Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. “So you’re painting the wall, huh?” I asked. Just call me Captain Obvious.

Maxx looked over his shoulder. “Yeah, it’s part of my community service,” he said dismissively.

“Community service?” I asked dumbly. Maxx moved to stand next to me. He pulled out a cigarette and put it between his lips. I tried not to stare as he took a drag and blew out the lungful of smoke.

I hated smoking. I thought it was a disgusting habit. So why did I find it sexy to see Max curl his lips around the end of the cigarette? Ugh!

Maxx flicked ash on the ground and then unleashed a weapon most women would have a hard time resisting.

He smiled.

A full-mouthed curve of his lips lit up his face and made his eyes sparkle. I think I may have forgotten to breathe.

Because damn, he was dazzling.

“You know, being ordered by the court to pick up other people’s shit, paint walls, and otherwise make the world a better place,” he replied dryly, giving me a wink.

“Well, it’s good to know you’re taking it seriously,” I remarked, watching him as he took another drag from his cigarette before dropping it on the ground and stomping it out.

Maxx shrugged. “It’s just I can think of a lot of other things I’d rather be doing,” he said.

Was I supposed to find a hidden meaning in his seemingly innocent statement? And why was I second-guessing every nuance in our conversation? It wasn’t like me to be so unsure.

“Really,” I muttered dryly.

Maxx chuckled and then sobered, his eyes heated and smoldering.

“Definitely,” he said quietly, raising an eyebrow, a smirk dancing across his lips.

He looked at me in a way that was both warm and intense, the kind of look that stripped you to the bone and left you shivering.

His eyes were piercing in their directness, and I knew he wasn’t fooled by my attempts at sarcasm and nonchalance. My uncomfortable attraction to him, which had begun only a few days before, practically oozed from my pores. It was mortifying.

And I knew I needed to shut this down—for both our sakes. It wasn’t appropriate. And he was making me feel . . . disconcerted.

“Well, I think the group is going to be really helpful. I’m sure you’ll get a lot out of it,” I said lamely, hoping he got the point. It seemed extremely important to remind us both of who I was and what my role was in his life. I needed to reinforce where I belonged. I was a counselor in training, someone whose role was to guide him on a difficult journey.

Nothing more.

Maxx gave me a look that was hard to decipher. “I hope you’re right,” he said, running a dirty hand across his face, leaving a smudge along the bridge of his nose.

I had to clench my hand into a fist in order to resist the urge to wipe the smudge away. And I knew there was more than my OCD at work here.

His words unsettled me. Was I perceiving a subtext that wasn’t there? Or was he purposefully communicating something that I had yet to figure out?

My guess was the latter.

He suddenly dropped his eyes, and I was surprised by the vulnerability that danced across his face.

“I really hope you’re right,” he said softly, and I didn’t know whether the comment was for him or for me.

I tilted my head at him, looking at him closely. He seemed lost in thought, and I wondered what had him so consumed.

I couldn’t help but be curious about him. He made it impossible not to be. He was obviously a complicated man with a complicated past. I was simultaneously intrigued and annoyed that I was intrigued.

There was a definite line I shouldn’t cross. So why after meeting this man once was that boundary so hard for me to remember?

Maxx frowned and opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then he looked at me, and I watched as his face smoothed over and any sign of openness was lost.

“At least I’ll like the view.” His gaze purposefully raked up and down my body as he raised his eyebrows mockingly. His smile, while trying to be seductive, was hard and brittle. Any softening I had felt was trampled by the overwhelming urge to scream in his face.

His need to fuel my unease seemed forced. As though he were firmly putting us back on ground he was more comfortable with.

“That’s not really appropriate,” I managed, annoyed by how let down I felt. Because I already missed the elusive, unguarded Maxx that I had glimpsed only seconds ago.

Because that Maxx seemed real.

This Maxx was something else entirely.

But who really knew which persona was authentic?

Hell, maybe neither was, and the real Maxx was someone I hadn’t met yet.

But one thing was for sure: I couldn’t allow myself to want to get involved with any side of him. He was in a group I was helping to facilitate. Any relationship we had would need to be strictly professional. I was required to uphold a code of conduct that was as essential as it was required. There wasn’t room for gray areas. There was only black and white. Right and wrong.

In-betweens couldn’t exist, particularly between me and a man I knew instinctively was trouble—a man who brought with him a whole mess of problems, a man I could only imagine to be the worst kind of disaster.

I hefted my book bag up on my shoulder and shifted on my feet. “I’d better let you get back to painting. Nice seeing you,” I said, lying through my teeth. Our encounter had been anything but nice.

Confusing was probably more accurate.

Maxx smiled again, and this one was much more natural. He crouched down to the ground and picked a pale purple aster flower from the campus landscaping. He got to his feet and handed it to me. I took it hesitantly, meeting his eyes as I tried to understand his motivation.