Maximum Risk (6 page)

Tara was slowly sobering up, but she was every bit as amusing now as she had been when she’d been slurring her words earlier. Max threw his head back and laughed at her description of what it had been like for her the first week she’d moved to New York City. “I moved to New York after my parents retired and went South. I thought it would be easier to find work in the city. It’s been quite the learning experience. My first apartment was a ten-by-ten studio with an outrageously high rent that only someone new to the area would pay, given the location. The place was so small with such thin walls I literally learned Portuguese by listening to the woman in the next apartment talk to her Brazilian boyfriend on the phone every night. The worst thing about the place was the number of times I dreamed I was engaging in a threesome. I’d feel all awkward and guilty then wake up and realize it was just the Brazilian stud visiting next door again. On the positive side, I never felt lonely. And I ended up being marginally bilingual, which I suppose is a small price to pay for a few inappropriate dreams. Although, I still don’t see the lure of a threesome.”

“Good to know,” Max said with a smile. “So, when did you move in with Brigitte?”

“It’s been three years now. I went to a party with some guy . . . I can’t even remember his name. It was our first official date, if you call taking someone to a place where the food and drinks are free a date. Anyway, he saw Brigitte and completely forgot about me. Brigitte can do that to a man. She has a presence. It’s hard to explain. You know when you watch the History channel and you hear about how wars were fought over certain women? I could see that happening to Brigitte, and she wouldn’t be impressed.”

“That’s an interesting way to find a roommate.” He refilled Tara’s glass with water, and she took a healthy swig. She was still beautifully tipsy. Her cheeks were pink, her smile wide, and her eyes were unguarded. Max wasn’t normally a man who sat around and drank a night away with a woman, but he loved the sound of Tara’s voice. He kept asking questions merely because he was enjoying watching how animated she was as she told humorous story after story.

“I’m probably not telling the story well. Picture me sitting there, hating her from across the room. She walked away from the guy who doesn’t matter now and sat down next to me. Then she apologized. She freaking apologized for his bad behavior. It’s funny now; it was mortifying at the time. At first I thought she was screwing with me, but she meant it. We started laughing about it and that’s it, we’ve been friends since.” Tara propped her chin up on her hand and asked, “What about you? Do you live alone?”

“I do,” he said. Before their second bottle of wine, he’d had every intention of ending the night at his place, but when her words had begun to slur he’d decided that could wait. He was enjoying how the alcohol had loosened her tongue, but he wouldn’t take advantage of more than that.

She tapped his arm for emphasis. “Of course you do.” She waved a hand at him, referencing his suit. “You stay at your hotels instead of in a house. I remember, but . . . Oh, my God, I don’t know anything else about you because I’ve been doing all the talking.” She smacked her forehead with an open hand.

Max chuckled. He turned her hand over in his, and absently caressed the inside of her wrist. “Don’t worry. I loved hearing how you embarrassed your mother in front of an entire church because the priest didn’t answer a question the way you expected him to, so you called him out publicly for it.”

Her mouth fell open in a shocked circle. “Why would I tell you that?”

“It was after the dinner shots.”

Tara made a face. “I don’t do shots.”

“You did tonight.”

“What else did I tell you?”

“You’re not sure if you lost your virginity at sixteen or eighteen, but it was the same guy so you don’t think it matters.”

“I did not tell you that.”

Max nodded. “Right after the second shot.”

She took another long drink of water. “You should have cut me off.”

“I did. Ergo, the water in your hand. Don’t worry, I can honestly say I haven’t enjoyed myself this much in a long time.”

Tara rubbed a hand on her forehead. “This is not how I imagined tonight.”

He met her eyes and winked. “Me either.”

“At least I didn’t sleep with you,” she said, then covered her mouth as if she couldn’t believe she’d said it aloud. She looked around the darkened restaurant, a deep blush spreading up her cheeks. “Where is everyone?”

“The restaurant closed an hour ago, but Richard has someone in the kitchen waiting to lock up after we leave. There’s no rush.”

She shook her head slowly. “You probably don’t believe this, but I never drink.”

“During our second bottle of wine you said you do when you get nervous. I’m taking it as a compliment that you got shitfaced on our first date.”

Tara rolled her eyes. “First of all, this is a not a date. Second of all, you don’t make me nervous. And second of all . . . did I already say that?”

Max smiled. She wasn’t yet as sober as she looked. He stood and held out a hand to her. “I have a car outside. Let’s go. You need to sleep this off.”

Tara stood, wobbled on her high heels, and said, “I am perfectly capable of getting home on my own.” She laid a hand flat on his chest. “And letting you take me home is too dangerous.” She brought a hand up to his lips and touched them gently. “It’s those lips. They are so beautiful. A man shouldn’t have such nice lips.”

Her touch was electric on his skin, but Max forced himself to step away from her to retrieve her coat. He held it out to her, and she obediently slid her arms into it. He buttoned it for her, noting how unsteady she was on her feet. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

He guided her to the car. His driver opened the back door, and Max gave him her address. Tara scooted into the car, and he followed but not closely. The temptation to pull her to him for a kiss was strong, but she was smiling openly at him, another sign she was still not herself.

She turned toward him, caressing the side of his face with one of her soft hands. “You don’t look happy. If you’re tired, you don’t have to drive me home. I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t mind,” he said with a forced smile, pulling his face away from her hand. It took very little from her to give him a raging hard-on. He reminded himself that her judgment was compromised, and the right thing to do was to not take advantage of that. He just wished his dick shared his morals.

She edged closer and laid her head on his shoulder. “I didn’t expect to enjoy tonight.”

“I did,” he said with some irony, then his throat caught when she settled fully against his side, linking her arm with his. It was sweet torture to be so close to her and not allow himself even a brief taste of her lips. Her hair tickled the side of his jaw. He absently rested his head on hers and breathed her in. Calculated loss was the cornerstone of his success, especially at his casinos. The house had to lose a certain amount to ensure a larger win. He wanted Tara, but not like this. He’d suffer short term for a later gain.

“I forgive you for trying to buy me with a car.” Tara mumbled. She shifted, and her hand fell to his thigh.

He covered her hand with one of his own, half afraid hers would wander higher, and he’d lose what was left of his self-control. “Forgive me tomorrow, Tara. We’ll both feel better about ourselves if you stay angry with me a little while longer.”

She raised her head and looked into his eyes. “I wasn’t angry with you. I thought you were an arrogant, self-absorbed, egotistical . . .”

“Easy on the compliments, darling, you’ll spoil me.”

She squeezed his thigh. “But you’re not a wanker, you’re actually a nice guy.”

“Not that nice,” he said and gave in to temptation. He told himself he could contain the kiss, but when their lips touched he was consumed by a hunger that shook him.

She met his kiss with an eagerness that drove him wild. She writhed against him, and he hauled her onto his lap. She dug her hands into his hair, deepening the kiss, and he lost his battle for control. He impatiently pulled her shirt free, needing to feel her bare skin against his with an urgency that defied logic or location.

It took him a moment to realize the car had pulled in front of her apartment building. He broke off the kiss reluctantly and gathered his resolve.

She would be his soon enough. He didn’t want her to regret one moment of being with him. He adjusted her clothing then guided her through the car door his driver held open for them. She stumbled, and he pulled her to his side to steady her.

She smiled apologetically. “I’m not drunk.”

He half walked, half carried her into her building. “Of course you’re not.”

She stopped and waved one hand in the air. “I may be a little buzzed.”

“I’d say that’s an understatement.”

They stepped into the elevator together. Tara wrapped her arms around his neck and tried to pull his face back down to hers. “You’re a really good kisser, but I knew you would be.”

Max pressed the button for her floor. “Tara, you’re making it very hard for me to do the right thing here.”

Tara swayed and smiled up at him. “Fuck doing the right thing.” She kissed the side of his neck. “Why am I the only person who worries about consedences . . . I mean consequences? Everyone else does whatever the hell they want. Why can’t I?”

His blood pounded through his veins and his dick strained against the crotch of his pants. “If you still feel that way tomorrow, I promise to take you up on your offer.” He watched her fumble with her keys for a moment, then took them away from her and opened the door to her apartment.

Tara stepped inside and flipped on the light. Her apartment was modern and white. It didn’t fit how he’d imagined her place.

Perhaps due to the expression on his face, Tara looked around also and said, “This is all Brigitte’s.”

A tall, muscular man in nothing more than boxers walked out of one of the bedrooms and approached them. He smiled at Tara with a familiarity that made Max instantly territorial. He didn’t consider himself the possessive or jealous type when it came to women, but he didn’t like how comfortable this man looked in Tara’s place. Max instinctively placed a hand on Tara’s back. “Who is that?” he grumbled to Tara.

Tara looked from Max to the other man and back and shrugged. “Oh, that’s just Dyson.”

“Just Dyson” walked over until he was standing directly in front of the two of them. He held out his hand to Max in greeting. “Dyson Chauner.”

“Maxwell Andrade.” Max reluctantly shook the man’s hand. “I didn’t realize Tara had more than one roommate.”

“She doesn’t.” Dyson directed the rest of his response to Tara. “The idiot in the apartment above mine is having renovations done. Brigitte said you wouldn’t care if I stayed here. You don’t mind, do you, Tara? It should only be for a few days.”

“Whatever.” Tara swayed, went pale, then a little green. “Excuse me, I just remembered why I don’t drink.” She bolted across the living room and down the hall.

Max and Dyson started after her together, reaching the bathroom door about the same time. Dyson turned to block Max’s entry. “I’ve got this.”

Max demanded, “Get out of my way.”

Tara retched loudly into the toilet.

Dyson flexed his chest and said, “Whatever your plans for tonight were, they’re obviously over. Go home.”

“Move aside, or I will move you aside.” Max leaned in aggressively.

Dyson raised his hands in mock defense. “Easy, buddy. I’d rather not wrestle you in my underwear. Relax. You can see her tomorrow.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Max avoided drama as a rule. On any other night, with any other woman, he would have written the evening off and happily left. But there was no way in hell he was leaving Tara with the half-dressed Neanderthal.

The sound of running water was followed by Tara saying, “If you two are done with your pissing contest, could one of you get me a glass of water?”

Dyson stepped away from the doorway and said, “I’ll be right back.” He lowered his voice and repeated to Max, “Right back.”

Tara swished then spit mouthwash into the sink. She met Max’s eyes in the mirror. “You don’t have to stay, Max.”

He stood behind her, close enough to catch her if she stumbled again. “I’m not leaving you like this.”

Still holding his eyes, Tara steadied herself by holding on to the sink. “You should before I make even more of a fool of myself.”

He put a comforting hand on her back. “You’re not the first to exceed your limit and pay the price for it.”

She closed her eyes but didn’t answer. A moment later she turned and looked up at Max. “Be nice to Dyson. He’s only trying to protect me.”

“I don’t like him.”

“You don’t have to. He’s Brigitte’s.”

As if on cue, Dyson returned and handed Tara a glass of water with two aspirin. Tara took a grateful sip, downed the pills then said, “My head is spinning. I’m going to bed.” She looked suddenly tearful. “Good night, Max.”

She walked out of the room and down the hall. Max and Dyson stood in the bathroom in somewhat of a standoff.

Dyson spoke first. “You have nothing to worry about. She’s like a sister to me.”

“I’m not leaving until I’m sure she’s okay.”

Dyson shrugged. “You’re welcome to the couch. But just so you know, Brigitte’s room is across the hall from Tara’s, and the doors are staying open.”

Max swore beneath his breath all the way to the couch. What was it about Tara that had set his life upside down? He was about to spend the night on the couch of a woman he hadn’t even slept with.
Why?

He roughly adjusted the couch cushions into something marginally more comfortable and sat down angrily. Because that blond ape was in Tara’s apartment.

The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him. For someone who didn’t like personal involvement or emotional clutter, this evening was a high dose of both.

But I’ll be damned if I’m leaving.
He sent a text for his driver to take the rest of the night off.

He wanted to throw Dyson out of the apartment or haul Tara back to his hotel. Both were out of character for him, but he was having a difficult time recognizing himself since he’d met Tara. For her, he was in his least favorite city. For her, he was doing something he rarely did—reflecting on how he could have handled himself better. He felt guilty that, although she’d said she was a lightweight, he’d let her overindulge. He never should have kissed her. If she hadn’t gotten sick . . . if Dyson hadn’t been there . . .