The Gamble (Colorado Mountain #1)(130)

“They do breakfast?” I queried.

“Best biscuits and gravy you’ve ever tasted,” he replied and guided the Cherokee through another turn.

I scrunched my nose. “Um… I’m not a biscuits and gravy person,” I told him.

He grabbed my hand and pulled it to his thigh. “They also make homemade granola. Never eaten it but everything at The Mark is good.”

Homemade granola. I’d never had homemade granola. That did sound good.

We drove for awhile in silence and when Max had to make another turn and downshift to do it he placed my hand on his leg and this time, of my own accord, I turned it and curled my fingers around his solid thigh.

There was a fresh nuance to this action that I liked a great deal. I’d touched his hard thigh na**d in bed, in the sauna and in the shower and I’d felt it between my legs. It felt better na**d and in those places and touching it just then keenly and pleasantly brought up the reminder.

I let that nuance wash over me and closed my eyes at the happy feel of it then they popped open when an unwanted, unwelcome, highly intrusive and intensely painful thought popped into my head.

That thought was to wonder if Max held Anna’s hand while he drove and curved her fingers around his thigh when he had to let her go.

And that thought was so intrusive and so painful, it made me slide my hand away. I hid this from Max by using it to pull my hair from my face. Then I snapped down the visor, snapped up the cover for the mirror and dug into my purse to find my lipstick.

We neared the main road and Max stopped to wait for a clearing to make a left.

“Nervous, Duchess?” he murmured softly as I uncapped my lip liner and focused on my lips.

I wasn’t, not really. Instead I was thinking about Max and the dead love of his life and trying not to let those thoughts sear my soul.

“A little,” I lied and lined my lips with a slightly shaky hand.

“It gets ugly, honey, we’re out of there,” Max declared, finding his opening, taking the turn and accelerating down the cleared-of-snow road.

“Okay,” I replied, capping my liner, dropping it in my mini-makeup bag and finding my lipstick.

I finished my lips, flipped the visor back up and placed my hand on my purse, not on Max’s thigh although I wanted to do that I just found I couldn’t.

Max didn’t notice. Instead, he pushed back into his seat and his hand dug in his jeans pocket. He pulled it out and without taking his eyes from the road he held up my engagement ring between our seats, the ring between his finger and thumb.

“Found that after you had your thing the other day,” he muttered as I stared at the ring. “Take it, babe, and do with it what you have to do.”

I reached out and took it, still staring at it, remembering how I felt when Niles had given it to me. He hadn’t gotten down on a knee. He hadn’t slid it on my finger. He’d just placed the box on the table at the restaurant where we were eating, slid it next to my empty plate and said, “I’d be delighted if you’d accept that.”

And I’d been delighted to accept it, delighted at the thought of not being alone, of belonging to someone and the ring was gorgeous, the diamond was over a carat and excellent quality, set in a thick, just-this-close-to ostentatious band heavy with gold.

My mind moved from Niles and like women so foolishly do when they meet someone they like, it flew forward months and months and I wondered, if things worked out with Max, how he’d propose.

Then suddenly I wondered how he proposed to Anna.

Then I shoved that thought aside and wondered what his ring would be like.

Then I wondered about the ring he gave to Anna.

Stop it, Nina, and talk to him, Charlie ordered in my head.

I swallowed, tucked the ring into my own pocket, looked out my side window and didn’t utter a word.

Max didn’t take my hand again as we drove in silence into town and he parallel parked on the street three cars down from the hotel. I opened my door, jumped down, shut it and rounded the bonnet, meeting Max on the sidewalk.

I had my head down but stopped when his hand took mine and he didn’t move.

I turned, looked up at him and saw his face was blank but there was something working behind his eyes, something I didn’t get but they were roving over my face.

Finally, Max spoke. “A warning, Duchess, I won’t let your Dad give you any shit.”

The conflicting emotions I had in the Jeep settled at his declaration of support and I moved closer to him.

“Okay,” I said.

His hand squeezed mine and then it tugged, bringing me closer and his other hand went to my hip.

“Another warning,” he muttered, his eyes locked on mine.

“What?” I asked when he didn’t say anything further.

He looked at me a second then I saw his jaw tense, his hand got tight in mine and his fingers gripped my hip.

“Max?” I prompted, his apparent battle to gain control over something I didn’t understand was beginning to worry me because it didn’t seem at all like Max.

“The right thing to do would be to let you do what you need to do,” Max stated.

I felt my brows draw together in confusion and I repeated, “What?”

“Not gonna do that, babe.”

“What?” I asked again.

“You think to slide back, settle for something that made you run away because you think it’s safe, because it’s familiar, because you’re scared of takin’ a gamble on me, I’m warnin’ you now, Duchess, I’m not gonna allow that.”