When had my life become so crazy that when faced with a noise in the other room, I immediately thought it was an intruder instead of the other person who actually lived here?
I pushed away from the door and stepped in front of the mirror and looked at my reflection. My cheeks were flushed, my eyes bright. My hair looked like someone took an egg beater and twirled it around on my head on the highest speed it could go.
Get control of yourself, Charlotte! I demanded of myself. It wasn’t an intruder.
So why had my body reacted with such surprise when I saw Max? It was almost as if my brain hadn’t recognized him right away. I had been about to clobber him with my hairbrush. He likely thought I was insane because I’d never acted so impulsively in the year we’d been together.
Last night freaked me out more than I realized. It altered the way I reacted to situations. It made me feel less in control. It made me feel more vulnerable. It seemed silly that an “almost” kidnapping could have such an effect on me. I was mildly embarrassed. I mean, I practically attacked poor Max.
He didn’t seem to mind… a voice whispered in the back of my mind.
The flush already in my cheeks deepened and I glanced around the room as if to make sure no one was watching me. I felt as if I’d been caught doing something I wasn’t supposed to be doing. A little thrill coursed through my body. Judging from the solid length I felt against my thigh earlier, Max definitely hadn’t minded my attack. His reaction surprised me. I’d never thought he was the kind of guy to get so turned on so fast.
He seemed different tonight, starting with the way he looked. The shorter hairstyle defined his jaw, making it look more square, his features more angular. It also looked like he hadn’t shaved that morning, which was very unlike him.
And then there were his clothes. The outfit was definitely borrowed because Max didn’t dress that way; he was a suit and tie kind of guy. But tonight worn-out blue jeans hung low on his hips, loose and relaxed. The jeans he usually wore were dark, crisp, and fitted. The leather jacket was also worn looking and hugged his upper body like it might be a little too snug, but instead of making the jacket look too small, it made him appear broad and built.
And his grip… dear God, his grip. The way he palmed my waist and lifted me off him like I weighed nothing at all had been… Well, it had been sexy. Max never manhandled me in any way. He was also so respectful, so careful of me, like I might break. Those were things about him I always thought were sweet and gentlemanly. But tonight, he hadn’t been sweet.
I liked it.
Clearly, last night’s events affected me way more than I realized. Aside from becoming a paranoid overreactor I had also become… Well, I wasn’t sure. But if I kept standing here scrutinizing everything I felt, I was never going to be ready for dinner.
For the first time in a long time I felt a little giddy rush at the thought of a dinner date. I no longer wanted to curl up with a movie in a pair of pj’s. The thought of going out to dinner with Max was exciting. It wasn’t as if it was the first time we’d gone out, but tonight felt different.
After re-combing my hair and blasting the long strands with the blow dryer and applying a quick five-minute makeup routine, I dressed in the panties, bra, and camisole I took in the bathroom with me. Then I smoothed my tangle-prone, thin strands back into a neat bun at the base of my neck.
I stepped into the bedroom with anticipation coiling low in my abdomen. My eyes immediately went to his side of the closet, where I was hoping to see him standing.
The room was empty.
Feeling the sharp sting of disappointment, I quickly dressed in a black pencil skirt, a white silk top, and a black fitted jacket. After slipping into a pair of black heels, I went out into the living room in search of Max.
He was sprawled—not sitting, but sprawled—across the sofa, making the couch seem much smaller than it actually was. Both his arms were thrown out across the back, one leg was up on the coffee table, and one was flung out with his foot resting on the floor.
I’d never seen him appear so relaxed. The first thing I thought was that he was going to wrinkle the suit he was wearing.
“Are you watching the sports channel?” I asked, taking in his appearance once more.
He sat up abruptly and flipped off the television. “It was the news, but they were talking about the game,” he replied, standing up.
I forgot about sports.
The suit he was wearing wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen before. In fact, it was just a regular navy suit with a jacket and matching slacks.
But the way he was wearing it… It looked new.
The jacket seemed to hug his shoulders a little more closely than before. The pants clung to the thickness of his thighs instead of falling away. And he wasn’t wearing a tie. The white dress shirt was left open at the throat, exposing the smooth skin of his neck and throat.