Max sat up but his posture, defensive and wary, revealed more information to me than he would have liked to. I smiled secretly but it disappeared the moment he turned back toward me. "Three questions. That's all you get so choose them wisely."
"What's your real name?" I fired back.
He sighed out loud. "I won't tell you my last name because the information could get you tortured or murdered if you knew. It helps no one. My first name is Maksymilian. It's Polish and very hard for most people to pronounce. The most important rule of a long con is to choose a name similar to your own. I adopted Maxwell because it's common enough I don't stand out. Maks became Max. It's always been my nickname."
I nodded, satisfied enough with his answer. "Where did you grow up?"
Max snickered out loud. "All over but mostly here in the States. My mom and I moved around a lot so I spent time in Vegas, Seattle, Los Angeles, Chicago, New York City, Miami and Atlanta."
"Have you ever been in love?"
"Have you?" he questioned in cool voice.
I smiled though it was tight and insincere. "No, I haven't. It's kind of hard to be in love when you've never had a real relationship . . . or society's definition of what a relationship is supposed to consist of. I've never been on a date or had a man walk me home. I've never held hands or looked longingly into a guy's eyes and tried to find something-anything-to connect us and ‘complete each other' somehow. I don't even know if I believe in love."
"There you have it because that's the answer I would have given." Max's gaze mesmerized and frightened me at the same time. "The life we live isn't conducive for relationships. Besides . . . I like to be control at all times during sex and it's just easier to be with a whore. I don't hurt them but they have always understood my sexual predilections and don't judge me for them."
I rolled my eyes at this revelation. "Are you into bondage and discipline, sadism and domination?"
"No, that kind of shit doesn't interest me at all."
I pulled a face. "Golden showers and scat?"
"God . . . no. The thought disgusts me. No, I don't like to piss or shit on my partner, and I don't want them to do it to me either."
"What then?" I threw up my arms in exasperation. "What is so strange about your bedroom activities you can't just come out and say them?"
He leaned close to me. Our faces were merely inches apart; I studied the depths of those aquamarine eyes. "That's more than three questions, Magnolia. I'm tired. I'm going to bed. We can talk about this at another time. Good night."
And just like that, Max stood and walked into one of the bedrooms before he closed the door behind himself. The lock turned in the door and I felt like the world's biggest idiot.
Maybe I couldn't read men as well as I thought. How could I have been so completely wrong about him? However, a better question was why did I feel like he wasn't so bad after all and I wouldn't mind sharing his bed?
I knew my thoughts were absolutely certifiable but then again, what else was new?
Chapter Six
Maxwell
Max had no choice but to get away from Magnolia as fast as he could. Her pale green eyes burned into him as he spoke to her and the more they started on the subject of sex¸ the more he wanted to strip her out of her clothes and fuck her right there on that buttery-soft, black leather sofa.
He'd have her anywhere in the hotel suite. As long as it meant being buried balls deep in that sweet pussy of hers.
Max was no fool; any man could see Magnolia was a wild cat, primed and ready to go. Those fuckin' inbred idiots might have attempted to break her but only a real man would ever be able to accomplish a feat like that.
He could do it. However it wouldn't be quick or easy, much like the assignment they had to carefully orchestrate and plan with precision.
As soon as he'd shut the door to the bedroom, he locked it and headed straight for the en suite bathroom. For the first time in his life, he'd never been so relieved to have two bedrooms in the suite he called his home away from home.
After he stripped out of his clothes, he turned on the dual showerheads and stepped inside, welcoming the freezing water as it cascaded over his toned body from head to toe. His cock-hard as granite, his Prince Albert piercing fucking throbbing-when he entered now grew soft as his balls responded to the cold dose of reality.
He knew innately the game he played with Magnolia was not only stupid but reckless. He never should have told her anything about him. After she grabbed his balls and gave them a hard squeeze that would have most grown men on their knees, he'd faked his pain like a champ.
He'd had far worse done to him by Dimitri. It wasn't because the middle-aged man didn't love him like a son but anyone in the business they'd voluntarily chosen to become their way of life had to have a high pain threshold. He'd been burned, cut, shot, suffered from concussions and tortured more than one individual should ever be able to take but the scars left behind only made him tougher and stronger.
Not that Magnolia would ever see most of the damage. His skin healed remarkably well and all that wouldn't heal quickly enough had been taken care of via skin grafts. He was only thirty-years-old but the life he lived was not for the weak-psychologically, mentally and physically speaking. He knew all the games because he'd played them himself and instead of torturer, he'd been the tortured.
There was nothing he would inflict on Magnolia that hadn't been inflicted upon him and because this was not in theory but a real lesson he would have to teach her, he spared his own feelings for the time being. He could have greedily taken her and shown her what he wanted her to learn but when she came to him, when they finally arrived to that point in their relationship, it would be out of her own free will.
Max allowed the water to grow hot and quickly soaped himself down, washed his hair and rinsed before turning off the water. He grabbed a white terry-cloth robe, draped it around his naked body and an extra towel he used to dry his hair until it was merely damp.
As he walked into the bedroom, the sight of Mags sitting on his bed in a red cami and black shorts threw him for a loop. What the fuck was she doing in here? How did she get inside his bedroom?
She held up a lock picker, her own hair swept back into a ponytail. "I know we kinda left off on the wrong foot and I wanted you to know I'm . . . sorry."
"Is that a hard word for you to say?" he questioned as he walked to his closet and opened the double doors. Once inside, he shed his robe and slid into a pair of black cotton pajama bottoms. He wouldn't sleep in them but he'd keep them on until she left.
"Yeah, I guess it is," she replied as he walked out of the closet and threw the robe on the bed next to her. "I don't . . . I'm not good with people, all right? In this line of work, you don't have to be unless you're actin' . . . stalking your prey. If I'm not doin' that then I just feel like a fraud. I don't hold conversations with people outside of my work. I'm better when I'm alone . . . in my head."
So am I, Max thought but he'd never say it out loud.
"Yeah, I can see that."
Mags bit her bottom lip lightly as her green eyes, pale and bright, looked around his humble abode. "We're supposed to be engaged, right? That's the story we're gonna tell people?"
"Yes, it is."
"We don't act like an engaged couple. We don't touch-our body language is hostile toward one another. We act like strangers," she said in a voice stating the obvious.
Max ran a hand through his damp hair. "Exactly what are you trying to say, Magnolia-"
"Mags, call me Mags. I hate Magnolia. My parents used it and that was fine but . . . Brad and Nel-they always called me Magnolia. Said I was as wild as the state flower of Mississippi." She smiled though it was one filled with bitter regret and forgotten pain. "Anyway, don't call me that. Don't ever think of me like that. It's my given name but just call me Mags, okay?"
"Fine . . ." Max trailed off while continuing to stare at her as she sat up and glanced at him with remote green eyes.
"Let me ask you a question . . . how did you know anything at all happened between Brad and me? I mean . . . besides what he told you? How did you figure it out?"
"Body language," he responded. "There was a certain something about him that frightened you. Whether you realize it or not, your tough exterior fades when you are anywhere near him. You seem meek, as if you're walking on eggshells."
Mags smiled but there was little mirth in it. "Oh, really? Is that how you saw me? Well, it's the exact image I wanted to convey. I haven't been scared of Brad or Nel since I was fourteen. I knew what they could do to me and after I accepted it, well, the rest was easy. Pain is a much easier feeling to deal with than fear. Fear is a useless, awkward emotion that helps no one. It causes panic and when people panic, they make rash decisions that could cause them more harm than good in the long run. Fear would make me feel weak and impotent and God knows I'm not that . . . I haven't been that person in a very long time."