the end of our working relationship.”
Oh God. Had she just said that?
He raised a contemplative eyebrow.
It was hard to breathe.
Without a word, he stood in that dangerously graceful way he had and walked over to the sideboard near the window. Her heart gave a funny little lurch at the realization it was the last time she was going to see him.
She allowed her gaze to linger a moment, to fix the height and breadth of him in her mind. The quiet authority of him as, with quick, efficient movements, Max pulled the stopper from the crystal decanter and poured a drink.
Then he poured another, which caused a completely different kind of lurch, this one much, much lower than her heart.
This was going to happen.
Emma’s palms prickled as he grabbed both glasses and joined her in front of his desk. The fact that he stood about a foot closer than he’d ever stood before was not lost on her. She accepted the drink he held out to her, her skin slick against the expensive crystal.
Max regarded her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he raised his glass. “To whatever comes next.”
His voice was deep, rich and more intoxicating than the premium liquor he’d handed her.
She clinked her glass to his and joined him in a sip of his preferred single malt Scotch.
The liquid was smooth and strong as it slipped over her tongue.
“Tell me it’s not Kearney.”
“What?”
“Tell me you’re not leaving to work for that son of a bitch.”
Emma was oddly touched by the surly order that namechecked his most hated rival, the CEO of Cybercore. In Max-speak, that might be as close as she would ever get to “It’s been nice working with you.” Not that she was fishing for compliments.
“Why would you think that?” she asked, taking another sip.
“Because business is war. You have to take what you want. And Liam Kearney has a long history of taking what’s mine.”
Emma choked on her mouthful of Scotch.
Surely he hadn’t meant...
She glanced up at his stern, handsome face, but his eyes were shuttered, focused on the liquid swirling in the glass thanks to a practiced flick of his wrist, like he was lost in an unpleasant memory.
Her voice was soft when she finally spoke, and despite her better judgment, held the reverence of a vow. “I’m not going to work for that son of a bitch.”
Emma was vindicated by the twitch of his lips that betrayed, if not outright relief, at least mild amusement, though she wasn’t sure if it was at the solemnness of her response or at himself for stooping to ask the question. “Drink your Scotch, Emma.”
It sounded almost like a warning. She stared at the contents of her glass. “We’ve never had a drink together before.” The words were unnecessary, obvious, but she couldn’t stop them anymore than she could stop her gaze from lifting to his.
If she hadn’t spent the last three years working with him, day in and day out, she might have missed the tick in his jaw, the subtle darkening of his eyes.
“You’ve never not worked for me before,” he countered, raising the glass to his lips.
Heat flared in her belly, incinerating the oxygen and making it hard to breathe. Her skin buzzed at the change in the atmosphere.
She fortified herself with another sip of the amber liquid that was as heady and intoxicating as the look in his eyes. Warmth tingled through her.
“And that...changes things?” she asked, testing the waters.
Max tossed back the rest of his drink and set the heavy crystal on his desk with undue precision. She felt him breathe, as though he’d stolen all the air from around her for a moment, before it came back in a rush.
“Change is inevitable.”
The urge to give into the pull of him, the magnetism, was overwhelming.
Before she could talk herself out of it, Emma stepped closer, raised up on her tiptoes, leveraging every inch from the platforms of her discount Louboutins.
Their breath mingled as she brushed her lips softly against his.
The sweet shock of what she’d done made her knees weak, and she steadied herself with her right palm against his chest. The hard muscle leaped beneath her fingers, like he was bracing himself for whatever came next. Emboldened by his reaction and warmed by the afterburn of the best Scotch the world had to offer, Emma leaned closer and pressed her mouth to his again, lingering this time to sample the delicious heat flickering between them.
She kept her eyes closed as she settled back into her black heels, cementing the feel of his lips beneath hers, the tingle of contact racing through her veins, even as she pulled her hand back from his chest. When she opened her eyes, he was staring down at her, controlled and handsome as ever, his face devoid of any particular expression. The way he looked at the negotiation table.
She let herself smile anyway. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time. You’re right. Taking what you want is incredibly...satisfying.”
He stepped even closer, and Emma’s head swam from his proximity as she lifted her chin to maintain eye contact.
“Are you?” The question, delivered without emotion, caught her off guard.
“Am I what?”
“Are you satisfied? Because I’m not.”
She didn’t even realize that she was still holding the highball glass in her left hand until he tugged it from her numb fingers and set it on the edge of his desk. The muted thud barely registered on her consciousness as something wicked sparked in the amber gaze that held her rapt. “What’s happening right now has always been...”
She didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, didn’t move.
Time slipped by to the heavy thud of her pulse and her mind spun, desperate to fill in the blank.
Inappropriate?
Illogical?
Insane?
Max slid his hands in his pockets, the outward picture of relaxed male elegance, but when he spoke, his tone was low and rough.
“Inevitable.”
INEVITABLE.
The word reverberated through her entire body, confirmation that Max wanted her.
She
