“Is that so?” He stared down at her. “You think overmuch of yourself, Victoria. ”
“No woman would allow you—”
His laugh was short and contemptuous. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve never been one to practice celibacy, forced or otherwise. I’m merely selective in choosing my…companions. You’ve seen evidence of it yourself, so how can you doubt?” Sudden as a snake, his hand shot out and closed around the wrist of her hand that held the shard.
Victoria laughed, a deep, odd sound to her ears. “You speak of the time I saw you and Sara leaving a room, all in dishabille. I wouldn’t put it past you to have staged such a scene; you were so determined to run me off. ”
“And showing you evidence of the affection I had for my fiancée would have served to chase you away? If only it had been that simple. ” He squeezed her wrist, smashing the bones horribly against one another, and pain shot through her hand. “Drop it, Victoria. ”
“Affection for Sara Regalado? You couldn’t have felt anything for her. ” Her fingers were weakening under his grip, becoming numb and cold. She tried to jerk her arm away, but he moved too quickly and caught at her wrist with both hands. He was strong, very strong. She had two vis bullae, and she struggled against him.
“I’ll break your arm if need be. Release it. ”
“You’d do it, too,” she spat, anger blazing through her.
“I would. ” He tightened his grip, his face, his tall body much too close to hers, his eyes dark and intense, his mouth deter
mined. “Let it go, Victoria. ”
With a groan she allowed her screaming fingers to open, and the heavy shard tumbled from her hand. It thunked to the ground, landing next to her foot, and before she could reach down to pick it up, Max kicked it out of her reach.
Still holding her wrist, he drew her back up to look at him, grasping her other shoulder so he could glare down into her face. He gave her a little shake, his fingers so tight she could feel them through the heavy wool coat as they bit into her skin.
Though she had dropped the shard, her hand still felt its warmth, and a faint tingle still sputtered along her arm and through her body. She looked up into his eyes, and again she knew just what to say to goad him.
“Are you going to kiss me now?” she asked boldly. He released her with a little shove that pushed her a step back into the branch of a tree, sending a little scatter of drops down the back of her coat’s collar.
“I prefer not to be one in a long line. ”
“What are you afraid of, Max?”
Then he smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile at all, but it matched the same unpleasant feeling that was skittering through her. “So you want me to kiss you, do you, Victoria?”
His expression made her want to take a step back, but she stood firm. “Why not?”
The warmth from the shard had eased from her hand, and her fingers felt cold. He moved closer, and she felt the brush of ivy leaves that clung to the wall behind her.
“Why not…indeed. ”
As he loomed over her, powerful and tall and so close, Victoria’s heart began to pound as if it were trying to burst from her ribs. Her lungs were so tight in her chest it seemed she could barely draw in a breath, but when she did she brought in the smell of Max—his damp wool coat, the faint smell of wine, and whatever it was that made him who he was.
She felt the brush of the stones behind her, her fingers pushing back into the wall as if to help keep her steady.
Then, hands planted on either side of her head, far enough away that they didn’t touch her, he bent forward, his dark head filling all of her sight before her eyes closed and his lips covered hers.
Max kissed like he did everything else: with arrogance, grace, and consummate skill.
He wasn’t the least bit tentative. There was no light brushing of mouth to mouth as if to test the waters, to sample her taste, or to allow her to twist away if she should have changed her mind.
Nor was it a plunder, the staking of a claim, a long-withheld passion released.
It was…it was Max. Just Max.
He was strong and sensual and very thorough. If she’d ever thought of his lips as stubborn or harsh, that thought was eliminated as their mouths fit together, drew apart, and parted in a sleek, choreographed motion, again and again, until it was all one smooth, slick spiral, curling down into the pit of her belly and beyond.
Her fingers were digging into the wet, dirty wall, and she let her trembling knees relax enough so she could sag gently back against it to keep her balance. Even so, there was still space between them; she sensed the warmth of his nearness in the chill afternoon, but touched nothing but his mouth matching and meeting hers.
When he at last pulled away with a long, gentle nibble at the corner of her lower lip, his nose brushing her cheek, she let her head tip back and felt the wetness of the leaves seep into her hair. Max shifted, his breath warm against her temple as he bent toward her again.