It's a Fugly Life (Fugly #2)(12)

Jerk. “Fine. I will. Unlike you, I’m sure he’ll have the balls to tell me. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a business to run.” I turned away, took a step, and fell over.

“Lily!”





When I came to with a nauseous churning in my stomach and a light head, Max held me in his strong—so, so strong—arms and carried me down the beach, my cheek pressed to his chest.

“What happened? Put me down,” I mumbled.

“No. Something’s wrong with you.”

“I’m fine—I’m just tired.” The long days at the store, the stress of my business failing, and the restless nights had finally caught up with me.

“If passing out means you’re tired, then it’s all the more reason to rethink your business strategy.”

Max cut inland and headed for a very tall set of wooden stairs to get us over the sandbank.

“Where are we going?” I asked, my legs bouncing as he huffed and moved at a quick pace.

“Callahan is waiting in the parking lot.”

“You brought your chauffeur to Santa Barbara?”

“Where I go, he goes.”

“And you are going to…?” He’d promised he’d leave once I told him the truth about why we couldn’t be together.

“To the hospital.”

“No. I’m fine. It’s happened before. Please put me down.”

He gave me a stern look and lowered me to my feet.

I pressed my palms to my knees, holding my body in the doubled-over position to get my bearings. “I forgot to eat last night.” Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning. I didn’t usually do that, but with Max showing up and the fight and everything else, the emotions had killed my hunger. “You can go now. I’ll be fine once I eat.”

He placed his strong hand between my shoulder blades and made circles. “I’m taking you home.”

Oh, God. His touch felt so damned good. “No. Just go.”

“You’re being ridiculous. My driver is waiting up in the parking lot.”

I glanced at the long stretch of beach standing between me and my home and then at the flight of wooden stairs leading up to the public lot. “You’ll have to help me up the stairs.”

“No problem.” Without warning, he grabbed my arm and effortlessly whipped me over his shoulder. With my five-six height and slender frame, a guy like Max—six three, muscles in all the right places—could lift me easily, but he made a big show of it.

I’m a dude. A big strong dude. You know you’re impressed. Grunt, grunt.

“Max!”

“What?” He marched up the stairs with a smug bounce in his step.

He’s totally enjoying this! He’d thrown me over his shoulder on the night he’d taken me up to his bedroom at his home near Chicago. He’d f*cked me senseless that night. He’d f*cked me senseless the next day, too. Oh, hell. It had been the best weekend of my life.

Our sextastic weekend.

He had to know that carrying me brought back very sexual memories. Hot, sensual, orgasmic memories that included his tongue licking its way up my inner thigh, his hands pinching my nipples, his thick cock hammering me from behind.

Oh God. No. No. No. You’re not getting horny. You’re simply remembering how good he felt sliding between your legs. So, so hard. So, so good.

I shook it off quickly.

“Put me down, Max.” My body bounced on his shoulder. It wasn’t the most comfortable of positions and wasn’t helping my light-headedness.

“Stop whining, Lily.” He gave my ass a hard slap and the sting sent an instantaneous, scorching arousal between my legs. I wasn’t into pain, but he’d slapped my ass on that special night in his bedroom. I would never forget the sting that initiated the most erotic weekend of my life.

I gritted my teeth and pushed my lids together nice and tight. This was exactly my point. I couldn’t be around Max and not…not…want him. But I didn’t want to be one of those stupid girls who knew a relationship was completely doomed, but jumped in anyway, only to whine like an idiot after it all went south.

Finally at the top, Max tilted forward and slid me off.

Gripping my shoulders, he looked down at me and flashed a cocky smile. Oh yes. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“That was dirty, Max.”

He looked over my shoulder, ignoring my comment. “There’s Callahan. Shall we?” He held out his elbow.

I marched ahead, unable to look at him. I was so goddamned turned on, but my heart didn’t want this. It didn’t want to play this game any longer.





The ride back to my “unacceptable apartment,” as Max called it, took only a few minutes, but as far as my body was concerned, it felt like an eternity of sexual torture. Thankfully, Max had put on a black T-shirt to cover those drool-provoking washboard abs, but the smell of his expensive cologne and fresh sweat permeated the car, only fueling the intimate memories with my ex-boss.

As I prepared to deliver a very firm goodbye-for-forever speech, the town car pulled up to the curb in front of my complex—a two-story, 1960s Spanish-style building with a red tile roof, white stucco exterior, and arched windows and doorways. Max’s expression turned from serious to surprised.