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“Max?” Mia poked him experimentally, and then a little harder when he didn’t respond. Sitting the cup of strong coffee on the end table, she fished in his pocket for his keys and went outside to the sporty little vehicle he had apparently rented. Opening the door, she immediately saw the partial bottle of whiskey sitting on the passenger seat.
“Not enough to kill him, but he’s going to have a pretty horrible hangover in the morning,” she mused, speaking aloud, stunned when something hurtled toward her. A sudden impact with the projectile nearly put her on her ass in the dirt.
“Tucker,” she gasped with surprise, removing his paws from her chest and cuddling him when he had all four paws on the front seat. The hound gave her a disapproving look, but he licked her hand as she scratched him, his chubby body shuddering with delight.
After the canine had gotten enough affection, he jumped down and sniffed at the ground to do his business, acting like he wasn’t entirely sure he liked his new surroundings.
“Come,” Mia told Tucker affectionately, taking him into the house and closing the door behind her.
Tucker went immediately to Max’s prone body, sniffing him first, and then positioning himself on the floor right beside the couch, shooting Mia an admonishing look.
“He’s drunk. I didn’t do it. I wasn’t there. Why didn’t you stop him?” she said defensively, and then laughed at herself for having a conversation with her dog and accusing the animal of negligence.
Mia plucked the cup of coffee intended for Max from the table and seated herself in a recliner, wondering why Max had brought Tucker with him. For a man who insisted that he and the dog didn’t like each other, they certainly seemed bonded.
She sipped the hot coffee, watching Max sleep, his eyebrows drawn together as though he were frowning while he slumbered.
As long as she’d known him, she’d never seen Max have more than one drink. He never did anything to excess, and that included not drinking more than he could handle. What had prompted him to drink that way?
Maybe he had felt he needed it to be able to look at me again.
Mia cringed, fairly certain she was the reason for Max’s sudden binge. Why else would he have to slug a ton of cheap whiskey at the end of the drive?
“He hates me, Tucker,” she whispered softly to her dog, getting only what looked like a nod from her canine as he cocked his head. “And he thinks I had another man.”
Maybe it was best for Max to think that she had betrayed him that way so he would hate her completely, but she had to wonder what her brothers had told him. She’d tried Travis’ office phone and Kade’s cell while she had been making coffee, still with no response.
I want to hate you, but I fucking can’t.
Max’s words played over and over in her mind, but she knew that had been the alcohol talking. Every word, every action since he’d come through that door had been from severe intoxication. Nothing he said or did could be taken seriously. Still, that kiss…
“Mia,” Max shouted, rolling over on the couch until he was on his back, thrashing like he was fighting demons in his sleep. “Come back,” he muttered in a low, desperate voice.
Mia set her coffee on the table beside the recliner, went to the couch and sank to her knees. “Max?” She stroked over the bruises on his face softly, wincing as she smoothed the rapidly emerging purple and yellow areas under his eye. She nudged Tucker, getting him to grudgingly move over so she could take his place.
“Mia,” he called out again, his voice getting more desperate.
“Wake up, Max. You’re dreaming,” she told him in a louder, sterner voice.
He sat straight up, his eyes coming open, blinking at the light as though it hurt his eyes. He looked around the room, his gaze finally landing on her face. “You’re here,” he said, sounding relieved.
Mia rose to her feet. “I’m here,” she agreed, reaching her hand out to him.
She knew Max was completely stoned—his eyes glazed over—but it still made her heart surge as he reached out and took her hand with no hesitation at all, like he completely trusted her. “Where are we going?” he mumbled as he got unsteadily to his feet.
“I’m putting you to bed,” she answered adamantly, determined to get him to a more comfortable place to sleep.
He grinned wolfishly at her. “No argument here,” he said happily, his fingers grazing over the ring finger of her left hand. “You’re wearing my ring. You found it.”
Mia didn’t want to tell him she’d never lost it. She’d left it behind, not certain what Travis’ plan had been when he’d sent his men for her, and she wanted to try to stay completely unnoticeable. Max Hamilton wasn’t the type of man to do anything lightly, and he’d bought her a beautiful ring with enough quality diamonds to make a person go blind. It definitely had bling, so she’d reluctantly and intentionally left it behind.
“I am. I love it,” she answered truthfully, wanting to tell him it had rarely left her finger the whole time they’d been apart. But she didn’t. She pulled on his hand, guiding him into her bedroom.
Stopping beside the bed, she nearly giggled at the way Max was swaying slightly, smiling a shit-eating grin she’d never seen on him before. It was naughty. It was hot.
And…he was drunk.
There was no way she was taking advantage of the situation, not to mention the fact that he was so hammered that he probably couldn’t even get it up. She lifted his arms and tugged at the back of his t-shirt, unable to ignore the flex of his powerful biceps as he held his arms out while she pulled the shirt over his head. Her breath hitched as Max’s muscular chest and sculpted abs became visible and she dropped the shirt to the floor, completely ambivalent as to where it landed. Her entire mouth went dry, and she tried desperately not to look anywhere but at his face as she fumbled with the metal button of his jeans.