The Gamble (Colorado Mountain #1)(90)

I’d functioned on autopilot getting ready mainly because if I allowed my mind to wander to what happened on the bed, I didn’t know what I’d do. My options were to beg Max to call Brody and Mindy and tell them we’d go to The Rooster another night; find Max and tell him he was good with his hands, his mouth and other things as well and I was never leaving his house until the day I died; or put my arms around him and my lips to his ear and admit I was falling in love with him.

As none of those were healthy ways forward, autopilot it was.

However autopilot took me straight into a new debacle. For I’d washed my face and then applied Nina Going Out makeup which was heavier, smoky and likely seriously overdone for the Colorado Mountains. I’d also curled my hair, not in curls, but to give it more waves and body. Then I’d slid in a headband made of three, thin gold leather braids that I’d used to pull back my hair softly from my face and I’d separated the braids along my crown to affect a kind of Grecian Goddess look. I’d slipped on my white mesh camisole which was long, hugged my jeans at the h*ps (in fact, it hugged me everywhere) and had a low dip in the back. Under, it had a thin, stretchy, white camisole stitched in and on the outside it was covered entirely by little, gold sequins. Again likely overkill for the Colorado Mountains but I didn’t have anything that was fancy but not that fancy. Since I’d brought my strappy, stiletto-heeled, gold sandals to go with the top on the off chance I needed something dressy, the only thing I could do to tone down this ensemble was buck the gold in my hair, on my body and on my feet and I accessorized with nothing but my new silver earrings and Max’s ring.

I found my envelope clutch which was a soft, fawn suede, understated and not gold, pulled out my fawn-colored pashmina that had a hint of sheen but wasn’t overboard, spritzed with perfume, grabbed my wineglass and headed downstairs.

“Max?” I called when I hit the bottom and looked around to see he wasn’t in the kitchen or living room.

Maybe he got tired of waiting and he’d gone without me though I doubted this was the case and decided he was probably doing something Max-ish. Chopping wood. Building a barn. Saving a child in distress or climbing a tree to rescue a cat. Stuff like that.

I dropped the clutch and pashmina by my purse on the dining table, walked to the sink, cleaned the glass, set it in the dish drainer and walked back to my purse.

I’d put on my lip gloss and was filling my clutch with what I needed from my purse when I heard Max walk in from the back of the house.

I turned my head to see he was wearing his black leather jacket and he’d changed his jeans to a pair that was less faded but still faded. He had on a heavy black belt, black boots and a midnight blue shirt that had wine and dark gray stripes in it. His thick, dark hair was swept back from his face and how he got it to do that so perfectly (since I’d looked and found no products in his bathroom) was a mystery.

He looked good enough to eat.

I felt my br**sts swell as I watched his eyes hit me and for some reason, when they did, he suddenly stopped.

“Ready,” I called with faux breeziness in an attempt to hide my response to his amazingness and I looked back to the clutch.

I was flipping it closed when I heard his boots on the wood floors and then I felt him get close.

My head came up as his arms circled me from behind, high at my ribs, his hand flattening at the side of my left breast. Then I felt him bury his face in my neck.

I froze.

“All right, Duchess,” he growled against my neck, “I won’t bitch about waitin’ for you to get ready if this is what I get.”

The ni**les in my swollen br**sts got hard as his compliment struck deep.

“Max,” I whispered.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he muttered, his nose brushing my ear and that coupled with his sweet talk sent a shiver along my skin.

My eyes caught on something sparkly and focused on our reflection in the window. Max, his face still in my neck, his big body in his dark clothes surrounding me; me, my light hair, my glittery top, snug and safe in his arms.

I liked what I saw so much, without thinking, my arms crossed and my hands covered his.

“We’re going to be late,” I said quietly, not able to tear my eyes from our reflection, not able to stop his words from making me warm, not able to call up all the reasons why he was so good, so wonderful, but he was no good for me. I could just call up all the reasons why he was so good and wonderful and got stuck on that.

His thumb moved to stroke the side of my breast and I melted back into him.

“Max, steak. I’m hungry,” I lied. I could eat, definitely, there was rarely a time when I couldn’t, but I would rather stay standing there in Max’s arms maybe for the rest of my life.

His head came up but his arms gave me a squeeze and he kissed my temple before letting me go.

“Steak, yeah,” he muttered with obvious lack of enthusiasm, he grabbed my hand, I grabbed my bag and scarf and he pulled me to the closet.

“Am I too fancy?” I asked, settling my scarf around my neck with difficulty as I also was holding my clutch in that hand as he opened the door, dropped my other hand, reached in and grabbed my coat.

He closed the door and his eyes hit me. I stopped breathing under the heat of his stare. Then he gave me a one word answer.

“No.”

He shook out my coat and held it up and I realized he was holding it for me to slide my arms into. I turned my back and did so, he settled it on my shoulders then his arms came around, his fingers curling around the edges of my coat and he brought it closer around me. I’d had men help me with my coat but not like that. As with everything Max, he did it far, far better.