Free Maximum Risk by Ruth Cardello

have nothing to worry about. She’s like a sister to me.”
    “I’m not leaving until I’m sure she’s okay.”
    Dyson shrugged. “You’re welcome to the couch. But just so you know, Brigitte’s room is across the hall from Tara’s, and the doors are staying open.”
    Max swore beneath his breath all the way to the couch. What was it about Tara that had set his life upside down? He was about to spend the night on the couch of a woman he hadn’t even slept with. Why?
    He roughly adjusted the couch cushions into something marginally more comfortable and sat down angrily. Because that blond ape was in Tara’s apartment.
    The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him. For someone who didn’t like personal involvement or emotional clutter, this evening was a high dose of both.
    But I’ll be damned if I’m leaving. He sent a text for his driver to take the rest of the night off.
    He wanted to throw Dyson out of the apartment or haul Tara back to his hotel. Both were out of character for him, but he was having a difficult time recognizing himself since he’d met Tara. For her, he was in his least favorite city. For her, he was doing something he rarely did—reflecting on how he could have handled himself better. He felt guilty that, although she’d said she was a lightweight, he’d let her overindulge. He never should have kissed her. If she hadn’t gotten sick . . . if Dyson hadn’t been there . . .
    He didn’t second-guess his decisions or wonder why most people behaved as they did. He assessed his options, threw the dice, and moved on regardless of the outcome.
    So, what’s keeping me here?
    And why is walking away from a woman, who hasn’t even agreed to a date, an outcome I’m unable to accept?

     

Chapter Six
     
    Tara woke up wondering why whoever was beating on her head with a sledgehammer had also made the sun painfully brighter than normal. She rolled over in the bed and pulled her blanket over her head.
    Sleep had given her the chance to rewrite the night’s ending. She couldn’t remember every dream, but more than one had consisted of her losing herself in Max’s kiss, giving herself over to him again and again.
    Damn you, Max Andrade. You and your sad eyes and your sexy smile. Why couldn’t you stay the arrogant, cocky man I thought you were? Why did you have to be so wonderful last night?
    Not that last night was supposed to be fun at all. I was supposed to be working.
    Oh, God.
    I have to give Maddy’s money back. I am the world’s worst private investigator.
    She hadn’t expected to enjoy her meal with Max, but she had. It had been easy, too easy, to get caught up in his gorgeous dark eyes and his playful grin. The wine had flowed, and Tara remembered laughing until her sides hurt. Max had laughed right along with her.
    She held the pillow tightly over her face as she remembered how she’d offered herself to Max. Every touch they’d exchanged that night, every lingering glance, had increased the need within her until she’d ached for him—until she’d thrown all caution to the wind and practically begged him to sleep with her.
    And why didn’t he?
    Could it have been because of the outrageously personal stories I gushed throughout the evening?
    No, it was probably the vomiting. Yes, that was not my best moment.
    At least I won’t have to worry about him calling me again. She tried to tell herself it was for the best, but she couldn’t help wondering what being with him would have been like. She didn’t consider herself inexperienced. She’d slept with more than one boyfriend. She couldn’t even say she was holding out for love. She wasn’t sure she believed in it anymore.
    But she had to admit Max brought a part of her back to life that had been dying. She’d forgotten what it was like to want a man, to crave someone. That her desire for him came at the least convenient time didn’t make it less intense.
    Sleeping with Max would have been wrong for more reasons than