Page 19 of Curveball (Tennessee Terrors #9)

“Wow. Okay. Forgiven.” Even given the delivery, that was a whopper of an apology. I swivel my hand under his, spread my fingers wide, and entwine them with his.

He blows out a deep breath.

“So, we’re still us?” He’s tense, as though this is important to him. But I know what he means. Our relationship—friendship? situationship?— was born in the ether, conceived using electronic devices. Is this real? Is this what we want?

I nod, my head bobbing softly with my thoughts.

“Mighty Max, with your ridiculous schedule, this is about as us as we’re going to get.”

His slow smile appears. “You okay with that?”

“If this is a preview, I think it might be all I can take.”

Our hands are still knotted together, and he gives mine a little squeeze before he uses the other to add pressure to my back and get me moving through the house.

“Sorry this didn’t work out until now. I’ve been back in town for a couple of days, but the scheduling just didn’t work.”

“Today is fine. And you don’t need to give me a tour. We can just meet them out there.” I free my hand and wave it in what I presume is the direction Natalie and Dylan took.

“Hold on a sec.” Max takes hold of that hand I’m fluttering around and spins me to face him, both arms around me, his damn hands wreaking havoc up and down my spine. “I need to take care of something.”

I peer up at him, waiting for him to enlighten me.

His face lowers, coming so close our noses brush. His short beard tickles the skin of my cheeks as he hovers. I could easily stop him if I want to. But I don’t want to stop him. I want to make him go faster.

I stretch to my tiptoes and wrap one hand around his nape.

The other I plant over the strong beat of his heart till he gets the hint and lowers his lips to meet mine.

His touch is soft but there’s nothing tentative about this kiss, because this is Max, who doesn’t do anything halfway. Because he knows I want this, too.

His mouth sweeps over mine, firm yet pliant, giving me a chance to enjoy the feel of him against my closed mouth—until his tongue glides over the seam of my lips and I open to him with a low hum of pleasure.

He’s heat and urgency and a slight tang of mint, and I meet him stroke for stroke.

Tongues tangle, teeth clack against each other.

We kiss until the slow steady cadence under my palm becomes irregular, and our breathing is ragged and choppy.

When he breaks our connection and raises his face from mine, his eyes are glimmering and his smile is so broad, his dimple may leave a permanent crease.

“Better?” I ask him. Because I’m better. Hell, I feel so good, I’ve got a ready supply of residual better .

His face is still pleated with his smile. “So much better. How do you feel?”

I give my head a little Palmer Sloan, you’re gonna want a whole lot more of that shake.

“Enlightened.”

And then, like nothing extraordinary just happened—like he didn’t just shake my world and tilt my axis—he picks up my hand and moves us onward with his tour.

He gives me a devilish grin. “So . . . I thought you might like to see what we’re using for the foundation gala next month.”

I’m enjoying this playful side of him that I can’t imagine appears often. I play along and tap my fingertips to my forehead. “Of course. Now is absolutely the best time for that.”

Before ten minutes ago, I wanted to know all about his home and why he’s willing to share it with complete strangers instead of holding his event in some elegant ballroom—the way the casino night was.

Especially since I’ve seen him as the homebody who messaged me from his hotel at nine o’clock on a Saturday night to buddy watch a movie.

Right now, I’d rather he push me against the wall and kiss me again.

But he’s pulling me by the hand and accompanying our exploration with wry and witty commentary— this is the foyer where visitors enter , here’s the chandelier that provides the light —I haven’t witnessed from him until now.

“Your place is gorgeous, but of course you already know that.” He gives me a quick smile.

“I was overwhelmed when I first toured it. Had no idea what I was looking for. I was about to take sole custody of a twelve-year-old and needed an upgrade from my bachelor townhouse. I wanted someplace I could comfortably raise a teenage girl into womanhood.”

“Was it the sweeping staircase that sold you? Because, right there, that’s the kind girls dream of floating down in satin and silk.”

“Oh, fuck. Don’t tease.” His expression turns wide-eyed and panicked, but then his dimple flashes, and the sight is captivating. I’m captivated. I bet girls throw their panties to him in the dugout. And their phone numbers.

I haven’t seen him this relaxed since our first night—in the bathroom of a glamorous hotel. I’ve felt it, though, every one of the past seven nights.

I laugh, totally enjoying this day. “What do you have back here?”

I step forward to where the back of the house is a wall of glass and one wide set of atrium doors, all leading to a sunny pool area.

“Okay, this is my whoa moment. I bet there’re enough tables and chaise lounges out here to host the entire team—and their families.”

I pause to take it in, and when he doesn’t respond, I tear my gaze away from the scene to look up at him. His gaze sweeps down the length of me, and then across the flagstone patio surrounding the sparkling water of the largest pool I’ve ever seen.

“I have. Not often, but I’ve done it.”

There are planting beds interspersed with tropical foliage, and a covered outdoor kitchen area is visible toward the back.

“It’s nice out here. Peaceful.”

He pushes up close to me. There’s nobody near, but he lowers his lips to murmur quietly into my ear.

“I want to bring you out here one night, in just the light of the tiki torches. Just you and me, no kids.”

I grin into the arm he’s pushed against my side. “I want that, too.” I pull away, move away slightly, because this is a lot. He is a lot.

“All you need is a parrot in one of those huge cages and the theme would be complete.”

“We had one. His name was Steve.”

“Had?”

“He was, like, forty years old. They only live so long.”

I shake my head, a slow chuckle slipping out. “You are full of surprises, Max Murphy.”

I reach out and squeeze his hand, but then remember our kids and regretfully let go. Dylan may have teased me about having a boyfriend, but I’m not sure that’s what this is. Not yet. My gaze sweeps the area, searching for them.

The lawn of Max’s property is deep and level, with a slope off to the left that has to be fun to sled when there’s snow.

I march out into the yard, keeping a slight distance when I want to attach myself to him like a barnacle because what is this life, Palmer Sloan?

I have been alone for so long, this sudden intensity is a bit overwhelming.

No, not a bit . This intensity is overwhelming.

Dylan and Natalie must be close; their shouts of laughter carry to us.

“Want to see more?”

Max comes up from behind but he doesn’t touch me. My contrary self wants to pout.

“I do. Where do you plan to have the tent set up?”

He pauses a moment as he surveys the area, then points straight ahead.

“There. I think. I have the information from the event planner in here somewhere.” He taps a few buttons to unlock his phone, then searches through his apps.

“I swear, if I couldn’t go back and reread emails, I’d be forced to walk around all day with a briefcase full of printouts. ”

I feel this. Deeply. Because hadn’t I been scrolling back through his messages for a week?

“Aha!” He finds what he’s looking for and stops his search. “Yeah, right over there.” He points to the area he already indicated.

“Do you have details? What are we supposed to be helping with?”

His lips move as he scans through the rest of the email and recites the particulars in a monotone.

“Um. Thirty tables of eight. Cocktails scheduled for six o’clock.

Dinner at seven. Choice of prime rib or chicken cordon bleu.

Something I can’t pronounce for dessert.

Orchestra and dance floor and two cash bars under the tent.

A couple more outside. Jesus, this thing is, like, what? Only a month away?”

I tilt my head. “Time flies.”

“Fuck.”

“Look at the bright side. The evening should be cool, and bugs shouldn’t be a problem.”

He grunts.

“Your foundation is going to bank a boatload of money.”

He grunts again.

“You’re going to be more enthusiastic the night of the event, right?”

His lips quirk in a smile, and I get hung up on the memory of how the sight of them in photos made him feel closer.

How they felt on my mouth at the fundraiser where I met him.

I hadn’t been kissed for ages until that night.

I could have just been hard up, but no. His lips were exceptional. They’re still exceptional.

And Jesus, can we just get back to the subject at hand?

I cock my head. “I hear the kids, but?—”

Giving me a suggestive glance complete with bobbing eyebrows—probably because I’m still staring at his lips—he nudges my shoulder to get me moving.

“Head in that direction.” He points behind a detached building with three—count ’em, three —double garage doors.

I don’t spot the batting cage and simple setup until we come around the side of the oversized garage.

“How many cars do you have anyway?” Max whips his head my way, his expression abruptly closed. My breathing stutters.

“I’m sorry. That was a thoughtless reaction to the size of this building, and absolutely none of my business.”

Natalie and Dylan run up to greet us as we approach, their clothing patched with sweat.

“We only have one car, don’t we, Daddy?” Natalie stands with her hand on her hip, nodding her head petulantly and tapping her foot.

My eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously? The one I saw that night? That’s it?”

“All I need right now.”

Natalie snorts. “My birthday’s coming up.”