To the Max Read online

  Jordan sure hoped the hell so. She wondered how rusty she really was at picking up guys.

  “I hope I haven’t lost it. It’s been a while.” Was she doing the right thing?

  “Oh, honey,” cooed Mia, “you shake your booty on the dance floor the way you do on those poles and you won’t have any trouble gettin’ some.”

  Everyone laughed again.

  Jordan stamped her feet into her boots and laced them up before pulling her coat on and grabbing her helmet from its cubby. There was still another class, a late adult tap class, and since that teacher was there waiting for it, Jordan didn’t need to lock up or anything. They walked out together.

  “So we’ll see you in a bit?” Christy eyed her dubiously as if she thought Jordan would change her mind.

  “Absolutely. I’ll be there.” With bells on. She wouldn’t miss this opportunity even if a loan agent fell from the sky with a contract in his hand.

  Okay, yeah she would. But since such a scenario wasn’t likely to happen…

  The girls went one way after waving their goodbyes and Jordan went the other, headed for her prized possession. Stuffing her sweaty head into the full-shield helmet, she swung her leg over the cobalt blue Yamaha FZ6, her pride and joy, inserted the key and pushed the ignition button with her right thumb. She loved the sound of the bike as it revved to life. Tonight, for once, she was going to get more action than the vibration of her bike between her legs.

  Chapter Two

  Max groaned and dropped onto a stool at the bar of Down Under. His blood pressure had nearly blasted through the atmosphere on the way here. Watching the kamikaze on that projectile some people commonly referred to as a motorcycle had left Max with heart palpitations and fingers that would no longer straighten. He hadn’t even realized he’d been squeezing the steering wheel to death until she’d come to a complete stop and hopped off the death trap to disappear rather quickly into an apartment building.

  Why he’d stuck around and followed her to her home he didn’t know. Something about the woman had made him sit in his uncomfortable car and wait for her though. Even when Annie Devlin had gone, taking her nonexistent case with her, he’d been too captivated to leave. Thank God, because then he’d seen the woman get on the motorcycle. He’d only just gotten his heart rate and breathing close to normal when she’d skipped out of her place again, dressed in a different pair of slim, butt-hugging jeans, and gotten back on the damn blue bullet. She’d swept her almost-black hair into a low ponytail and stuck her head into the helmet once more, and it had been all Max could do not to dart across the street and yank her off the beast if for no other reason than to keep himself from having a coronary.

  She’d been grinning like a loon. He wondered what her mother thought of her little girl on a bike.

  Perhaps her mother didn’t have a clue. There wasn’t much his own mother knew about what he did.

  Max should have left right then instead of stalking her like some kind of deranged lunatic. He should have gone home, done the paperwork to close the Devlin case and washed his hands of the suicidal woman. But no. For some indefinable reason he couldn’t imagine letting her take off on that damn piece of machinery without following her to make sure she arrived alive to wherever she was headed in such a blissful mood.

  Sixty-seven fucking miles per hour on the goddamn highway and fifteen minutes later, here he sat, ready to drink away the pounding in his chest and the renewed ache in his permanently curled fingers.

  And make sure she didn’t drink too much then get on her damned little crotch rocket again.

  All the times he’d seen a motorcycle on the road and never thought a thing of it, and one little woman had brought out every protective instinct in his body.

  You don’t even know her name, Jensen.

  His dick didn’t care. All it knew was that the woman was fucking hot.

  The live band’s music drummed into his head, amplifying the headache brought about by her stunt driving. From where he sat he could see her and the women from her class whom she’d met outside. They were seated at a round table to his nine o’clock, all of them laughing and throwing their heads back at something the redhead said.

  Kamikaze’s long throat drew his attention. He wanted to swipe his tongue up and down the column, tasting her. He wanted to take in the scent of her right there behind the lobe of the ear graced with a high-cartilage piercing. He wanted to know if she had any other piercings. Like her navel or her pussy. Did his pole dancer have her clit pierced?

  Jesus Christ, Jensen. She’s not your fucking anything. What would his mother say if he brought home a pole dancer for Sunday dinner? Not that he gave a rat’s ass what she said. Well, actually, it might be freaking hilarious to see his mother’s face when kamikaze disclosed her occupation. He slapped his hand on the bar. “Shit. She’s got you tied in knots, doesn’t she?”

  “What’s that, mate?”

  Max jumped at the bartender’s Australian accent and cleared his throat. “Nothing. I’ll have a Fosters.” She’d fucking driven him to drink on duty.

  But then, he wasn’t technically on duty anymore. Mrs. Devlin hadn’t been having an affair tonight, and he’d seen her on her way, not sweaty from sex but instead a thorough swing on a pole. He’d done his job, so this was after hours. Time to relax, throw back a beer or two and watch the—he glanced up at the muted TV in the corner—rugby match?

  “Here ya go, mate. Fosters. Long day?”

  It took a moment for Max to understand what long die meant. “No. Just a long-ass afternoon.” And an even longer night tailing a kamikaze with a death wish.

  Okay, so she hadn’t been crazy on her bike. Hadn’t done any of the stupid shit he’d seen some punks doing for fun when it was really dangerous as hell. Like standing on the seat doing eighty on the highway or popping a wheelie in the middle of traffic. Yeah, she’d sped a tiny bit, but no more than the rest of the traffic. She’d actually handled the thing pretty damn well now that he looked back on it.

  “Find yourself a nice partner and take a load off, mate. Tomorrow will look better.”

  If he woke up next to a certain partner it might.

  Damn. He had to stop thinking of her in terms of sex. He didn’t even know her name, had only discovered her because of a job. How likely was it she would wind up in his bed? No matter how goddamn beautiful she was or how fucking hard she made his dick, he had to remember he didn’t know anything about her. Other than the fact she could wrap herself oh so sweetly around a shiny silver pole.

  Get control of yourself, Maximillian. That’s what his mother would say. And he knew what would come next. Unscrew your penis and put it on the shelf. Jensen men do not think with their little heads, no matter what your father does. She always said penis too. Nothing vulgar would ever come out of Kara Patterson-Jensen’s mouth, but she sure as hell would never mince words either. God help you if you ever spoke back to her.

  As the black sheep of the family, Max mostly got the cold shoulder, chin raise, sniffle and glare. His mother chose to ignore the career Max had craved since he was nine years old when the security company paid to keep him safe had done their job. If his bodyguard at the time, and later Max’s mentor, Richard, hadn’t laid his life on the line, Max would be twenty-some years in the grave.

  Richard had taken a bullet to protect his young charge, and Max, even at nine, had vowed to repay the older man in any way possible. After years of showing him the ropes, Richard had helped Max form his own company specializing in security and PI-type work. Another thing Max felt needed repayment.

  He wondered what Richard would think of Max’s distraction. He had, after all, pretty much dismissed the case the second he’d seen Mrs. Devlin in her, um, dance class. Just because he hadn’t seen the woman with a man tonight didn’t mean she wasn’t having an affair.

  Who the hell was he kidding? The woman was hiding her affinity for pole dancing. That’s all.

  Max lifted the bottle to his lips and too
k a drag. His gaze wandered back to the table where she sat, and he nearly choked. All four women were eyeing him like he was a prime piece of meat to be devoured.

  “There ya go, mate.” The bartender nudged Max’s shoulder. “Night’s lookin’ better already.”

  A tiny smile tilted the kamikaze’s lips before she turned away, and damned if the come-get-me look didn’t make his zipper dig into his erection.

  He borrowed a widely known mantra and changed it to suit his situation.

  I will not have sexual relations with that woman. I will not have sexual relations with that woman.

  It would be wrong, right?

  She stood, her round, perfectly palm-sized breasts pressing against the fabric of the silky shirt she wore, her ass cupped in that pair of skinny jeans he wanted to peel away inch by inch. She’d taken the elastic from her hair so the gorgeous strands swung freely around her shoulders and attempted to hide the nipples he swore he could see poking through the thin material covering them, despite the dim light.

  Then she took a step toward him, and another, this time more hesitant. Her head turned in the direction of her friends, and she shushed them with a finger at her lips.

  Sure he was drooling, Max swallowed and gulped down the remainder of his beer. If he didn’t leave before Kamikaze got to him, he’d have her stripped naked and thrown belly down on the bar, his cock thrust inside her sheath before she could say hello.

  She flicked another glance his direction then fled to a hallway under a sign that read Restrooms.

  Well, if that didn’t beat all. Max leaned both elbows on the table and ordered another beer.

  What on earth was she doing trying to pick up a stranger at a bar?

  Sex, Jordan. Remember the sex you wanted to have to rehydrate your parched woman’s parts? The ones currently shriveling up from lack of action?

  With ultimate resolve, she lifted her face and stared at herself in the mirror.

  “Jordan, you will go out there and seduce that walking sex God.”

  A snicker behind her made her jump.

  “You go, girl. Hey, while you’re handing out the confidence, mind sharing some with me? There’s this really hot guy out there I’d do just about anything to go to bed with.”

  Jordan smiled and told herself not to punch the woman. Surely she wasn’t referring to the same guy. There were lots of other men in the bar.

  But only one who’d been built specifically for causing a woman to orgasm with a simple touch. Jordan was sure that would be the outcome if she ever got the nerves to get close enough to him.

  Enough. She was here for sex, she was going to get some. Self-doubt was not going to dissuade her.

  “Sure,” she said to the woman washing her hands. “As long as we’re not after the same one. I’m not into threesomes.” And I really don’t want to go to jail for breaking your neck. Tall, dark and drool-worthy is mine, mine and all mine.

  The woman’s laugh grated on Jordan’s nerves, tempting her to strangle the bleached blonde’s neck just to get her to tell her who she was lusting after.

  “Oh, my God, he’s like, so cute. Red hair…”

  Jordan didn’t hear another word over the breath she let out. Time to buck up and become a woman all over again. If luck was on her side tonight, the stud at the bar was going home with her.

  Or she was going home with him.

  She’d lived the last few years in anonymity, surely she could pick up one man and not be found out. He hadn’t seemed to recognize her at least.

  Jesus, she was doing it again. The urge to slap herself grew. Where was the set of cojones she’d used to move out of her parents’ and live her own life away from all the crap money entailed? She straightened, flipped her hair over her shoulder and checked to make sure she didn’t have anything green between her teeth. That’d be a mood killer for sure.

  She was here to get her sex on.

  “Good luck.” Jordan shoved through the door and headed straight for the bar. If he wasn’t still sitting there, she would cry.

  “Go get him, Jordan,” she heard from the friends she’d come with. It gave her courage. Hell yes she’d get him. She’d use his body as her pole and show him all kinds of new moves.

  His closely shaved dark brown head hung over his beer and his shoulders were slumped. Damn. She’d thought he’d been interested. She hadn’t mistaken the way his nostrils had flared when she’d started toward him earlier or the way his eyes had widened. There’d been a flash of lust, damn it. On both their parts.

  Jordan was suddenly close enough to reach out and touch him. Mmm…he smelled so good. Like man and cologne and yum all rolled into one, and she smelled it even over all the combined alcohol and smoke odors of the bar.

  It was do-or-die time. Jordan tapped him on the back. “Hello.”

  His head whipped back so fast she was amazed he didn’t give himself whiplash or fly off the stool. Catching himself before that happened, he darted a glance between her and her friends before settling on her face.

  His eyes were green. Pale green. Beautiful. Her panties went wet just looking into his gaze.

  At least she knew she hadn’t dried up quite yet.

  “Hello.” Oh man, the sound of his voice made her shiver. Deep and sensual. It curled around her to the point she swore she could feel his mouth moving on her throat.

  “I’m Jordan.” Did she stick out a hand to shake? Where the hell was her inner college chick?

  “Max.”

  Max. Perfect. She wanted Max. Right here, right now. If only clicking her heels together and pronouncing, “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home,” would get her anywhere.

  He seemed to contemplate something. It made her nervous. Picking up men used to be so easy. Of course those were the days of trying to attract the media attention just to piss her mother off. Right now, Max was going to give her a complex.

  “You wanna dance, Jordan?” He said her name like he was trying it out on his tongue.

  She wanted to shout, “Try my clit out with your tongue too, please.”

  She refrained. No use scaring the man off before she’d gotten out of tonight what she wanted.

  He hopped off the barstool—or stood at any rate—and towered over her five-foot-six frame. Maximillian. Maximillian? Is that how she saw him? Appropriate because right this second she felt like she’d just won a million bucks. He had to be a good few inches beyond six feet, muscular too, as evidenced by the fit of his shirt beneath his leather jacket. She wanted to rip the shirt off and lick his abs, see if he tasted as good as he smelled.

  Please God let him be this big across the board. She needed big. Needed to be filled to capacity plus some. Her clit actually ached at the thought of him between her legs.

  She’d turned into a hooker. A pole-dancing, stranger-picking-up, begging-for-big hooker.

  The devil on her shoulder was going to win hands down over the angel telling her to go slow.

  “I’d love to dance.” Horizontally on a mattress. Could one portray one’s need with just a look? Can you say skank? She ought to be ashamed of herself.

  He took her hand in his and led her to the jumble of bodies shaking it to the music on the wooden floor. There was a clap and cheer behind her, and Jordan almost flipped off the three girls she’d come with.

  “Your friends are happy for you?”

  Lord she loved his voice and how it practically vibrated across her skin. “I guess.” As if she was going to tell him, Of course they are. We came here trolling for men and I’ve already landed one. You. Congratulations. You won an out-of-practice, dried-up pole dancer. Woohoo!

  Yeah, that’d go over real well.

  “You don’t do this much, do you?”

  Fuu-udge. He could friggin’ tell that? “No. Not really. Well, not in a while anyway.” He didn’t need to know just how long it had actually been.

  His right palm held her left hand with gentle ease, and his other hand came around her
waist to rest at the small of her back, his long fingers practically spanning her waistline. She wondered if he’d slip it lower, cop a feel.

  Please God, cop a feel. There was the inner college vixen. Course, back then she’d have reached behind there and moved it for him if he hadn’t done it fast enough.

  Which Max didn’t.

  She bit her lip. A pole-dancing aerobics instructor and she was stiff as a board. What happened to making him the pole?

  He pulled her to him with a quick jerk, and she suddenly found her belly pressed against a rather solid object. A long, hard, thick object by the feel of it. She looked up into his face and read the desire written on every millimeter. Day-old scruff on his cheeks made him seem even more rugged. Her legs wobbled with the thought of those tiny whiskers scraping on the inside of her thighs and the sensitive skin of her pussy.

  “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to be with you tonight.” His breath fanned over her lips, he was so close.

  “Me too.”

  “Good.”

  She kissed him. Stretched the two or three inches that separated them as he leaned down, and kissed him, opening her mouth to his and pushing her tongue inside. He tasted like the beer he’d been drinking, but she didn’t give a damn. She only cared that the man she’d seen across the room and lusted over immediately wanted her as much as she wanted him.

  She was going to sleep with a stranger.

  No, she was going to make love to a stranger. Jordan had a strong suspicion that when they finally reached a bed there would be no sleeping involved.

  Now why did the mere idea give her such a thrill?

  Chapter Three

  Max tilted his head and took over the kiss, all the while calling himself ten kinds of fool. She was sweet, and more potent than any alcohol. He was definitely leaving this bar drunk on something tonight, but he most certainly wouldn’t be leaving alone.

  “I shouldn’t be doing this,” he murmured at her ear before kissing a path down her jaw line and back to the sensuous mouth waiting for him. He wanted to see her lips tight around his cock, wanted to see those baby blues looking up at him from her kneeling position on the floor.