To the Max Read online

  A guy. A girl. A silver pole…

  As owner of Jensen Securities, Max Jensen lives by one simple rule: Never take your eyes off the target. Once he spies lithe little Jordan Landon wrapped around a pole, though, his eyes aren’t the problem. It’s keeping his mind on his job.

  Her job as a pole-dancing instructor might cause a few raised eyebrows, but it’s what she does on a speeding motorcycle that kicks Max’s protective instincts into overdrive. And puts the hurt on his determination to keep his hands to himself.

  Years ago, Jordan left her wealthy, disapproving family behind to pursue her dream of opening her own dance studio. Approaching a hottie in a bar was easy in her college days, but now? If she wants him, she’ll have to put her big-girl panties on and go for it.

  Once alone, their inhibitions disappear faster than their clothes. But when someone breaks into Jordan’s home, Max finds himself in an uncomfortable position—as the target of Jordan’s suspicions about his real motives.

  Warning: What better sexual partner than one who pole dances? Just think of the possibilities… Add in a stubbed toe, priceless Tiffany and meddling mothers and you’re all Maxed out!

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  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

  Macon GA 31201

  To the Max

  Copyright © 2010 by Annmarie McKenna

  ISBN: 978-1-60928-030-7

  Edited by Sasha Knight

  Cover by Tuesday Dube

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: May 2010

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  To the Max

  Annmarie McKenna

  Dedication

  To everyone who asked for Max. I loved writing him and Jordan and hope you enjoy reading about them. They’re two of my favorite characers.

  Chapter One

  Max Jensen sang along with Nickelback’s “Rockstar” as he followed the woman he was currently investigating. Annie Devlin’s husband was positive his wife was having an affair. Normally Max would have passed the case on to one of his subordinates, but considering Jack had broken his ankle that morning and Kent was out sick, the job had landed in his lap.

  He hated these cases. Hated chasing after women, or men, who couldn’t keep their pants zipped, thus pissing off their respective spouses and causing him to have to waste time snooping when he could be working more exciting cases.

  Which was exactly why, when his company had gotten big enough, he’d hired employees.

  Mrs. Devlin exited the highway into a middle-class area. Max wondered what her husband would think if he discovered his wife was not only having an affair but slumming too. Mr. Devlin would for damn sure think anything less than his own worth to be slumming it. He would also likely divorce the woman rather than have to touch what he’d perceive as her dirtied hands.

  At least, that was the impression Max had gotten from the man. He sort of understood why Mrs. Devlin would look elsewhere if she needed relief.

  She drove a few miles more before turning into a dimly lit lot and parking. Max parallel parked his own vehicle across the street where he could still see her, then extracted his camera from the bag on the floor. He reached for the big daddy lens. No doubt he’d need to do some zooming in.

  A small strip mall sat to the left of the lot, an apartment complex directly behind it and a convenience store to the right.

  Twenty bucks she was headed for the apartments and her lover. Why else would she have come all this way, out of her comfort zone of diamonds, fine china and high tea?

  The woman would make a great friend for his mother.

  Max turned off the car and slouched back in the seat to wait Mrs. Devlin out. The street lamp cast an eerie glow on the white car in front of him, making it a disgusting shade of…newborn-shit, mustard yellow.

  Worse though, was the fact he even knew the color of baby shit. He had Ridge Casey, one of his clients, to thank for that. The man’s son was adorable, Max admitted, but stinky as hell. And if Ridge’s partner, Carter Malone, and Ryan, Carter’s wife, kept it up at the rate they seemed to go at it, another baby would be making its way into the Malone and Casey fold before the year was up.

  Made Max shiver. A grown man shivering over the thought of having a baby.

  He tucked the camera into his lap and unwrapped the PB&J he’d made on the fly. Eating with the whole color thing going on in front of him sorta made him want to regurgitate the bite he took. Then again, at the moment, Max was hungry enough to eat dirt. He could be out enjoying a steak if the client hadn’t insisted he follow his wife.

  “She always goes out all secretive on Friday nights,” he’d said, pacing Max’s office in his Armani suit. “And she’s been…wanting sex.” The man had seemed downright offended.

  Max had almost snorted out loud but somehow held it in. Imagine someone’s wife wanting sex. What was the world coming to? He’d wondered at the time why in the hell the pompous ass couldn’t follow his own wife to her destination, but then the supremely rich felt those kinds of things were beneath them. They’d rather pay an exorbitant fee to have someone else do it.

  Another thing that reminded him of his mother. She had a real knack for paying too much for any service available whether she needed it or not.

  Several minutes passed before Mrs. Devlin got out of her car. Her head swiveled in every direction. She was definitely afraid someone would see her.

  But see her doing what?

  Finally she shut the door, wrapped her fists in the lapel of her ankle-length fur coat and walked briskly toward…the strip mall?

  A giggling mass of girls exited one of the shops, followed by what Max guessed were their mothers, attracting his attention.

  Max sat up in his seat and gripped the camera, ready to snap a few shots. “Where in the hell are you headed, Mrs. Devlin? Meeting a man at his work?”

  He scanned the shops. A donut place, a dance studio from which the girls had exited, a UPS store, a Subway and a used bookstore.

  Mrs. Devlin paused on the walk to let the girls pass. The way she stuck herself against the brick wall, she almost looked like she thought the girls would sully her somehow. She shielded her face by turning into the wall and covering the other side with her hand.

  What in the shit? Did she think a bunch of eight-year-olds would recognize her?

  When the group had passed, Mrs. Devlin again looked around. As soon as she was sure the coast was clear she continued on.

  And stopped at the dance studio.

  So she was meeting a young, nimble dance stud then. Interesting.

  She glanced to her right and left, tugged the door open and quickly disappeared inside.

  Movement behind the window had him lifting his binoculars instead of the camera. A tall, lithe woman paced, sort of bouncing on the balls of her feet as she twisted long coffee-colored hair into a knot on top of her head. With the direction she faced he couldn’t see her exact features, but what he could view was the rise of her breasts as she reached upward.

  Damn they’d be a small handful. Just the right amount. Gorgeous. Outlined succulently by a thin black leotard whic
h he suddenly felt the need to peel off her to reveal her skin inch by inch until he’d divested her body of the skimpy piece of clothing.

  She had to be commando beneath it because from the view he had with the lens that could pick up a playing card at five hundred yards, there were no panty lines in the skintight material.

  “Damn it.” The woman glided away before he could look his fill. Not that there was enough time in the day to do so. He figured he’d need several weeks for that.

  With a groan he slumped into the seat. “On a fucking job and fantasizing about the scenery. Nice, Maxo. Real professional.”

  A few minutes later three women jaunted up the sidewalk, headed for the same place. The way they laughed and clung to each other made Max think perhaps they’d imbibed something before making their way to the studio.

  Would make for an interesting ballet session.

  There were a few more stragglers, ladies who waltzed into the studio just after six. Then the blinds used to shield the window during the day were tilted upward. Not closed, because light still spilled out.

  “Damn it.” He wouldn’t be able to see inside from his position. He’d have to be up above the window to see down in, or standing at the window itself. Too bad he didn’t have x-ray lenses.

  Max waited a good ten minutes to make sure no one else showed up, then grabbed his coat from the passenger seat and climbed out of the nondescript Chevy Impala. Missing the luxury of his Lexus, he stretched his six-foot-three frame to wring out most of the kinks he’d acquired from sitting in the cramped space. Whistling, he crossed the street, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, and peered between the slats. Thank God it was winter and the streets were lonely after dark or he’d look like some sort of Peeping Tom.

  What he saw would make any male above the age of twelve choke on his own spit. His breath fogged the glass in the cold night air, and he fought the temptation to reach for his suddenly throbbing cock.

  Two things registered at once.

  One, this was no fucking ballet class. The beautiful woman he’d seen in the window had her sweet, tight, firm, lithe body wrapped around a silver pole, undulating with the pulse of music he could barely hear, her head dropped back in ecstasy.

  And two, this job was officially over because Mrs. Devlin wasn’t having an affair. Her secretive Friday night rendezvous were with a pole.

  Jordan spread her legs in a wide V, almost in a splits position, and pressed her nose to the floor. Sweat dripped from her forehead to plop on the mat beneath her, and she welcomed it. She’d worked her class harder than ever before simply because she’d been pissed and needed to burn off the energy.

  Dirk Clement, the asshole, had come on to her again that morning, and she’d had to practically fight her way out of his clutches. The bastard was lucky he wasn’t sporting a black eye or squished balls right now.

  Loosening the tightness of her spine, she sank farther down and sighed. “I have to quit my job.”

  “What was that, Jordan?”

  Jordan looked up and planted her chin on her crossed forearms. “Nothing. Talking to myself.” She’d forgotten her students were still around, stretching themselves in the hope they wouldn’t be sore in the morning.

  “You know, if I could get into that position, I wouldn’t need to come to your class to impress Mike.” Clare’s eyes gleamed with her grin.

  Her friend, Mia, snorted. “Honey, I got news for you. It would take a hell of a lot less than folding your body in half to impress Mike. Bending over and wiggling your ass would suffice.”

  “Then why the hell are we here shaking our thing around this pole?”

  “Because if you want anything other than wham bam thank you, ma’am out of a man, you’ve got to work it. Make him wait for it.”

  “Right,” added Christy, the third friend of the trio, “because pole dancing in front of him won’t make him so damn horny that the second he gets his dick in you he’ll explode and be done for the night, leaving you unsatisfied yet again. I think we’re doing it backwards, girls.”

  “I don’t know.” Four heads turned to the corner where Annie was thoroughly bundling herself back into her coat. “It seems to be working for my husband.”

  Since Annie rarely spoke and was by far the most repressed woman in the class, Jordan was astonished by the soft admission. Annie seemed to realize she’d spoken the words out loud because her cheeks burned bright red and she visibly swallowed before shoving her feet in her boots and running for the door. Sprinting might have been a more apt word.

  The friends burst out laughing as soon as the door slammed shut. Jordan sat up, smiling also, and tucked her legs into a butterfly position to continue stretching. She hadn’t been kidding about working her ass off. Even she might be sore in the morning. But hey, she’d gotten over her anger.

  Somewhat.

  Enough to hopefully sleep through the night without feeling Dirk’s groping hands touching her body.

  “God, who’d’ve thunk it? Annie gettin’ it on with the kink.” Christy twisted at the waist and leaned to the side, her long arm extended over her head.

  Mia laughed again—who wouldn’t with the image of staid Annie in kink mode? “The woman hasn’t spoken more than ten words in five months and she drops that little bomb?”

  “It’s always the quiet ones,” Christy offered. “Shy girls always get the best sex, don’t they?”

  “Then you must be getting none, huh?” Jordan couldn’t resist the taunt. Christy was the most vocal of the class, often making the eight students crack up with the latest bits of her life.

  Not that Jordan could talk. When was the last time she’d done the horizontal mambo? A year ago? Two? So long ago her out-of-date contraceptive devices would more likely help her conceive rather than protect her.

  “Hardy har.” Christy jerked her head in quick succession to both sides, popping her neck. “I’ll have you know I’m meeting a man tonight at the bar.”

  “Meeting one or seducing one?” Mia laid back on the mat, her arms and legs akimbo.

  “Hopefully both,” Christy said truthfully.

  Jordan suddenly felt jealous. She wanted to meet a man. Wanted to seduce some stranger and have a night of unrequited lovemaking. One with no regrets in the morning and no awkward goodbyes. Hell she’d settle for pretty much anything at this point. Anything as long as she got to feel a cock between her thighs, buried deep inside her while her lover sucked and tugged at her nipples.

  Jesus, she had it bad. She jumped to her feet, determined not to let the girls and their naughty thoughts drive her into a frenzy.

  She should do it though. Head to the bar and pick up some man. Relive her college years, the glory days of her youth, when nothing and no one was going to stop her from doing anything.

  Ten years could certainly change a woman, couldn’t they? Now where was she? Cleaning houses for the rich, some of whom felt too entitled to clean up at all after themselves, and teaching ballet/pole-dancing aerobics instead of owning her own studio. At the rate she was going, her studio dreams were about fifty years out of reach.

  Perhaps not quite that far, but still. Securing a loan for a place in a decent neighborhood for a woman with no means of financial backup wasn’t easy. And with the present economy, the outlook was even less pretty. No bank wanted to fund her. Sure, she could throw her family’s name around and have any amount at her disposal in the snap of her fingers, but that would mean using her background to get what she wanted.

  No way in hell would she ever accept help from her parents.

  Not that they’d give it. They hadn’t forgiven her for choosing the path in life she had. Snobs. Christ, they’d even tried to tell her once who she should marry.

  Enough. She wasn’t going to go there. Not after the day she’d had and how hard she’d worked to shove it out of her system. Adding her family to the mix would only piss her off more.

  Jordan bit her lip and made a decision. No more whining and moaning. T
onight she was going to do something about her misery. At least one of her miseries anyway.

  Tonight she was going to get laid.

  “Hey,” she said, surprising the girls as they pulled their weary bodies to the benches that held their things. “Would you mind if I tagged along to this meet and seduce?”

  Three mouths dropped open, but Jordan wasn’t about to be deterred. She hopped to her feet, bouncing with an excitement she hadn’t felt in a while.

  “No.”

  “Sweet.”

  “Of course you can.”

  They answered together.

  “Great. Where should I meet you?” Her mind was already doing a mental search of her closet and what to wear.

  “We’re going to Down Under. It’s ladies’ night.” Mia smacked her lips.

  “Perfect.” Jordan grinned and started gathering her things. “What time?”

  “Nine thirty. For some reason I never pictured you trolling for men, Jordan.” Mia eyed her up and down as if seeing someone new instead of the dance instructor they were familiar with.

  Jordan felt sort of new. Giddy. Needy.

  She was going to get some.

  She laughed. “I just decided I needed a distraction. What better way to distract myself than with the lesser species?”

  “Amen to that sister.” Clare put her hand up for a high five.

  “Can’t imagine why we thought you were any different than us,” Christy purred. “You do teach pole dancing after all.”

  “Helps pay the bills.” Jordan yanked her jeans over her leotard and buttoned them. “Not to mention what it does for your abs.”

  “Trust me, we know.” Mia groaned and covered her stomach. “And what the shit was up with the sadistic workout tonight?”

  Jordan shrugged. “I had some energy to release.”

  “I’ve got a far better way to work off excess energy than this.” Christy gestured to the poles Dance Inc. had installed specifically in the back of the room for the growing-in-popularity class.