A Virgin for His Prize(44)

“I know. You care about me.” There was something in her dad’s tone—an echo of the man who had raised her before his drinking had become such a consuming pastime.

“I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you, too, kitten.” Enough to try to get and stay sober.

He didn’t have to say the words aloud. She heard them anyway and they gave her hope for the future with her dad she hadn’t had in a long time.

They rang off and Max took her to bed, where he cuddled her for a long time before making love to her with such passion she forgot her own name right along with the phone call from her dad.



Max and Romi made love again the next morning before sharing breakfast and him insisting on driving Romi home before going into BIT.

He got out and came around to open her door with the kind of courtesy that usually either annoyed her or came off as fake. With Max it felt natural and she didn’t mind it. Appreciated the gesture even.

He stopped at her door like he had the other night. “I will not come in.” He smiled more naturally than she’d ever seen him, a tinge of mischief lighting the gorgeous dark gray of his eyes. “My schedule is too full this morning for a late start.”

She shamelessly fluttered her lashes at him with a confidence born of their new intimacy. “Are you saying you can’t resist me?”

“If I could resist you, I would not have spent a year pining.”

Talk about exaggeration. If anyone had been pining, it had been her. Her best efforts to forget him notwithstanding. “Oh, be real, Max. Men like you don’t pine.”

“Call it what you like, but don’t call it resisting you.”

She nodded, touched in a way she was sure he had not intended. But that admission wasn’t just about sex, no matter how he fooled himself.

Romi should know. She had spent her life avoiding things she didn’t want to face. She recognized the signs.

But then maybe he wasn’t trying to fool himself. He’d as good as said it was more than sex the day before. Not love. Oh, no. Not love for Maxwell Black, but it was definitely more than sex.

“I will pick you up for a late dinner,” he said as he turned to go.

“We agreed. I need tonight to think.” Not that she hadn’t pretty much made up her mind, but he didn’t need to know that.

He turned to face her at the bottom step. “You can think after dinner.”

“That’s not what we agreed.”

“We didn’t say no contact while you did your thinking.”

“It was implied.”

“No.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. To claim she didn’t want to see him would be a lie. “Fine. But I’m not waiting until nine to eat. I’ll expect you at seven.”

His lips flatlined, but he nodded.

“Okay, see you then.” She wasn’t sure what to do with herself.

She should just turn around and go back inside, but she didn’t want to. How pathetic would it be to stand there and watch him drive away?

Pretty pathetic, she figured, but that was what she was going to do anyway.

He’d have to get used to her foibles if he wanted to marry her, even if he planned to divorce her down the line.

Max’s eyes narrowed, his jaw going hard, and then he was striding back up the steps. He didn’t stop when he reached her, but took her into his arms and gave her a very thorough, very possessive kiss. “Seven o’clock. Pack an overnight bag.”

“That’s not the deal.” But she was talking to his back and he didn’t acknowledge the words before climbing back into the Maserati and driving away.



The phone call with Jeremy Archer was more than a little stilted. Romi was still angry with the corporate shark that treated his daughter like a bargaining chip on his game board.

“Where did you hear that?” he demanded after she’d asked if Maddie had made the threat to give her shares over to Harry Grayson.

“Does it matter?”

“My daughter didn’t tell you. She wouldn’t.”

“If you know her that well, why didn’t you know her well enough to handle this whole thing differently?”

“I don’t need parenting advice from a child.”

“You need it from someone,” she told him with tactless honesty and not even a smidgen of guilt.

“She made the threat,” he confirmed. “Why? Are you planning to capitalize on it?” he sneered. “It won’t happen. That drunk isn’t getting his hands on my company.”

It was only twenty-five percent, but Romi didn’t quibble particulars. She was too furious. “My dad is not a drunk!”

Jeremy’s bark of laughter was harsh, clearly unconvinced.