Savannah had never kissed a man with such a thick growth of stubble. It grazed against her skin, rough and masculine and occasionally needle-sharp enough to make her seek out a new angle and keep the kiss interesting. It reminded her of every interaction she'd had with the man, of the way he kept her on her toes, always trying to dance just one step ahead.
Was it the pint glass digging into her thigh again, or was it something more this time? The thought amused her as much as it thrilled her, but the kiss had gone on more than long enough. Reassured that her point was now thoroughly made, Savannah pulled her lips free of his with a wet, satisfied gasp and extracted herself from his unresisting arms.
"You're a better kisser than you look, Karev," she said, trying not to sound as starved for breath as she felt. A move to take charge like that would be completely lost on the bullheaded Russian if she allowed him to sense any sort of weakness in the aftermath of their kiss. Better hope he didn't glance down and notice the state of her knees.
There seemed little chance of that. His dark eyes were fixed on her face, her lips, as if he was utterly stunned by the idea that they had just been joined against his own. He was struck speechless, a state that Savannah had never seen him in. She doubted she ever would again, considering she wasn't planning on a repeat performance anytime soon. She reached up to grip his shoulder, as if congratulating him on a job well done, before moving off with a smile.
"Long time in the bathroom," Travis noticed when they returned to their respective easels.
"Um … " Rebecca held eye contact with the couple as she pointed to her own forehead demonstratively. Savannah looked to Maxim and realized to her dismay that she had tracked paint across the man's forehead when she had kissed him. She quickly scrubbed the evidence of her indiscretion away as Maxim turned to see to his own mark. Rebecca, eyes shining in amusement, hid herself behind her hand and turned away as well.
"I'll drive you home," Maxim said an hour later, once the class had concluded and the four of them were out on the curb together. Travis and Rebecca stood slightly apart, comparing their finished paintings and teasing one another about perceived imperfections. Savannah hadn't finished hers, and neither had Maxim. When Rebecca suggested they trade anyway, they had done so without protest.
"You would like that, wouldn't you?" Savannah said. She still felt warm and tingly from the alcohol … only the alcohol, she determined. She was perfectly clearheaded otherwise.
"Yes."
Maxim stood very close to her. They had been closer throughout the evening for the sake of appearing like a real couple-and of course, there was the incident in the back hallway to consider-but their conversation now somehow felt more intimate than Savannah was prepared to deal with.
Good thing she had other ways of dealing.
A yellow cab glided up to the curb. Savannah moved to it, waving goodbye to the Hammersmiths, who called after her with invitations to come by and visit the shop later next week.
"You watch your step, Karev," Savannah advised as she pulled open the back door to the vehicle. Maxim stood with his hands loosely in his pockets, her terrible still life tucked under his formidable bicep.
"Why would I, when I have you to watch it for me?" he joked. Savannah rolled her eyes as she shut the door.
She let him have the last word. Again. But something about their parting conversation troubled her, and it had nothing to do with who had managed to come out on top that night. It was Maxim's quiet invitation to continue the night alone together, and the way he had taken her subsequent rejection in stride.
A man like Maxim Karev didn't stop when met with an obstacle to what he wanted. And if what he wanted was, impossibly, Savannah herself, then their business arrangement had just gotten a hell of a lot more complicated.
3
Maxim
"So you gonna need some days off?"
Maxim wiped the oil off his hands and maneuvered himself out from beneath the Harley he had been laboring on the past few days. "What's that?"
"You heard me." From across the garage, Travis Hammersmith raised his wrench to brandish it in Maxim's direction. His boss had apparently decided it was too hot for shirts today; sweat and oil mingled, streaming off his rumpled black hair and down the length of his bare chest. Maxim decided a wardrobe change wasn't a bad idea and peeled his own shirt off, balling it and tossing it into a corner of the workroom.
"Yeah, I heard you."