An Ounce of Hope (A Pound of Flesh #2)(86)

“Storms?”

Ruby waved her off. “Just a little thunder and lightning. We usually get a good few days of them. Clears the air real good.” She sipped the rest of her drink, threw a bill on the bar, and started walking backward toward where she’d appeared. “Now excuse me while I go and abuse my husband in all the ways he loves before he leaves tomorrow.”

Grace laughed, shaking her head and wondering whether she’d get the chance to abuse Max in all the ways he loved before he left. With that thought, however, instead of excitement, she was suddenly struck with an intense feeling of melancholy. This work trip with Vince had brought home the very real prospect that Max wasn’t going to be around Preston County forever.

Grace knew he had a life in New York, friends who were close enough to warrant being called family. His best friend was getting married soon and he was going to be best man. He had a life waiting for him and Grace had to wonder whether she’d factor into any of it when he decided to return. Of course, in terms of romance, she knew that it was an impossibility; Max had made that clear. But could they remain friends or would Max simply take off and leave without a second glance?

“Grace, honey.”

Swallowing down her uneasiness for another day, Grace looked over to Holly, who was holding the draft pump at a ninety-degree angle, getting nothing but gurgling foam. “Can you go down and change the keg out?”

Grace smiled wanly. “Sure.”

She dropped her towel to the bar and headed toward the stone steps, located at the back of the building She went down to the cellar, flicking on lights as she went. The place had always given her the heebie-jeebies—God alone knew what creepy-crawlies hung out in the nooks and crannies of the place—but she was slowly getting used to it. As long as she could hear the people in the bar above, she didn’t start to panic.

After fighting with a box of Coke syrup, she finally located the empty barrel and rolled another one into its place, reattaching the pipe and calling out an “Okay” for Holly to start pumping.

“Loud little thing, aren’t you?”

Grace squeaked in surprise, whirling around, hand clutched to her chest to find Max smirking in that devastatingly handsome way of his, leaning nonchalantly against one of the cellar’s support columns. He was filthy. His arms were caked in dirt and she could see smudges on his face where he’d wiped at the sweat he’d no doubt worked up. It had been a scorcher of a day. His blue jeans were blackened, as was his gray T-shirt, which stretched gorgeously across his chest. She imagined he smelled incredible, all musky and man. He was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen.

“What are you doing down here?” she asked, her voice shaking with the adrenaline still coursing through her. She wasn’t scared, of course, but the way Max was staring at her made her body tighten in ways that were altogether delicious.

His stare strayed back up to the steps to the basement door, which was still open a crack. He smirked and dropped his chin, his stare predatory. “Imagine my delight when Holly said you were down here. All.”

He took a step toward her. “By.”

Another. “Yourself.”

Grace’s back hit cold stone. Her chest heaved. “And why would that delight you?”

He paused, his gaze snapping from her denim skirt to her face. “Because I vividly remember you saying, while you were riding me, that you’d thought about me f*cking you here.”

Grace remembered, too. God, she remembered everything from that day. The first time he slipped inside her and whispered her name as though it were a prayer. The feel of his hands so tight on her hips, the sound of his skin slapping against hers, and the twitch of his orgasm inside of her.

Her recollecting that perfect day must have appeared like hesitancy, and the fire and want in Max’s dark eyes died a little.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I’m an idiot.” His hand found his hair quickly. “I just thought that we could, because you said— But if you don’t—”

“Max?” Grace interrupted, moving her hands to the edge of her denim skirt, heat lurching across her skin.

He watched her movements like a hawk, swallowing when she lifted it, showing him her underwear. “Oh shit. Yeah?”

“Shut up and f*ck me.”

He was on her in moments, yanking her panties down, dropping to his knees, and burying his face between her legs. Grace cried out before slamming her forearm against her mouth. His tongue was perfect, so damned perfect, and when he . . . oh, God, did that thing against her clit, she about fell apart in his hands. He was voracious and, once again, Grace fantasized about what his mouth against hers would be like. She wanted to taste his tongue so badly. Would he be as hungry? What would his lips feel like as he came? Would he—she called out—kiss her . . . just. Like. That?

“I want you,” she managed, gasping, vaguely aware that voices from the bar were drifting down to them through the open door.

Max eyes lit further. He pulled his mouth from her. “Yes. How? Tell me how.”

His deep voice and the way it curled around her with lust and desire sparked something in Grace that she’d thought long lost. Her back straightened and her chin lifted as confidence and sexiness began to fill her so quickly, she thought she might burst.

This man. This beautiful man on his knees before her wanted her. Really wanted her. He wanted to please her, to make her feel good. And at that moment it didn’t matter to Grace how long that might be for. No, he wouldn’t be in West Virginia forever and that hurt and scared her more than she could possibly allow it to, but at that very moment, from the look on his face, wet with her need for him, she knew he would have done anything she’d asked.