And I was no longer interested in men like that.
But this feeling was a new and seductive one, and I must have stared at him long enough to make him concerned. He ducked his head to catch my eye. “Are you gonna sit here with me? Enjoy the night air?”
Heat blossomed in my cheeks, but I kept the haughtiness in my tone. “I’d sit if one of us wasn’t man-spreading all over the fucking fire escape.”
The anti-Prince Charming unleashed another charming grin. The spreadsheets-and-contracts side of my brain was urging extreme caution. Maximize the efficiency of your outcomes! No sexy distractions!
“Point taken,” he said. He shifted, made significant room for me. I slowly sat down, careful to keep us from touching in any way. Except the moment I did, and we saw each other in the streetlight, a burst of recognition came over us both.
“Wait, are you—” I started, just as he said, “Fiona Quinn?”
I laughed a little, slightly confused. Leaned over closer. “Max Devlin?”
“The one and only,” he said, amused.
My memories of Max were hazy. We were the same age, but he’d gone to a different school, hung with a different crowd. Of course, we saw him at The Red Room often when we were teenagers, but it was nothing more than a passing, friendly acquaintance. The little I knew of him then was that he was a charming, shameless flirt with a playboy reputation.
A reputation that was, apparently, still true.
I blew out a breath, still startled. “I haven’t seen you in… what, six, seven years?”
“Sounds about right,” Max said. “I’m in town for a few weeks, helping Pop with some things. It’s my first night back.” His posture relaxed even further, smile widening as he took me in. I did the same—I couldn’t help it.
Because the man in front of me wasn’t a teenager anymore. The man in front of me, with his broad shoulders and confident sexuality and hot, rumbling sex voice was the living embodiment of cocky bad boy.
And he’d given me my first ever sparks.
I cleared my throat. Pictured my contract—with its clear language and ambitious outcomes—until there was a corresponding fortitude in my spine. “So, where have you been?”
His eyes crinkled at the sides. “Little bit of everywhere, but most recently Maine. Before that, Nashville and Colorado. Where have you been?”
“NYU and then Columbia Law,” I said, brow arching. “I’m in estate planning at Cooper Peterson Stackhouse.”
A recognition flashed across his face. “That’s right,” he said slowly. “Pop told me you were a fancy lawyer now.”
I touched my tiara. “I’m quite adept at helping wealthy widows keep their kids out of their last will and testament. Ensure that their ten-million-dollar estate all goes to their toy poodles.”
He whistled beneath his breath. “Damn. That’s ice cold.”
“I’ve helped put a lot of poodles in diamond-encrusted collars.”
His laughter was as low and sexy as his voice. “Lou and Sandy are cool with their daughter having such corporate roots?”
“If by cool, you mean confused, then yes,” I said. “I think they’re still secretly hoping I’ve been a mole this whole time, working to take down capitalism from the inside.”
“Playing the long con, I see,” he said, amused. “Did your sister end up becoming a tattoo artist? I have a vague memory of Pop telling me she had her own shop in Washington Heights.”
“She does,” I said. “My parents get free ink whenever they want.”
He held up his tattooed arms, pretending to examine them. “Maybe I should go to your sister for my next tattoo.”
“Or you could come to me, and I’d make your last will and testament.” I crossed my ankles and tilted my head.
“You drive a hard bargain. Is that your idea of a wild night?”
“That’s about as wild as I get,” I said. “Checking off all of the action items on my to-do list. Maybe sneak in getting caught up on my emails if I’m lucky.”
He narrowed his eyes with a sexy smile. “Slow down, Fiona. The night is young.”
I ducked my head and cast my eyes out to the street below, needing a little distance. I wasn’t used to scrambling for a mental foothold.
“I saw you down there,” he said, calling me back. “Didn’t know it was little Fiona Quinn at the time, though.”
I gave him my best Roxy impersonation. “Who’s little? We’re the same age.”
His brow arched like he was enjoying the challenge. “So sorry. What I should have said was that I spent the night wanting to buy a drink for the tiara-wearing bombshell kicking ass down there in the pit.”
“You mean my sister?”
He shook his head. “No, I do not, princess. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you.”
I ran my tongue across my teeth and watched his fingers tighten in the grate. “Is that why you gave me such a line when I stepped out here?”
That same gaze traveled a leisurely path up and down my body. “That wasn’t a line.”
I adjusted my tiara and kept my expression as unaffected by his flirting as humanly possible. Even though Max’s words were so laced with desire it made me want to crawl to him on my hands and knees. Except I didn’t need a contract to point out the abundance of red flags that probably followed this man wherever he went. And I refused to be swayed by men who prioritized sex over emotional intimacy.
“I haven’t forgotten what the girls used to say about you,” I said. “You’re not going to be able to flirt your way into my pants.”
His jaw was set, but his grin was a tease. “I’m a lot older now and not much of a flirt. I tell women what I want. I’m no prince, but I’d gladly sneak into your bed and make it worth your goddamn while. All night long, as many times as you wanted it. Say the word, Fiona, and I’ll worship at those pretty feet.”
The cool city air was stretched taut between us, charged with electricity. I held my breath, counted to a silent ten, and hushed the primal part of my brain that wanted to be worshiped tonight. Even still, a barrage of fantasies crowded my thoughts—of nails on skin and teeth on lips and a skilled, talented lover committed to my pleasure.
There was no doubt I could crook my finger, say the word, and Max would fuck me so thoroughly I’d come out the other side understanding all the secrets of the universe.
Not once in my life had I ever felt this way. Not once had my sexual attraction to someone been this immediate. Was this real lust? Because no way could this be the same as the instant chemistry my sister had with Edward.
It didn’t fit my plan.
When I finally exhaled, it was as shaky as my fingers, trembling beside me. “Sadly, I’m not interested in taking anyone home tonight.”
His cocky smile widened, like we were enjoying a chess match. “A lot of women are more than happy to have me do their bidding. Sexually, that is.”
I closed the gap between us by a few inches, enough to catch the humor in his expression. He was having fun, even though I was about to turn him down. “I know a bad decision when I meet one, Max Devlin.”
His brow lifted. “That so?”