An Ounce of Hope (A Pound of Flesh #2)(68)

Sweet Jesus.

“What were you thinking about?” Max took two steps toward the bed, pulling his T-shirt over his head and launching it across the room.

Grace hummed when she saw his chest and pressed her teeth into her bottom lip. “You’re so beautiful.”

“I guess beautiful is an improvement on pretty. How much have you drunk, exactly?”

She giggled. “Enough.” Yeah, Max knew that. He’d been keeping a watch on every drink that she’d bought or had bought for her all night, making sure she was okay. She licked her lips. “Enough to know I want your hands on me.”

Max kneeled on the bed by her feet. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I want my hands on you, too.”

Max reached out and trailed his palm up her shin. It was as smooth and as soft as he’d imagined. Her breath left her in a ragged whisper.

“Where would you want to touch me?” he asked. Her gaze drifted from his face to his jeans and as God was his f*cking witness, Max’s cock jumped. “I told you,” he grunted, placing a hand on the outside of both of her feet. “Touch me wherever and whenever you want.” He unfastened the button on his Levi’s and slid the zipper down, showing a glimpse of gray underwear. He leaned forward and placed a kiss on the inside of Grace’s knee. She whimpered. He did it again and she moaned at the same time her legs dropped open.

Fuck, he just wanted to bury his face in her, lose himself for days in her wet and heat. Instead he kissed her inner thigh, noting the way her breathing hitched. She never flinched. He did it again and she arched her back. “Oh, God.”

Max hummed into her skin, smelling and tasting that damn cocoa butter that he liked so much. His tongue traveled the inside of her thigh.

“Oh, God,” she repeated, her hands shifting on the bed.

“You’re okay,” Max whispered, rubbing a gentle hand against her stomach.

“No, I—”

“I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

“No, Max.”

He nuzzled the crease where her thigh met her hip. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Move. I need you to move.”

“Move?”

“I’m going to be sick.”

Max sat up as though his ass were on fire, narrowly dodging Grace’s swinging arms and legs as she dropped clumsily off the side of the bed and veered into the bathroom, smacking into the doorjamb before making it through and emitting the most f*ck-awful gagging noise Max had ever heard.

After a beat of disbelief, he cupped a hand to his forehead. Talk about a libido killer. He looked down at himself and his now half-flaccid cock and grunted. “Jesus,” he muttered while clambering off the bed and zipping himself back up. He peeked around the door of the bathroom and saw Grace kneeling on the floor, head in the throat of the toilet. “You okay?”

She groaned. “No.” She sniffed and heaved some more.

Approaching cautiously, Max gathered her hair that splayed down her back as well as the parts that had fallen forward in her haste to get to the john and sat on the edge of the bathtub, holding it clear of any rogue chunks.

“Crap, I’m sorry,” she garbled before she hurled again.

Max chuckled at the sight of her in her sexy underwear, upchucking the night’s festivities. “Don’t worry about it.” Of course, it wasn’t how he’d imagined tonight to go, but that didn’t matter.

Keeping her hair in one hand, he rubbed her back softly with the other.





Rhinos.

Rhinos, elephants, and any other large, stampeding-type mammals had obviously invaded Grace’s bedroom last night and jumped all over her head. How else could she explain the horrific pain that wrapped her entire skull and the grotesque throbbing going on behind her eyelids? Seriously. Her eyes had a damned pulse.

She cracked one open, immediately hating the glorious sunshine that pierced her pupils. Christ Almighty, it had been a very long time since she’d drunk so much. Truth be told it had been a very long time since she’d been relaxed enough to enjoy herself to such a degree. And enjoy herself she had. She moved sluggishly, lifting her head gingerly from the pillow, realizing quickly that she was wearing only her underwear and that she was alone in the bed. And no wonder, the smell of stale alcohol and vomit lingered around the room.

Oh, Lord, the fool she had made of herself last night! Flashes of Max’s magnificent chest and the feel of his luscious mouth against her raced through her mind, sending her into another merry-go-round of dizziness. She’d been so sure with all those cocktails still swilling around inside her that seducing Max was, at the time, the most epic of ideas. Puking mid-foreplay, however, had not been part of her audacious plan.

“Nicely played, Grace,” she muttered to herself, lifting the covers and dropping her legs off the side of the bed. Dammit, he’d even held her hair back while she puked. Her face heated with embarrassment. Exhaling despondently, she noticed a glass of water on the side table, and next to it two pills that looked suspiciously like Tylenol. Grace’s chest fluttered. Max was always considerate, but it never failed to make her all warm and fuzzy inside.

She knocked them back before staggering to the bathroom and the shower, hoping to God that the warm water would help wash away the shame of the previous night.

By the time Grace had washed and dressed herself in shorts and a vest top, everyone was either by the lake sunning themselves, swimming, or, like Ruby and Josh, playing tennis. Ruby didn’t even look like she’d seen an alcoholic drink, let alone matched Grace cocktail for cocktail all night. Damn her. Max was nowhere in sight. She exhaled a breath of relief, not quite ready to face him.