Breaking the Billionaire's Rules(41)

“Omigod,” I breathe, “yeah.”

He’s on the move again. He found the hidden elastic waistband of my cat suit pants and pushes his hand in. I hiss as he makes contact with my wetness.

He keeps my hands pinned, like I might fly away.

“Like this?” he asks, rubbing a heavy finger across my swollen nub.

“Yes,” I breathe. My body hums in response to his confident strokes. Ratchets up with feeling. Everything is so surreal now, maybe I can fly.

But I wouldn’t want to right now. I wouldn’t want to leave his fingers and exactly what he is doing to me.

I groan as he slides a wide finger along my seam.

“Shhh,” he says. “Not a peep.”

So I’m silent, immobile, the opposite of how I usually go at sexytimes, but it’s good. Like the pressure’s off. It’s just me and him. And his perfect finger. His wise, all-knowing, all-rhythm-having finger, stoking my pleasure. I don’t want him to stop.

My eyes close. I’m in some delicious agony where Max is owning me and I’ll probably regret it but I don’t care. I’m a junkie who will give up her world for what his finger is doing.

He kisses me at an expert angle that feels like heaven, nipping my lip. I’m panting out words that don’t make a lot of sense unless you understand that every word I’m saying right now means more, which Max seems to fully understand at the moment. Because he gets me like that.

My orgasm sneaks up on me, sudden and unexpected, swelling through my body, my mind. My head lolls against the elevator panel.

He doesn’t have my hands pinned any more. When did that happen? He’s pushing a lock of hair out of my eyes, watching me come down. Like he’s absorbing my pleasure. It’s the opposite of everything that’s classic Max Hilton.

“Omigod,” I say.

He smiles his knowing smile. “Mia—”

“I think we went temporarily insane,” I say.

“Maybe we didn’t,” he says. “Maybe this is sane. Maybe this is how it’s supposed to be.”

My heart pounds. I want it to be true so bad, but I’m scared. Max has made a cottage industry out of lulling me into a false sense of security and then yanking the rug out from under me.

“Where are you going?” he rasps.

To the reality of us—that he got Meow Squad assigned to his building and requested me as delivery person with an agenda in mind. That he’s too good for me.

I try to tell myself that it’s maybe just fear, but then I look up at the elevator chandelier. Something about it is so familiar. What?

Then I remember it—the Instagram post. A woman against this very wall. A man’s hand planted on the panel next to her. That chandelier in the reflective area above her. The caption: This elevator has everything it needs except a well-stocked liquor cart.

I feel sick.

“Like I’m gonna be a notch on your elevator bar?” I push him away. “In your dreams, Max.”

“What?” he asks.

“Dreams. A thing that the mind imagines, but that will never be.”

“What’s going on?”

I hit the buttons. They make a little plastic nothing sound. Ineffectual buttons disconnected from the world. Like Max’s heart. I point to the key. “Make it go.”

“What’s wrong?”

“This is wrong,” I snap. “What am I thinking?”

Pain flashes across his face. Or maybe I just imagine it. He turns the key and the elevator is moving. I move away from him.

He says my name and I put up my hand. “Can you leave me alone for once?”

The door opens on the lobby floor to a group of chattering professionals who part as I push my cart away.

The doors shut.

I stand alone in front of the blank elevator doors, panting. He brought me into his building to wait on him. Now he’s seducing me.

This is a victory lap, nothing more, nothing less. If Max was actually interested in me, he’d ask for a date, not make me his servant. The more I think about it, the angrier I get.

I hit the elevator again and pop back up to the twentieth floor. I leave my cart in the hall and burst into Blade’s office. “Let’s do it. Let’s kick some scavenger ass.”

He looks surprised. “The New Year’s Eve party?”

“You still want to?”

“Of course,” he says.

You’re sweet, I think before I can stop myself. And then I add, You’re sexy. I don’t hugely think it, but maybe I could think it. I remind myself of all of the TV shows that I currently love but that I wasn’t so sold on during the first few episodes. Maybe Blade’s like that. Maybe he’ll unwarp my mind from Max. “Okay, Blade, we’re on.”

“I’ll text you the deets,” he says.

My mouth is smiling, but my mind is saying, please, for the love of all that’s holy, don’t say deets again.





16




Never ask a woman if you can kiss her. She should be asking you. Better yet, she should begging you.

~The Max Hilton Playbook: Ten Golden Rules for Landing the Hottest Girl in the Room





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Max

People start streaming into the four-story atrium, everybody in their finest. Oscars-night shit. I shake hands and exchange New Year’s wishes.