He removes his hand from my chin and loosens his tie.

“What are you doing?” My throat goes dry. I should have kept my big mouth shut.

“I’m showing you I’m the same man, with or without the suit.” He releases the buttons on his shirt, tugs it from his waistband, and shrugs free. Both his suit jacket and shirt fall to the ground. His devastatingly beautiful body gleams under the warm glow of the entrance light. He takes a step back into the shadows and holds out his hand.

Anticipation flutters through me. His brown eyes darken when I join him under the protective cover of the shadows.

“Touch me.” His voice is raw, hoarse, and impossible to resist.

Without hesitation, I smooth my hands over the hard planes and sinews of his chest, just as I have imagined doing since the day I met him. He glides his thumb over my bottom lip, pressing down gently. Desire licks through my veins.

“Same Max?”

I snake my hands around his neck and press myself up against his warmth. “Same Max.” I lie for the sole purpose of getting a kiss. His kiss.

He slides one arm around my waist and pins me tight against his body. His other hand cups my head, tilting it back, holding it firm. He brushes his lips over my ear and rasps, “Be sure, baby. Because after I kiss you, there is no going back.”

My blood goes from a gentle simmer to a full on boil in a heartbeat. My knees buckle and Max tightens his grip and holds me steady.

“Tell me.” His breath is hot and moist in my ear.

My hands clench and release restlessly behind his neck. “Kiss me,” I whisper.

He gives a soft, satisfied grunt and feathers kisses down my jaw. “Open for me,” he murmurs. My body trembles. Really trembles. Like an earthquake is happening and I can’t stop the shaking.

My lips part and he brings his mouth down over mine. He kisses me gently, nibbling my lips. When my body melts against him, he deepens the kiss. His tongue dips inside stroking, exploring, leaving me nowhere to hide. I gasp, and he plunders my mouth, groans spilling from his throat as he drinks me down like the 1985 Château d’Yquem we had with our lamb bite.

So this is what it is like to be kissed. Really kissed. No soft pecks or wet, milky smacks on the lips. No tentative pokes of the tongue or the banging of teeth. This is a real kiss—a man’s kiss—demanding, passionate, and hungry. No holds barred. All consuming.

Max’s phone alarm beeps softly and he eases his mouth away. “I’m on the red-eye to Hong Kong in a few hours. But when I get back, we’ll pick up where we left off.”

Gah. My body aches with unfulfilled need. I hope I put fresh batteries in my Rabbit.

He releases me and I focus on staying upright while he pulls on his clothes.

“When?”

He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I fly back on Thursday morning. I’ll pick you up after work. We’ll have dinner.”

“More food?” I cannot keep the disappointment out of my voice.

“Not if there is something else you’d rather do.” The sensual purr of his voice sends my need from diminishing arousal to fierce craving in a heartbeat. A soft whimper escapes my lips.

His eyes blaze with sensual fire. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

By the time I’ve collected myself sufficiently to contemplate walking, Max’s limo is a shadow in the darkness.

For the longest time I stare at the road, chewing my fingernails one by one down to a quick. I should have been honest when he asked “Same Max?”

I should have said no, but I like them both.

Chapter 10

Forward and back

“You’re going out with Max Huntington! SHUT UP!” Amanda shrieks. I cover my ears and slide into the padded booth beside her. Club music pounds through Doctor, Doctor. The new, medical-themed club, only a few blocks from the hospital, is the last place I want to blow off some steam but it was close, and Amanda has been trying to get me here since it opened.

“Thanks for meeting me,” I shout over the music. “I waited for Max in the parking lot for almost an hour and he didn’t show up. No text. No call. I guess I’ve officially been stood up.”

“Well, he’s missing out because you look HOT.”

I smooth my hand over the sparkly silver, halter-neck dress Susie sent me from her favorite London store, French Connection UK. Tight, but not too tight, with a swishy skirt, it mercifully has the FCUK hidden in the label.

“You should have texted him,” she continues. “Maybe he was delayed.”

“Then he should have let me know. I only had enough minutes for one text, and I was tired of waiting. These stilettos are killing me, and it’s been a stressful week. Big Doris has really been on my case. I’ve collected six green slips for nothing. I need a little girl-time relaxation.”

Amanda grins and tries to flag down a waitress by fluttering her perfectly manicured and unbitten nails. “The drinks are on me tonight since you’re poverty stricken and being chased by evil debt collectors.”

“You don’t—”

“And I just settled a big case so I feel like celebrating.”

Her flutters attract the attention of a waitress wearing the smallest, tightest, nurse’s uniform I have ever seen. She records our orders on a medical chart, and we relax into our booth as the DJ turns up the volume and spins some old-school funk.

Amanda listens patiently while I yell the details of my humiliating eating experiences into her ear. She stops me only to ask questions about what Max and Dr. Drake were wearing, how much the dress and shoes cost, and how far Max’s tongue went down my throat.