Baddest Bad Boys(67)

What she intended: A deal that would satisfy. Heat and outrage slammed through him. “Where’s the note?”

“Gone. Same as her.”

Max had heard enough. Picking up the bedside phone, he punched in a string of numbers as he spoke curtly over his shoulder. “You can leave on your own, Bridgette, or with security. Either way, a cab will be waiting by the time you reach the lobby.”

“So this is how you’re going to play it? Fine, I’ll give you a little more time to come to your senses.” She laughed coldly, then extended her drink and dumped it out on the Persian rug. “Just don’t make me wait too long, Max. You’ll regret it.”

“I’m the wrong person to threaten. Stay the hell out of my life, Bridgette. Pull another stunt like this and I’ll have you arrested.”

“We both know you don’t really mean that.” She strolled from the room. “Arrivederci.”

Max watched to make certain she got into the elevator. Then he called the doorman. “Bridgette St. Regis is on her way down. Whoever let her up made a big mistake. If it happens again, someone will be looking for a new job. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” he stammered. “But I just came on duty, sir.”

“Then make certain the appropriate party gets my message.” Max pinched the bridge of his nose. “Also, Ms. DeLuca was here earlier this evening. I need to know when she left and how.”

“I’ll get right on it, sir!”

After hanging up, Max prowled around the suite. How much of what Bridgette said was true? The idea of Ellie half-naked in his bed, while improbable, drove him crazy. Same with the suggestive note. Clearly something had transpired between the two women. Why else would Ellie have left? She’d been an invited guest whereas Bridgette was a party crasher.

A niggling sense of suspicion slowed his pacing. This was the third time in a week he’d run into Bridgette. Since their first two meetings had been at restaurants in Rome, he’d written it off as coincidence. But this? How had she known he’d be in Boston tonight?

Max had just replaced his corporate security chief following a series of safety breaches. Gerard, the new guy who’d also prepared the report on Ellie, had warned there were a lot of holes. Was this an example?

The phone rang. “Ace Limo picked Ms. DeLuca up about an hour ago,” the doorman said. “They took her up the coast, to Rockport.”

Max recognized the address the doorman read off. It was the beach house Ellie had inherited from her grandparents. He should have known she’d go there.

“Mr. DeLuca?” The doorman cleared his throat. “Is there anything more I can do?”

“Yes. Have my car brought around. I’ll be right down.”

He thought about calling Ellie first. But if she’d indeed had a run-in with Bridgette, she’d likely avoid his call. Things hadn’t been all wine and roses with them lately. Damn it, he never should have let things get to this point between Ellie and him.

When the elevator arrived, he entered and jabbed the LOBBY button. But just as the doors started to close, he spotted a crumpled ball of pink paper beneath the sofa. Swearing, he hit OPEN. The elevator lurched to a stop. He went back inside.

Had Ellie really left a note? Was that it? He recalled Bridgette’s accusation. “The note she left…made it very clear what she intended.”

He grabbed the paper and quickly unfolded it, recognizing Ellie’s elegant handwriting.

Here’s my price to extend our arrangement: One night…like it used to be. No commitment, no strings, just sex. Deal?

2
A noise woke Ellie. She sat up, her mind still trapped in the foggy span between her erotic dream and wakefulness. Dreamus interruptus.

The ragged in-out of her own heavy breathing echoed in the room. She shoved a tangle of hair off her face and studied the unfamiliar shadows. Thunder rumbled outside, low and distant. The sense of panic subsided as she realized what woke her and where she was. The beach house. The storm.

She sank back into her pillow and shut her eyes, seeking calm. Immediately, she got sucked back into the dream. Max…naked…his erection throbbed against her thigh as he moved to plunge up and in—

She groaned. Flipping onto her stomach, she buried her face in the sheets, cheeks burning. How could she even think of him after the disastrous scene at the penthouse?

It had taken such colossal nerve to send Max that e-mail to begin with. “I want to propose a private deal.”

They’d been relaying messages through their legal mouthpieces for so long that she hadn’t even been certain he’d personally reply. He did. His response had been swift and every bit as provocative as her query.

Name your price. Any time. Any place.

His words had made her feel brave. I can do this. She’d played it coy, agreeing only to a time and place. But that hard-won bravado had weakened the moment she heard the penthouse elevator chime. She’d already been in and out of Max’s bed a dozen times, second-guessing everything—her choice of lingerie, her motives, her intentions. There had been no turning back then. She had lain in his bed, while nervously imagining him reading the seductive invitation she’d left propped on the bar.

Name your price. She had.

Using his very own words, his motto, she’d offered to sell her soul to the devil for one night in his arms. Long before she’d been Stefan’s wife, she’d been Max’s lover. And she’d never stopped wondering…what if? If they had one more night, could she forget him and move on?