Max freezes. “The bedroom?”

I twist the blanket in my hands and study the tiles on the floor. “I like it when you…um…take charge. It makes me…well…hot. But the fact that I like it scares me. What if that means I like you to be controlling outside of the bedroom? What if I stop asking you to back down when you cross the line? I can’t let that happen. I can’t ever put myself in that situation.” I cut myself off before I give myself away by saying “again.”

Silence.

I look up. Max is studying me, thoughtful, intense. “What happened to you, baby?”

My heart thuds in my chest. Nonononono. I didn’t want to have this conversation. I don’t talk about what happened. Ever. It’s a family secret. Part of it even from me.

“Nothing. I was just trying to tell you how I feel.”

He reaches over and tugs on the blanket, drawing me to him like a fisherman reeling in a fish. With a sharp yank, he unravels me and folds me in his arms. “Something happened to you that made you afraid to embrace who you are.”

“I know who I am.” I squirm, trying to get away, but Max tightens his hold and rests his chin on my head.

“I’m not so sure you do,” he says. “But I’ll tell you what I know. You are different from any other women I’ve been with. You don’t listen to me. You won’t do what I say. You won’t do anything you don’t want to do, and once you’ve made up your mind about something, you won’t change it. It is irritating as hell, but I admire your strength and conviction. You are caring, compassionate, sweet, and damn sexy. You live life. You experience it. But you do it on your own terms. I don’t think a woman like that ever has to worry she might find herself in a situation she doesn’t want to be in.”

“Are you talking about me?”

Max chuckles. “Yes, baby. I’m talking about you.”

“I don’t think you know me at all. The guys I went out with were all nice guys, but boring and dull. I gave up a chance to go to medical school, and now I’m stuck in a dead-end job. Does that sound like someone who is living life?”

“It sounds like someone who doesn’t know what they want. But when you do know what you want, you take no prisoners, and along the way, you enjoy the ride.”

The fact he has spent any time thinking about me, analyzing me, makes my toes curl.

“Why aren’t you angry I left yesterday morning?”

He pulls away and cups my jaw with his palm. “I told you I could never be angry with you. I was frustrated and disappointed with myself that I had pushed you so far that you felt you had to leave. I’ve never had a woman walk out on me, and you walking out felt like being stabbed in the gut. If Colton had not come home when he did, I might have destroyed a good portion of the house. He convinced me you just needed some time, and by the end of the day I thought he might be right. I pushed you too hard. I didn’t consider your level of…inexperience.”

I bristle. “I’m not that inexperienced.”

Max chuckles. “Trust me, you are. But I’m not complaining.”

Apparently not, since his hands have somehow found their way to my br**sts and he is kneading them so gently I want to scream.

“You have beautiful br**sts,” he murmurs. “But they are only for me to see. If anyone had touched you, I can assure you I wouldn’t have been pulling any punches.”

“Men are hardwired to like any and all br**sts.”

Max leans over and draws my nipple into his mouth. “Not true. I have no interest in doing this to any br**sts but yours.” He nips gently and I gasp.

“I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”

Max chuckles. “What girls?”

“All the girls you’ve dated. Sandy told me you had been with over almost thirty women in the last three years. She says you like a taste, but you don’t want the main course.”

“If I had been with thirty women in three years, I doubt I would have had time to run two businesses, much less leave my bed.” He teases my other nipple into a tight, hard peak with his finger and thumb. My knees shake.

“I don’t just want to be an amuse-bouche,” I whisper.

Max hugs my face in his warm hands. “You are my amuse-bouche, my appetizer, my main course, and my dessert.” He backs me up to the couch and presses me down to sit. With easy grace he kneels between my legs and slides his hands up the insides of my thighs, easing my legs apart. “Open for me, baby.”

My panties dampen and I widen my legs. God, the things he says make me almost crazy with lust.

“You are my cheese sandwiches, pizza, and mashed potatoes with lots of butter,” he whispers, brushing his lips softly over my ear. “You are my salmon mousseline, oysters in sea foam, frilled cod, and flying beets.”

“Don’t mention the beets,” I giggle. “I still have nightmares.”

Max nibbles my earlobe and traces lazy circles up the insides of my thighs. “You are the richest chocolate, the most decadent dessert, the smoothest coffee, and the most intoxicating wine.” He kisses his way down my throat and circles each of my ni**les with his tongue. My body melts and I arch my back, offering more.

“You, Makayla Delaney, are a buffet of sensual delights. A feast for my eyes, my ears, my hands, my nose, and my tongue.” He slides his finger over my panties and brushes it gently over my sweet spot. I suck in a breath and my thighs clamp onto his hips.