Bad Boy's Kiss (Firemen in Love Book 2) (16 page)

He scowled and cursed under his breath. The poor guy had been so hard on himself ever since he got here, and I couldn't tell why. If he screwed something up, even a tiny mistake, he'd sulk for way too long.

“It's okay. I can make jam out of them and can it for storage. Nothing around here goes to waste.”

He cheered up after that and went back to work. As he moved into the herb garden, it struck me that I was actually glad I had his company around here.

Before, I could never afford to hire helpers, which meant I did all the gardening and chores myself. That was no problem, but it did take me twice as long to get things done. I always figured the farm could be more profitable if I had employees.

Now Max was here, gladly working for free. He started getting antsy sitting around the house doing nothing after a few days. He was used to lots of action at work, he said, plus he felt guilty for bumming off me with no way to pay me back.

People could talk about his philandering ways all they liked, but I knew one thing for sure: Max worked harder and longer than any man I'd ever known. When he committed to a task, he didn't stop until it was done.

If only he'd show the same commitment to a woman.

To me?

No, don't be dumb. The two of us couldn't have been more different if we tried.

“Good gracious, is it ever boiling hot out here. And I thought Waco was steamy.” He paused to pull his t-shirt off. “So, Rachael went to meet your folks at the airport, huh? I'd like to say I'm not nervous, but...”

Oh, God. He did that on purpose! Well, if he wanted me to stare, then he'd won. And if he was trying to tempt me into bed, then he might just have won at that, too.

His chest was deep, dark tan, the shade of golden brown one turns from spending too much time in the sun. Every muscle was toned and defined, from his abs to his biceps and everything in between.

Then there were his tattoos. He had many, including a curled snake just above his stomach and a Chinese-style dragon on his back. I'd never cared one way or the other about tattoos, but something about all of Max's ink made him look extra sexy.

“You're awful quiet, Anna.”

“Mm? Just worrying my head off.”

“Having second thoughts, are ya?”

He rolled himself up onto the porch via the ramp I'd built him out of plywood and bricks. The flimsy wood creaked under his weight. Max looked relatively thin, but I guess all that muscle weighed more than you'd think.

“No second thoughts. Not really.” I took the bucket of berries from him. “I'm just afraid this whole facade will come crashing down. One of us will screw up, and they'll find out the truth. Then I'll be in trouble for being dishonest with everyone on top of losing my farm.”

“You shouldn't worry about me. I'm real good at getting myself out of sticky situations.”

“Good at lying, you mean.”

He grinned. “I'd call it the art of fabrication.”

With him this close to me, sitting there in all his half-naked glory, it was futile to try making myself look the other way. He knew it, too, and sank his arm around my waist.

“You need some acting lessons. How is anyone gonna believe we're a couple when you're behaving so weird around me?”

Crap. Maybe he was right.

But there was a very good reason why I couldn't give into my desires around him. It wouldn't be acting; that was why.

If I let myself touch him, let myself have him, I knew I'd develop feelings that I shouldn't be having. And then, when he left me here alone, it was gonna hurt twice as much.

“We don't have much longer before they arrive. How about we go over some things one more time?”

I agreed, and back inside we went. Max shivered in the air conditioning and, to my disappointment, threw on a clean shirt.

“Okay, let's see. I sure do like this picture of us. Remember the story behind it?”

He held up the small framed photo. We'd taken it just yesterday at a rest stop near the Colorado River. Figured a cute picture sitting out on the table might help convince people we really were dating. It wasn't easy Photoshopping his wheelchair out of the shot, though.

“Uh... That was taken about a year ago when you came to visit me.” I said the line just as we had rehearsed it.

He nodded. “And what happened that day?”

“We had a picnic and went fishing. I fell in the river and you thought it was hilarious.” I set the frame back down. “Sounds like you, for sure.”

I'd been busy these past few days planting things here and there – a variety of clues that made it look like Max truly was part of my life. I was almost starting to believe it myself.

I hung some of his clothes in my closet and left one of his sweatshirts draped over the back of a kitchen chair. He'd brought some toiletries with him: shaving items, toothbrush, and cologne that made him smell divine. All of these, I set prominently on display on the bathroom counter.

“I gotta say, this is weird to me.” He confessed as we toured the house. “I've never in my life left my belongings at some girl's home before. It feels... strange. Like I'm exposed, almost.”

“Maybe that's because you don't give people a chance to know you. The real you, I mean.”

He snickered. “My buddies know the real me very well. Women, though? I see no need for any of that when I won't stick around past one night anyway.”

The things he said worried me. He was here with me right now and still seemed to be interested even after our first time together. But maybe that's just because he had no other choice?

I wasn't sure what to think, or if I could trust him any further than I could spit.

“I can't believe you're telling me these things.”

“Why not?” He shrugged. “I like to make it perfectly clear with girls that before anything happens, they shouldn't expect more out of me. No dates, no champagne or roses. I like variety in my life. That's why I'm a one-time only kind of guy. Well, maybe two or three if the woman is a good lay and not a crazy harpy.”

I tried not to cry, because if I did, then I'd be showing my hand. He'd know I wanted more out of him in the end than sex – and I couldn't afford to ruffle his feathers right now. Not now, when I needed him the most.

We sat at the table, and I pulled out a notebook for us to review. In it, we'd written tidbits about our lives, personal things that nobody else would really know unless they were close to us.

“Feels like I'm studying for a test,” Max joked. “I guess in a way, I sort of am. Only if I fail this test, your father will wring my neck.”

I paged through the notebook. “We have favorite foods, color, music, books... Actually, I'm surprised you even read books at all. Back in high school, you were too busy racing cars and drinking the beer you got with your fake ID.”

“Aw, gimme a break. I told you I can change.”

“Except when it comes to women.”

He had nothing to say to that. I wished I could bite my tongue, but I guess it bugged me more than I wanted to admit.

“All right, let's do a pop quiz.” I slammed the book shut. “What's my favorite kind of music?”

He answered right away. “Adult alternative, hard rock, and jazz. But you hate country, which is surprising given you run a dang chicken farm.”

“Breakfast cereal?”

“Crackling Oat Bran.” He sighed. “The most expensive cereal in the store. With a pinch of cinnamon sugar and raspberries on top, which means you might as well be eating dessert, by the way. Uh, that's fine and all, given you're eating for two now.”

“School subject?”

“You wrote down literature and home ec. But for some reason, you forgot to mention what a huge band and theater nerd you were.”

“And the only thing
you
wrote was 'football.' Unfortunately, I don't think football counts as a subject.”

He leaned back in his chair. “I think we'll pass your family's sniff test just fine. We argue exactly like a married couple, and we've only been under the same roof for a few days. I imagine after eight weeks, we'll be trying to kill each other.”

“Then they shouldn't have any trouble believing it.” I opened the book to a random page. “You didn't answer all of the questions. Like this one: what's your biggest goal in life?”

“I couldn't decide on just one.”

“Well, you have to answer, so pick.”

He gazed outside, to his RV. “Not so long ago, my friend Jayce and I had big plans to travel the country together. We were gonna head west to California in that RV. Maybe spend a couple years partying, chilling on the beach, having fun with girls. Just... enjoying our youth while we still got it.”

“So what happened?”

“He got married, which obviously put a stop to those plans.” His laugh had bitterness in it. “I'd already bought the RV, too. Somehow, traveling by myself just didn't feel the same.”

“One day, you'll find a new friend who'd travel with you. A woman, maybe.”

He erupted into laughter. “If I went on an adventure with a woman, I'd make it no more than fifty miles before wanting to strangle her. Uh, no offense.”

“Either you're looking at the wrong women, or maybe you're not the best travel companion yourself.”

“That's where you're wrong. I'm fun as hell and if something goes wrong, I know how to fix it.”

He stared at his legs. Maybe he
could
fix anything – except for those broken bones. No wonder he looked so helpless.

“Anyhow, for your biggest goal...” He inspected the page. “A big farm of your own, lots of land, some milking cows, and a handful of kids. Well, that's refreshingly simple.”

“What do you mean, simple?”

“A lot of the women I meet don't have big dreams like you do. They're only concerned with buying things – clothes, makeup, cars – or nabbing a man who can fund their retail addiction. Just listening to them prattle on about it all makes me tired.” He studied me. “I can see you're not that way. It's nice, that's all.”

He looked at me with something resembling awe and disbelief. It kind of embarrassed me, but honestly, made me feel pretty good, too.

“Imagine if you went to New York. The women there are probably a hundred times worse.” I inched my chair closer to his so I could read the notebook too. “Not all, but a startling number, are incredibly materialistic. That drove me bonkers after a while.”

“I can see that. Obsessing over your wardrobe just ain't your style.”

“Right. But not only that, they're so ambitious and success-driven that they managed to make me feel inadequate.” My shoulders fell. “Just like my mom and dad.”

He huffed. “You, of all people, should be feeling perfectly adequate.”

I appreciated his comment, but he'd never understand. He had no idea what it was like to grow up with perfectionist parents, who naturally demanded the same out of their kids. He didn't know how much it hurt for them to favor Rachael, even though they never came right out and said it.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat. “They'll be curious about the accident. You gonna tell them you give me sponge baths and wipe my ass when I use the bathroom?”

I punched his arm. He just laughed; with all the painkillers he was taking, he probably didn't even feel it.

“What? The nurse seemed to think that's what we were gonna do. That's your job, don't you know, as my 'wife.'”

“I wouldn't wipe your ass even if I
was
your wife. There are people you can pay for that sort of thing.”

His jokes were crude; his attitude could have been better. Even so, I enjoyed talking and laughing with him. For the first time in forever, I didn't feel alone. Not even Rich had managed to make me feel so... happy?

He rolled his chair over to me, so close I could smell his musky sweat mixed with a delicious hint of cologne. Who knew a simple aroma could make me so outrageously wet?

“You know, I think we got this couple thing down pat. There's just one more detail we haven't done enough practice on yet.”

“What's that?”

“The kiss.” His voice was a throaty, sexy growl. “Better learn how to make it look good for the cameras, hmm?”

He lifted my chin and brought my lips to his before I had a moment to protest – as if I even would.

Now, just like the first time he'd kissed me pressed up against his RV, my body flooded with warmth and a primal need that could only be met in one way.

I wanted him, craved him, and felt as if I'd go crazy if I didn't have him inside me
right damn now.

His tongue explored, dancing in my mouth until he made me gasp with desire. Then his grip on my arms tightened; he wrapped himself around me in an eager embrace, holding me captive as if to say that for now, at least, I was his.

We broke apart and breathed deep, both aware that something big had changed between us.

This wasn't supposed to be happening, was it? I should never have slept with him; never should have opened that can of worms. Him living here was supposed to be a favor, an arrangement between friends, nothing more.