Free Mr. August by Jan Romes Page B

Jeep.”
    “Me too.” Libby ran her hands over the mat of dark curls on his chest.
    Max kissed her chin and inched down until he was at the hollow of her throat. He nipped the tender skin with his teeth and trailed his tongue to the swell of her breasts. Each of his hands circled a breast while his tongue lathered the nipples with strict attention. Libby moaned with renewed need.
    “Max,” she begged, “is it possible to…”
    Max answered without speaking. He rolled to his back and brought Libby on top of him.
    With calculated slowness, Libby lifted herself up and down. Max clutched her bottom and moved with her. They stared into the depths of each other’s eyes, the cadence of their movements—perfect.

Chapter Eight
    Max propped himself up on his elbow and studied the quirky blonde who was smiling while she was sleeping. So this is what it felt like to have a give-and-take relationship. He’d given his all yesterday. Libby took what he offered, and in turn, gave him a day and night he’d cherish forever. They’d made love three times; twice within an hour and a third time shortly after midnight. Before the last time, they sat on the loveseat, their arms and legs intertwined, making small talk.
    Libby loathed canned peas, loved the frozen ones. She wanted to get a tattoo but was deathly afraid of needles. Her favorite color was black. She loved the feel of denim. Hated politics. Her hazel eyes fired with passion when she said if she could change one thing in the world it would be that no one had to go to bed hungry.
    Surprisingly, her dream wasn’t to become the number one designer in the world. She just wanted to do what she loved—design some great clothes. If she happened to gain worldwide recognition, that would be cool too. She finally admitted that Slayte Designs cut her loose. Her voice had cracked when she said that Amanda didn’t as much as blink when she fired her. Max felt Libby’s pain. He wanted to hop in his car, track down Amanda Slayte, and give her a piece of his mind.
    Libby loved dogs. She’d always begged for one but her parents thought they were too much of a bother. Dogs had a keen sense about people, and Max noticed how Rory nuzzled against Libby.
    Max seldom talked about himself, but with Libby he didn’t hold back. He talked about growing up in New Hampshire as an only child and the great camping trips he and his parents used to take. He went to college at Ohio State and liked the Columbus area so he decided to stay after graduation.
    He loved peas, canned, or otherwise. Despised mushrooms. And was addicted to coffee. When Libby prompted him to talk about his Rottweiler ex-wife, he hedged. He didn’t want to ruin the mood by talking about Shari. It was too soon after making love to go down that path.
    Max continued to watch Libby sleep, but he wanted to kiss her awake. He loved talking to her because she was a glass-half-full woman. Full of expectation. Ready to move her life forward. Such a tiny person, with big ideas. She told him about her best friend, Steph, and he tried to imagine the two of them together, trying to take on the world with their unusual styles.
    A sleepy eye popped open. “Good morning.” Libby yawned and broke into a smile.
    “Good morning, Lib.” Max moved a lock of hair that fell into her lashes.
    “That’s what Steph calls me.” She pulled to a sitting position. “Would you like to meet her?”
    “I would.”
    “How about today?” Libby leaned forward and pecked his nose with her lips. “Sorry, getting ahead of myself. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I wasn’t planning on going home, but there’s no need to sit in the cabin while everyone else is eating turkey. We could pop in on Steph today and do the Thanksgiving thing with my parents tomorrow.”
    “I would love to, Libby. Not sure I should though. I have to get my book done. My editor has been breathing down my neck.” Being with family during the holidays was important. And he’d contemplated