Maxim (Carolina Reapers 10)

There was only one thing I’d done differently.

I’d kissed Evie.

Fuck.

6

EVIE

The smell of melted chocolate and cinnamon filled Maxim’s kitchen with a homey scent that just made my entire body relax. I pulled the last batch of brownies from the oven, setting them on a wire rack to cool while spinning around to check on the first batch I’d already squared and put on a platter on the kitchen island.

“My house never smelled this way before you moved in,” Maxim said by way of greeting as he came into the kitchen.

I popped a bite of brownie into my mouth, testing the flavors and damn near moaning as they came together on my tongue. “I can’t tell if you think that’s a bad thing or not,” I said, popping out the rest of the brownies and putting them on another white platter on the center of the island.

Maxim shook his head, strolling over to the island with that confident gait of his. Fresh off morning skate, his hair was still damp from the shower and he wore casual jeans and a tight-fitting, blue T-shirt that made his eyes pop even more.

Damn him, could he be more gorgeous?

And could we live in a universe where I hadn’t told him just how damn perfect he was? Thanks a lot, Tequila.

No, wait. I would never take back what happened. It’d only been two days since, but that kiss filled my dreams and fueled my fantasies while lying in bed across the hall from where he slept. I’d replay that kiss and pretend my hand was his. Too bad his lightning bolt of an exit was connected to that memory, and no matter how hard I tried to change it, it never worked. Even in my dreams, Maxim always ran away from me as if my lips had set him on fire.

“It’s only bad because all these extra carbs during the season are going to slow me down,” he said, snapping me out of my thoughts. He snatched a brownie from the platter and took a huge bite out of it, despite his carb comment.

A few sticky crumbs lingered on the corner of his mouth and he scooped them up with his tongue. Every inch of my body flared with heat, the distraction of the move slowing my response by a few seconds.

“Wait,” I said, finally snapping out of the daze he’d put me in. “Are you saying my cooking is going to make you fat?”

He swallowed the bite in his mouth, eyes widening. “Is that what you heard?” he countered.

I shrugged, busying myself with cleaning up the mess I’d made while baking. “Well, what else would it mean?”

Maxim devoured the rest of the brownie, his crushing blue eyes never leaving mine. He walked around the island, stopping only an arm’s length away from me. “It meant that I’ve never deviated from my season nutrition regimen before.”

I parted my lips, then shook my head. “You don’t have to eat what I make,” I said. “I can try to stop baking, but it’s what I do to relax,” I said, eying him in reminder of our conversation the other night when he couldn’t come up with a convincing answer of what he liked to do to unwind.

“Don’t you dare stop,” he said, and my lips parted at the demand in his voice.

I narrowed my gaze up at him, noting the way his eyes were free of the wall he usually kept in place. I grinned up at him. “Wouldn’t it make your life easier if I made nothing but salads and kale smoothies all day? Like you’re used to?”

He cocked a brow at me, that muscle in his jaw ticking. “I don’t eat like that,” he said.

“But the girls you normally have here do,” I said before I could stop myself. Fuck me, where did that come from? I guess his insinuation that my baking was going to slow his game struck a nerve with me.

“First thing,” he said, his tone low and rough. “I don’t have girls here. Ever.” Surprised flitted over my features, and he tracked every emotion in my eyes as he smirked. “Don’t you think if I did, you would’ve seen them by now?”

I couldn’t argue with that, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. I’d dug myself a hole here, might as well look around while I was at it. “Regardless,” I said, somehow managing to keep an even voice. “Your type is all legs and size-zero dresses. I’m not going to apologize because I like to eat something purely for pleasure sometimes instead of worrying about how it’ll affect my body.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Second thing,” he continued, stepping closer to me. “Don’t pretend to know my type, because I don’t have one. We had this discussion two days ago.”