More Jill was better than less Jill. And he wanted all of her in the meantime, until he could figure out exactly how to convince her that the next time she used his bathtub, both of them needed to be in it.
8
The rest of that week went by in something similar to agony for Jill. She couldn’t tell what had shifted exactly, but every time she and Maxwell were alone in a room together, she could feel the barometric pressure drop. Or skyrocket. Either way, the hairs on her arms stood at attention. Everything went prickly and warm beneath her clothes. And she felt like if she took one wrong step, she’d fall straight into Maxwell’s arms and never leave again.
His work schedule was the only saving grace. He worked long hours, and by the time bedtime rolled around, they were both exhausted enough to part ways without much pressure for adult time afterward. Which meant Jill was bolting into her room and counseling herself on why it was not a good idea to sneak into Maxwell’s bedroom and see what she might discover in the darkness.
By the time Monday rolled around, she’d actually forgotten to head to her own place Sunday night as she’d planned. And when Maxwell asked her if she’d be okay with the kids alone on Monday night so he could go celebrate a friend’s engagement, of course she agreed—which meant another night at Maxwell’s house.
Do you stay here because it’s easier or because you secretly love it?
It was a hard question to answer. And she tried not to think too hard about it because she was afraid of what she might unearth there.
After an exceptionally busy but fulfilling day at work on Monday, she headed home around seven to find Maxwell already dressed and ready to go out. She fought to keep her jaw from clattering to the floor. Normally he wore what she liked to call NFL chic, which consisted of brand-heavy workout gear that accentuated all his muscles in all the best ways.
But tonight, he was dressed like something that defied categorizing. Like a dapper Hollywood star met the brute strength of an NFL athlete. Powerful, handsome, and dominating all in one fell swoop. She blinked rapidly, trying to keep her cool when it was so obvious she had no cool left at all.
“Wow. Hey. Hi. Are you, uh—” She looked around, spotting the triplets in the living room over his shoulder. “So you’re ready to go.”
“Yeah. How do I look?” He adjusted his navy pinstripe suit coat. A waft of cologne set her ovaries spasming.
“Um…” Sexy as hell. Fuck-tastic. Bend me over the countertop and have your way with me now. “Spot on.”
He held his hands out to his sides. “That’s it?”
“What do you want me to say?” she asked, setting her purse down. The weight of it was making her feel faint. Or maybe it was just the suffocating hotness of Maxwell’s look tonight. “You’re…looking fine.”
He narrowed his eyes as though he’d been expecting a little more than that. “All right. I’ll take it.”
Maxwell headed toward the living room, where the triplets were hanging out with the TV on. She couldn’t take her eyes off the strong roundness of his ass as he walked away.
Lord have mercy. This man is going to kill me.
She adjusted her hair while Maxwell was busy with the kids, trying to see herself in the reflection of the microwave. Horribly underdressed in business casual from the workday, she was suddenly desperate to go with Maxwell to wherever he was heading. Bust out a pretty dress, add some dangly earrings…and maybe just see what happened.
His dress shoes clicked against the tile floor as he returned. “Thank you so much for doing this. I promise I won’t bitch out after a workday again.”
She drew a deep breath, steeling herself to take him in again. “It’s no problem. I just wish I could go.” She gestured at him, trying to sound lighthearted. Carefree. Not at all like her pussy was seconds away from imploding from need. “Looks like y’all are gonna have a great time. When will you be back?”
“A few hours,” he said, flashing her a magazine-worthy grin. “I’m gonna head out now. Let me know how everything goes.”
She followed him to the front door, waving as he trotted to his car. Strange anxieties pulled at her chest as she shut the door, confronting the quiet house and distracted toddlers. She sat with the kids, who promptly crawled into her lap and played with her hair as they jabbered in their own language. They’d eaten already, which meant she only had to grab dinner for herself, get bath time started, and then bedtime.
But something gnawed away at her, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Every time her mind wandered, it went straight to Maxwell. Where is he now? What is he doing? Who is he with?
The curiosity drove her nuts, mostly because she had no right to know about his off-duty engagements. What he did with his free time, with his friends, was his own business. And the same was true for her.
So why was she dying to know how many women were hanging on his arm or whether he was thinking of her?
Jill felt like a zombie for the rest of the evening, finding some leftover pizza in the fridge before herding the kids upstairs and into the bath. By the time she’d gotten them settled and into their beds, she was too wired to go to bed. All she wanted was to hear from Maxwell.
She relaxed in the shower, and after she’d gotten her pajamas on and was settled in the living room ready to watch some mindless TV, she finally gave into the urge. She texted him.
“Hey. How’s it going? All is good here.”
She nibbled on her bottom lip, staring at her phone for too long after the text. When a response didn’t come right away, her anxiety doubled. She was flipping through channels on the television, hoping for something to take her mind off Maxwell altogether, when her phone buzzed.
Maxwell had responded with, “Wishing the babysitter didn’t have the flu so you could have been here tonight.”
And then a moment later, a photo came through. Maxwell had taken a selfie of himself with a few friends gathered behind him, all of them smiling with their tongues out, looking like picture-perfect athletic models out on the town.
Her first reaction was butterflies. He’s thinking of you too. He cares.
But the longer she stared at the picture, the more she noticed. The waifish blondes in the background, with their flawless skin and glittery designer dresses. The champagne flutes. The ritzy surroundings.
Everything screamed Sexy. Seductive. Way more than what you have to offer.
Something tense and hot churned in her stomach, and she tossed the phone to the other edge of the couch. Who was she to think she had any right to even indulge in fantasies about someone like Maxwell? Had she learned nothing from her ex?
Jill focused her eyes on the television, but she watched the show without truly seeing it. Time melted away, her thoughts roiling, anxieties settling in bone deep until she was rooted in the malaise and overcome by it. When her eyes started to burn, she decided to head to bed, her stomach a sick knot.
By this time, it was after midnight, and Maxwell still wasn’t home.
She headed for the guest bedroom, intent on sleeping off the bad feelings and waking up with her mind a clean slate, if a little tired. But once she was in the cool, comfortable guest bedroom, all she could do was toss and turn. The bedside clock winked at her with every passing minute, and she couldn’t stop listening for some sign that Maxwell was home. Her entire body was tense from straining for the sound of tires on asphalt or the front door opening.