Taking Chances: Tangled Up Part 4

The wind had died down, and the hail and rain had stopped. She could tell the sun was even poking through the clouds, but his words took a second to sink in. In the clear? As in totally fine?

Another amazing thing about these storms was that they could disappear as quickly as they showed up.

Bree should look up. She should check it all out. But she couldn't stop looking at Max.

Maybe it was the near-death thing that was making her introspective. Though it hadn't been all that near, really. But she'd been scared. And not in the bas.e.m.e.nt-stairs-in-a-horror-movie way, after all. Because the stuff in horror movies was fake. The tornado . . . and the could-have-been tornado . . . had been all too real.

"Max."

He was still studying the sky. "That one didn't amount to s.h.i.t." His expression changed as he turned his eyes northward, toward Chance. He got up on his knees. The next "s.h.i.t" was a muttered one.

Bree felt her heart flip in her chest. That wasn't good.

She didn't want to look for herself, and in that moment she decided to let Max protect her for a few more minutes and know something she didn't.

She got up on her knees, too, and reached for his hand. "Max."

At her touch, he focused on her. "You okay?"

She smiled. "Yeah. Someone kept me from getting knocked in the head or I might not be."

He grinned. "It's what us big strong heroes do."

He was obviously joking around, but Bree didn't feel lighthearted about it at all. "Yeah, I know," she said sincerely.

Max looked taken aback by her seriousness. "Hey, I'm fine."

"Yeah?" She picked up the sweatshirt she'd given him before and moved closer on her knees. She lifted the shirt to the back of his head. He winced when she pressed, and when she took the shirt away, there was fresh blood. Not a lot, but she showed it to him and said, "Oh, really?"

"I've had worse."

His voice was tight, and he was watching her with an unreadable expression.

She could always read his expressions. Though, in all fairness, Max was an open, happy guy for the most part. He was a pa.s.sionate, intelligent, fun-loving do-gooder.

But for all that, Bree knew that Max had, indeed, had worse.

She lifted the shirt to his head again, more gently this time.

"It's still on the ground," Max said.

Vaguely she realized he was talking about the first tornado. She nodded.

His eyes were on hers, and she felt a strange sense of relief looking into those familiar brown depths. With the weather and adrenaline swirling around and through her, that feeling of comfort was welcome.

"Moving slower than I first thought."

She loved the rush of jumping out of a plane or ramping over a snowdrift, but she also appreciated the relief and satisfaction of the landing.

She nodded again, her mind not on the storm.

"It's sustaining longer than I suspected."

She registered That's not good but didn't get any further than that.

"Uh-huh."

"There could be a surge in the shear, or the updraft could be pulling-"

She leaned in and put her lips against his.

Bree didn't know which of them was more shocked by the kiss. She'd kissed his cheek about a million times in her life. They'd shared at least five New Year's Eve kisses-the quick, on-the-lips-but-not-a-kiss type of kiss. They'd boyfriend-girlfriend kissed in high school. Ten years ago.

This was nothing like any of those.

This was . . . holy-c.r.a.p good.

Bree felt his strong arms wrap around her, pulling her even closer. She tipped her head to fit their mouths more fully together, and she felt a little rumble from Max's chest. That soft growl sent fire through her veins, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers dropping the sweatshirt so she could put her hands at the base of his head. She didn't touch the gash from the branch, but she wasn't sure either of them would have noticed something so minor as one of them bleeding from the head. Not when there was something as spectacular as this kiss going on.

Bree felt Max's hands grip the back of her shirt in both hands, and his reaction sent a thrill through her. And made her press even closer. Hard enough that he tipped over.

The hard abs that she hadn't spent nearly enough time in the past appreciating but that she was very much enjoying up against hers now flexed, and he slowed their descent. But he definitely didn't fight going to his back-and bringing her with him.

Bree was splayed over the top of him, the tarp crinkling under them, but she couldn't take her lips away from his, not even to breathe. Certainly not to rethink anything.

Especially when he cupped the back of her head in his hands and opened his mouth.

Holy . . .

Bree happily moaned when he slicked his tongue over her bottom lip. She let him in, and he stroked his tongue against hers.

It was like taking a shot of cinnamon schnapps while hitting the top of a big hill on a motorcycle and sailing down the other side. Except that drinking schnapps on a motorcycle was illegal. And dangerous. Which made this so much better.

Not only was this perfectly legal, but this was Max. She was completely safe. Max would never let something hurt her.

She moved her legs so that she was truly straddling him and pressed against the hard ridge of his fly.

There was another rush-feeling how into this he was. He was so hard already and- Suddenly she found herself flipped onto her back.

Yes. d.a.m.n, she liked that.

Max leaned over her, one elbow on the ground beside her ear, his other hand still tangled in her hair. He tried to lift his head. "Bree-"

But she didn't want to talk. Not about the weather and storms, not about the fact that they were lying in a ditch on a plastic tarp, not about what they were doing on that plastic tarp. She tightened her arms around him. "More," she said simply.

She felt his hesitation. For about two seconds. Then he crushed his mouth to hers, fully, hungrily.

Yes. Just like the sweet heat of cinnamon schnapps.

Max ran his hand from her hair, down the back of her neck, over her shoulder, and down her side to her hip. He gripped her hip, pulling her up against him.

Better than cinnamon schnapps. Better than even tequila.

And thank G.o.d for that.

She wasn't going to become an alcoholic, after all. At least as long as Max was around.

And Max had always been around for her.

She arched against him, wanting to be closer, and she felt how he squeezed her hip harder when she pressed against his fly again.

He was so much bigger than she'd ever realized. And not just in the fly. All over. He was wide. And solid. And hot. So hot. She felt like she'd taken three shots, and it was warming her from her toes to her nose.

Her fingers and lips were tingling, too, just like when she downed that third one.

"Bree, Jesus," Max panted, lifting his head slightly.

She blinked up at him. She tried to make sense of what she was seeing-Max. Panting. On top of her.

He grinned at whatever he saw in her face. "You're welcome for saving your head already."

The giggle escaped before she even knew it was coming. "Maybe I'm kissing it to make it better."

"Kissing what?"

"Your head."

"I completely forgot I even have a head."

She started to laugh, but something in his eyes took her breath. Intense.

Max had never been this intense before he left Chance. That still threw her off at times.

"Then you kiss me and make it better," she said softly.

His eyes flared with . . . desire? Protectiveness? Something else? She wasn't sure.

"Do you need to be better, Bree?" he asked gruffly.

She took a deep breath. "Yeah."

"And you think I can do that?"

For sure. "Yeah."

But she really hoped he wouldn't ask why. Or what needed to be better. She wasn't sure. She just knew that things hadn't been right lately. She was restless, dissatisfied. But it made no sense. Her life was just what it had always been. Nothing bad or sad had happened; nothing had changed. So she didn't get it. But she knew it was driving her toward things that were clearly bad-drinking, too much and too often, for one. Looking for bad boys again because the good guys weren't doing it for her, for another.

But Max didn't ask her about all that.

He kissed her again instead.

It was like a switch had been turned on. She'd heard that expression before but wasn't sure she'd experienced a moment when everything suddenly seemed clearer and brighter and on compared to before.

Now it was definitely on.

Bree moved against him, her hands running to his back, her fingers pressing into the hard columns of muscle on either side of his spine. Then, because she couldn't help it, her hands continued down to the firm muscles of his a.s.s.

She sighed.

Her best friend was built.

Obviously she'd always known he was strong and tough and solid. She'd seen him do amazingly physical things. He threw tools and equipment around like they were made of Styrofoam. She'd seen his arms and legs flex and work while running, climbing, and skiing.

But it had never occurred to her to touch them.

And now she wasn't sure she would ever stop.

Plus, there was a lot more that she couldn't reach at the moment.

Then Max's hands started wandering as well. The hand on her hip moved to her b.u.t.t, and he held her cheek in one big palm, sliding over it several times. Then he moved down to grip the back of her thigh. He brought it up to his hip, and she gladly opened her legs and let him settle between them. His erection was unmistakable as he pressed against the middle seam of her pants.

Bree felt everything below her belly b.u.t.ton heat and melt.

She had to free her mouth from his to take a huge gulp of oxygen. Wow, she hadn't felt that in a while. For a moment she let herself wonder if this was weird. This was Max, after all. Turning her on, making her moan, making her want stuff that she had made herself quit wanting when she quit the late nights and the hard liquor and the bad boys. Things that she generally took care of herself now.

But everything in her yelled at her not to cross this line with Max.

And then yelled, Get back in there, girl!

She did. She squeezed Max's a.s.s, lifting her pelvis against his, and kissed him greedily. She wanted more of all of it. More kissing, more hands, more pressing. Especially . . . right there.

Max moved so that he rocked against the sweet spot that wound her hot, melty insides into a knot of need.

"Yes," she whispered, not realizing she'd quit kissing him again.

Her neck was arched, and she was rubbing against Max with abandon.

It had to be the weather. The stirred-up air, the electricity that still seemed to pop on the current, the colliding fronts-something. Elemental and natural and unpredictable and, most of all, unstoppable.

She couldn't have pulled her body from Max's for anything.

"G.o.d, Bree." Max put a hand on her face, gripping her chin between his thumb and fingers, holding her still to look into her eyes, his breathing ragged.

She loved that.

"More," she said again.

Heat flared in his eyes, and he shook his head once. But it was in surprise, or wonder . . . yeah, she liked wonder better . . . rather than denial.