Sex and the Billionaire Crime Boss

Ch. 5: In Max's Bed

Max carries me inside the door to the apartment. Can you even call something like this an apartment? It looks like a photo from a fancy interior design magazine. Everything is perfectly in place. But something about it is bothering me and I can't quite focus my brain on it.

"Do you live here?" I ask him, turning my head to look up at that strong jaw.

"No, I just stay here sometimes. When it's more convenient."

When he says that it clicks for me what seemed off. This place is missing that lived-in feel in the air. It's more like what a model home would be in a fancy condo building, showy but impersonal.

"So where is home?"

He gives a short laugh. "I have a number of residences. I'm not sure I'd call any of them home."

That seems sad to me. But I do tend to get overly emotional when I've been drinking, so there's that.

Max walks all the way into the bedroom before he puts me down, standing me by the edge of the bed.

"Do you think you can manage-" he starts, then catches me when my knees buckle.

"Never mind," he says, turning me around to face away from him. "I'm just going to undress you and put you to bed."

When I feel his hand sliding the zipper down the back of my dress, I tremble. I really do want his hands on me. That kiss on the plane promised so much more, and I'm betting Max knows how to deliver.

The only problem is I know he's not going to be delivering anything to me tonight except a good night's sleep. I'm just way too drunk.

He puts the palms of his hands on my shoulders and eases the thick straps of my dress down over my arms. The dress, no longer anchored, slides down my body and pools on the floor. Max turns me around to face him again, and I hear his sharp intake of breath. The lacy silk bra and barely there panties were worth every fancy designer penny I paid for them.

"You don't make this easy, Hadley," he says.

Very slowly, he reaches with one hand and flicks the front fastening of my bra open. It joins the dress on the floor. I feel my nipples pucker, wanting his hands or, better yet, that sensuous mouth to travel over my body. A delicious shiver runs through me until I remember I'm drunk, and we're not having sex tonight.

"You're cold," Max says, and I don't tell him that it's not the AC in his bedroom that my body is responding to.

He leaves me sitting on the side of the bed and strides over to the massive walk-in closet, taking off his dinner jacket on the way. I hear a drawer slide open, and then he's back, lifting me up on my feet again and slipping a t-shirt over my head. It feels soft and silky and looks like the twin of the one he's wearing, except this one is a deep forest green. It falls past my bottom and ends with its hem on my upper thighs, long enough to be a very short dress.

The slight friction of the shirt on my already sensitive nipples is making me even more aroused. There's a throbbing between my legs that's begging to be relieved, and it's all I can do not to reach down and touch myself. But I'd much rather have Max do it.

"Sit," he tells me, reaching behind me to push the luxurious comforter back out of the way. I sit on sheets that I'm sure have a higher thread count than the bedding at a five-star hotel, and Max bends down and slips my high heeled shoes off. I feel slightly dizzy for a moment and grip the edge of the mattress.

"Sorry," I say, "I don't usually drink this much on an empty stomach."

I'm also getting the beginnings of a headache, and I try to will that away.