Taking Chances: Tangled Up Part 34

She wasn't real big on being this personal and vulnerable. In fact, she hated it. But then there was the gravelly tone in his voice and the heat in his eyes, and she thought that maybe, just maybe, she didn't hate it, hate it. The way he was looking at her, what he was asking, made her feel shaky, like she couldn't catch her breath. But it also made her feel energized and tingly, like she was about to go over a waterfall in a tiny raft. She felt a bit of fear, a bit of "I can't do this," along with a lot bigger surge of "I can't not do this."

She wanted an adrenaline rush.

She just hadn't realized she could get the mother lode with Max and a mattress. And not a parachute in sight.

So she did what he asked. She touched herself. She let herself fall into the sensations that were heightened by his soft, s.e.xy coaching, the look in his eyes, the way his body seemed to vibrate with the same energy she was feeling.

Bree went up and over the peak faster than she ever had by herself, and before she'd come all the way down, Max said, "My turn."

And he took it. He sent her flying within minutes of putting his hands and his mouth-finally-on her.

Then he rolled her onto her stomach and proceeded to kiss and caress every inch of her on that side as well.

When he turned her over again, she was completely relaxed and pliant. But when she looked up into his eyes, her heart and stomach and soul flipped. There had never been an adrenaline rush equal to what she felt right then.

He definitely loved her. She could see it in his eyes. And considering she'd never seen that in a man's eyes before, it was pretty remarkable she understood what she was looking at now.

But she did.

"Now?" she asked with a smile that she hoped conveyed even half of what she was feeling.

"Now." He eased into her, his eyes locked on hers.

Somewhere along the way, he'd taken off his boxers and had put on a condom. Probably while she'd been floating in the I-never-knew-it-could-be-like-this fog. Then again, she was still floating in that fog.

Max began a slow, easy motion, and Bree arched her neck, letting her eyes slide shut. She didn't usually like it slow and easy. She wasn't patient; she didn't like taking her time or waiting. But this . . . rushing this would be a crime. She didn't want to speed past any of it for fear of missing a second of goodness.

Bree wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding him close, breathing deep, downright wallowing in the whole thing.

Until he said, "Open your eyes, Bree."

She did.

He was looking at her with love and desire, but also with a confidence that made her heart pound. Max was looking at her as if this was exactly where he'd always wanted to be.

Max had loved her for a long time. She realized that now. He'd known how he'd felt about her since he was seventeen. Maybe before that. She had only realized it a few days ago. It felt good and right . . . so right. But it was new.

She had never been in love before.

She didn't know how to do it, if she was good at it, if she'd still feel this way a year from now.

"Hey, stay with me," he told her, his voice low and s.e.xy as he stroked in and out of her body. "Eyes on me."

She did what he asked, keeping her eyes on his, losing herself in the sensations, the way he filled her and made her nerve endings sing and dance. She concentrated on everything physical-the weight of him, the bunching of his back muscles under her hands, the heat and scent of his skin. But the emotional stuff kept sneaking in. The way he'd always been there for her. The way he laughed. The way he gave his cousins s.h.i.t but would beat someone else who did the same. The way he made her feel funny and brave and interesting.

The way he went all in with her. For her.

Max would have never jumped out of a plane if it wasn't for her. But when that was what she wanted to do, he'd been right beside her, giving her that grin.

He was all in here, too, she could sense it. From this moment, it was all about forever for Max.

What if she'd just asked him to take the one jump that could really hurt him?

She squeezed her eyes shut.

"Oh, no. Come on, Bree. You and me."

Her eyes opened, and he picked up his rhythm, thrusting harder, and in spite of the jumble of emotions in her chest, the rest of her body responded.

G.o.d, he felt good. He moved just right. He was just right.

She wanted to be good for him. The best for him.

She moved against him, running her hands over his back, grasping his a.s.s, lifting her hips for his thrusts.

Soon she felt her inner muscles tightening, and she heard Max's answering groan. She arched, her fingers digging into his back, and just as he thrust a final time, her third o.r.g.a.s.m of the night rolled over her. This one slower and deeper and longer.

The ripples hadn't even fully faded when Max took a huge shuddering breath and rolled to his side.

He stretched out his bad knee with a little groan.

Her chest tightened. "Are you okay?"

He turned his head and grinned. "Totally worth it."

Yeah. Worth it. Worth the little bit of panic there. Worth having to work hard to figure out this love thing. Because she wanted it. She wanted him. She wanted to be what he wanted.

For a flicker of a moment, she again remembered him saying that she couldn't be what he wanted. But he'd said it was because she couldn't do the intimacy thing. Well, she had just proven she could. To both of them.

In a contented, sleepy voice, one that Bree wanted to hear over and over and over, Max said, "Stay."

She looked over at him. She wanted to. "Yeah?"

He nodded and draped an arm over her stomach. "Yeah. Mom said something about cinnamon rolls in the morning."

Bree laughed. "I'm not having cinnamon rolls with your parents in the morning."

"Why not?"

She gave him a Seriously? look. "That's more or less announcing our engagement, isn't it? My coming downstairs in the morning for breakfast with your parents after spending the night in your childhood bedroom? We might as well go pick out china."

"We just took everything to the next level," he said, clearly undeterred by her words or her sarcasm. "What did you think would happen?"

She wanted to protest. She wanted to say he was pushing, he was moving too fast, he was jumping to conclusions. But she liked things fast. So she took a deep breath, tipped her head back, and admitted, "This."

"Exactly."

It was just like Max to be completely sure of her. Even before she was sure of her.

"Now go to sleep," he said softly, spreading his fingers out wide on her stomach, hot and heavy. And perfect.

She lay staring at the ceiling, debating slipping out after he'd fallen asleep.

But she kind of wanted to have cinnamon rolls in the morning with Jodi and Sam.

That was a risk. A big one. It was one thing to move forward with Max. It was another to bring everyone they cared about along with them.

Still, bottom line, she was a risk taker.

And in the morning, when she protested again and tried to slip out the window, Max carried through on one of his threats-he threw her over his shoulder and carried her downstairs to breakfast.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

Max Grady was a tough guy. He worked hard, he played hard, he demanded a lot from himself and the people he worked with, and he could drink and swear like a trucker. He had calluses on his hands, he could build anything, could use any tool there was. And, yeah, he liked to be in charge in the bedroom.

But apparently, when he was in love, he glowed.

Or so his smart-a.s.s cousins informed him with glee every time they saw him in the week following Bree sneaking into his bedroom window.

And he didn't care a bit. He was wallowing in it. That glow was because Bree was fully his now. She was beside him at work every day, her gummy bears and laughter and eagerness to learn making this easily his favorite job ever. Not to mention that he could now not only ogle her sweet a.s.s in her jeans, but he could now touch it whenever he wanted.

Life was good. She was with him at the dinner table, whether hers, his mother's, or the diner's, every evening. And she was in his bed every night.

"Hey, watch it! I need both of my thumbs!" Dillon groused as Max ran the power saw a little close to one of Dillon's hands.

"Relax, Doc," Max said. "I'm not going to risk Kit's wrath."

Dillon didn't rise to the bait. He simply turned the board he was holding for Jake to nail into place.

"You know, because if you lost fingers, she'd be annoyed with me," Max pressed. "Because she likes your fingers. Because of what you do with them."

Dillon said nothing.

Jake laughed. "Aw, leave poor Dillon alone. You know what it's like to be s.e.xually frustrated."

Max pretended to think about that. "No. Can't say that I recall what that's like."

"You've been with Bree for, like, three days," Dillon finally snapped.

"Seven. But she's ruined me for all other women," Max said smugly. "Jake knows what I mean, don't you?"

Jake nodded sagely. "I most definitely do. Give in to the inevitable, D," he told Dillon. "Look what it's done for Max and me."

"No sense fighting destiny," Max agreed. He certainly wasn't the only one glowing. Jake was quite happy having his hands full with Avery. Literally.

"If Kit Derby is my destiny, I'm going to-"

Max cut off Dillon with the loud whining of the saw. He sliced through the piece of plywood smoothly, then shut the saw off again.

"Don't say things you don't mean," he told Dillon. "Because Jake and I will remember them and will repeat them at some inappropriate time when she's around."

Dillon glared at him. But didn't say anything else. Which Max and Jake both thought was hilarious.

Looking at Jake and recognizing the happiness in his cousin's eyes, the more relaxed set of his shoulders, the smile that came a little easier, warmed Max. Jake was a great guy, and he deserved a woman who made him look like that.

They nailed the last board into place and stood back to admire the eight makeshift benches they'd made to surround the fire pit in the town square.

"How many more?" Jake asked.

"People can take turns if that's not enough," Dillon said.

"What's wrong, Doc?" Max asked. "You got a blister?"

Dillon flipped him off with a finger that didn't seem injured in any way.

Max just laughed. "We have enough wood and stuff for four more." The benches would hold three or four people each as they roasted their marshmallows for the s'mores that were being provided later that night.

It was one more party in a week of parties that had started three nights ago when Boy Scouts from several towns in the county had arrived and asked if they could help out. The scout troops set up tents in the square and planned to stay for the duration of the cleanup. Other volunteers had joined them, and Max, Dillon, and Jake had gone door-to-door gathering burgers, hot dogs, buns, chips, and other supplies to provide them with dinner. The food, laughter, and lighthearted air had drawn more people, and the impromptu barbecue had turned into a relaxing, fun social time that the people of Chance truly needed.

So, the next night, Dillon had come up with the idea of projecting a movie on the side of city hall and serving popcorn. The party had grown from the night before, with several more volunteers and Chance natives joining them in the square.

Last night, a couple of local teens had volunteered to play DJ while the grocery and convenience stores got together to donate ice cream and root beer for floats, and the party had grown even more.

Tonight they were having s'mores, and someone had brought over a karaoke machine. Max, Jake, and Dillon were happy to pitch in however they could. They'd enjoyed the burgers, root beer floats, and, most important, the feeling of goodwill the parties were inspiring. Things were going well, and they were no longer concerned about the Bronson-family visit on Sat.u.r.day. Everyone deserved to celebrate how much they'd accomplished and to have a chance to blow off some steam.

But Max and Jake did find it interesting that Dillon was heading up these party efforts. Jovial socializing in large groups wasn't really Dillon's thing, and Max and Jake had speculated that Kit's influence might be behind Dillon's concern for the mental health of the people involved with the cleanup efforts.

And if making some quick wooden benches helped get his cousin laid by the prim and proper Dr. Derby, Max was all for helping out. Dillon was an intensely intelligent guy who had never let a rule stand in his way of doing what needed to be done, and Max figured he could be as good for the calm, cool good girl as she could be for him.

"Hey, guys."

At the greeting, every nerve ending in Max's body sat up and started wriggling like a puppy whose favorite person had just come home. He turned to face Bree. "Hey, babe."

Her grin grew, and Max realized he was relieved she wasn't reacting negatively to the "babe." When was he going to stop wondering if he was pushing too hard and too fast? This was what he wanted. She knew that. She knew where he was coming from. And she was still in his bed, in his life, every day. This was happening. He had to trust it.

Besides, he'd decided he was going to go for what he wanted. He wanted to come home; he wanted to settle down. If this was too fast or too much for Bree, then he needed to know sooner rather than later.

But some of that was just tough talk. He wanted to come home and settle down. But mostly he wanted Bree.

"Kit said there would be s'mores tonight," Bree said.

Max angled a glance at Dillon. So Kit was behind some of this. Or at least Dillon was keeping her in the know. Interesting. Was bada.s.s Dillon trying to impress a girl? Or was he her muscle, carrying out her wishes and whims? Either way, it was definitely interesting.