do this. The words stuck in her throat because her body and a traitorous emotionally needy part of her wanted it. Wanted his mouth devouring hers, his talented hands gliding over her breasts, her nipples, and inside her sex. She desired him and had for years.
“Why now?” she asked in a feeble attempt to halt the inevitable.
“Because it’s long past time.” He brushed his thumb over her damp lips before covering her mouth with his.
She met him with a moan of acceptance. His lips were firm, moving with determination and a grace she wouldn’t have expected, and his tongue glided back and forth, urging her to open and let him inside. One more swipe and she parted for him. He swept in, starting slow, learning his way, growing ever bolder.
Every lick, taste, touch resonated inside her, her body alive and tingling in ways she’d never experienced before. His hands slid behind her neck and his fingers thrust into her hair, pulling out the bun she’d painstakingly created earlier. Her hair fell down her back, and he groaned, threaded his hands through and tugged the strands, causing a sudden, delicious throbbing between her legs. A needy moan escaped from the back of her throat.
“You like that?” he asked, pulling harder on her hair.
She rocked her hips into his, the equivalent of a nod or a yes.
“Fuck.” He tilted her head for better, deeper access and kissed her long and hard, a low groan of appreciation rumbling from deep in his chest.
He conquered her mouth, and she allowed him to take what he wanted, mutual desire flaring between them, the kiss now out of control. She’d given up the fight the minute his mouth had touched hers, and now she slid her hands through his silky hair and held on as he devoured her. Teeth clashed, tongues twined, and her breasts rubbed against his shirt, her aching nipples seeking what little relief she could find.
Every fantasy Lucy had had over the years didn’t hold up to reality. This was so much better. No man had ever kissed her this way, as if he couldn’t live without her taste, without her.