His lips went to my ear and his voice was even rougher when he asked, “You wet?”

I wasn’t thinking, couldn’t think, so, confused, I asked, “Sorry?”

“You wet for me?” His gruff words sounded in my ear and they made me shiver from top to toe in his arms and, if I hadn’t been wet before (which I was), his words would have done it.

“Yes,” I whispered my honest answer against his neck.

“Fuck,” he muttered into my ear.

“Max,” I breathed again, I had no idea why but it sounded like a plea.

Unfortunately he was immune to my plea. I knew this because his hand came out of my undies, both his arms went tight around me, he buried his face in my neck and he held me close for a good long while.

Eventually he said quietly into my neck, “After we get this done in town, we’re comin’ home and, swear to God, anyone gets close to this house, I’m f**kin’ shootin’ ‘em.”

I pulled my head back, his came up but he didn’t drop his arms. Neither did I.

“Do you own a gun?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he answered. “You have a problem with guns?”

I thought about this for a moment and realized I’d never really thought about guns so I replied, “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about guns.”

“I’ll take you out shootin’,” Max decided instantly.

I had a problem with that. “I don’t think –”

“Later.”

“Max –” I started to protest.

“Tomorrow.”

“Max –”

His arms gave me a squeeze and his face grew attractively lascivious. “Maybe the next day.”

“Max!” I snapped, losing patience.

He grinned and changed the subject. “You bought a little pitcher, baby.”

I decided to let him change the subject as this one was safer and less likely to make me angry. I’d been angry enough that day for at least a week. Maybe a year.

“It’s a gift,” I informed him, “for taking care of me when I was sick.”

“You bought me a little pitcher as a gift?”

“Yes,” I said. “And a sugar bowl.”

He shook his head like I was adorable then he stated, “My gift was better.”

“Sorry?”

“The ring.”

I immediately pulled my hand from behind his back, placed it on his chest and stared at the ring he gave me that I hadn’t taken off.

Then I looked at him and said, “Yes, agreed, this ring is a whole lot better than a little pitcher even with a matching sugar bowl.”

He threw his head back and laughed, one of his arms sliding high up my back as he crushed my arm between us and gave me a tight hug.

“Are you saying you don’t like my gift?” I asked after he stopped laughing.

“I’ll like the one you’re givin’ me this afternoon a f**kuva lot better,” he replied and I shivered again in his arms before his face got close and I saw he was fighting a grin. “Go take a shower, honey, I’ll make breakfast.”

“I can make breakfast.”

He shook his head. “You take an age to get ready. You’re gettin’ a head start.”

He wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t one of those women who was ready to face the day after a shower and an application of deodorant.

Though I didn’t take “an age”.

Even so, instead of arguing I looked over his shoulder and mumbled, “Whatever.”

His arms tightened before he let me go, grabbed his mug and turned toward the fridge.

“What do you want, oatmeal, toast, granola?” he asked.

“Toast.”

He opened the fridge but turned to me. “Jelly?”

“What do you think?”

He smiled, tipped his head toward the ceiling and said, “Shower, it’ll be done when you get down.”

“Thanks, Max.”

His head was in the fridge when, as if the two words he said didn’t hold colossal meaning, he muttered, “Anything, baby.”

Anything, baby.

Simple as that.

Anything, baby.

Before I could let those words settle in my soul, I grabbed my mug and nearly ran to the stairs.

I was quickly making the bed when Charlie spoke to me.

What’d I say, Neenee Bean?

It sometimes used to annoy me, but I had to admit, Charlie was rarely wrong.

“I think, just maybe,” I whispered under my breath but even I could hear the hope in my tone, “just maybe you’re right, Charlie.”

Charlie didn’t respond as I finished smoothing the duvet, fluffing the pillows and then I took a shower.

* * * * *

We were driving through the streets of town and I was looking out the side window, thinking maybe I could go for another buffalo burger sometime relatively soon when Max asked a question.

“Niles loaded?”

I turned to look at him. “I’m sorry?”

“Niles. Is he loaded?”

Something clawed at my insides coming close to tearing away precious tissue.

“He makes good money,” I said off-handedly, looking out the side window again. “His parents, however, are loaded.”

“Your Dad looked loaded.”

I pulled in breath through my nostrils then said, “Dad’s loaded too but Niles’s parents are on a whole other level of loaded.”

There was silence a second before Max said softly, “Thinkin’ today, Duchess, you might’ve gotten written out of your Dad’s will.”

That claw curled up and slid away and the tension in my body relaxed as I murmured, “No big loss.”

He glanced at me and stated, “You make good money too.”

That claw came back with a vengeance.

“I’m not loaded.”

“Nina, don’t know much about ‘em but your f**kin’ purse looks like it cost more than my couch.”

“It didn’t,” I replied sharply and hurriedly.

“You know how much my couch cost?”

“Unless you got a major bargain, it didn’t cost less than my purse,” I retorted.

He glanced at me again and said, “All right, relax.”

“I’m relaxed,” I lied.

“You’re wound up tight,” he observed accurately.