SIX
SHE should stop this.
Now.
Yet January couldn’t bring herself to do that, inwardly knew that this might never happen again, that she might never again know the taste and feel of Max’s lips on hers, the caress of his hands against the warmth of her burning skin.
And she wanted those things.
Wanted them so badly.
Wanted Max.
His hair was like silk against her hands as her fingers became entwined in its darkness, deepening their kiss, heat and moisture, a duel of tongues that spoke of their desire for each other.
January made no demur as her coat fell to the carpeted floor, at the warmth of Max’s hands beneath the thickness of her zipped top, flesh catching fire at the caress of his hands against the dampness of her skin.
She was aware once again of that oneness, of not knowing where she ended and Max began, every particle of her seeming joined to him, two halves of a perfect whole.
She groaned low in her throat as he broke the kiss, that groan turning to a throaty ache as his lips moved slowly across her cheek, down the sensitive column of her neck, to the pulsing hollow at its base, lips and tongue probing moistly there, pulses of pleasure shooting down the length of her spine to ignite a hitherto unknown warmth between trembling thighs.
The zip of her top moved slowly down beneath Max’s searching fingers, he bending his head as his lips followed the same path, January’s back arching instinctively as she felt the moisture of his mouth through the silky material of her bra, his tongue moving in a slow caress over the pouting invitation of her nipple.
His hands encircled the slenderness of her bared waist now, holding her against the hardness of his thighs as his lips paid homage to the warm swell of her breasts. And lower.
January moved against him invitingly, her fingers once again entangled in the darkness of his hair, holding him against her, never wanting this pleasure to stop.
And it didn’t, not when Max bent to lift her up in his arms, or when he carried her through to the bedroom to lay her down on top of the bed, or when he lay his long length beside her, his mouth once again taking fierce possession of hers.
Despite the difference in their heights, their bodies seemed to curve perfectly together as they lay turned into each other’s arms, January’s hands free to touch him in return now, caressing the hardness of his muscled back as they pressed closely together.
She gasped at the unfamiliar touch of hands against the bareness of her thighs, able to feel Max’s warmth through the lacy material of her panties, that gasp turning to a groan of pleasure as he easily sought and found the centre of her pleasure, the whole of her body feeling like molten lava now.
‘January, if you want me to stop, then you have to say so now—before it’s too late!’
She gasped at the sound of Max’s voice, felt as if a bucket of ice cold water had just been thrown over her, as if the roof above them had disappeared to allow the cold snow to fall on her burning skin, awakening her from— From what?
She fell back on the bed, staring up at Max with darkly haunted eyes, his own eyes still dark with desire as he looked at her searchingly.
‘Don’t look at me like that!’ he finally groaned harshly.
She breathed shallowly, her tongue moving to moisten suddenly dry lips. ‘Like what?’
Was that husky rasp really her voice? It had sounded completely unlike her usual confident tones, like the voice of a stranger.
And perhaps that was what she had become, even to herself. Because she knew only too well that if Max hadn’t spoken and broken the spell it would no longer have just seemed as if they were two halves of a whole—it would have been a reality!
Max continued to look down at her frowningly for several long, searching seconds before flinging himself back on the pillow to stare up at the ceiling. ‘As if I’m some sort of monster you need protecting from!’ he rasped coldly.
Had she really looked at him in that way? If she had, then it was totally unfair—because the only person she needed protecting from was herself!
‘Max—’
He swung away from her as she would have reached out and touched his arm, swinging his legs down to sit up on the side of the bed. ‘I think you had better leave, January,’ he muttered grimly. ‘Before either of us does or says something we’re going to regret!’
Hadn’t they already done that?
January knew that she certainly had. And one glance at Max’s grimly set features told her that he wasn’t in the least happy about what had happened, either!
She sat up, fumbling with the zip on her jeans, pulling the sides of her sweater together, her fingers shaking now as she tried to put the zipper together. This was so— Why wouldn’t this thing—?
‘Here—let me,’ Max bit out tautly, at the same time reaching out—with hands that were completely steady, January noticed self-derisively—to put the zipper together and pull up the silver catch.
January looked at him beneath lowered lashes, looking, searching desperately, for some sign of the man from seconds ago, the man who had trembled with the same desire she had. All she could see was Max Golding, his hair slightly ruffled perhaps, a nerve pulsing—with anger or suppressed desire?—in the hardness of his cheek, but otherwise he looked just as self-assured as ever!
‘Your look of reproach is a little late in coming, don’t you think?’ he drawled dryly. ‘As well as being misdirected!’ he added scathingly.
January flinched as if he had hit her, his words certainly wounding, if not physically then emotionally.
‘I have to go.’ She pushed back the tangle of her hair as she scrambled over to the side of the bed, wondering when she had ever felt so miserable. Never, came the unequivocal answer!
‘Running away, January?’ Max murmured tauntingly as she reached the bedroom door.
She turned to give him a sharp reply, the words catching in her throat as she saw herself reflected in the mirror across the room, seeing herself as she never had before.
Her hair was a tangled cloud about her shoulders, her eyes a wild dark grey, her face a white blur, her lips bruised red with passion. She looked exactly what she was—a woman who had recently been roused to a passion she might never recover from!
She swallowed hard, forcing her gaze from that wanton reflection as she looked across at Max contemptuously. ‘Not running, Max, walking,’ she corrected with hard derision. ‘I should never have come here in the first place!’ she added bitterly.
‘No, you shouldn’t,’ he acknowledged hardly, moving to sit back on the bed, one arm behind his head as he rested back against the headboard. ‘A short time ago, you asked me how I sleep at night,’ he reminded tauntingly. ‘Well, I can tell you, the answer to that is “very rarely alone”,’ he drawled mockingly, blue eyes openly laughing at her now.
January
