One time I allowed Jade to take me to that godforsaken place called a gym. Never again. I prefer to get my cardio in other ways. Although drinking a delicious smoothie while watching hot men get sweaty was kind of fun.
While Jade dawdled, Max griped, “Babe, we have to go. In this rain, it’ll take longer to get there.”
“Okay, okay.” It then took her ten more minutes to run down Michael’s schedule, menu for the day, and a reminder of favorite toys. “Oh and—”
“Jade,” Max interrupted, repeating himself for the tenth time, “she’ll be fine.” At least he had faith in me. “Bye, Aim.” He then kissed my cheek, grabbed Jade’s hand, and dragged her out the door, which I locked behind them.
I was met with the sound of Michael’s rhythmic breathing coming through the baby monitor. My gaze swept over the luxury apartment, and I appreciated having it to myself until the baby woke.
Actually, it wasn’t all that hard to watch a child who was still at that fairly easy age when they weren’t mobile yet and just ate, slept, and shit. Also, having a best friend who was a mother had naturally rubbed off on me over time. I’d picked up a few tricks, one being long walks. Unfortunately, with the late-September monsoon happening, that wasn’t an option today.
In hindsight, I probably could’ve brought my laptop to get some work done, but vegging out on their comfy couch and watching movies held more appeal to my sour mood—caused from brooding over the loss of my passionate, orgasm-filled night.
Just as I’d kicked off my sneakers and settled in to watch one of my favorite movies involving many leotard-clad superheroes, the unmistakable sound of a key meeting a lock forced me to call out, “What did you forget?”
Max held up a gourmet store’s brown bag and shrugged. “Nothing, I hope.” Except the dark-denim-and-gray Henley that molded his body, the cocky smirk, and the heated gaze lasering into my eyes all screamed it wasn’t Max.
Instinct had me bolting up off the couch. Then I remembered the very unflattering outfit that I wore and forced my butt back down. “What are you doing here?”
“We have a date.”
“That’s been canceled.”
“Who said it was canceled?” He moved deeper into the apartment and plopped the bag on the island. My gawk had him asking, “What?”
“First of all, it wasn’t a date. Secondly, why do you have a key? And lastly, I’m not having sex with you in Max and Jade’s apartment while babysitting their sweet innocent child.”
He raised a finger and said, “Yes, it was.” A second finger joined the first. “I’m the responsible brother.” He added a third finger and concluded with a shrug, “And noted, no sex. So when they get home, we’ll head to my place as planned.” My disbelieving stare only intensified as his gaze swept over my baggy clothing. “By the way, you look… comfortable.”
“Shut it, Nate.” My bitchy comeback was met with a grin. I had mentally prepared myself for a day alone with Michael. I wasn’t dressed properly for Nate, I wasn’t in the right frame of mind for Nate, and after a long, horny week, I surely wasn’t in the mood to fight off my raging libido for Nate.
Wondering if Jade would be upset if I helped myself to a glass of wine while on duty, I watched as he folded his arms and leaned back against the counter, looking sexy as fuck. “Screw it,” I mumbled.
His eyes tracked me as I chose a bottle of cabernet from the wine rack, opened it, retrieved a glass, and filled it.
“Isn’t it a little early for—”
“Nope,” I answered. With my calming agent in hand, I headed for the couch, and he finally moved, following to sit his fine ass right beside me.
Ignoring my exaggerated sigh, he liberated the glass from my hand and took a sip. “Not bad.”
I reclaimed my wine with a growl. “There’s an entire bottle over there.”
“I sense some hostility, Jersey. I thought we were past that after you came to my office, begging for me to continue fucking you.” The look on my face forced a shrug. “I’m not trying to be a prick,” he said, sounding every bit like a prick.
“Yet there you are in all your glory. Besides, I’m not hostile.”
“Uh-huh.” Undeterred, he lifted my legs and placed them on his lap.
“What are you doing?”
“Relaxing you.” The firm press of his thumbs on the arch of my foot sent a surge of intense energy through me. It may as well have been his mouth on a boob, or my neck, or anywhere, for that matter, because the result was the same. He took advantage of my shocked silence by rambling, “Children can sense tension. You wouldn’t want to upset Michael once he wakes up, right?”
Those magical hands continued kneading my socked feet, and the carnal moan I released had him growling, “Christ, Jersey. It’s a foot massage, not cunnilingus.”
Ignoring that one-word reminder of what should’ve been happening between us, I stared at him for a beat. “Why are you being nice to me?”
“Why not? There is no reason our interactions need to be laced with acerbity.” When I raised my brows, he added, “Unnecessary sharpness in your words.”
“I know what acerbity means, Mr. Navarro.”
His lips twitched. “Okay.”
During the moment he fell silent, I felt bad enough to say, “Sorry. I guess it’s a natural defense mechanism toward you.”
“So are you saying that I bring out the worst in you?”
“Kind of.” Definitely. “It’s really because I don’t know you all that well… except that you’re a ruthless asshole when it comes to fighting for your clients. You can’t blame me for feeding off that reputation.”
He eyed me skeptically. “I guess that holds true for me as well. I don’t know much more than you write porn—”
“Romance,” I snapped.
“Sorry.” He leaned closer and on a wink said, “Romance.”
“Why are you such an asshole?”
“Relax, I’m kidding. My point is we’re both guilty of pigeonholing one another into exaggerated labels. Although those labels hold some truth. I am an asshole when I need to be, and I know you can be extraordinarily erotic as well.” His hands slid up a few inches to my calves, and I pretended that was the reason for pressing my thighs together. “Why don’t we get to know each other a bit? Tell me about yourself, Jersey. Something not many people know.”
“Why? Plan on using it against me in a court of law someday?”
“I’m not a criminal attorney, so unless you broke the law…” He narrowed his gaze when I suppressed a grin. “You look so guilty. Let’s hear it, Jersey.”
“Fine. But in my defense, I was twelve.” She settled back and conceded. “That year for Christmas I had asked for one of those little laptops—you know the small clunky ones that used to come in a range of colors?” On my amused nod, she continued: “Well, my parents, who considered modern technology the root of all evil, said no. But I convinced myself the only way to be a serious writer was to do so on a computer and not in a notebook.