without her wanting to turn around and strangle him.
Yes, lead him on , she thought. Make him think you want him. Let's get this show on the road. Because the sooner the mission was accomplished, the sooner she could go home and get off this crazy roller-coaster ride with Max once and for all.
Being around him again was fantastic, but so confusing. If anything was going to start back up between them, it would happen much easier after this case was through.
Then she caught Max staring at her, one elbow propped on the arm of his chair, his chin balanced on a loose fist. As usual, she couldn't read his expression. Anyone else in the world—yes. She'd gotten much better at that sort of thing in their time apart. Frank had schooled her on it this past year. But not Max and those warm brown pools of his. They stayed as cloaked and mysterious to her as ever.
Still, she looked back, trying her hardest not to show him any emotion, either—her confusion and frustration from what had happened earlier, her disgust over being touched by this thief. They exchanged what she thought of as a blank, yet somehow serious, stare for the length of Carlo's grating massage.
Max didn't like Carlo being so touchy-feely with Kimberly. He hadn't liked it last night, either, but at least then she'd been wearing a little more clothing. He knew from very recent experience just how accessible she was at the moment, just how easy it was to reach beneath the fabric. He hated having her in such a vulnerable position with this guy and not being able to intervene without blowing the case.
He wanted to kick himself for giving in to his own wants when he'd come upon her sunning, and for having had to leave them both so on the edge of ecstasy. Man, what bad timing Carlo had, Max thought, shaking his head. Things had been incredibly hot, tension-filled, but in a good way. In an intense way. She'd wanted him to touch her as much as he'd wanted to.
At the moment, he also kind of wanted to kill Kimberly for sitting there letting Carlo touch her so much, encouraging it with her little moans of pleasure, giggling when the jerk made a stupid joke.
It's her job, you idiot , he reminded himself. But did she really have to be that encouraging? Something about it made Max's stomach churn.
So, she really thought this guy was handsome? Seemed crazy to Max, but that's what she'd told him last night. Handsome. Compared to me? he'd even been tempted to say. Now he was glad he hadn't.
He might have asked himself how he could account for all his feelings if he hadn't been so busy holding Kimberly's gaze, trying to see what she was really feeling. But at the moment her expression was surprisingly masked, surprisingly unreadable, which bugged him more than he could understand.
* * *
Hours later, Max stood in the kitchen in his swim trunks, his back against one of the French doors, arms crossed in front of him. He watched Kimberly moving around the room, putting things away, running food scraps through the disposal, scouring grilling utensils over the sink, all the while still in her bikini, perky as hell. Carlo was upstairs showering, but that didn't diminish Max's annoyance. After all, she'd spent the whole afternoon flirting with Carlo.
Max cringed at the awful memory of her sitting on the edge of the pool and Carlo pulling on her ankle, trying to get her to come into the water with him. Before it was done, the slimeball's hands had climbed up her calf to the back of her knee. She'd giggled the whole time, saying, "You'd better stop it, Carlo," although it had clearly been in jest. Max had simply stood by watching, getting angrier with each passing minute.
Yes, it was the role she'd been hired to play. But did she have to make him look so dumb and blind? And did she have to do that pretty, lighthearted little giggle so damn much?
And now here she was, still flitting around in her bikini inside the house. Soon enough Carlo would be back down here and
Yes, lead him on , she thought. Make him think you want him. Let's get this show on the road. Because the sooner the mission was accomplished, the sooner she could go home and get off this crazy roller-coaster ride with Max once and for all.
Being around him again was fantastic, but so confusing. If anything was going to start back up between them, it would happen much easier after this case was through.
Then she caught Max staring at her, one elbow propped on the arm of his chair, his chin balanced on a loose fist. As usual, she couldn't read his expression. Anyone else in the world—yes. She'd gotten much better at that sort of thing in their time apart. Frank had schooled her on it this past year. But not Max and those warm brown pools of his. They stayed as cloaked and mysterious to her as ever.
Still, she looked back, trying her hardest not to show him any emotion, either—her confusion and frustration from what had happened earlier, her disgust over being touched by this thief. They exchanged what she thought of as a blank, yet somehow serious, stare for the length of Carlo's grating massage.
Max didn't like Carlo being so touchy-feely with Kimberly. He hadn't liked it last night, either, but at least then she'd been wearing a little more clothing. He knew from very recent experience just how accessible she was at the moment, just how easy it was to reach beneath the fabric. He hated having her in such a vulnerable position with this guy and not being able to intervene without blowing the case.
He wanted to kick himself for giving in to his own wants when he'd come upon her sunning, and for having had to leave them both so on the edge of ecstasy. Man, what bad timing Carlo had, Max thought, shaking his head. Things had been incredibly hot, tension-filled, but in a good way. In an intense way. She'd wanted him to touch her as much as he'd wanted to.
At the moment, he also kind of wanted to kill Kimberly for sitting there letting Carlo touch her so much, encouraging it with her little moans of pleasure, giggling when the jerk made a stupid joke.
It's her job, you idiot , he reminded himself. But did she really have to be that encouraging? Something about it made Max's stomach churn.
So, she really thought this guy was handsome? Seemed crazy to Max, but that's what she'd told him last night. Handsome. Compared to me? he'd even been tempted to say. Now he was glad he hadn't.
He might have asked himself how he could account for all his feelings if he hadn't been so busy holding Kimberly's gaze, trying to see what she was really feeling. But at the moment her expression was surprisingly masked, surprisingly unreadable, which bugged him more than he could understand.
* * *
Hours later, Max stood in the kitchen in his swim trunks, his back against one of the French doors, arms crossed in front of him. He watched Kimberly moving around the room, putting things away, running food scraps through the disposal, scouring grilling utensils over the sink, all the while still in her bikini, perky as hell. Carlo was upstairs showering, but that didn't diminish Max's annoyance. After all, she'd spent the whole afternoon flirting with Carlo.
Max cringed at the awful memory of her sitting on the edge of the pool and Carlo pulling on her ankle, trying to get her to come into the water with him. Before it was done, the slimeball's hands had climbed up her calf to the back of her knee. She'd giggled the whole time, saying, "You'd better stop it, Carlo," although it had clearly been in jest. Max had simply stood by watching, getting angrier with each passing minute.
Yes, it was the role she'd been hired to play. But did she have to make him look so dumb and blind? And did she have to do that pretty, lighthearted little giggle so damn much?
And now here she was, still flitting around in her bikini inside the house. Soon enough Carlo would be back down here and
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